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c-rose2081 · 2 years ago

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Starchild || 10. Reunited

(Disney Z-O-M-B-I-E-S)

—

“So, what exactly did you bring us here to do again?”

Eliza and Bonzo were currently standing in front of Zed’s closet, not exactly sure what to do next. The doors had been thrown open, revealing the mess inside. And it really was a mess. Things had fallen off hangers, or had simply not been hung up at all. It smelled a bit like a sewer in the corners piled high with old sneakers and football shoes, and there was almost no color variation anywhere.

“I need help going through…this,” Zed insisted, waving to the chaos, “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes I’m serious. Look at it!” Zed barked, “something could come crawling out of there any second.”

“Gar zagata?” Bonzo asked, tilting his head. Eliza nodded in agreement, placing both hands on her hips.

“You haven’t cared about what you wore since Freshman year, Zed,” she stated, not necessarily with malicious intent, but as a simple fact, “this doesn’t have anything to do with Cheery McCheerstein, does it?”

“A-ddison has nothing to do with me wanting to clean up in here, Eliza,” Zed insisted, though it was a lie and all three of them knew it, “everything’s looking a bit…I dunno, ratty. And I just thought maybe it’s time for a change.”

“Looking homeless is your whole brand,” Eliza chuckled, turning back to the mess and scratching her hairline, “but if it’s really what you want to do, we’re here to help.”

“It is. We just need to figure out what’s decent in here. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?”

Of course, it was a lot harder then Zed had anticipated it being. After all, he had been wearing stuff into the ground for four years. Some of the articles they tossed out were from his Freshman year. Back then, he’d been a string bean of a kid with no future, but also no understanding of true hardship. Being a zombie was awful, for sure. But it wasn’t anything like now, where bettering the world always seemed to sit heavily on his shoulders. He hadn’t even thought of something so trivial as his wardrobe for ages. But A-ddison was a Seabrook Cheerleader now. He didn’t want to embarrass her, what with his dirty clothing and ripped jeans.

“Do you think these can be saved?” Zed asked, holding up his old yellowed sneakers and cringing, “it’s my only pair.”

“Those look like they came out of a literal grave,” Eliza chided, “you need new ones.”

“Garza zigga za.”

“Of course I don’t have any money,” Zed sighed heavily, “dad doesn’t make enough to do allowances.”

“We might not have enough left to get you through the week, Zed,” Eliza admitted, examining the pile of things they had set aside as ‘not suitable’, “I can maybe take some of these back with me? Mom can sew up some of the holes.”

“Nah, don’t bother your mom with it. She’s busy enough with you…”

“Hey!” Eliza barked, swinging a sock as she hit Zed in the arm with it, “I hate you!”

“Yeah, yeah. But what am I going to do? Is this really all there is?”

All there is was a pair of black jeans with patches on the knees, some old tan pants that were bunched towards the bottom, a pair of red cargo shorts with worn off brassy buttons, two shirts with faded logos but no rips, something that looked like it was probably a jacket but was now a vest, his favorite sweatshirt, and of course his varsity jacket. Everything else was either athletic and smelled permanently of sweat, or was shredded beyond repair.

“Afraid so, buddy,” Eliza mused, patting his shoulder fondly, “this is what happens when you don’t keep up with the trends.”

“Shut up,” Zed mocked, giving the girl a shove right into the dirty laundry pile as she squealed.

“Ah! Gar zagazig!”

Bonzo swooped into action, saving her from the stench as she hung limply across his shoulder with a deep sign of exhaustion. .

“It must be nice for A-ddison,” she mused, resting on a bent elbow as Bonzo continued to hold her while sorting through the pile of sport shoes, “not having to buy anything? Being able to change how she looks whenever she wants.”

“Maybe. But it takes a lot out of her,” Zed shrugged, frowning, “she won’t admit it, but she was half-asleep by the time Bree invited her out for slushees by the pier.”

“You’re sure leaving A-ddison alone with a human is a good idea?” Eliza wondered, “I mean, it’s only been a day.”

“My, my Eliza. You sound worried about our new friend.”

“I’m not worried about ET, ok? I’m just worried about what’ll happen if she gets found out.”

“Zazig garg,”

“True Bonzo,” Zed agreed with a finger point, “I trust Bree. She really put her neck out for us, letting Addy use her cheer knowhow. They’re besties already.”

“Fine. Say that everything keeps going this smoothly. It won’t take long for people to get suspicious again,” Eliza said, rolling her fingertips against Bonzo’s shoulder, “she has no phone or social media; no address other than here, and no family around. I get that you are more than happy to house her, but it’s a bit weird if people find out she’s living here.”

“I…didn’t even think about that,” Zed mused with a frown, still scratching his head at what little good clothing they pulled from the closet, “do you think people will notice?”

“Of course they will. I had to put her address as ‘in progress’ on her enrollment paperwork. That won’t last forever,” Eliza stated, “she can stay for a little while and be fine, but Seabrook is nosy. What will teachers think if they find out she has no parents?”

“Parents…?” Zed thought, a lightbulb going off in his head, “parents! That’s the solution!”

“What now?”

“A-ddison does have parents. And they are here in Seabrook.”

“You’re kidding,” Eliza scoffed, patting Bonzo on the arm so she could return to her feet.

“No. She told me that! I just totally forgot.”

“Ok, so, A-ddison — an Alien from outer space — has human parents?“

“At least one, yeah,” Zed insisted, “her Grandma was an Alien.”

“Ok so, let me get this straight, A-ddison is actually half-human? And she crashed her ship on Earth to find her parents?”

“Well the crashing part wasn’t on purpose,” Zed laughed, “she made that part very clear. But, no look, if we can find Addy’s parents and maybe reunite them, she’ll have a place to live!”

“Zed, I know Seabrook isn’t the biggest town, but that’s so farfetched even for this kind of situation,”

“What do you mean?” Zed pouted, “it’s perfect.”

“There are hundreds of people in this town, Zed. I’m pretty sure we’d know if one of them was part alien.”

“Gat za.”

“What do you mean, not really? This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe they have the ability to hide like A-ddison does?” Zed agreed with his friend, exchanging a high five as Eliza rolled her eyes.

“Zed, even if that were true we can’t go door to door like Girl Scouts. ‘Hi, are you part Alien? We know your daughter!’ Yeah, great tagline,”

“Eliza…”

“It would be suspicious,” Eliza insisted again, wagging a finger, “z-patrol would know that we know about their missing Alien pilot. No, there has to be another solution that won’t get all of us in trouble.”

“I’m not an expert, Eliza. But it sounds a bit like you care about A-ddison.”

“No, I don’t,” Eliza hissed, folding her arms, “I’m just saying that we can’t expect A-ddison’s parents to show up on your doorstep!”

DING DONG!

Eliza’s words stopped, posture caught mid-argument as all three teens glanced towards the bedroom door.

“Zed!” Zevon called, “There’s someone at the door for you!”

“I really should just…not talk at all,” Eliza huffed, wilting. Zed laughed as he moved past his friends, hurrying out into the hall and down the stairs. It was getting pretty late, but there was still some light left in the day. His dad stood by the open front door. Zoey was in the kitchen, peeking out around the open doorway. Of all the people in Seabrook Zed was expecting to see, the Mayor wasn’t one of them.

“Oh,” he breathed, slowing his pace and frowning as he did his best to straighten up his posture, “Mayor Wells?”

Zed knew the woman faintly. She was a huge part of the Zombie and Werewolf integration program, and shook his hand when the fence was opened permanently. He had worked closely with her team of consultants on the project, but he wasn’t familiar with her in any capacity beyond surface level — if that. Having her show up at his house alone (without her posse of office dwellers) and on a school night was beyond bizarre. Even weirder was that the woman looked distraught. She was physically shaking, and her huge eyes were actively teary.

“What uh…can I do for you, ma’am?” Zed asked, “is something wrong?”

“…my daughter…” she managed out past gasps of tears, “my baby, where is she?”

Zed blinked in confusion, glancing at his dad who looked ready to usher Zoey upstairs and call for help.

“I don’t understand,” Zed admitted, turning back to her, “I think you might be confused.”

“My daughter,” she repeated, “my Addison. You took a picture with her today; I saw it. Where is she? Please…I-I have to see her,”

“I…” Zed was at a loss for words. If the situation wasn’t so delicate, Eliza probably would’ve let loose a curse that could make the pope blush. But Ms. Wells looked ready to unravel right there on the stoop. Her tears were honest and real; the grief caught in her expression was almost painful to look at. She wasn’t lying; Zed knew it, “she’s not here right now,” he told her, lunging forward to keep the woman from collapsing right there on the porch, “come in, Mayor. Please. Dad!”

“On it, son. Eliza, take Zoey upstairs.”

There was a scramble as Zed guided the Mayor to a chair, allowing her to fall into it with a thump. Zevon quickly filled a glass of water, setting it on the table as Zed exhaled shakily.

“Ms. Wells? Are you ok?”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” the woman wept, head bent down as she grappled with her pure white hair, “I thought she was dead.”

“Ma’am. Do you…know about Addison?” Zed wondered hesitantly. The woman paused, then lifted her head.

“Know about her?” She croaked, “what do you mean?”

“About how special she is?” Zed insisted again, “about how she came to be here?”

“I…” Ms. Wells inhaled and exhaled, clearly trying hard not to dissolve into a fit of tears again, “I know that my daughter is different, yes.”

“And you know that she’s part…”

“Alien? Of course. So am I, as was my mother before me.”

Zed felt relief flood through him. Having to deal with another person knowing A-ddison but not her full truth was beginning to weigh on him. After all, she already had to keep her disguise on all day, it wasn’t healthy to hide who she was all the time. Zed would know; he did it every day.

“How do you know about that?” Ms. Wells wondered, glancing around the room, “did she tell you?”

“I found out on my own,” Zed laughed weakly, “she crash landed here on Friday night; I pulled her from the wreck so the z-patrol wouldn’t find her.”

“You did? She crashed! Is she ok?”

“Addy’s fine, ma’am,” Zed insisted, “She’s out with a friend right now and should be back soon.”

“Friend? How many people know about this?”

“Just a few. We’ve been keeping it on the down low since A-ddison is still getting used to Earth.”

“And yet she’s already a Cheerleader,” Ms. Wells sighed, accepting the napkin handed to her by Zevon, “thank you. I’m sorry, it’s just…I thought I‘d never see her again. It’s been 11-years. And then I came across that photo and…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Zed insisted, “I know you’re telling the truth.”

“It’s the hair, isn’t it,” the woman pouted, “can’t do a thing with it; nothing sticks.”

“The pale hair is an Alien thing?” Zed wondered as Ms. Wells nodded haltingly.

“It’s inherited. My mother had white hair for as long as I could remember. A-ddison was born with it as well.”

“It’s technically blue now, but yeah, I can see it,” Zed shrugged, “Ms. Wells, um, I’m not sure how to tell you this but…”

“She doesn’t remember me?”

Zed clicked his jaw shut, words deflating on his tongue.

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “yeah. That.”

“She was only six years old. It’s been a lifetime for her,” Missy sniffled, taking a small sip of water with quaking hands, “all of those important years…stolen from me. Stolen by my own Mother.”

“Uh…” Zed wasn’t sure what to say. What could he say? Having lost his own mother when he was young, he understood what A-ddison did. You latched to the one person ever present in your life. For him, it was his Dad. His rock. His best friend and biggest supporter. For Addy, that person was her Grandma — her Great One — with whom she was close. Ms. Wells seemed to understand this to a degree. Not sure how to proceed with the conversation, Zed turned as there were steps outside on the porch, “I’ll be right back.”

Pivoting on a heel, Zed hurried out the kitchen doorway and intercepted A-ddison as she slipped through the door. She looked completely exhausted, and blinked as he took her aside.

“Zed?” She wondered, “you look shaken.”

“Ah, uh, yes. I am. Look, we have a visitor.”

“Really?” Addy frowned, “I can’t keep this on much longer, my head is killing me.”

“She already knows about you,”

“What?” Addy’s brows popped up in confusion as she released her disguise, letting her hair go back to its usual turquoise and releasing her tail which flicked back and forth in agitation, “but…we know everyone…”

“This is a bit different,” Zed insisted hastily, “Addy, she’s your mom.”

“My…” the Alien blinked and dropped the backpack stolen from Bree to the floor, “but how is that possible?”

“She saw our photo from this morning. She recognized you and came here to see you.”

“I didn’t think she’d still be in Seabrook. I don’t even remember her.”

“But she remembers you, Addy. It’s very emotional, and she’ll probably cry and want to hold you. It’ll be a lot. Are you comfortable with that?”

“I’m not sure if comfortable suits this situation, Zed,” A-ddison frowned, “I mean, my Mother? Someone who I only know through stories. She’s here, right now? It’s all happening so fast.”

“Addy, look. It’s been a long time; almost 11 years. But that woman in there will still be a stranger to you. I want to make sure you’ll be ok with it.”

“I understand, Zed. But I want to know her if I can. Especially with my Great One now part of the Universe.”

“Ok. But you’ll speak up if you need something? Space, a drink, anything?”

“Why are you so worried about this?” A-ddison wondered curiously, brushing her hand against his arm, “I appreciate your concern, but you seem deeply invested.”

“I just…I know what I’d act like if I met my own mom again. It’s a lot of emotions.”

“I would like to meet her,” Addy said with a nod, “do I have to wear my disguise?”

“No. She’s the one you got your heritage from, after all. I don’t think she’d rat us out.”

“Rat…?”

“Figure of speech,” Zed corrected automatically, picking up A-ddison’s hand and squeezing it, “ready?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, come on,” tugging the girl along with him, A-ddison appeared to be nonchalant. Her expression was very flat and practiced. But her grip tightened, and Zed could hear her breathing speed up as the neared the kitchen, “Ms. Wells? This is A-ddison.”

Walking into the kitchen, Addy shifted a bit to stand closer to him as they looked at the woman currently sitting in the chair. The silence was overwhelming, and Zed could absolutely feel that Addy was very nervous. But Ms. Wells slowly rose to her feet. She looked ready to burst into sobs again, refusing to move as she grasped both hands in front of her.

“…h-hi baby,” she whispered faintly, “you probably don’t remember me.”

“I…” A-ddison couldn’t get the words out. But she slowly stepped forward, letting go of Zed’s hand as her antennae flattened on their own, giving away her current anxiety. She moved slowly, like a cautious animal. Ms. Wells was rooted to her exact spot, not even twitching as Addy reached out to very gently touch her snowy white hair, exploring it with her fingers.

“You look so much like my Great One,” A-ddison mumbled, tilting her head as she very slowly ghosted her hand across the elder woman’s face, “you have the same eyes.”

“She used to tell me the same thing,” Ms. Wells nodded, smiling faintly (though her lip was wobbling), “you’ve grown up so much, Addison. You’re beautiful. I remember…h-holding you in my arms. You were so perfect.”

A-ddison smiled too; something wistful and light as she came to some sort of decision in her mind. Obviously she had been thinking very deeply; perhaps trying to decide if this woman really was who she was looking for.

“Mom,” she said finally, accepting the title in her mind as Ms. Wells shattered.

“My baby girl,” she wept, stepping forward to embrace her daughter. Zed moved to intervene — he wanted to intervene. But Addy accepted the embrace, wrapping her arms around her Mom’s back as she wept, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I promise I‘ll do better.”

Ms. Wells raked a hand through A-ddison’s wide blue curls, pulling away from the embrace to hold her daughters face in both hands, “look at you; you’ve grown into your heritage.”

“Grandma told me stories about you,” A-ddison said, “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for all of that,” the woman exhaled, heavy and exhausted like a stone had been lifted off her chest. She straightened up, keeping one arm around Addy’s shoulders and running circles across her arm with a thumb as the Mayor glanced back at him.

“I can’t thank you enough, Zed.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he sputtered, shaking off the sense of longing he was feeling for his own mom.

“You brought my little girl here. You kept her safe, and are teaching her about Earth. That’s hardly nothing.”

“Well I mean…” Zed shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.

“He’s my boyfriend,” A-ddison insisted to her Mother with a grin, “the best there is.”

“So I’ve heard,” Ms. Wells chuckled, once again touching Addy’s cheek to make sure she was still real, “Zed, I owe you and your family so much. If there is anything you need, anything at all, please just say the word.”

“That’s kind of you, Mayor,” Zed smiled, “I’m just glad that A-ddison’s happy.”

“Well, if you think of anything,” the woman smiled, turning to her daughter again to fuss over as Zed shoved both hands into his pockets and paused. Glancing towards the staircase, his bedroom light was still shining. Bonzo, Eliza and Zoey were probably still dealing with Mount Dirty Laundry.

“Uh, Mayor?” He asked, pursing his lips as the woman turned to look at him again, “there is…one thing, that I could use some help with.”

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 2 years ago

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I'm sick of picking outfits to wear every single day. I have half a mind to buy seven nice shirts and seven nice pants so I can start wearing the same thing every day of the week. I don't mean seven of the same outfits, I mean seven different outfits each worn on their assigned day. Every Sunday, one outfit. Every Wednesday, one outfit. Every Friday, one outfit. You get the idea. It would simplify my morning routine and definitively prove whether or not I'm losing clothes in the wash (no matter how many outfits I buy, I inevitably end up cycling through the same three or four shirts and two or three shorts, and I have no clue what happens to all the rest of them)

I think assigned outfits could be fun. If I had money burning a hole in my pocket I could even have multiple ourfits per day with different levels of formality; dress clothes for special occasions, nice polos and khakis for work, t-shirts and shorts for casual wear, all with coordinated colors so I'd know which day of the week it was no matter what. I'm thinking ROYGBIV, red on Sunday, orange on Monday, yellow on Tuesday, etc. Going to the store on Wednesday? Green t-shirt. Going on a date on Friday? Indigo dress shirt. Same colors every day no matter the occasion, like a cartoon character.

It's like in Jurassic Park, how Ian Malcom only owns black clothing so he doesn't have to worry about what to wear. No need to waste time picking something new every single day, just pop on your daily uniform (I guess it would technically be a septiform). I would love to have a walk in closet with my outfits all lined up in a row, labeled for easy access, no stress, no mess, just to be done with it all.

I don't know if I'll ever have the opportunity to do this, but it's nice to think about. If I had gotten the library job I was absolutely gonna do it, but it passed me by and my current job is far too casual to justify dressing up for it (it's not a career, I'm not gonna wear my Sunday best just to get yelled at by rich assholes who have the memory and reading comprehension of a goldfish)

I have never cared about my image until recently. I want to look my best, which means I need to stop dressing like a high school student in $10 t-shirts and relaxed fit cargo shorts from Target. Whether I buy daily outfits or not, I need to put some effort into my appearance.

#personal post #outfits #clothes #clothing #shirts #pants #shorts #days of the week

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slippinmickeys · 4 years ago

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Five Seconds (4/8)

If you’d like to read at AO3, you may do so here.

June 4, 2018

Mulder stood in the kitchen wearing only sweatpants, the rented house quiet around him. Scully had headed to the local Meijer for supplies of every stripe, and both kids had leapt at the chance to go with her, a rare occurrence the last few years, but a clear result of forced low profile and cabin fever.

He was nursing a rare cup of caffeinated coffee and watching a black squirrel make a nuisance of itself on the residence’s sole backyard bird feeder. When his new cell phone rang, he answered it out of muscle memory.

“Hello?”

“Hello Fox,” said the person on the other end of the line, “aren’t you a sound for sore ears.”

It took him a moment to place the voice.

“Lauren,” he said after a moment, smiling into the receiver, “it’s good to hear from you, too. I take it you got the information I sent you?”

Mulder had had Frohike send her their contact information as they’d previously agreed, and he assumed this was the first of her planned unplanned check-ins.

“It was a little cloak and dagger, even for the District,” she said, and Mulder could hear her smile over the line.

“And I always thought you lived for the drama,” he said companionably.

“Well, I got to wear my best Carmen SanDiego hat, so I guess I can’t be mad.”

Mulder chuckled into the receiver.

“How’s it going?” Lauren asked, her tone shifting to one of sober inquiry.

“It’s going.”

“Dana okay?” her question was sincere, and Mulder marveled how time could change a person.

“She’s good,” he said, “healthy. All systems go. I’m sure she’d want me to send you her best.”

“And the kids? How are they handling it all?”

Mulder sighed.

Will was adjusting, but Lily was miserable. Lonely and bored, unable to talk to friends back home and without the specter and excitement of starting school in the fall. She’d even begged to be able to get a summer job, even as just a waitress at the local Bennigan’s, but Mulder didn’t like the idea of her being away from the house for hours at a time, and Scully wasn’t sold on their borrowed Social Security numbers passing an employment check.

“The kids are… okay.”

“Going that well, huh?” she asked.

“Lil is pretty miserable,” he admitted.

“Of course she’s miserable,” Lauren scolded him, “she’s 18 years old and stuck in a house with her well-meaning parents. She should be at the beach with friends getting day drunk on Bud Light-”

“-she would never-” Mulder interrupted, to which Lauren outright laughed in his ear.

“-I assure you, she already has!”

Mulder sighed again. “Aside from dropping her off at the lake and buying her a rack of shit beer, you got any ideas?”

“College boys in tight pants,” Lauren said.

“Excuse me?” Mulder asked, taken aback.

“Take the family to a football game Fox, you’re in a Big Ten town for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not football season yet.”

“Just take her somewhere with a lot of people. And give her a little bit of freedom. And when it is football season?”

“Yeah?” Mulder asked.

“Take her to see the tight pants.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

September 3, 2018

It had been months and they started to relax, maybe a bit too much. They were alert, but comfortable. Maybe complacent, Mulder couldn't tell. All he knew was that if he kept the kids in the house for much longer, they'd kill each other and possibly him and Scully in the crossfire, and it would defeat the whole purpose of their hiding out. That said, all was quiet on the homefront -- Darlene and the Gunmen, and to a lesser extent, Doggett, Reyes and Skinner -- had heard nothing with their ears to the ground.

He and Scully had discussed it, and decided that they would let the kids out of the house. They allowed them to socialize occasionally, if they promised to be careful. Will had made a couple of friends around the neighborhood, playing roller hockey in their cul de sac, but Lily hadn't had as much luck, or as much motivation. She had been quiet and keeping mostly to herself, and come September, Mulder had decided to finally take Lauren's advice. They were going to a football game.

William was beside himself with excitement which made up for Lily's lack of enthusiasm. Scully had opted out of attending, citing her increasing need of accessible bathrooms and the inevitable long lines at ladies rooms in sports arenas.

They took the bus to the edge of the MSU campus -- the first time any of them had been on it since moving to the town several months before. There were people everywhere -- most dressed in the hometown colors of green and white, but a rare few -- looking as lost on campus as the Mulders themselves -- in the brown and gold of the visiting team.

Mulder had ducked into the student union to get a campus map, whereupon William insisted he buy all three of them something supporting the hometown team. Lily opted out, but William and Mulder walked out each in a brand new ball cap, the brims stiff and flat -- in addition, William was carrying a big foam finger emblazoned with the number 1 and the gruff face of Michigan State's Spartan mascot, Sparty.

"It's this way," Mulder said, consulting his map and pointing south, and they set off following streams of people headed toward the stadium which sat in the middle of campus.

The day was delightfully mild, and while the sun shone, there were fat clouds everywhere that would cover it as soon as you were at risk of overheating. There seemed to be tailgate parties set up at increasing concentrations the closer they got to the stadium, the air thick with the scent of grilling meat and tinny stereos playing the home school's fight song.

There were frat boys throwing a football back and forth every thirty or so feet, and crowds of coeds sipping beer from green Solo cups, hovering around games of corn hole and beer pong, laughing while they clung to each other like the last few Cheerios floating in a bowl of milk.

Mulder stole a glance at Lily, who looked at them wistfully. School had just started here at Michigan State and the week before at UVA, and Mulder could tell his daughter was fairly heartbroken about not being able to attend.

Mulder pulled up short and Lily and William both stopped several steps past him and turned to look at him expectantly.

"One sec," he said and walked over to a large tent wherein an alumni organization was selling hot dogs and brats to raise funds. He bought three bratwurst and a couple of sodas and walked them back to his kids, hands full and pockets overflowing with napkins and little packets of ketchup and mustard.

He nodded toward a low stone wall that ran along the length of one of the sidewalks and they all sat down and ate sloppily, ketchup plopping to the sidewalk that they leaned over so as not to spill on their clothes. William was of course done first and snapped open his soda, slurping from it happily.

"They call it pop here," he said, raising his can and giving his father a cheeky smirk.

"No one cares, Billy," Lily said, wiping her lips delicately with a napkin and setting the last quarter of the brat on the wall beside her. "I'm stuffed," she declared.

Will happily scarfed the rest of her sausage and Mulder was about to suggest they start moving again toward the stadium when a frisbee glided through the air and scuffed to the ground at their feet. Lily jumped off the wall and picked it up, looking around to find its owner, who was trotting toward them in droopy cargo shorts and an overlarge school shirt that said "I BLEED GREEN."

Mulder shook his head as Lily pulled back and winged it back toward the guy, sailing it in a perfect arc into his waiting hands.

The kid smiled at her, teeth and all.

"Nice arm!" the kid said, giving her one more charming look before trotting back toward his friends who were waiting further across the Diag that cut through the center of campus.

Mulder glanced at Lily who was wearing a small but fading smile.

He stood, balling up the napkin and sausage detritus. He turned to Lily impulsively.

"You want a beer?" he asked her.

She almost blanched and gave him a queer look.

"A beer?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, "you're a college kid now, no reason you shouldn't enjoy a cold one before a football game like all these other coeds."

Lily gave him a suspicious look just as Will piped up, "I want a beer."

"No," Mulder said, cutting off any complaints with a sharp look and then he walked over to a fraternity tent and talked for a moment to the kid that was manning the keg. After a few words, he handed over a few bills of cash and returned to his kids, handing Lily a dripping plastic cup.

He took a sip of his own cup and inclined his head at his daughter.

"Not the best," he said, while she took a tentative sip.

She smiled over the rim of the cup but kept her eyes on the ground.

"Tastes like college," she said, and Mulder couldn't help but smile.

XxX

"Hey Frisbee," Lily heard from several feet to her right.

She stood up from the drinking fountain in a nook of the stadium in between lavatories, and used her wrist to wipe her mouth dry.

The guy who lost his frisbee at her feet while they were eating before the game was standing only yards away, a small cocksure smile on his lips. Lily tilted her head at him.

"I thought that was you," he went on.

She nodded awkwardly and stepped away from the drinking fountain so the person behind her could drink.

"I think you're in the wrong stadium," he said, and when she looked at him in confusion, he smiled kindly and pointed at her shirt.

She'd donned a UVA sweatshirt for the game out of a sense of loyalty or rebellion (she wasn't sure which, if she were being honest) and she only realized when they stepped onto campus how much it actually made her stand out.

"This isn't the UVA game?" she said mock seriously, "God, I took a left heading into Charlottesville and I guess I should have taken a right." The comment earned her a chuckle and a genuine smile. "Guess the extra ten hours in the car should have been my first clue."

The guy took a few steps toward her and held out his hand.

"Travis," he said by way of introduction, and she shook his hand politely. It was warm in hers, and his grip was firm but brief.

"Lillian," Lily said, almost forgetting to introduce herself with her cover name.

"That's pretty," Travis said, and Lily could feel herself blushing, feeling awkward that it wasn't really her name. "So you go to UVA?"

She nodded. "Deferred for a semester while my folks moved here." Her father had told her to stick as close as she could to their actual stories when telling people their covers in order to keep it all straight.

"Cool," said Travis. They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"I should get back to my seat," she said, "halftime's almost over."

People were streaming back into the seating areas, and she could hear the marching band keeping tempo as they marched off the field.

Travis shoved his hands into his pockets and for a moment looked slightly bashful.

"Yeah," he said, turning away and taking a few steps, before turning back. "Hey, you want to hang out sometime?"

Lily thought to herself that just about anything sounded better than having to spend one more night at home playing Hearts at the dining room table.

"Sure," she said, and Travis pulled out his phone and handed it to her.

She put in the number of the phone that Darlene had given her and felt only a little weird entering "Lillian" in the name box.

When she handed Travis back the phone, he used his other hand to lightly touch her arm.

"Hey, it was nice meeting you," he said.

"You too," she smiled and wandered back to her seat, trying very hard to keep a smile off her face.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"So..." Scully started, not sure how to broach the subject, other than just to spit it out, "Lily wants to know if she can go 'hang out with a guy.'"

She was sitting at the dining room table sipping on an iced tea, the dew of condensation slippery and cold on her fingertips. She was feeling pendulous and heavy, the high of the second trimester given way to the rolling agony of the third. Her husband, as she had suspected he would, looked suddenly aghast.

"She... what?"

"She got asked out, Mulder, and would like to know if it was okay with us if she went."

William came breezing through the kitchen then, opening up the fridge door and hanging in front of it, blankly staring at its contents, unimpressed.

"Pick something or don't, Will," Mulder said testily to his current youngest, "but please stop letting all the cold out of the fridge."

Will grabbed a soda and stood while the fridge door closed on its own behind him.

"That's Billy to you," he said, mocking insult, and made his way slowly out of the kitchen, staring at Mulder who affectionately reached out as he passed and messed his red curls into an orange soda froth on the top of his head.

"You need a haircut," Mulder said, and Will lifted his nose, shaking his hair out with dignified hauteur.

"So do you," the boy said and left the room.

Scully chuckled. "Don't take it out on him," she said.

Mulder shook himself and turned back to her.

"Take what out on him?"

"That your daughter is growing up and you're not ready. You look like you did the night she went to prom with Derek Smead."

Mulder looked completely affronted.

"He didn't even come to the house! He just had the limo honk and she ran out the door. You didn't get any pictures! Who does that? No self-respecting gentleman. I honestly still don't believe he's a real person."

Scully chuckled again. "And she left him at the dance after an hour and took the limo with five friends to the Sonic drive-in. She's got a good head on her shoulders, Mulder."

"I know she does."

"So what do you think? Is it safe to let her date?"

"I don't like it."

"I didn't ask if you liked it. I asked if you thought it was safe."

Mulder blew out a raspberry. Scully knew that he was thinking the same thing she was -- they'd let Will hang out with a few new friends so long as he was careful. Lily arguably had more common sense by nature of her age (and her gender, thought Scully). She would take precautions and employ the minimal tradecraft Mulder and Scully had taught her.

"What do you think?" Mulder asked her.

"I think she's 18 years old and we're lucky she even ran it by us. If she were away at school, she'd be making these decisions for herself."

Mulder's shoulders slumped.

"As long as she's careful," he finally said.

"I'll give her some condoms," Scully muttered, an offhand remark.

"Scully!" Mulder blanched.

"I just wanted to see the look on your face," Scully laughed.

Mulder shook his head and turned to walk out of the room.

Scully was still chuckling minutes later.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Hey Frisbee," said a voice from behind her.

Lily turned to see Travis standing several feet away in the middle of the footbridge. He was wearing black flip flops, a pair of long khaki shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. His hair -- dark tousled waves, cut short but shaggy -- was poking in all directions out of a university ball cap, which, she was relieved to see, was pristinely white without a yellowing band of sweat or scuzz. His face looked freshly shaved and he was smiling.

"Hey yourself," she said, and took a step toward him.

He reached into his pocket as she approached and pulled out a ziplock sandwich bag, filled with a gritty grey substance. She took it with some hesitation.

"Is this... a bag of oatmeal?" she asked.

He colored and put both hands up.

"Okay, so: I was going to bring your flowers, but then I thought you know what would be cute? Flour . So I went to our pantry and I'm looking at this giant bag of flour and I'm like what the hell is she going to do with a giant bag of flour? And then I saw the oatmeal and thought -- well, we're meeting on the footbridge, we could feed the ducks! ...So I brought you oatmeal. Bread is bad for ducks."

Despite the lengthy diatribe, Lily laughed. "It was nice of you to think of the ducks," she said.

"Well," he said, and walked with her to the railing of the footbridge, which crossed the Red Cedar River. "The bag itself is multipurpose. If you think it'd be fun, I thought we could rent a canoe later and go down the river?"

"What does that have to do with the bag?" she asked, leaning over the railing and looking down into the tannin-tinted water. A cluster of ducks, trained to anticipate food, swam quickly toward them.

"We can put our phones in it," he said, leaning into her shoulder a little. "I myself have been through the gauntlet of canoe training at Camp Quitcherbitchin as a young lad, but you're an unknown quantity, Frisbee. What if you dunk us? I aim to save our electronics."

Lily laughed again, charmed despite herself. She opened the baggie and threw a handful of oats to the waiting ducks below, which scurried as fast as they could swim for the feast. Lily offered Travis some, and he took a handful and cast it out. They fed the ducks for a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Finally, Lily asked: "Camp Quitcherbitchin?"

Travis smiled.

"Sleep-away summer camp up north. I went every year. It's actually called Camp Nageesh, but some of the counselors were somewhat less than tolerant of complaints, so the campers called it Quitcherbitchin.”

Lily chuckled. "Canoes, huh?"

"Plus sailboats, swimming and archery. I refuse to divulge which I have a higher level of competency in, in case you're some kind of polymath with a competitive bent."

"You aren't one of those guys who can't stand it when a girl is better than you at something, are you?" Lily asked.

“Are you a polymath with a competitive bent?” Travis grabbed another handful of oatmeal and threw it toward a mother with a brood of ducklings that were having trouble getting into the mix.

“I’ve got some game,” Lily said, arching an eyebrow that would have made her mother proud.

"In that case," he said, turning toward her. His eyes were a mossy green, like her father's. He gave her a small smile, “I look forward to being outmatched."

"Well," said Lily, intrigued. She scattered out the last bit of oatmeal and, blowing some of the grit from the bag, put her phone into it and handed it to Travis for him to do the same. "Let's see what you're made of, Paddles."

XxX

"We seem to be drifting a bit to starboard," Lily called over her shoulder. Travis had taken the backseat ("Do you mind if I steer?" he'd asked). They'd managed to board and push off okay -- the bored-looking livery attendant having given them minimal instruction, but held the craft as they both lifted themselves gingerly aboard.

"I'm aware of that," said Travis, his voice a little tense for the first time.

"You said you were steering," she teased him. They were rapidly making for the opposite shore of the river, the canoe swinging sideways with the current.

"I'm aware of that too," he said back, and then a moment later, she felt the canoe sway radically, followed by a splash. She grabbed the side of the craft for dear life and then swung her head to look behind her. Travis had jumped out of the canoe and was now holding it by the triangle at the stern with one hand, paddle in the other; halting their momentum, which had been about to take them into a bramble of cedar branches hanging low over the water.

"Oh my god!" Lily squeaked. "Are you okay? Did you fall?"

"I jumped," Travis said, "If you headed home with a rat's nest of cedar sprays in your hair, you might not go out with me again."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Lily said, setting her oar down on the bottom of the canoe.

"Will you go out with me again?" Travis said hopefully, and the smile he flashed her made her want to say yes, but instead she teased:

"Too early to make that call."

"This water is really cold, Lillian," he said, and turned, pulling the canoe behind him into the water upstream and back toward the livery.

"It looks it," Lily said. "If I do go out with you again, let's stick with something land-based, huh?"

Travis threw a grin at her and kept trudging, clearly trying his best to keep the craft steady so she didn't fall in herself. She checked her pockets briefly for their phones, which she'd offered to hold on to, and watched him. The river was relatively shallow -- he was a tall guy and the water was only soaking the cuff of his shorts.

"Your parents should call Camp Quitcherbitchin and get their money back, Travis," she said, canting her face up to the sun and closing her eyes briefly. She shrieked when the canoe suddenly lurched to one side. She grabbed the side and looked at her date, who had stopped and was wearing a mischievous grin. He was still wearing the dorky orange life jacket that they'd been required to don, and the whole situation made Lily start laughing.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Travis said, turning again to continue the trudge back to base. "I'll have you know that I learned how to canoe on a lake. I forgot to account for one variable."

"The current?" Lily asked.

"The current," he admitted.

They made it back to shore and he helped her out of the canoe, explaining to the still benumbed livery worker that they wouldn't be back, but still throwing a soggy five dollar bill in the tip jar. After retrieving his flip flops from the bottom of the small boat, he offered to take Lily to the campus Dairy Store for ice cream.

"Your campus has a Dairy Store?" she asked him curiously.

"This is Moo U, Lillian," he explained, steering her a few blocks from the river to a large brick building beyond the main engineering hall. "This street is Farm Lane. We have cattle."

Once inside they reviewed the offerings, and Lily noticed that they had a flavor for every university in the Big Ten conference -- even their arch rivals. About which he announced, "I'll buy you anything but the Maize & Blueberry. I like you, but even I have my limits."

Once they had their cones (she with Boilermaker Brownie and he with Hoosier Daddy ("basically strawberry," he explained)), they settled onto a picnic table in the shade.

"So," Travis said, licking a drop that had melted onto his knuckle, "why'd you end up deferring this semester?"

Lily swallowed the bite in her mouth without chewing. They had prepared cover stories but she hadn't yet needed to use hers. Stick with the truth as much as you can , said her father's voice.

"My dad got a job here and my mom is pregnant. She was on bedrest for a while and needed help."

Travis was looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn't -- continuing to nervously lick her cone. After a long moment of waiting, he kindly plowed ahead, asking her about her major and telling her about his. He was a sophomore, from a town in the northern part of the state, and she found him inherently easy to talk to and interesting, and wondered, idly, if that was because he really was interesting or if she were just starved for company and attention.

When they finished up, they threw away their napkins in a nearby trash can and stood looking at each other, only a little awkwardly.

“So... “ Travis started, “still too early to make the call?”

She smiled, remembering what she’d told him in the canoe about going out with him again. “I like your chances.”

He smiled back and she felt a little thrill. “Lillian, will you go out with me again?” he asked.

“Dry land stuff?”

“The driest.”

“In that case, yes.”

She was still feeling the soft kiss he'd given her cheek hours later as she sat around the dining room table, fielding invasive questions from her father and trying to avoid her mother’s eye.

#MSR #AU #Sequel #Of the Eight Winds #X-Files #Fanfic #My fic

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danipixel · 4 years ago

Text

Wherever the Force May Go

I haven’t written fanfiction in something like 10 years. Now here I am with an OC and ideas. I blame my favorite discord chat for this. Specifically @maulieber. All her fault. And Maul’s. He’s one hell of a muse. If this isn’t awful, there will be more coming.

3k words?! How did that happen?

Summary: Daia Veeral is an ex-Jedi smuggler with a fondness for Mandalore. When she finds her favorite world is under new leadership, she makes a special trip in hopes of new opportunities. What she finds is a bigger challenge than she expected. Only the Force knows where her life goes now.

The Tarisian cantina Daia found herself in was filthy. The drinks were alright but the droids never cleaned. Despite the dirt, this was the best place on the planet to look for work. At least, it was most days. Today there was nothing. Every shipping and smuggling job was either taken or paid garbage for credits. She was in no mood to take a mercenary job, no matter how well it paid. “I’m not broke yet.” she thought.

She walked up to the bar making sure her lightsabers stayed hidden in her jacket. It was time for a drink. She shouted and waved to the bartender, “Hey Jek! I need something strong and cheap. Whatcha got?” The Togruta behind the counter poured her a small glass of dark brown liquid. “You’re not going to like it.”

Daia took the glass and downed the presumably nontoxic drink in one move. It burned down her throat and seared her sinuses. “How do you drink that engine grease?” She choked out between coughs. “I don’t. You said strong and cheap.”

“I guess I did.” she said with a hand wave. “Anyway, please tell me you have news for me. I don’t care if the job is legal or not. I just need to keep the Fever Dream in the air.”

Jek finished cleaning up the counter before answering. “Sorry Daia. No work, but I did hear some news from Mandalore you might be interested in.”

That had her attention. The jobs from Mandalore were the best paying contracts she had ever had. With the Prime Minister in prison and Death Watch less active than usual she hadn’t heard from her contacts in months. She just assumed they were dead or hiding. “What did the Duchess do now? Piss off Death Watch again? Trip down the stairs of Sundari Palace cause her dress was too extravagant?”

Jek let out a small chuckle at that last thought. “No. I mean, she’s always pissing off Death Watch. Or at least, she was. Word is that they took over Mandalore and put Almec back as Prime Minister. Almec says Satine herself killed Viszla in a fit of rage after they took over.”

“Bullshit!”

“Yeah, I know, but I also heard Death Watch was taken over by someone else and that’s how he died. A couple of monsters by the sound of it.”

Daia rolled her eyes. “There’s no such thing as monsters, Jek. But, I think I may need to pay a visit to Mandalore.” She tossed Jek some credits for the “drink” and started towards the door.

Before she made it out the door Jek shouted, "Hey Daia, try to stay out of trouble!" She turned around and flashed a smile before leaving the cantina. "Never!"

On the way to the Fever Dream, Daia reached out to the Force. The war raging across the galaxy made it more difficult to pinpoint specific occurrences within the Force, but something had definitely happened on Mandalore. She felt something that almost felt like a storm when she focused her mind on the warrior world. If Almec was Prime Minister again, there was no way he was actually the one in charge. That man had no backbone. He may have had Daia on his payroll before but that doesn’t mean she had to like the man. Maybe she really should go to Sundari and find out who the new leader really was. After all, it would only be polite to introduce herself and maybe reestablish a partnership. Hopefully this one would be more reasonable than Viszla.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daia turned the corner into the docking hangar she had left her ship and saw one of her most loved sights in the galaxy, the Fever Dream waiting to take her into the stars. She picked up her pace and jogged up the loading ramp into the small freighter. She ran her finger along a small patch of rust near the airlock. The poor girl needs some maintenance again. That’ll have to wait until Daia comes into some credits again. Daia saved every credit she could spare for a year in order to buy the ship. It was in rough shape but having her own ship was like a dream come true. Something to belong to her and not the Jedi Order. She quickly checked on engines to make sure they would still run as smooth and silent as ever. Those were the first things she replaced after her first simple cargo transport jobs. The original engines were constantly running too hot and nearly cooked her inside the hull. Her dream ship had a fever and a name.

Satisfied with the state of the engines and pulling herself out of memories, she made her way to the cockpit and started her takeoff procedures from the well worn pilot’s seat. With every button press and flip of a switch, the Fever Dream came to life and lifted from the hangar floor. Daia guided the quiet ship through the Tarisian atmosphere and into the calming open expanse of space. That view always brought a smile to her face. The galaxy and endless options in front of her. Nothing but herself, her ship, and the Force as her copilot. She entered her destination into the navicomputer and waited for hyperspace jump calculations. After a minute, the computer alerted her that the ship was ready to jump and she activated the hyperdrive. “Let’s go home, love.” Stars stretched and streaked past the viewport and were replaced by a tunnel of light as the ship was thrown into hyperspace.

She sat back in her chair for a moment, enjoying the swirling lights in front of her. Starting to feel a bit restless, she got up and tossed her jacket and sabers into the copilot seat then meandered her way through the ship, eventually finding herself in the empty cargo hold in front of her training droid, P4R-E. She activated the droid and picked up a couple of training blades. No sense in cutting holes through the hull with her lightsabers. “Wake up Parry! Time for some exercise.” The droid stood to attention and held out a staff. “Yes, Mistress. Shall we begin a combat scenario?”

Daia held her twin blades in a defensive stance and circled her droid. “Begin combat, Parry.” The droid rushed at her. He aimed high and she easily deflected the blow to the side. She felt the Force begin to flow through her body and guide every strike. P4R-E then aimed for her legs with a low sweep. She leapt over the blow and brought one training blade towards his side, which he caught with his staff. He quickly thrust a flurry of blows at her torso, forcing her to rapidly back up several steps while she repeatedly knocked the staff to her side. She rapidly circled around and took aim at P4R-E’s back. The droid managed to twist around and just barely catch her blade before it could connect. She brought up the second blade and slammed it under his arm. The droid straightened and faced the ex-Jedi. “Well done, Mistress. Shall we begin again?”

She rolled her shoulders while backing up to the other side of the cargo hold. “Sure Parry. Let’s try a more difficult combat program this time. Begin combat.” They began the dance again and continued for some time, both striking blows on the other, before Daia’s restlessness had been taken care of. Breathing heavily and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, she stopped the training droid. “That’s enough for today Parry. I need to go shower. Go ahead and power down for now.” P4R-E took his place in the corner of the cargo hold again. “As you wish Mistress.”

Daia walked to her room and the refresher to get cleaned up. No sense in meeting her new employer covered in sweat. After a quick run through the sonic shower, she put on a clean black and grey outfit and put her boots back on. She examined herself in the mirror and quickly fixed her short cropped dark curls and applied fresh makeup. Satisfied with her appearance she took a seat on the cushion in the corner of the small room and began to meditate. Some Jedi practices never would go away.

She let out a slow breath and let the Force flow into and through her mind. “Alright old friend, what do you have for me? What am I walking into?” Her old master always gently teased her when she’d speak with the Force like it was a living person. If it was alive, why not treat it as such? After several minutes, Daia felt her mind slip through the Force towards Mandalore. She saw the world she had adopted as a second home in her mind’s eye, all desert sands dotted with shining domed cities. She saw Sundari among them and focused on the capital city. The Force showed her the familiar sights of Mandalorian markets and parks, filled with the passion driven people she adored. In her vision she looked toward the palace but something was different. It was covered in shadows that her sight couldn’t penetrate. She pushed towards the palace but felt her projection pushed back. “I’m not afraid of the dark. Let me through.” The Force relented and her vision passed into the shadow. The familiar chill of the dark side surrounded her but still, she pressed on through the storm of shadows. “Come on, something has to be there.” She focused all her mind through the darkness until she finally saw something. She saw eyes. Golden eyes wreathed in flame. Above the eyes she saw what appeared to be a sharp pointed crown. The vision quickly faded from her and forced her back to her own senses. “No, no, no. That can’t be all. There’s more, right?” She tried again to dive into the shadows in Sundari palace and once more saw the same eyes and the same crown. She finally gave up and stood up from her meditation. “Fine. Be cryptic.”

The ship’s alarm went off and alerted her that it would soon reach her destination and she would need to take control again. Not knowing exactly what she’d run into today, Daia grabbed her blaster and strapped it to her hip. She ran back to the cockpit, put her sabers and jacket back on and took a seat in the pilot seat. When she reached her destination, she dropped the ship out of hyperspace.

The familiar sight of Mandalore filled the viewport of the Fever Dream as Daia pulled out of hyperspace. Home sweet home. Almost. She flew a course through the atmosphere towards the dome of Sundari and the usual port she would always dock with. Once she had put the ship down guards ran out towards the unexpected ship wearing armor painted red and black. That was new. She secured her sabers firmly under her jacket as she walked off the ship, making sure they stayed hidden but that her blaster was in easy reach. No sense walking into this unprepared.

“Stop! You’re not supposed to be here.” One of the Mandalorians shouted, raising his blaster. “We’re not expecting any ships this morning. What are you doing here?”

Daia kept her hands in the air but focused her mind on the Force. Reaching out to the guards’ minds and giving just that little push needed to have her will be theirs. Finding that point in their minds, she pushed her will into their thoughts hard. “You’re going to step aside and let me go to Sundari Palace. I have business with the Prime Minister.”

Daia calmly held her open hands in the air. “Su’cuy Mando! I’m here on business. I need to have a conversation with the man in charge.”

“That’s not happening.” The second guard took aim at her head. Clearly, normal conversation wasn’t going to work on these two.

After a moment, the two warriors lowered their blasters and stepped aside. “You have business with the Prime Minister. Welcome to Sundari.”

“Thank you.” Daia quickly walked past the two and took up a rapid pace towards the palace. Slipping in and out of the morning Sundari crowds, she found her usual path to the back of the palace. There was an old servant entrance that was rarely used in recent years. Duchess Satine preferred to have her people enter through the main entrances. Servant pathways were now reserved for those working maintenance and the smugglers Almec had employed. Daia rounded the last corner for the entrance and immediately dropped back behind the wall with a whisper, “Shit.” There was a Death Watch guard watching the door. There was no way she was talking her way in there.

She thought about her options. Mind trick? No, palace guards are smarter than dock guards. Flirt? No, that’s just too obvious. Bribery? No, Death Watch doesn’t take bribes. That Mandalorian honor can really get annoying. Knock him out? No, he’ll know someone went in. She had an idea and started to head away from the guard. This is so stupid, it can’t fail. She snuck through the small space and found a corner to hide in. Pulling out her blaster she screamed, “Help! Gaa’tayl! Gedet’ye! Oh gods he’s going to kill him!” Daia fired two shots straight into the ground and took off back the way she came.

Running back to the door, she heard the guard shouting and running into the corner she came from. Let’s see if the codes are still the same. She punched in the old door code Almec used for his smugglers to come and go as needed. The door quietly slid open. Almec, you idiot. Change your codes once in a while. Daia slipped into the open doorway and quickly shut the door behind her.

Once she was in the servant passages she wrapped the Force around her like a cloak to help her sneak through the palace. Almec and Death Watch would be in the throne room this time of day, which meant a lot of walking. Climbing the many stairs and walking the winding pathways, Daia hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake. There was a presence in the Force that she’d never felt here before. Something or someone powerful. Before she knew it, the small door that led to the corner of the throne room was in front of her. She pressed her ear to the door and could hear voices beyond. Almec was in there, that was for sure. She heard several other voices but didn’t recognize them. The presence was still in there and it was powerful. Powerful and dark. Am I still doing this? Yes, yes I am. It’s now or never.

Daia opened the door and strode confidently into the throne room with a grin. “Good morning Almec! It’s good to see you alive and well! Congratulations on your release from prison.”

A dozen Mandalorians in red and black armor turned and aimed their blasters straight at Daia’s head. She took the hint and held her hands in the air. Across the room Almec started with a curse. “Oh sweet maker, what do you want?”

A quick glance around the throne room was all she needed to know she was right about Mandalore's new leader. An unfamiliar man with crimson and black skin and a crown of horns sat on the throne. That explains the new armor. To his side was another Zabrak. This one was larger with longer horns and gold and black skin. The Force swirled around the two men like a storm. These men were no simple warriors. They were Force users. Strong ones at that.

The warrior with horns welded to his helmet brought her attention back to the blasters in her face. "Who are you and what are you doing here? Spying? An assassin?"

Is that Saxon under the bucket? "I used to smuggle for Almec and Death Watch. Are you saying you forgot about me? I came here to talk business and maybe reestablish our relationship since you seem to be under new leadership." Viszla's dead but Kryze was nowhere to be found. It seems things had changed more than she thought.

The Mandalorian gestured towards her blaster on her hip, "If you’re here to discuss business, then why are you armed?" Definitely Saxon under there.

Daia let out a dramatic gasp. "Someone armed among the Mando’ade? Who would do such a thing?" She looked back at Almec who was pretending and failing to act like he didn't recognize her. "Are all these warriors such di’kutla?" That earned her a deep chuckle from the man on the throne. Good, he has a sense of humor. That’s an improvement.

Daia lowered her hands slightly and addressed the Prime Minister again. "It looks like you’ve made some new friends since the last time I was here, burc'ya." She reached out with the Force to make a small connection to the Zabrak on the throne. A greeting, almost like a knock on the door. I see you. His eyes immediately snapped to hers in response. Golden eyes wreathed in flame and not a crown, but horns. Now the vision made sense.

The Force wielder gestured to Death Watch to lower their blasters as he finally spoke, "Answer them. Who are you and why are you here?"

She finally dropped her hands entirely and put on her most charming smile. "My name is Daia Veeral. I’ve been smuggling for Almec for about two and half years now. I'd heard he was Prime Minister again but this time publicly backed by Death Watch. I’d also heard rumors Death Watch was taken over by monsters. I came to see for myself.”

The Zabrak narrowed his eyes at her monster comment. "So, Daia Veeral, do you see the monsters you came for?" He gestured to himself and the now glowering man beside him.

Daia shook her head, "I don’t believe in monsters. What I see is a very capable man on the throne of Mandalore." She moved to take a step towards the throne. This time a blaster muzzle met the side of her skull and a woman spoke. "Don't take another step."

Letting out a snort and a laugh Daia teased, "What are you, his bodyguards?"

The red Zabrak smirked at her joke and again signaled for the blaster to be lowered. This man wielded power like he was born to do it. "Do you have a problem with my personal guard?"

She shot a glare at the Mandalorian that had just threatened her. I think I know her. Kast, I think it was. "None at all." Daia then gestured to the two Force users. "I’ve just never seen two men less in need of bodyguards in my life. I take it, you’re the one that killed Pre Viszla then." The larger one smiled at her compliment.

The crimson man sat a little straighter and lifted his chin before answering. Oh, he's a proud one. "Is that a problem?"

Daia smiled again. "No, I’d like to thank you. Working with that man was hell. If it wasn’t for the fact that he paid so well, I would have stopped a long time ago."

Saxon reacted angrily to her comments. "All of us served under Viszla, he was a strong leader and he led us for years. Careful what you say."

She turned and glared at the man. "Not strong enough obviously. Viszla was a complete shabuir. Did you ever try talking to him? He thought he was the god of Mandalore. His ego would have gotten you all killed eventually." If Saxon wanted a fight, he'd get one. He loomed over Daia. "Watch it." He spit out at her.

Daia snarled back. "Not a single one of you had the gett’se to do what this man did." She walked away from Saxon and turned back to the throne where she saw a smirk on the Zabrak's face. "So, Mand’alor. I would like to offer you my services as a very capable smuggler and fighter if you'll have me." She held out her hand and walked closer to him.

Mand'alor rose from his throne and stalked towards Daia, a metallic click sounding with every foot step. The Force draped itself around him like a swirling shadow leaving darkened ripples in his wake. "Very well." He firmly grasped her outstretched hand. "You may stay in the palace as long as you are on Mandalore."

Shocked at the offer but refusing to let go of his hand, "That’s very kind but not necessary." "I insist," He growled. He made his point known with a tighter squeeze on her hand and a push into her with the Force.

Daia finally let go of his hand with a small push back of her own. "Very well then. Thank you for your hospitality. I’m sorry, I never got your name."

"Maul." The name rumbled out of his chest. It was more a growl than a word. Does he always introduce himself like that?

"I’ll go get my things from my ship then, Maul. I look forward to our new partnership." Oh this is going to be fun. With that Daia gave a small bow and walked out of the throne room and back towards her ship. Life just got much more interesting.

Maul watched Daia intently as she left the room. Why had a Jedi come into his throne room and offered to work for him? Something must not be right. He'll keep watching her until he finds out what it is.

His counterpart finally came up from behind him to speak. "Brother, she's lying to us. No smuggler would be wrapped in the Force like that. Why keep her here?"

Maul regarded his brother’s words for a moment before speaking. "Sometimes it is best to keep your enemies close, Savage.”

“Is she an enemy, then?”

“I haven’t decided.” Maul would be patient for now and see what comes of the woman who just lied to him. He would deal with her later.

#fanfic #darth maul #oc #star wars tcw #Daia Veeral #Please be gentle #It's been many years #what do you mean I wrote all those words

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echodrops · 5 years ago

Note

*Slides in on a office chair* Now that you shared some of your HaaH headcanons for Shiro and Hunk, can you do Lance and Lotor?

Didn’t want to post these until I finally had some time to update them a bit and trim out spoilers, but I got a second last night, so here you are:

HaaH Lance and Lotor headcanons:

(Under the cut to save everyone’s dash)

First, a warning: Neither one of these characters’ backstories or plot event headcanons remotely line up with the show, one because I originally wrote most of this stuff around the time season 2-3 was being released and two, because I stopped watching Voltron after season 6 and have no intention of watching the rest of the show due to my dislike for the directions the writing took. I went back and updated some stuff, such as the names of some of Lance’s siblings, to more closely match what came later in the show… but for the rest… I’m just gonna do my own thing and pretend canon does not exist.

Lance:

- The literal definition of “rich as fuck.” When relaxations on economic policy were passed in Cuba that increased opportunities for private business, Lance’s grandfather made a solid deal for three massive sugar refineries. Today, artisanal coffee houses across the world utilize the sugar refined in Lance’s family’s factories.

- Grew up in a giant villa on the peninsula just outside the town of Varadero, on a sprawling property that included a long stretch of beachfront and individual bungalows for visiting family members and the family’s several live-in staff members.

- The whole family is incredibly down to earth despite this. Lance’s aunt and grandmother insist on having a hand in every family meal, Lance’s parents always make time to be involved in the children’s activities, and Lance was taught from a very young age never to take advantage of people, regardless of their position in the world.

- Lance is the baby of his immediate family by almost ten years. He was an accident that occurred after Lance’s mother believed she was too old to become pregnant. Of course his parents never treated Lance like an accident and loved him, but still, Lance has never been able to shake the idea that he wasn’t planned—and therefore he wasn’t wanted.

- He has four older siblings, two sisters and two brothers.

- All of Lance’s siblings are extremely successful in their careers. Lance’s oldest sibling, his sister Veronica, is a captain of the Cuban Navy and commands the impressive warship Audaz. Lance’s second oldest sibling, his brother Yuniel, is a decorated conservational ecologist working to protect Matanzas’ native forests. Lance’s third sibling, his brother, Marco, is a famous solo folk musician who made it big in Cuba. Rachel, Lance’s closest sibling, runs an immersion-based cultural heritage museum that preserves the rich and complicated history of Cuba and its people.

- In short—Lance grew up surrounded by the rampant success of his older siblings, watching as they excelled at everything they pursued—which just bred a greater and greater sense of insecurity in him, as he feared he would never be able to measure up.

- On Lance’s eighth birthday, in an attempt to cheer up his very depressed youngest son, Lance’s father dragged the family’s telescope down to the beach so that they could watch a space shuttle launching from the cape in Florida. At first Lance couldn’t work up the slightest interest, but when he finally saw the huge plume of the shuttle, arcing off into the unknown depths of space, he had a Moment™. Lance knew, right then and there, exactly what he was going to do with his life, something that none of his siblings had ever achieved: he was going to go into space and explore worlds unknown.

- Lance decided that he had, absolutely HAD, to go to Galaxy Garrison when he grew up. This part worried his parents, who pointed out that Garrison was not only in another country but also a solely English-speaking school and extremely competitive. Nonetheless, Lance was determined that he would not settle for anything less than the absolute best.

- Was totally that space obsessed kid. Still thinks Black Holes are the coolest thing in the universe. His parents bought so much “Astronaut” ice cream that they probably kept that entire industry afloat.

- Lance attended Garrison’s summer Astrocamp in Arizona when he was nine. Quickly made friends with his cabin-mate, Hyrum Tava. The nickname “Hunk” came about from a slip-up when Lance tried to compare his new friend to one of his favorite American cartoon characters, the Incredible Hulk.

- Even after leaving the Astrocamp, Lance and Hunk stayed close friends, exchanging frequent emails and phone calls, which helped Lance stay on top of memes popular trends back in the states.

- Shiro was Lance’s cabin leader at the Astrocamp, and his kindness and exciting stories about actually visiting space(!!) made a huge impression on Lance. Lance… may or may not have had a celebrity shrine to Shiro made of photos and news clippings taped to his wall for several years. Whatever, every kid does it and he took it down eventually, gosh!

- Identifies as bisexual, but has never successfully dated anyone, male or female. Due to several bad experiences and close calls, Lance doesn’t talk about his sexuality or express any attraction to men except around people he is extremely comfortable with. Hunk has known for years, of course. (In fact, it was Lance’s struggle with his feelings that helped Hunk develop strong sympathy for LGBT people, despite the fact that his religion is very against it.)

- Never had a real kiss. Might be just a tiny bit desperate to have a real first kiss.

- Also might buy a bit too much into the idea of needing to be stereotypically attractive to fit in. Although his nightly beauty regime is now a comforting routine, it originally stemmed from Lance being extremely self-conscious about his looks. He’s more comfortable about his body than he used to be, but he still frequently compares himself negatively against others; do you know what kind of hell it is to have to share a locker room with people like Shiro?

- Cries at the drop of a hat. Sad book? Sad movie? Abandoned kitten? Dropped something on his toe? Tears times ten thousand. Lance was never pressured by his family to “man up;” in fact, he was always encouraged to empathize, so Lance is extremely sensitive to others’ feelings. (He and Hunk are a great fit in this regard.) He can perceive even minute changes in people’s emotions and is always ready to cheer up people who are down.

- He can’t read Keith for crap though. Not really his fault. Keith’s a literal alien.

- Lance’s extreme empathy actually backfires on him. Because being sensitive to others is second nature to him, it’s often hard for Lance to remember that not everyone is as perceptive as he is. Lance has, many times, mistaken the other paladins’ obliviousness for indifference. Everyone on the ship cares deeply about Lance and would never want him to feel bad about himself—but not everyone on the ship is perceptive enough to notice when Lance’s insecurities are affecting him.

- Wasn’t put in the cargo pilot classes at Garrison because of his flight test scores—most green cadets have zero flight experience and all do pretty badly at first. Lance was placed in cargo class because he scored too high on a combat sensitivity test, indicating that he was a poor fit mentally for becoming a soldier. Fighting monstrous looking aliens is one thing, but Lance would have coped very, very badly if he’d ever been required to kill another human being.

- Struggled to fit in at Garrison. After the crushing disappointment of ending up in cargo class, Lance also dealt with a lot of people treating him like an outsider because he was an international student. “Why is someone from Cuba trying to join the U.S. military? Are you a spy?”

- Couple that with the complicated student visa process and how his status as an international student might affect his ability to take part in Garrison-sanctioned internships and cross-border activities, and Lance felt utterly alienated at Garrison in his first few months.

- May… or may not have done exactly what his parents taught him not to do by looking for a scapegoat to take out his frustrations on. Keith, the lone wolf, ace pilot pretty boy who was too cool to even talk to the rest of the cadets (really thought he was too good to even make eye contact with Lance, huh?!) was an obvious target. Keith had every single thing that Lance had ever wanted in his whole life—the combat class, the talent, the prestige, the respect, the effortless looks—and he didn’t even seem happy to have it!

- Lance had never hated anyone before in his entire life, but Lance hated Keith—Keith basically came to stand in for every obstacle in Lance’s way, every mocking insult thrown Lance’s way, every harsh reminder from the professors that he’d never even be close to good enough, never measure up when someone like that existed… Lance started to honestly believe that the only way he’d ever be able to achieve his entire life goal was if Keith was taken out of the picture—something that proved unfortunately true when Lance was bumped up to combat class the moment Keith went missing from Garrison.

- Lance never actually said any of this stuff to Keith’s face before Keith left Garrison (Lance dreaded his parents finding out he’d been rude), but he would shit-talk Keith to anyone who would listen, a bad habit that was reinforced by people actually accepting Lance more when he started gossiping and spreading rumors than when he’d just tried to be genuinely nice.

- Even though he’d like to repair his relationship with Keith now that they’re teammates, Lance has no idea how to do that after so much time has passed. He really has no clue how to treat Keith normally after building him up into such a bitter rival. It’s… a work in progress.

- A big fan of RPG games and roleplaying. Definitely gets the most in-character when it comes to Monsters and Mana. His favorite thing about meeting new cultures is discovering nifty space items that look like key items from video games. Used to play old school RPGs with his cousins every afternoon. Playing with Pidge is extremely nostalgic for him.

- Has a host of other hobbies that don’t get much use inspace but are nevertheless impressive: he can surf, dive, and was part of a traditional dance group all the up until he left for Garrison. He doesn’t tend to think much of his hobbies as they’re not exactly practical skills you need every day in a space war, but the other members of Team Voltron are quietly impressed whenever they’re reminded of the cool things Lance can do.

- Lance has the strongest bond with his lion of any of the paladins. His connection with Blue is so innate that he can actually activate Blue’s abilities from outside his lion.

- The first one of the paladins to transform his bayard and the only one whose bayard can take three forms. And no, none of the three is a sword because what was the point of that, even??? Lance can wield his standard blaster, a long rifle, and dual pistols. The strength of theshots from Lance’s bayard can be consciously controlled—his thoughts and intentions determine whether a shot has the strength to kill or merely stun.

- Lance’s incredible aim isn’t a natural talent. Actually he’s spent hours and hours in a shooting range he found in the castle, working on perfecting his shot. Just like the gladiator levels on the training deck, the targets in the range keep getting harder and harder, but Lance is progressing very well. No one but Coran knows that Lance has been training so hard with his bayard, since Lance desperately wants to pretend his skill is all natural and has sworn Coran to secrecy. Coran covers for him by pretending he’s sent Lance off on absurd cleaning missions all the time.

- Is 1000% Coran’s favorite of the paladins. Coran won’t even try to lie if asked. Although Coran has never expressed it out loud, he sees Lance as an example of the brave, kind-hearted son he would have hoped to raise—if his son had survived the war. (On Lance’s part, although he’s also never shared this, Coran reminds him very much of his beloved uncle, who passed away when Lance was very young, but whom he still remembers well and extremely fondly.)

- After his uncle passed away, Lance’s aunt moved in with Lance’s parents permanently, and Lance essentially helped to raise his two very young cousins, Nadia and Silvio. Lance does have very good experience with children—unfortunately for him, what human children respond well to doesn’t always work for Galra kids!

Lotor:

- Has not spent 10,000 years kicking about the universe. We’re not doing that weird “If he’s immortal because of the rift creatures then how come his governess is still alive?” plot hole song and dance routine from the actual show. Lotor was born after the war decimated the Alteans 10,000 years ago, but due to Haggar’s condition (aka being, you know, dead), he was essentially unable to live on his own and was placed in cryostasis very shortly after being born.

- Roughly 20 years before the discovery of the Blue Lion on Earth, Haggar used advancements in quintessence manipulation technology to successfully revive the infant Lotor. But she didn’t wake him for no reason—she has a very specific intention for her son, a long endgame plan, of which Lotor and even Zarkon are currently unaware.

- We’re also not doing that dumb “How could Haggar—the only remotely Altean-looking being in all of Zarkon’s presence—possibly be my mother?” plot from the show either. Lotor is aware that Haggar is his mother, although he has never been able to infiltrate her research facilities and therefore has no idea how an Altean scientist ended up where she did, looking like she did, and siding with the Galra against her own people.

- Because his parents’ past and his own origins are such a mystery, Lotor is obsessed with learning the truth of the war, the Alteans, and every hidden secret from that time period, including Voltron and the mysterious “rift.” He devours any information he can get on this period of history, and especially on Alteans, voraciously.

- But even though he’ll take any pieces of information he can get, Lotor’s real favorite obsession is mythology. He’s a deep lover of folklore and fairytales, bestiaries and local legends, and more than one assassin has traded a good story in exchange for having his life spared. Lotor may or may not hunt for space cryptids in his spare time. However, no single legend occupies Lotor’s mind as much as the legend of the mythical realm of Oriande, home of the ancient Altean alchemists. As practical as he tries to appear, Lotor has never given up his deep-down childish wish to be the one who finds the promised land of Oriande and prove it is real. But when he thinks back… Where was it that he first heard about Oriande, again? Who told him…?

- That entire thing with the hidden Altean colonies is just… not going to happen. The writers were bad and they should feel bad. Although Lotor has looked, after 10,000 years and plenty of centuries of hiding any Altean connections, distinguishing those who still have Altean blood has become essentially impossible.

- Part of the reason Lotor has looked for Alteans is that he was born with a bizarre grab-bag of Altean instincts and abilities and no guidance on how to deal with them, because he’s certainly not going to reveal to Haggar that he has unexplained talents like precognition and the ability to speak to planets. Growing up with half of his bloodline extinct has been ROUGH on Lotor.

- Speaking of growing up… Even though he remains the crown prince on official record, Lotor took the first opportunity he could to leave his parents’ sphere of influence, and he has not physically been back to Galra Central Command in more than ten years.

- Lotor is effectively a universal wanderer. Aboard his personal ship the Urbanus (a Destroyer-class star cruiser which has been heavily modified and improved by Lotor himself), Lotor and his generals travel wherever they like, both within the Galra Empire and outside it, dodging Haggar’s frequent attempts to re-exert control over Lotor and even more frequent assassination and kidnapping attempts from Zarkon’s enemies.

- Although Lotor has a very specific goal in mind, progress on this goal has been slow and painstaking, and he’s often left waiting for the next bare bones clue to chase after; this has resulted in the young prince having an unfortunate abundance of free time, which is dangerous for everyone involved. In between progress on his mysterious life’s goal, Lotor and his generals frequently get into trouble with small planets, local governments, militaries both official and off-the-books, giant monsters, and at least two hundred museum curators. They may or may not be wanted for grave-robbing in 13 different star systems.

- Basically he’s space Indiana Jones, if Indiana Jones was still 20 and also purple and also not being paid enough to be a good guy.

- All that said, as much of a devil-may-care rogue as he’d like to be seen, Lotor did spend all of his childhood under the thumb of the empire’s brutal authoritarian dictators, and he is therefore every inch a crown prince; as befitting one of his stature, he speaks eight languages fluently, flawlessly matches his formal dress to the occasion, knows exactly which piece of silverware to use when, can engage in political battles of wits and diplomatic machinations with the best of them, and has been training in armed combat since he was three years old. Lotor’s impeccable manners and steely leadership ability were literally beaten into him, to the point that now, even among trusted allies, he sometimes finds it difficult to turn off his cold, calculated princely persona.

- Not that his generals really let him get away with that kind of thing for long. Only those who have lived with multiple older sisters can truly understand the constant state of teasing and mortifying blackmail that Lotor lives in. On official record, Lotor’s generals are a crack team of terrifying bodyguards; in practice, they’re more likely to be dragging Lotor for all he’s worth than rescuing him. They might keep up formal appearances in front of others, but they’re effectively a close-knit family behind the scenes.

- It’s not a coincidence that all of Lotor’s generals are women; besides generally being awful, most Galra men make Lotor uncomfortable. From a human standpoint, Lotor is ridiculously tall and powerful; but from a Galra standpoint, Lotor is a thin, unhealthy-looking thing whose stature doesn’t command authority or respect in the slightest. It’s exhausting feeling like you have to constantly prove yourself, so Lotor prefers to spend time with a group that doesn’t invite negative comparison.

- However, it should be noted that a Galra man having only female friends has completely different connotations than a human man having only female friends—Galra women are, on the whole, considered more aggressive, bloodthirsty, and over-bearing than Galra men, so any Galra man who would choose to surround himself with that many women must either be out of his mind or incredibly badass.

- When asked what it’s like to live with four beautiful women, Lotor is basically ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ personified. Despite living together for years, none of the generals are romantically interested in Lotor and he’s not romantically interested in any of them.

- Many people have incorrectly assumed that Lotor and Axca are a pair, but Lotor helped Axca escape from a slave colony and she will never let another man touch her in her life. Axca is extremely grateful and loyal to Lotor, but given that Axca was Lotor’s first real friend, he’s just as grateful to her.

- If you think I’m killing off Narti, you’re out of your mind.

- Despite the fact that Lotor does not feel connected to the Galra Empire or the Galra as a whole, he’s somewhat more traditional and more likely to conform to Galra social standards than he wants to admit (even to himself). He insists that he has no interest in upholding the classic values of the Galra or meeting their expectations for how a prince should behave—but in truth, it’s impossible to fully kill that deep-down desire to just fit in. When push comes to shove, Lotor always finds himself falling in line with the Galra’s oldest and most deeply ingrained beliefs.

- With Lance in the “has never had a real kiss” club. Is not with Lance in the “wants a real kiss” club. Lotor is actually uncomfortable with being touched by strangers (36 assassination attempts will do that to you) and doesn’t make real friends, let alone anything closer, remotely easily. Some people are open books; Lotor is that one book from Harry Potter that bites people’s fingers off when they try to open it. Once you’re in his inner-circle, he’ll let you hang all over him, but before that, the space bubble is ten feet in every direction.

- Doesn’t actually put any special effort into his appearance. He just Looks Like That™.

- In fact, he actually kind of hates that stupid cowlick hair that’s always in his face but no matter how many times he cuts it off or slicks it back, it just keeps falling right back in his eyes. He’s basically given up at this point.

- His sword’s name is Eris and it was actually forged in the heart of a dying star.

- Kova the space cat hates Lotor. Lotor hates Kova. It’s a mutually antagonistic relationship. Somehow though, Lotor never makes any effort to get rid of Kova and Kova never takes the opportunity to leave. No one else understands it either, especially since Lotor gets along great with basically every other animal he meets.

- He’s not a pacifist by any means, but he is painfully practical and knows that, on occasion, sparing the life of one’s enemy nets more gain than indiscriminately crushing opponents beneath his heel. More manipulative than outright aggressive, he’s easily capable of twisting even the worst of situations to his advantage. Has an unfortunate tendency to be overly cunning—sometimes the tricks and twists he comes up with are unnecessarily full of flourish just because he thinks manipulating people like pieces in a board game is extremely entertaining. Riddles and mind games are Lotor’s favorite—the more convoluted, the better.

- Although most people refer to him by the basic “Prince Lotor” (Lotori Ahn in Galra), Lotor’s full name and official title is Lotori Kir Ahnja Avel i’ya ne Daibazaal, His Royal Highness Prince Lotor of the First Star. As the emperors and empresses of the Galra are said to be physical representations of the goddess, the firstborn children of emperors/empresses are always called “the first star,” after the supposed first creation of the goddess.

- Extremely competitive, but mostly about weird things—like sure he’s going to win if you challenge him to a swordsmanship duel, but challenge him to a staring contest? Your eyes will rot out of your head before this boy will blink. Do not think he will let you beat him in a spelling bee. More than once the generals have had to drag him away from getting involved in the bizarre competitions of the alien cultures they come into contact with. He was 1000% ready to learn to knit eight-armed sweaters with Rikrik fur, thank you. Would totally take up pig-farming JUST to win an Earth state fair.

- Likes to collect interesting artifacts and trinkets of lost civilizations by force if necessary. His ship is basically a floating museum at this point. The generals are starting to worry that they’re going to have add a whole ‘nother deck for all the war prizes Lotor wins himself. Lotor’s gathering hobby extends to games too—he’s a big fan of games that involve sets of items, like Renni, the Galra collectible card game. Would 110% be that Magic the Gathering nerd back on earth.

- In terms of other interests, Lotor is the picture definition of a Renaissance man. Although he’s not a flawless genius savant in every field, he is wicked smart and has studied a vast array of subjects; he’s a capable engineer, a skilled mathematician, a deft philosopher, a good scientist, and extremely well-read, and he is not going tolet you forget any of those things at any point in time. Lotor is always going to be better than you, please just accept your fate.

- Art is… another story. He might be able to sketch detailed architectural blueprints without breaking a sweat but ask him to draw a dog and you’re going to be in for some trouble.

And that’s more than enough for now I think! XD

#lance mcclain #prince lotor #lotor #Voltron #voltron headcanons #voltron fanfic #Home and a Half #HaaHVLD #echo answers asks

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hadestownmodern · 5 years ago

Text

Disowned

I’m in my young Demeter feelings again WHOOPS

-Danielle

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

Demeter wakes with a start, her body shooting up out of bed. Her wild, untamed curls frame her pretty round face in disarray, and she shivers as her sweat-laden body hits the fresh air. It’s early, she can tell by the angle of the moon through her curtains, the times she’d woken in the same sort of state so many times before. Her rounded belly brings her comfort, but not enough; in the silence of her home she’s suddenly aware of just how big she is, how soon she’ll be welcoming a new life into the world.

Alone.

The word is unforgiving, relentlessly taunts her. It hangs over her head as she fights off the guilt of it all, the memory of slamming doors and shouting, of her mother’s tirade as she’d thrown the last of her things out the door of the quaint brownstone she’d grown up in. In these lonely nighttime hours it’s all she can hear; whore, useless, stupid…they’re the last words her mother had spoken before the click of the lock. Nineteen year-old Demeter had collapsed on the stone steps, looking around the neighborhood where she’d faced her life head-on. She and her mother had cried over her father there after he’d left them. She’d had her first kiss here, her first heartbreak. Her best friend had carried her here after a different kind of grief when she’d been betrayed by a clique of girls who’d been jealous of her big, bright eyes and infectious smile.

This porch had been full of heartbreak. That rainy day hadn’t been much different.

“Get out-get out of my house right now!” Her mother screamed, slammed her hand on the kitchen counter. Demeter flinched, one hand over her flat stomach, and flew from her seat. “What made you think that this was a good idea…before marriage? Before love?”

“I do love him, mom, just not in that way. He’s a good guy. I think you’d like him.”

“A good guy. Is he going to support you?!” She scoffs, whirling around the kitchen and tossing things onto the counter; a school photograph, a postcard from a school trip…all things that belonged to Demeter. The young girl does not move, watches as the pile grows larger. Her mother flies around the house as she shouts, tossing things into the kitchen with resounding thuds. “A good guy wouldn’t do this, Demeter. He wouldn’t. A good guy would marry you. A nice big ring…”

“Marriage isn’t all there is, and,”

“-Marriage is all there is when you’re nineteen and decide it’s a good idea to get pregnant. I should have never let you move out to that damn farm, your nana’s been filling your head with ideas since you were born.”

“Nana had nothing to do with this.” Her voice is fierce. Even in her lithe stature Demeter is intimidating, fire coursing through her veins and searing her dainty features. Her mother stops then, stands the room’s length away from her and stares. The silence between them is palpable, mother and daughter, and Demeter holds her gaze steady and proud as her mother lingers over her unchanged stomach. “You know that nana loves us both, and even with dad,”

“-Your father has no right to be mentioned in this conversation. And neither does his mother. She’s not alive anymore, Demeter, I don’t think you understand that. She can’t coddle you anymore. She can’t protect you.”

“I’ll protect myself.”

“You’re not ready.”

“She left me the house!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re ready.”

“I’ll protect myself-and my baby.”

“There’s still time, we can find a nice family who deserves this baby.”

“And I don’t?!” This time it’s Demeter who loses her patience, irritation seeping into the usual smooth, evened tone of her voice. She throws her hands in the air, shaking her head at her mother as she simply nods back, a silent agreement. It’s all she needs to see to bring tears to her eyes, to break down the last wall blocking her vulnerability. She’d worked herself up in the car, had made up speeches and wordings that had brought along happiness she truly could only dream about. A relentless optimist; that’s what her mother had called her.

A relentless optimist had sunken on the concrete steps, cried as the rain soaked through the old duffel bag her mother had shoved her entire childhood in. She had let herself take one last look; the quiet street amongst a busy city, the way each sidewalk paved its way to landmark locations she’d no longer see. By the time she got on the bus home, watched the city pass her by, Demeter looked like a new woman, all red eyes and sunken posture. She’d lugged her past with her, thrown it on the floor of the little farmhouse. She’d fallen asleep with both hands cradling her little baby bump in defiance-protection.

She’s alone.

The dream-living through her own harsh reality again-sends her into a state of rapid breathing and sudden panic. Seeing her mother again, the opulent house and the jewels around her neck, the trust fund money she liked to throw around to try and make Demeter happy…she squeezes her eyes shut tight in frustration, hoping to blink the image away. The days of the city are over; the ritzy private school, girls in matching uniforms who treated friendship like the stock market. Here, Demeter is happy. Here, she is able to breathe.

Here, Demeter is alone.

She runs ragged lines of footsteps around the tiny main room; living room, kitchen, rocking chair by the window and back again. She puts a kettle on with shaking hands and watches the fire of the stove for a minute, transfixed. Her dream had set a sort of numbness into her bones, leaving herself to feel like a child again, young and naïve. Too optimistic, too relentless, too impulsive, too kind; Demeter shakes the words away, runs her hair through long curls and attempts to jostle away the pit in her heart.

Leaning against the wall, she holds her phone in shaking hands, slowly dialing the number that had been written on a messily torn strip of a paper bag. The voice on the other end is confused, groggy as he answers. It takes Demeter a moment to collect her own thoughts, to deliver them without choking on nerves or tears.

“I don’t know why I’m calling.” She sounds young through her deepened alto, weaving her fingers in and out of the telephone cord. She lets out a dry, throaty sort of laughter. “I guess…I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, T. I don’t. I’m a baby, and I’m alone out here,”

“Alone?” She can hear his trademark expression through the lift in his voice, his widened eyes and sideways smile. “You’ve got me.”

It’s not presented as an offer, but as a fact. Theo lets her linger in the silence, listens to her unsteady breathing and the whirring of a kettle in the background. When the whistling grows louder, the phone drops and her footsteps are quick, clattering and brushing and her voice as she speaks to herself. The ragged nature of her voice has only increased when she comes back to the phone.

“I know that I have you.” She chokes the words out, taps her fingers against the wall. “I have to go-uh-thank you, Theo.”

Demeter sits in her big chair by the window, feet curled up as close as she can muster with the changed nature of her body. Her big nightshirt catches as her belly, which she cradles between her hands. Sleep is nothing short of a fantasy at this point, where her thoughts are filled with her mother’s stern eyes, her disappointment. The city had been kind to her for brief flashes of time; walking through the park as a child, hands in her mother and father’s. She liked sharing milkshakes with her friends, the freedom of public transit. But she hated the crowds, the people, the incessant talk of buying things that weren’t needed, spending unearned money on useless trinkets and fast fashion.

She’d always followed her heart. She’d followed her heart to this house, with its old construction and its need for several paint jobs, the big, weedy garden her nana had tried so hard to keep up with her old age. She’d learned everything, sucked up all the knowledge she could before she’d had to say goodbye to the one person who’d supported her unwaveringly. Now, in her place of sanctuary, in the chair her nana had occupied every night, Demeter feels betrayed by her own memories.

A knock on the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she turns her gaze toward the door to see Theo standing there, the nighttime darkness a backlight to his tall frame. He’s dressed in mismatched clothes, a pair of moss colored cargo shorts and a mustard yellow shirt, one white sock and one yellow. He lets himself in, kicks his shoes off at the door and moves to stand in front of her. He takes her in; big shirt and curled up posture dwarfing her appearance, long hair a shield around her face. She looks up at him, the slightest quirk of her eyebrow as she takes a breath.

“You were crying.” He says it simply, matter-of-fact. Demeter knows that she can’t hide from him, not when he can see the puffiness of her eyes, the forgotten cup of now lukewarm water and lemon on the side-table. New tears prick at the edge of her eyes, sting at the skin that has been rubbed raw from her sleeve, the back of her hand. She nods, looking out the window at the falling moon. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

“It’s my mother.” She spits out the last word with disdain, frustration. “Did you know that you can just…throw your child out when they do something you don’t like? Because apparently, you can. And you can do it without feeling a damn thing.”

Theo opens his mouth, hovers on a thought and then closes it again. She’s stiff in her chair, biting her lip and weaving her fingers through the holes on the chunkily knit blanket in her lap. These are mannerisms he hasn’t seen before, quirks so unfitting on this walking embodiment of sunshine and mischievous fun. It’s eerie, in a way, and he has to take pause to let her sink in her own feelings, to linger in the silence while her eyes search past the landscape outside, glossed over with an expression she attempts so desperately to hide.

He lowers himself onto the low table in front of the sofa, one large hand on her knee. He keeps himself silent, runs his thumb along her knee, watches her hand trace careful, protective circles over her baby bump. Theo wonders in an instant how one person can look so vulnerable and yet so mature, so hardened by protectiveness.

“She really threw me out.” Demeter’s voice is near a whisper, a whimper. She pulls the blanket closer to her chin. When she turns her head to face him, Theo’s breath catches in his throat. The depths of her sadness are written across every inch of her face-the wrinkle at the corners of her chapped lips, the redness of her eyes, the little strands of hair falling over her cheeks without the usual flustered brushing away. “She took all my stuff-threw all my stuff…put it in this big bag and locked the door behind me. Can you believe that? Said I was stupid. Talked about money, houses, rings…” She scoffs, shakes her head and uses the corner of her blanket to wiper her tears away. Then her voice dips again, quiets. It’s eerie, the even tone of it, and Theo has to lean forward to hear her as her face hardens.

“She told me I don’t deserve this baby.”

“You deserve this baby.”

“But what if I don’t?” It’s not a retaliation to the stern tone of his voice, the way she answers him so suddenly. Demeter can barely think straight, her mother’s eyes still fresh in her dream’s memory, the disappointment behind them. It’s worse than being caught in her wild ways in high school, worse than her father leaving, worse than her own mounting fear of giving birth. Disappointment weighs heavy on her heart having grown up in a household where guilt was used as a bargaining tool. Now, it consumes her.

“You have more passion for this baby than I’ve ever seen-more passion for everything. If you come across a problem you don’t just sit, you solve it. And it’s not the kind of fix that’s temporary. When you go to do something, everyone knows you won’t stop until it’s done right, and it’s done proud.”

He squeezes her knee as she relaxes a bit, sinking into the couch. The thin line of her lips has softened just slightly, just enough for Theo to take it as a cue to continue.

“Demeter, you know this is how it was meant to be. When you believe in something, the world believes in it too. You mom….she’s in a different world. She doesn’t see you the way the rest of the world gets to see you. She wants you to be something you’re not and she can’t handle the fact that money couldn’t buy you the way it bought her.”

He grabs her hands then, holds them over the blanket.

“You asked me to help you have this baby weeks after we met. Not months, not years, weeks. And I agreed. Do you know why?” She shakes her head, and he lets out a laugh. “Maybe because I’m crazy-that thought crossed my mind a few times. But that’s just one thing. I agreed to do this because I couldn’t say no. I knew you-your energy, your light, your heart. I knew that you believed in this, and I knew in my heart that you could do it-I still know. I believe in you without a question.”

“Theo…” She shapes his name but can not get her voice to come out, softened by his hands in hers, the way he leans his long body over and captures her with his honesty. She scoots over then, attempts to make room for him on the armchair. Although it is big it barely fits his tall, muscular frame. Demeter sacrifices her piece of the couch to curl herself into his lap instead, resting her weary body against his chest. With this comfort her eyes begin to drift shut, her breathing evening as she revels in the warmth of her blanket and his body against hers. Before she falls asleep, he can hear her soft whisper. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

#hadestownmodern #young demeter #demeter and bee man #bee man #Theo #he has a name I just don't use it WHOOPS #danielle writes

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nookishposts · 6 years ago

Text

Ode to a Knife

Tomboy from the word go, I was fascinated by gadgets and tools right out of the womb. My first 1964 transistor radio, with ear piece, 4 inch antenna and 9 volt battery just begged to have the back pried off and the guts removed with less than surgical precision, in order to get some idea of how it worked. Putting it back together was rarely successful, so I hid it in the barn until I could figure out how, or at least find someone non-parental to do so, with sealed lips. Ditto with the Easy Bake Oven, the limbs and heads of every doll, the whirling top that shot sparks when you pushed the knob on top, and the chain of my first bicycle. The “uh-oh” rarely dawned until I was happily surrounded by cracked or greasy bits and pieces.

But my favourite gadget to this very day remains my trusty Swiss Army knife. I bought it with babysitting money when I was 13, for $15.00 at the local sporting goods store where I hemmed and hawed over special features versus cash reality. The one I chose didn’t come with the nifty spoon and fork of the really high-end models, but it had several blades, a corkscrew, tweezers, a saw, bottle opener, scissors and a hole punch. I knew it was destined to be mine when the sales clerk removed it from the cabinet for me to examine, I opened the main blade, and immediately cut myself. The first of many important lessons that knife has taught me. We were made for one another.

The weight of that knife in the pocket of my shorts made me feel like ‘all that and a bag of chips’. Before I understood the damage I was doing, I carved my initials in trees and table tops and desks and porches like I was seeking immortality. Camping with the family took on a whole new dimension. Need a marshmallow roasting stick with a fine point? Replacing a busted tent peg? A branch with notches on either end to string a bow for shooting arrows? Remove a splinter from your thumb? Shorten your beach-destined Daisy Dukes another inch while your Mum isn’t looking?(Cut my own way too short once and lived with the mistake, knees stapled together, for an entire summer). Rest assured, my SA knife and I had you covered.

I made holes to string up a flattened plastic bag with thin vines for a makeshift roof on a rainy hike. I cut down more than one Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Opened a bazillion pop bottles, beer bottles, cassette tapes, rusted locks, stuck cabinets, and heavily-taped boxes. I kept it pristine. Was certain I could perform surgery in the deep woods with only dental floss and a bottle of whiskey if called upon to do so.I recall feeling so very mature when I used the corkscrew to uncork my first bottle of Moody Blue, Lonesome Charlie, Alpenweisse, or Blue Nun at a bush party. That knife went all the way to Australia with me, safe in the perfect-sized pocket of my rucksack, for easy access. Can’t do that anymore. Wouldn’t make it past security let alone onto the plane. It still feels like I have forgotten something when I have to leave it at home to travel. (Yes, it can go into cargo, but I pride myself on one carry-on bag, always.)

Of course it got used for stupid stuff too. There’s a scene in Fried Green Tomatoes where George and Julian go with Idgie to rescue Ruth from her abusive husband,and George calmly trims his fingernails with a rather menacing knife that appears out of nowhere, as the husbands attempts an objection. The sight of the knife stops him cold. I once did kinda the same thing when out with a girlfriend at an event in Toronto; we were leaving the dance and some straight male thugs decided we would be fun to harass. There I was, maybe 20 years old, with a pitiful 4 inch blade opened, custom-fit in the hand I hung at my side, standing calmly between my girlfriend and the potential for real trouble. They got in my face a little, yelled some disgusting slurs, and I didn’t move a muscle or say a word. When they walked off, I nearly collapsed with relief on the sidewalk. The girlfriend told me what an idiot I had been. She was right. It was the only time in 45 years I ever considered my knife a weapon.

This morning I was using that same knife, the little white shield logo worn almost invisible by 45 years in my hands, to dig out dandelions in the front yard. I leave the dandelions for the bees until other blossoms pop, then I just thin them as best I can to keep the yard tidy. Our house is for sale and though I don’t care about a pristine lawn, first impressions from the street are everything. As I was poking into the damp earth, trying to avoid stabbing worms, slicing the stubborn stems and tossing them into a paper bag, I found myself thinking about how long it took me to earn fifteen dollars in 1974, how many times I taught a wee one to play checkers, how many diaper changes, how many yawning attempts to stay awake until grateful parents returned home at 2 am a little too inebriated to drive me home. I vaguely remember charging 75 cents an hour and a dollar after midnight or something like that. So, let’s say 20 hrs to earn knife money. A couple of years later I would work a lot longer and harder to buy my first guitar. I still have that one too.

I don’t live on a farm anymore, nor do I hike and camp as much as I once did. So my Swiss army knife lays nearly-but-not-quite forgotten much of the time. It still has it’s place in my knapsack, but is more likely to be used to trim a loose thread or a flower stem than any act of serious practicality or derring-do. I have real carving tools for any kind of small woodworking projects I may undertake of a quiet evening on the back porch. It’s not at all the same as sitting staring into a late-night, mesmerising campfire, whittling away at a stick with the same knife I probably used to cut and butter my toast that morning, and to clean the fish for supper after a day in the canoe.

Our immediate future may well involve some acreage and daily chores involving twine, bags of seeds and feed, maybe field-mending a loop to keep a pen gate closed. My denim shorts come cut no higher than my knees now, with deep pockets for secateurs, soft leather work gloves, and the right-sized Swiss Army knife. With some care and a little luck, we might get another 45 years together, and the tiny scar on my right thumb will continue to remind me that even the most-loved and most familiar tools must always be carried with respect.

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sockpansy · 6 years ago

Text

Gaining a crew

Welcome to part two (2) of 'lost at sea' sanders sides mermaid/pirste au!

A thanks to the lovely @thelazyblueshipper who drew the drawings that inspired thus lovely work!

Part one: https://sockpansy.tumblr.com/post/179000941959/lost-at-sea

Warning: kidnap mentioning, blood, mentions of drinking, let me know if there sre any others

______

"We need more crew members."

Logan had been the one to say it, but the other three had been thinking it as well.

"Logan's right. You guys got lucky with me, but not everyone will fall for the ghost ship, and we can't fight like them." Virgil pipped in.

Roman nods and was getting excited." A crew of mermaids being pirates! Of daring adventurers who face danger in order to save others! But who would join..."

"I could ask emile!" Patton bounced up and down happily. Emile Picani was Patton's older brother, and they got along greatly.

"He likes to study shipwrecks a lot, so im sure he could help us with fixing the ship up better, oh i mean 'The Siren.' "He giggled at the name they gave their ship.

That lead to now. Patton was swimming down to an old shipwreck. 'The duchmen' or something like that. He swam down and into a rotten hole in the side. "Emile?" He called out.

A pink head much like his own blue one popped out smiling."do you how do?" He swam over.

Patton gently lowered himself onto an old bench before asking, 'how would you like to join a pirate crew?"

Emile gasped, his eyes widening. "Patton, you know what pirates do to mermaids, joining a crew is dangerous!"

Patton wiggled hia tail playfully. 'Not if the entire crew is mermaids. Roman, Logan and I fixed up a boat to save Virgil, and it worked! Now we have decided to save more who are captured! You love boats a lot, and yeah our boat floats but we don't know as much as you do about them...and it is safer to have more people in our crew..."

Emile had started to wiggle his tail excitedly, the idea of actually working on a ship that was above water? It excited him.

"Oh it sounds like so much fun! I would love to join your crew!"

And with that, patton lead Emile to their ship, that perked on the island Roman found it on. Emile got to work with improving the boat, checking over jobs they did, and making suggestions.

"What if we had a hole in the bottom?"

"Then it would sink...Emile no offence but i thought you were smarter than that." Logan said gently.

Emile gave him a smirk."well yes it would, but i mean a hole that doesnt let water in, but that we can use to go in and out easier. It could add more to the 'ghost' idea as Well. Disappear inside the boat to appear on theirs."

Roman jumped in."perfect idea! Lets do it!"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Roman, it sounds good in theory, but to make it work will be a lot of trouble and toil, mostly trail and error. Plus, it wouls need to keep the water out when it is storming as well."

Virgil pat logan on the back, giving him a smile. "And with brains like you're I'm sure that we will have almost no errors. You are smart and think things out, plus Emile knows boats better than any of us."

Logan seemed in thought and glanced over to Emile, who was trying on glasses until he found some he could see out of.

"Well then....lets give it a try."

______

"So i said, at least buy me a drink before you try me for treason!" The bar of pirates laughed as Remy sipped his drink, finishing his story.

Remy went from town to town, staying as long as he wants, and leaving when he pleases, with nothing holding him back. He existed everywhere but yet no one had a record of him. No one knew how he traveled to so many places so quickly when he was never seen on a ship, yet could cross oceans and reach places before ships that leave a week before he does.

Honestly, it is a plus side to being a secret mermaid.

But remy knows that if he is caught, the only swimming he will do will be with the fishes.

So Remy takes a human form a lot, he goes to bars, tells stories (some are made up, some aren't, you can't prove anything) and drinks without ever actually paying for himself. He hides that he is a mermaid, but that doesnt mean he won't have fun!

Remy laughs at something when a pirate runs into the bar.

"I have a story to tell all of ye!"

Remy grinned as he sipped his drink. This was always fun. The stories never made since, and it gived Remy material to work with for stories later.

"Now I be helpin' to sail a ship through a storm, when we sees a small ship barely afloat! Nothin' out of the blue, but then, I be hearing calls for help. I help this wee lad out of the water and onto the ship, claims to be crew, and I believed him. Now i know i shouldn't have. So this boat is passing by, and I be thinkin' there is no one there! Then i see them, two pirates, a captain and what i assume be his first mate, they stare at us, as if challengin' us in the middle of a storm. We be strugglin' to keep the boat steady and watch this ship, and they hair stare. They only be two but they act like they not even tryin' to sail in this here storm! We pass them and get out of the storm, when i be going to check the cargo, and find a mermaid missin' then I can't find the pirate while fell overboard, we be thinkin' we csme across a ghost ship."

Remy sipped his drink as he watched the man walk around and explain his story. He began to put the pieces together and felt a smile growing on his face.

"Say, where did you see this ship?"

______

"Oh my god, Dee!" Remy ran along the beach to a short guy with an eye patch on. He looked up at the taller unamused and holding a sea urchin.

Remy slid over in the sand and grinned. "I think that some mermaids decided to become pirates,"

Dee stared at Remy before asking, "are you drunk agian? I,girl you, stick to teas or something."

Remy rolled his eyes, "no, i am not. Look, someone saw a ship with two people on it. They helped a pirate onto the boat and by the time they soft the storm, the pirate and a mermaid was missing! Lets just check it out, please Dee?" Remy asked.

"Whats in it for me?" Dee grinned as he started to pull spines out of the sea urchin.

"First off, stop being cruel to the thing-"

"No"

"Fair enough, second, I am sure they have races....wouldn't it be fun...beating an entire ship of mermaids in a race?" Remy wiggled his eyebrows.

Dee pulled out another spine. "Flattery gets you everywhere, lets go."

______

Dee made a trill noise and sighed, "Remy, this way!"

Remy has...horrible direction. If he tried to find the ship alone, he would fail. So dee was leading the way...kinda.

The pirate had told Remy which direction the ship had been in, but that was three weeks ago, so it could honestly be anywhere. Dee called agian as he swam through the water, "i think this is it!"

Remy swam over to dee and looked up at the boat above them. It was old alright, but in better condition that the old pirate had said. Remy swam around the bottom as he observed it. There was a hole near the back. He motioned Dee over to it.

The hole was flat, and it appeared as if no water got inside the bottom of then ship because of it. Why would a pirate ship float with a hole that didnt let water in? Why would a pirate ship need a way into the ocean?

For mermaids, of course.

Remy swam up and popped his head into the hole, looking about the bottom deck of the ship. Nothing much was down there, a bunch of old ropes and wood, and a pile of clothes. He motioned Dee to follow him as he climbed up and transformed into his human form.

Dee followed him up and looked around. "Looks like a shipwreck in here."he started to look through the pile of clothes. "Oooh, an eye patch!" Dee had lost his on the way over passing s coral reef, and was in need of s new one. Humans dont react well to different colored eyes, especially with the eyes glow from time to time. Dee tied the eyepatch on as remy threw clothing after clothing over his shoulder.

"Ew, gross, no, no way, oh maybe."

By the time they were done raiding the clothing pile, Remy had at least 10 pieces of jewelry on.

Now for the next part of the plan. Introduction.

______

Patton and Emile were making matching bracelets for everyone as logan and Virgil worked on the plan for the next boat raid and roman figured out how to steer a ship better.

Remy walked onto the deck like he owned it. "Wow, you guys need to really get some better clothes. Took me forever to pick an outfit!"

Virgil and Roman had their swords drawn, patton and Emile dropped their half finished bracelets, and Logan was observing the intruder.

"How did you get here." Virgil demanded.

"Oh, how you would." Remy grinned. "I swam."

Silence fell over the crew. Roman ran down from the wheel grinning. "Your a mermaid too!" He exclaimed.

Remy grinned."better believe it! Heard about a Ghost ship and a missing mermaid...thought you might need some help..."

Patton smiled. "Yes, more crew members are also good! Im Patton, this is my brother Emile, the captain there is Roman, the guy in purple who looks ready to kill you is Virgil, and the guy with glasses in front of him is Logan!"

Remy hummed as he looked around. "Cute bunch. Names Remy, the kid behind me-"

"-i am not a kid-"

"Is named Dee. He is a half siren. And short." Remy stretched as Dee walked out into the sunlight.

"So what do you guys even do?" Dee asked.

Logan said."we rescue captured mermaids...oe well, that is the plan atleast."

Emile smiled."I'm new to the crew, but im the one in charge of making sure the boat floats. Like the hidden hatch i added? It makes it easier for us to go in and out of the bait without worrying about the clothes or being caught by pirates."

Rsmy nods and leaned on the railing as Dee explored the ship. "Yeah, it was pretty cool, the bait does still need some work..what does everyone else do?"

Roman took over."well i am the captain! I am the one in charge here." He beemed with pride, "Logan is my first mate, he makes sure the plans will work ideally. Patton is our savor. He gets on the ships and frees the mermaids. Virgil is the one we saved first, but his job will be to sneak onto the boats and help Patton, or steal gold or other things from the pirates." He smiled." So really, the question is...what can you offer us?"

Remy laughed."I like your flare cap! And what can i offer?" He smirked, leaning forward. "A spy. I go into bars,and chat up pirates all the time! I can find out who has mermaids and where they plan to go and report back to you easily!"

Dee laughed."maybe if you had a good sense of direction!"

Remy nods."yeah but i can get people to trust me, if you were to go, you would get into a fight." He teased.

"So you are a spy while he is your escort?" Logan asked.

Dee scoffed."uh escuse you, i am more than that. Im the fastest swimmer around! Nothing says a pirate ship will just end up in a storm all the time, you need something for them to follow." Dee put his hands on his hips confidently. " i am part siren, luring pirates to their deaths is kinda my thing. I just gotta get them to chase me into a storm and you guys take care of the rest."

Virgil was silent. "What if you get caught?"

Dee greeted his silence with one of his own. "I was in a barrel before, i can handle being in one agian until you guys save me. " he took a breath and grinned getting cocky. "Besides, who says ill be caught?"

And so Remy and Dee joined the crew.

____

For a few months, eveeything worked out great. They all had matching bracelets thanks to the sunshine brothers, Remy and Dee would also find out information easily. After a while, Patton would board ships sooner. He would board at the docks, or as a 'ship wrecked sailor' trying to get to land. It got the pirates to trust him quicker and got him on the ship sooner. Emile painted the name of the ship onto it and ' The Siren. ' officially was set sail.

Virgil had gathered gold and jewels. He would knock barrels of drinking water off, and would take the food reserves from time to time. Once he stabbed someone who had grabbed Patton when he tried to jump over the railing, so he had a new job added to it. Dee was fast, like he promised, and could easily tempt ships to,follow him.

But then Remy heard about Thomas.

Remy ran onto the deck, with Dee close behind him (he swims fast, not run)

"They have a multi colored!" He announced out of breath.

Multi colored meant that the tail of the mermaid was more than one color. They were extremely rare. Having just two colors together was surprising and often times, these types of,mermaids where higher value to pirates.

"They won't keep them with the others." Virgil said."pat, you will have to-"

"Let me finish!" Remy called over Virgil. He took a breath.

"They are a rainbow tail."

The silence was deafening. Having two colors was rare and surprising, but six different colors? That would be like finding a four leaf clover at 11:11 on the luckest day of the year, on your birthday. Nearly impossible.

And extremely valuable.

"They wont leave them by themselves...and,no where near any kind of water..." Emile stated.

"Then we sink the ship."

All eyes turned to Logan. They never sunk a ship before, only boarded.

"Think for a second, we still have a small crew, on a small ship, and we have barely any kind of actual training with swords. A rainbow tailed mermaid will be guarded, and inside, and even if we could get to them, they will be locked up...if we sink the ship, we could get them free easier..."

"But how do we sink a pirate ship?" Virgil asked in disbelief. "They have ships so much bigger than ours! We don't even know if our canons even work, and if they did, they wont be enough to sink it."

"They we take it apart from under it." Emile,spoke up. This time, all eyes fell to emile surprised.

He smiled."I know boats, i can figure out which boards to remove to sink it...logan can help me with removing them. He is smart, and I dont know what tools to use to remove boards, just to put them on."

And with a few more ideas and making sure the plan cant go,wrong, they were ready.

_____

Dee had to get this ship to follow him. Rumors had began to spread about their ship, and about missing mermaids. Whether or not they believe in those rumors didn't matter, no one would risk loosing something like a multi colored. So Dee had to pull out all the stops this time.

He swam up quickly towards the surface, break through the water and into the air.

He flew up a little ways from his speed, and grabbed hold of the bowsprit. He pulled himself up and gained the attention of some pirates. He sat on it, ready to jump in and swim.

"Captain, a mermaid be sittin' on our ship!" A pirate called.

Dee gasped."mermaid?,no way! I am part siren!" He had his yellow eye glow.

The captain came out of his quarters. "Half siren eh? Sirens be tricky to catch, and worth a lot of treasure...a half siren be easier to nab...grab 'em!" He ordered.

Dee jumped into the water below and began to swim to a storm a ways away. The boat turned to,follow him. He swam quickly, staying at the surface and keep the attention on him.

The ship followed him, althought he did have to get their attention by letting them get close at times. The storm was heading to the ship, and even if they changed direction now, they would be caught. Dee swam down deep and to the ship to get ready to ghost.

_____

"Ok, everyone ready?" Roman stated, going over the rolls agian. "Emile and Logan will work to break the underside of the boat, Patton will distract the crew while Virgil boards to see if he can find the rainbow. Remy, dee and i stay here and play the ghosts, keeping the ship distracted." The others nodded.

Roman looked at them all and said."be safe ok? And if something happens, get to safety first Alright?" He gave them all a look of worry, this was his crew. He didnt knwo what he would do if something happened to any of them.

They all gave a nod

_____

Roman stood at the end of the bowspirt with his sword drawn at his side, just....staring at the ship in the storm. A few pirates were watching him confused, some looked scared even, good.

Off to the back, roman could see Patton freeing a few normal mermaids into the ocean, some looked like they decided to help logan and Emile under the ship.

That was taking some time. Of course it would, ships were made to last and not fell apart easily. That didnt mean roman wasnt worried. The longer they were down there, the longer they had to be caught.

Movement of something purple caught roman's eye as he saw Virgil climbing the back of the ship and crawl through a window into tge captain's quarters. He hoped Virgil would be ok.

Virgil on the other hand, was focused. He slid down behind a bookshelf (pirates read? Wait no, it was covered in treasure) and watched as the captain yelled at a crew member.

"I aint be leavin' this here rainbow tail! It be worth a lot on dry land, now ye be going out to keep yar ship strudy! Go! Off with ya!" He shouted.

"But captain, the ship outside has-"

"I know what ye think it has! Let me yell yar this now, I dont be caring if there be a ghost ship or nah, we be sailin' to shore!"

Virgil looked around the room as the captain continued. He saw a crate with a lock on it. That must be the rainbow tailed. But it was across the room and, as mentioned before, locked.

Virgil watched things roll around and shift as the boat was thrown by the waves, then he noticed that everything started to mostly roll one way. He assumed that mean-

"Captain! We be sinking!" The door flew open as a pirate ran in in a panic.

"What?! what do ye mean we be sinking?" And the captain stormed out of the room as the ship was tilting more. The door slammed closed and virgil was alone in the room.

He grabbed a random trinket from the book shelf and went over to the crate with the rainbow tailed in it. He raised the trinket, which appeared to be a golden statue of some kind, and hit the lock. He hit it over and over agian until it finally came off.

Virgil opened the crate too only be splashed by water right away. He looked down at the sight before him.

There was a mermaid with a rainbow tail. Honestly it was an honor to even see one. The mermaid looked at Virgil with pleading eyes, ropes tied around him and his mouth gagged. Virgil knew the look in his eyes, he had the look himself back when he had been captured.

"Ever hear of ' the siren ' before?" Virgil asked as he removed the gag from his mouth and got to work untying him.

He shook his head no.

Virgil nods as he got one knot undone and worked on another, "figured you hadn't, we arent too popular yet. Ill explain it like this for you. There is another ship in this storm, it isn't sinking, go to it, it will be safe there," he smirked as he saw the confusing on the rainbow's face.

"Lets just say we dont have our sea legs." And with a wink, Virgil finished the last knot and helped the rainbow out. The ship was sinking faster now, which was no problem for them.

The problem was the door slamming open to a furious captain, who drew his sword.

"You best be puttin' that rainbow tailed back!"

Virgil held the mermaid princess style snd looked at the captain scared, what was he suppose to do? The back window was too high up now for virgil to go out that way, making the door the only place left, and the captain was blocking the way out. And he had a sword that was very pointy.

"Uh I.,i can't..do that...you see, im a ghost." Virgil nods, trying to Roman his way out of this mess. "Totally a ghost. From the ghost ship over there. So uh.,you can't kill me."

Virgil turns out to be very bad at Roman-ing a situation.

The captain laughed. "Ye be a ghost? There be no such thing! And if ye be a ghost, then ye won't bleed now, will ye?"

Virgil will bleed. Virgil does not want to bleed. Blood belongs on the inside and he would like to keep it there.

The ship was taking water in faster, and nearly vertical now, giving Virgil an idea.

Time to Roman this another way.

By being dramatic.

"Well if i wasn't a ghost..could I...do this?" And Virgil jumped up. The captain was holsing into the door to stay at the room and not fall down to the waters that had taken over his boat.

Because the boat was almost veritcal, when Virgil jumped, instead of landing on the wood of the boat, he fell towards the door the captain was at, feet first.

Virgil hit the captain with his feet, making him loose his grip on the door and fall into the raging waters. Virgil was still holding the rainbow when he landed in the water.

Virgil transformed, grabbing his clothes and quickly swimming towards the ship.

He grabbed the rainbow's hand as he swam.

______

By the time Virgil got the rainbow on the ship, the entire crew had ran down to meet them.

"You did it!"

"We saw the captain go in-"

"Wow a real rainbow tail."

"Did you get hurt?"

Everything meshed together as Virgil smiled at everyone. Patton and Emile were helping the rainbow tail get adjusted, logan and Roman were helping virgil up, Remy was picking an outfit for the rainbow, and dee was stating st Virgil silently, which was weird.

"We did it." Virgil grinned. Everything was fine. They saved the rainbow and probably down other mermaids on the sinking ship.

"Your bleeding."

Everyone froze and they looked at Dee, who was pointing at virgil's leg.

As Virgil slowly looked down, he saw a gash in his leg going from the side of his foot up to his hip.

He remembered when he kicked the captain, and how he had his sword drawn when he did.

He remembered it cutting his leg.

And now he felt it.

Virgil collapsed as the pain finally hit him. He could hear yelling and feel arms and hands on him, he thinks he heard someone say 'its okay', but he wasn't sure.

And he passed out.

____

When virgil work up, his leg was wrapped and Patton was leaning over him. He turned and yelled,

"He's awake!"

Virgil sat up and stretched as the crew ran over.

Emile took over first. "Nothing is broken, but until it is healed, i would suggest staying in human form for a while ok? It will heal faster since this is the body you were injured with."

Virgil nods a bit, slowly making sense of everything.

He saved the rainbow, got cut in the elf, swam to the bait, got on, found out he was bleeding, passed out from shock of blood and suddenly knowing of pain, work up. Yep, sounds about right.

"Where is the rainbow?" Virgil looked around, until a familar face smiled at him.

"Hi, name is Thomas," the rainbow smiled and held out his hand. Virgil noticed he had a rainbow friendship bracelet on, which had ended up beconing the Mark of the crew. Virgil couldn't help but smiked as he took his hand.

"Virgil, and welcome aboard."

_____

Every tale has two sides, and so does every legend.

The legend on land was known by pirates. Of a ghost ship that only appears in storms and a crew that will take your mermaids. The legend is a warning.

The legend of the see was known by the mermaids themselves, of a ship filled with pirates. Pirates who were mermaids, who sink ships and free those who were caught, promising them safety above the water, the legend is a promise, a promise of protection.

And every legend holds truth.

_________

And done! Hope you all wnjoy and wilk stick sround for the next part!

#Sanders sides #mermaid au #pirate au #lost at sea au #that is what im calling it

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penniesforthestorm · 4 years ago

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“Mr. Crankypants needs a chocolate bar”: Justified Season Two, Episodes 2-4

After the jump, you’ll find my notes on episodes 2-4 of the second season of Justified. My recap of the S2 premiere, “The Moonshine War”, is here, and any other material related to the show is under the tag ‘#did you miss my heart on purpose’. (Or, you can click around on my blog if you like-- you’re all welcome and I’m always up for a chat!)

Episode Two: “The Life Inside”

-We open with Dickie and Coover Bennett dumping Walt McCready’s body down a mine shaft; Coover takes Walt’s watch as a souvenir.

-Raylan catches up with Boyd Crowder, who appears to be back on the straight and narrow, digging coal. Raylan, of course, is skeptical-- over drinks, he needles Boyd about his proclivity for “getting money and blowing shit up”.

-Over to Arlo and Aunt Helen’s, where Helen has Arlo living in a trailer on the property. Raylan’s after the $20,000 that the marshal service gave Arlo as bait for Bo Crowder. Helen puts a flea in Raylan’s ear about Mags Bennett, hinting further at the bad blood between their families.

-Mags takes in Walt’s daughter Loretta, with a vague cover story about how Walt is ‘down south, handling some business’ for the Bennetts. “I never had a girl,” she muses, eyeing Loretta with seemingly genuine affection.

-Winona and Raylan encounter Winona’s husband Gary in the elevator. Poor Gary. William Ragsdale plays such a great schmuck.

-Marshal Service Case of the Week: Raylan and Tim are supposed to transport a heavily pregnant prisoner, Jamie Berglund, to a doctor’s appointment, but things go awry. Turns out, Berglund was impregnated by a guard, but planned to pass the baby off to her ex. One of her co-conspirators, Timmons, has another idea: kill her and sell the child on the black market. The third associate, an EMT by training, doesn’t approve of the new plan, and tries to buy time for Berglund to escape. Raylan and Tim catch up with the guard, Cosgrove, and he takes them to the other three. Sharpshooter Tim neutralizes Timmons with a shot to the “apricot” (aka the medulla oblongata), and Cosgrove is taken into custody.

-Boyd, looking battered, climbs the stairs at Ava’s house, and she brings him gauze and rubbing alcohol. Maybe Raylan isn’t the only friend Boyd has left.

Episode Three: “The I of the Storm”

-Who’s that? Why, it’s our pal Dewey Crowe, boasting to Boyd about some new scheme he’s cooking up. This is the debut of Ellen May (Abby Miller)-- a daffy ‘working girl’. Dewey appears to be quite a loyal customer. Boyd wants no part of any of it.

-Raylan and Winona go on a clandestine date to see Dave Alvin (of X and The Blasters), and Winona becomes alarmed when she recognizes Deputy Tim in the audience. (Which is hilarious-- on the incredibly short list of Things Tim Gutterson Cares About, I’m pretty sure “who Raylan Givens is sleeping with” doesn’t appear.)

-A glimpse of Dewey’s plan-- a fake church bus with a cargo of OxyContin. Unfortunately, the bus gets held up, the pills are swiped, and one of Dewey’s associates is shot.

-It’s Art Mullen who ferrets out Raylan’s rekindling romance with Winona. “And I thought sleeping with a witness was stupid!”

-Boyd, at the mine, gets pestered by two young yahoos who seem very keen on making his acquaintance. Back at Ava’s, Dewey Crowe seeks a confab. (This is the 2nd time we see him forget to put his car in ‘park’ before getting out.) Dewey tells Boyd he wants to steal back the pills, and Boyd attempts to warn him off.

-OK, you know that meme going around about “I have one brain cell bouncing around like a Windows Screen Saver, and when it hits a corner, I have a Thought”? Dewey Crowe, in a sporting-goods store, trying unsuccessfully to purchase a ski mask, glances around and sees... a white Stetson hat. “I’m Federal Marshal Raylan Givens!” he yells as he storms the pill thieves’ trailer, blasting away. “I will put a hole through you if you make me!”

-Doyle Bennett summons Raylan, on the testimony of Cassie (Jes Macallan), who was with the pill thieves. Cassie, however, points out that Raylan was not at the scene, and mentions that the culprit said something about “poaching gators”, to Raylan’s great amusement.

-Dewey has gone bragging to Boyd, who admonishes him that if he stays on this path, “You’re not long for this earth, son.”

-Raylan and Doyle Bennett converge on the pill thieves, and Doyle learns that his brother Dickie hired them. Doyle confronts Dickie and Coover, confirming that the pills were intended for “the boys up in Frankfort”, a.k.a. the Dixie Mafia. Dickie protests he’s not afraid of Frankfort, and Doyle shoots back, “What if Mama finds out? You afraid of Mama?”

-Boyd’s obnoxious co-worker Kyle finally goes too far, mentioning Boyd’s old white-supremacist posse. He follows Boyd to his truck, and Boyd gets him in a headlock and starts driving, dragging him. “Jesus Christ!” Kyle screams. “Oh, you want to talk about him? Would you like to meet your maker, Kyle?” Boyd screams back, before letting Kyle go and driving off (after establishing that Kyle survived).

Episode Four: For Blood or Money

-Sunday dinner at Mags Bennett’s: Raylan arrives to poke the bear; he warns that the Dixie Mafia won’t have forgotten about their stolen cargo, and alerts Mags to Dickie’s involvement. Mags drops a dark hint at Raylan’s past with her family, mentioning Dickie’s limp. Doyle warns his brothers not to go after Raylan.

-A quiet(ish) moment at Ava’s: Boyd is holed up in the guest room, listening to Drive-by Truckers and reading W. Somerset Maugham’s Of Human Bondage. Ava urges him out onto the porch, and they have... possibly the first friendly, casual conversation between the two of them? Boyd’s hangers-on from the mine show up, spoiling the moment. (Side note: DBT wins the award for “thickest secondhand pot smoke I’ve ever experienced at a concert”-- I saw them in 2017 at Webster Hall. I have zero problem with weed, but Lordy...)

-Marshal Service Case of the Week: a parolee named Clinton (Larenz Tate) is trying to get to his son’s birthday, but the counselor at his halfway house detains him for an infraction. He breaks out and hits up an old associate, Flex (Chadwick Boseman, striking even in this tiny cameo), who now wants to be “the first badass Black magician”. It turns out that Clinton is the brother-in-law of Deputy Rachel Brooks, and was involved in her sister’s death.

-Raylan, continuing on the trail of the Oxy bus, visits Emmit Arnett in Frankfort. Arnett claims that his dealings with Gary Hawkins enabled him to go legitimate, and points Raylan in the direction of Wynn Duffy.

-Raylan and Rachel track down Clinton, who’s waiting for his son Nick at a Wild West-themed pizza parlor. When the dust clears, the only real casualty is the knockoff Furby that Clinton bought for Nick. (There’s something terribly, sweetly sad about that fuzzy toy flopping over on the floor.)

-Back at the office, Rachel explains her family: despite their outward success, her father struggled with depression, and her sister became an addict as a preteen. Raylan’s family is, of course, already a matter of record. Tim snarks that his father died before Tim had the chance to shoot him, and Raylan empathizes-- “It wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.”

-Finally, miner Kyle manages to bend Boyd’s ear to a possible scheme, intimating that there’s a chance for Boyd to be ‘treated like a hero’.

#tv #recap #long post #justified season 2 #did you miss my heart on purpose

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moodring89 · 7 years ago

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CH.01 Down the Rabbit Hole

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader / Side Yoonseok Chapter Rated: PG-13 (Future rating will change to M) Genre: Fantasy, Hybrid AU (Prince Bunkook. Sue me.), Royal AU, Cinderella / Labyrinth feels Summary: Yoongi's sister buys two tickets to the Autumn ball held at the Meadows, a notorious city known for its hybrid inhabitants, where she hopes to meet a certain bunny princeling. Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04

“I’m sorry, what –?”

Yoongi held up a piece of mail, “Autumn Ball to be held at the Meadows in celebration of Prince Jeon Jeongguk’s Coming of Age?” The envelope was ripped at the top from where he’d opened it, being all sorts of casual about incriminating himself. “There’s no way in hell that our father is going to allow you to attend. You know this and yet you spent money on a ticket.”

“On two tickets,” she said, as she snatched the envelope from his fingers. “And why not?”

He didn’t know how to not sound like a prejudiced asshole, but he went for it anyway. “Because there are hybrids living in the Meadows and there’s still a ton o’ shit that we don’t know about them yet.”

“This is the first social gathering where hybrids and humans will be allowed to mingle and co-exist with one another, and like, in a party setting, which is just a bonus. It’s fascinating. No – it’s historic and you can bet your uptight, manhwa loving ass that I’d love to be there.” The blonde lowered his eyes at her, pouting resolutely when she continued, “I spoke with our father and you know what he said? ‘Get one for your brother, too.’”

He sighed, passively, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. I was just rather hoping he’d do that thing where he beats on his chest and roars his short response of ‘fuck’ and ‘no’ from atop the highest mountain.”

She patted his shoulder with mock sincerity, “There, there, take the loss as it comes, swiftly and sweetly. Do you even own a proper suit and tie?”

“I have about as many suits as you do ball gowns.”

“So, zero then? ‘Kay, sounds good. We’re real ahead of this thing.”

Yoongi grabbed for his car keys, wanting to get it over with. “Let’s hit the stores now, before I decide to go in my pajamas. You know that I would, too.” When it comes to his sister, Yoongi tended to cave in, perhaps too easily. Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, and most of the time – even things she could do living without, but he decided that she didn’t have to, like a new phone, or a bag.

They’d split up once they were inside the store, headed in two completely separate directions. She hadn’t expected half the town to be at this particular dress shop. Royal ball doesn’t exactly scream, ‘Let’s go to the local Mom-and-Pop boutique.’

The obnoxious text tone of Naruto’s catchphrase, ‘Believe it’ that she’d associated with Yoongi went off. She stared down at her phone.

Yoonji Unnie --------------------- It’s a fucking sausage fest here. 3:54pm

To: Yoonji Unnie --------------------- Funny, since it’s a clam-fam reunion over here, too. Any hopes of looking original have successfully gone out the window. 3:54pm

Yoonji Unnie --------------------- Unless we go with my pajama idea? 3:54pm

To: Yoonji Unnie --------------------- I’m not meeting the Prince of the Meadows in a camisole. 3:55pm

Yoonji Unnie --------------------- Gross. See you in the parking lot. 3:57pm

Yoongi was already inside the car, a plastic bag thrown carelessly into the backseat. She shut her door with a huff, somewhat affronted by it. “You were able to find a suit? I thought it was Wang city, far too many hand-to-gland casualities for you to possibly stay long enough to find something suitable.”

“Yeah, unlike you, I don’t care if I’m wearing the same shit as someone else, especially a fucking suit.” He started up the car and turned onto the main road, driving around idly, until they decided on their next stop. “Again, I would have gone in my striped pajamas without a single fuck to be spared. I like keeping my fucks to myself. However, something tells me that there is a dress code we have to adhere to...”

“Of course there is.”

Yoongi was scowling, as he tended to do so very naturally. “I would really hate to piss off the woodland creatures with our subpar fashion choices, so start calling out shops, and we’ll swing by to see if it’s packed.”

“Hybrids are people, not creatures,” she said, turning somewhat dejectedly to stare out the window. “Why do I have to remind you? You’re the intelligent one and yet you say the most asinine things.”

“What are you hoping to achieve by seeing the Prince? He will not favor you, as you do him.” It was such a sad anomaly, something that shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and it was too late. His sister had fallen in love through mere stories of the bunny princeling. What if the tales weren’t true? Don’t meet your heroes, wasn’t that the saying? The treaty between hybrids and humans had practically been forced, guns aimed at each other’s heads in a stalemate between two stubborn kings. It turned out that the two species needed to sustain each other, whether it was for the oil, the crops, or other various cargos: The union was not wanted, but it was necessary.

The thought that their father had even agreed to put them in some slight form of potential danger was preposterous to him. Although, it was possible that his darling sister was lying to him, right to his own fucking face. At least he could later credit himself for not being entirely blindsided by it. No one jukes Min Yoongi.

“I don’t even expect to be allowed to speak with the Prince, so what does it matter?” They were stopped at a light. For a long moment, the silence played with the tension, thus swallowing the siblings up whole. She sighed, finding it be unbearable, “I only wish to look upon him, to take glimpse of his true nature for myself, instead by word of mouth.”

“Alright, enough. You can stop with the poetic shit. I get it…” Yoongi felt frustrated, stopping in front of a shopping mall. It didn’t appear to be as busy as all the other stores they had passed along the way, probably due to an even lower standard in quality. He surrendered his card as a form of an apology, which she graciously accepted. “Don’t make it long.”

She’d made it especially fucking long.

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

The tickets were a simple white cotton paper with speckled gold and elegant cursive. She half-mourned over the fact that she’d have to hand it over at the castle gates in order to get in. The girl kept the envelope, tucking it away inside the top drawer of her vanity. Tonight she would finally get to meet the Prince. After hearing so many stories of his time on the battlefield, of the scar which adorned his face along his cheek, how he’d spared a human General’s life.

Prince Jeongguk was an advocate for equality, a symbol of peace, and hope. He’d visited the Isles of Lunar and fed the sun to the poor. He did not leave, until all were healthy, and full. She’d heard that he’d brought in environmental scientists to study the moon enriched lands and that they’d found ways to sustain and harvest crops. That was how he’d inherited the nickname, ‘Lunar Prince’.

There were no photographs allowed to be taken of the Prince. However, the news articles were free to state as many details as they so desired. She’d tried to envision what he would look like given the various descriptions, tall and broad it had read, only one or two inches away from standing at six foot tall. Two velveteen rabbit ears sat atop a silky crown of raven black hair, pure white in color, and responsive to the change in his mood. One columnist in particular went on and on about the Prince’s dark eyes, how large, and doe-like they had appeared, despite their depth, and warmth. She’d rather enjoyed that bit.

For tonight, she’d wanted to dress in tears of silk and netted fabrics. The Meadows was said to be the pinnacle of nature itself, the homeland of the fae, and hybrid kind. Magic would exist in her world for only one night, but that was already more than what she could ever hope for. Her dress was a warm pigment of peach and was scattered with blossoms. Her hair was pinned up, save for a wavy strand here and there. Her skin would be devoid of any eye-catching jewelry and her makeup would be natural.

She would not pretend as though she belonged, because she didn’t. Yoongi stood in the doorway, wearing his suit more convincingly than she did her dress. Her brother should be more confident. Perhaps after tonight, he would be.

“I look ridiculous.”

She placed the tickets inside her clutch, “Oh, I’m very certain that we both look amazing. The word spiffy is still a thing and we are the definition.”

“Yeah, you should probably refrain from using that as a compliment.”

She laughed at his obvious discomfort, “I’ll be sure to use it at least three times tonight just to spite you.”

“Please do,” Yoongi said, twirling his keys in his hand impatiently. “Make sure to use it on your prince. He’ll then know for sure that you’re an ancient.”

“You wound me, brother.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, wondering if he’d ever stop rolling them for the duration of the evening. The Meadows was almost an hour by car. They made the most of it by listening to whatever music Yoongi decided to put on, rapping along to old CDs that she’d been forced to listen to time and time again, and for as long as she could remember. His voice was perfect for it, which was why she encouraged him to continue making music, even if their father disapproved of it.

He’d threatened Yoongi with a florist position. It could be done rather easily, since the shop was run by family. Luckily, their father was currently away on business and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. If he’d been home tonight, she had no idea as to what would have happened. A huge argument, wasted money, and a solitude evening listening to the muddled sounds of Yoongi’s piano.

The Meadows was no longer a guarded territory and for the first time ever, humans were being granted free passage. The new lands held such a dark enchantment, a beauty that was so drastically different from what they’ve ever known that they’d spent the rest of the drive in a state of silent enrapt. They followed the cars in front of them to the castle, which was at the heart of the city. It was a citadel surrounded by forest and closed in by tall gates. Parking was easy enough, as Yoongi handed over his keys to the valet.

“You good? Do you need me to piggyback you?” Yoongi asked, watching as his sister hesitated, stumbling more so than walking. It was a sign that her nerves were getting the best of her. “We didn’t come all this way, dressed up like assholes for nothing, princess. Remember why you wanted to come here. To partake in a historic event, wasn’t it?” It seemed to be working, when he heard her laugh. “Plus, I’m all famished and in dire need of eating sweets off of doilies, or whatever the fuck they serve royals. Let’s at least get some food in our systems.”

She caught his arm, holding onto him for her own stability, “What if I lose my mind in there?”

“Then I’ll find it for you.”

Would it really be that simple?

#noonanet #jeongguk x reader #bts fics #jungkook x reader #hybrid au #fantasy au #modern royalty au #yoonseok

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lionesshathor · 7 years ago

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Of Lekku and Boxer Shorts

It started with a Hera reference sheet, and @pomrania calling her headscarf...thingy “head underwear”.

Welp, “Head underwear” really got to me. Like, what if Hera ended up wearing one of Kanan’s boxers on her lekku at some point? Either out if desperation, as an attempt to flirt, or maybe she lost a bet? It would be even funnier if the fabric had some dorky heart pattern or lettering. Can you imagine her wearing some space-Hawaiian themed shorts with ALOHA printed across the ass(or in this case, brow)? Wouldn’t they be a bit loose, considering that a head and lekku are smaller than a waist and legs? Does Kanan own any sexy underwear?

And then I started headcanoning HARDER. (And fanfictioning!)

~~Desperation~~

“Just WHERE in the Nine Corellian Hells are my headscarves?!” Hera bellowed.

Kanan froze. It had been his night for laundry; had he forgotten to bring up everything after sorting? “Hold on, I’ll get your stuff out of the cleaning unit!” He called back, dashing to the cubby near the cargo hold. Yes, there was the barrel-shaped washer/dryer, full to the brim with clothes. Except...the usual “cycle complete” light wasn’t lit. In fact, now that he looked at it, the clothes seemed to be exactly the way he’d left them when he put them in. Panic crawling up his throat, he checked the chutes for soap and softener. Neatly filled, undisturbed...

“Ka-naaaaaan!” Hera yowled.

Oh, she was going to be PISSED. He’d forgotten to turn the stupid thing on, and a full cleaning cycle lasted hours!

Kanan reached for his comm, bracing himself. “I...uhm, the laundry isn’t ready.”

Silence, deadly silence...

He gulped and held it as far away from himself as he could while still picking up his voice. “I kinda...forgot to...turn the machine on?”

“You WHAT?!” Not good. The last time she’d been this angry was when she’d discovered a hidden bottle of booze in his cabin. “I need a headscarf, Kanan! I can’t exactly pilot the Ghost from my bunk! You’d better come up with one, even if you have to sew it yourself!”

The commlink was shaking, whether from the force of Hera’s rage or Kanan’s dread was unclear. “I’ll, ah, see what I can do...” He managed.

Ten minutes later, he appeared at her cabin with a replacement. Hera glowered at him, and then regarded the clothing in his hand.

“Are those... boxer shorts?” She asked.

Kanan pressed his face against the bulkhead to hide his blush, holding the white underwear at arm’s length. “They’re clean, I found the most pristine pair I could, and it’s the closest thing I could find to what you wear...” He mumbled against the metal.

A hand brushed his, taking the offered boxers. Kanan fled to the cockpit.

When Hera joined him, boxer shorts neatly threaded over her lekku and under her pilot’s cap, he did his best not to stare.

“The laundry’s in progress.” He offered quietly.

Her only response was to growl and start punching buttons on the console, getting the Ghost ready to fly.

~~Flirting~~

“C’mere, Luv. I’ve got a surprise for you tonight...”

Kanan flicked on the lights in her cabin, the door whooshing shut behind him. Hera was lounged on her bunk, sporting her usual thermal sleep-suit except...

He gawked. Hera’s head and lekku were draped in pastel pink fabric, with palm trees and stylized waves patterned across the lot of it. On the elastic adorning her brow, bold lettering of “STUD” (or ‘DUTS’, since he was reading it upside down.) glared back at him.

“I didn’t even know you had something like this.” She continued, enjoying his befuddled yet aroused expression. “When did you get it? I don’t recall any tropical gift shops on our various adventures.”

Kanan swallowed hard, regaining enough brain power to speak. “I, ah, may have charmed that off a barmaid on Rion...” he said. “She offered me a night of fun, I declined, and then she tried to bargain with the shorts. Said it’d be so good I would need something to remember it by, that she could get me whatever I desired from the tourist shop overstock. But I said no again, so she threw them at me.”

Hera laughed. “You kept these? Ever since we went to Rion? Have you even worn them?”

“Not really, no” He said sheepishly. “They tend to remind me of the carouser I used to be, of when I would take up offers like that at every turn.”

Hera sobered. “What changed?”

“I met you, Hera Syndulla.” Kanan smiled. “There’s never been another woman for me, not since the day I blundered into you on Gorse.”

“Well, then,” She said, standing and coming up to caress his face. “Perhaps this can become something more than a mark of shame.”

Kanan leaned into her touch, but halted as he became level with the lettering once more. He sighed exasperatedly at the pink fabric and ridiculous pattern.

“Oh, gimme those.” he said, yanking them off her lekku. “I can’t take you seriously in tropical boxer shorts. Not even a revolutionary of your caliber can make these things meaningful.”

~~Losing a Bet~~

Long hyperspace jumps let to boredom. Boredom led to numerous improvised games, and poor judgement. Poor judgement led to making bets that the rational, calculating Captain Hera Syndulla would never have considered, had she been sane.

Losing said bets meant wearing a pair of white boxers under her usual headgear, hoping the rest of the crew wouldn’t notice. For a full day cycle aboard the ship.

Ezra seemed to buy her lie about “trying some looser, more casual headscarf”. Sabine just looked at the plain fabric, declared it too boring, and offered to paint it. When told no, she gave it another, more critical look, but otherwise kept her mouth shut. Zeb did his best to smother his laughter, knowing full well what he was looking at but trying to help his captain save face. He also offered to maul Kanan, but Hera politely declined. She thanked him for the gesture though, oddly pleased by the Lasat’s desire to defend her dignity.

Chopper didn’t say a word, likely because Hera threatened to pull his battery for the entire time. He had been conspicuously absent, likely giving Kanan an extra dose of his usual antics in retaliation.

Finally, the day was over and she could take the stupid thing off. She tossed it contemptuously in the laundry, and flopped into her bunk with a relieved sigh.

The next morning, she woke to her commlink beeping. Sleepily pawing at the cylinder, she finally got it in her hand and sat up to answer.

“Spectre two here, what is it?”

“Uh, it’s Kanan.” Came the reply. “The kids must’ve been angry about yesterday, because... Ugh, you better come see this.”

“Alright alright, gimme a minute.” She groused, reaching for her clothes. She quickly dressed and went to Kanan’s cabin.

The Jedi was surrounded by laundry, a blanket wrapped around his waist. Neatly sorted piles of clothes dotted the room, Sabine’s here, Ezra’s there...

Kanan was currently sifting through his own clothes, occasionally dropping a damaged article in a small heap. Hera looked closer, drowsiness making it hard to grasp what she was looking at. Mostly small, white things, obviously burnt.

It clicked. Someone had gotten ahold of Kanan’s underwear, and burnt enormous holes in each pair, rendering them useless. Memories of Chopper being gone most of yesterday returned; he must have taken his electro-prod to the whole lot in spite.

“Oh my stars...” Hera murmured, not sure if this was funny or tragic.

“It gets worse.” Kanan grumbled. “Remember that pair you were wearing? He spared it, and it looks like maybe he took it to Sabine...” He held up a pair of white boxers, with Property of Hera Syndulla written across the waistband in neat green letters. A copy of her lekku pattern had even been stenciled over the legs.

Hera couldn’t help herself. She sat down on his bunk and laughed, pity giving way to the sheer absurdity of his predicament. Oh, Chopper and whoever else he let in on it would get a scolding and be sent off to buy new underwear, but for now she could enjoy watching her hapless partner realize he had no choice but to wear the offending boxers.

It was going to be an interesting day...

#kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #swr #pomrania #head underwear

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blackpalaladin · 8 years ago

Text

These aching bones

Part Two

“I need you for a intel mission.”

They are the bittersweetest words Jack’s heard in a long time. He watches Winston from behind his visor as the gorilla shuffles awkwardly in front of him. ‘Intel mission’ is usually code for ‘your heat is near and we need you to loosen a tongue or two’. No one likes handing Jack these missions, Sataya hisses that it’s basically prostitution. Angela always looks vaguely uncomfortable and fidgets in her seat.

“Am I going alone?” Jack asks.

“I’ll be there.” Lucio waves, “Not….uh….where you will be, but in case things get hairy and you need a hand.”

Jack tries to stifle the disappointment. He had hoped to sneak away during this heat to see Gabriel. Not that he had high hopes of his former Alpha even bothering to look for him, but the disappointment still stung.

“Who is it?” Jack reaches forward to pick the file from the meeting table. The picture of a middle-aged man dressed in a three piece suit is clipped to the front. Jack recognizes him as a former Mech manufacturer. The file is barren, save for basic information such as birth, hair color, weight, and blood type.

“He is supposedly helping Talon.” Winston clears his throat, “We want you to find out how much he knows about them and if he knows what their endgame is.”

Jack frowns, “This is something Hana can’t just hack into, I assume.”

“You don’t have to go.” Angela interrupts, “Heats are already uncomfortable enough.”

Jack shakes his head, “It’s better than being holed up the entire time.” He shakes the file at Winston, “Bodyguards?”

Winston grunts, “Talon thugs, easy for you.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Lucio keeps shooting him looks as they ride to the drop point. Jack gives nothing in his body language to encourage the young man to talk. He instead tries to concentrate on the swirling burn coiling at the base of his spine. If he wants to use his heat to get the alpha target to talk, then he needs to focus on ramping it up.

It used to be extremely difficult to ramp up his heat, with a dead mate and no one to assist, he relied on sheer luck. Now, he could think of Gabriel. Gabriel who is alive somewhere out there and had recognized Jack just buy his heat scent. It was a heady feeling and he could feel his body's response just thinking of his alpha.

His alpha.

Was he allowed to call him that again?

“Is Reaper your mate?”

Jack jerks his head around to stare down at Lucio, who isn’t angry, mostly curious. “He was.” Jack feels is a safe reply.

“Explains why he let us go then.” Lucio nods, “Did you two...sort out your stuff?”

‘Stuff’ being Jack’s heat, he assumes, “No. The battlefield is no place for fornication.”

Lucio wrinkles his nose, “Wow. Wow. Fornication, really?”

Jack chuckles, “I’m old, remember?”

“Yea riiiiight.” Lucio rolls his eyes, “I’ve seen how you fight, 76.”

“I’ve had a lot of training.” Jack hedges. Not many of the new Overwatch members knew about the S.E.P. Jack and Gabriel were special cases. Lucio didn’t need to know he was running on fumes, either.

“So this Reaper character, he a bad guy?”

“You tell me.” Jack shrugs.

Lucio eyes him skeptically, “He’s working for Talon, but Hana says he’s a merc.”

“Hana needs to stay out of Winston’s secure files.” Jack grumbles.

“Well, if his passwords weren’t peanut butter,” Lucio laughs.

The same pilot as the last mission shouts from the front, “Landing, boys.”

“Got it.” Jack stands and heads for the door. He sheds his jacket, leaving the black bodysuit and cargo pants. His visor is next and he sets it into Lucio’s capable hands. Going in mostly blind is a bad, bad idea, but he can’t go into hostile territory looking like the enemy either

Lucio hovers by the door as Jack steps off. “Good luck.”

Jack sends him a short wave and starts walking.

It takes him about ten minutes to walk to the building where his target is staying. The hotel is fancy, taller than the ones surrounding it, and is mostly window. Jack winces inwardly at how exposed the rooms must be as he slinks down the alley beside the hotel in search of an access stairway.

He doesn’t find any stairs, but does find a door that leads to an industrial laundry room. It’s surprisingly empty and it doesn’t take long for Jack to find another door that leads to the rest of the hotel. The halls are a bright maroon, with gold weaved carpets and paintings that probably cost as much as a one night stay.

The empty hall doesn’t last long as a small woman pushing a cart rounds a corner just after he finds a main hallway. She gives him a toothy grin, “Enjoying your stay, sir?”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack nods and they pass without further exchange.

He mentally scans the intel Winston had given him. Tenth floor, room 1045, here’s a copy of the key. Jack checks his back pocket for it one more time as he enters an elevator with what looks to be a drunk couple and an elderly businessman.

The drunk couple stagger off at the sixth floor and the other man nods at him as Jack exits onto the tenth. This hallway is empty as well, but it’s of beige design, less harsh on Jack’s poor vision. He runs his hands along the walls, feeling each set of numbers as he passes, searching for the right one.

When he arrives, he pulls the key out of his pocket and twirls it between his fingers. The room, as far as he can tell, is quiet. It means the target is out temporarily, giving Jack plenty of time to set up his interrogation.

The door hisses after he swipes the card. It opens into a small suite decorated in muted blues, with a large bed to the left and a moderate bathroom to the right. The entire wall opposite him is glass, sheer blue curtains barely keeping the city lights contained.

A keypad to the left of the door chirps ‘Welcome Back, sir’ in a mechanical female voice. He glances at it, wondering for a second if the rooms required DNA authorization to enter. The pad speaks no more as he travels further inside.

There’s a suitcase on the dresser below where the TV is hanging, open and with a few clothes scattered around it.

His heat is a slow simmer in his gut, itching under his skin as he stares down at the suitcase. It feels like a betrayal, using his biology to seduce another alpha. He sniffs the air for a second, attempting to gauge the other alphas scent.

Warning bells go off when the scent is only cologne. Just cologne.

A set up.

Fuck.

He spins around to head for the door, no weapon, no jacket, all of his things back on the carrier with Lucio.

Raucous laughter erupts from the keypad by the door and it flashes purple. A white skull flickers across the screen and Jack can hear the click of the deadbolt falling into place.

Double fuck.

“You owe me one, Gabriel.” A woman’s voice that is not the same as before tsks from the keypad.

Jack is contemplating a ten story jump through the glass windows when the bolt clicks and the door opens just enough for a stream of black smoke to slither through. He can’t stop his body from flaring as Gabriel takes form in front of him. Every instinct he has is telling him to throw himself at Gabriel and offer his neck.

Jack can’t tell what Gabe looks like at their current distance, but he knows the mask isn’t there and neither is the coat and kevlar ensemble.

Gabriel moves closer, as if gliding across the carpet, a low, distinct growl filling between them, “Fancy meeting you here, Jack.”

Jack snorts, standing his ground, “I have a feeling you knew I would be.” His body is begging him. The heat is clawing at his control. That’s your mate! He knows. He knows.

“Did you seriously think I was going to allow you to..” Gabriel snarls low as he comes to a stop in front of Jack, “Sleep with another Alpha?”

Jack tilts his head, baring the part of his neck that was not marked, “It’s my job.”

Gabriels hand flies out and wraps around Jack’s neck, talons cutting into the flesh, “You do not give out freely what is mine.”

“You denounced me.” Jack scoffs, “Our mark is the only thing that ties us.”

Gabriel hisses and even blind Jack can see the smoke erupt from his mouth, curling around Jack like a storm cloud. The anger has its own scent and Gabe’s possessiveness smells like cedar wood. It swarms Jack’s senses like a contact high, stirring the heat in his belly and for the first time in years, Jack’s body responds with sex. He can feel the slick leaking down his inner thigh and his eyes flutter closed, chest heaving as he inhales more of Gabe’s scent.

A soft, dark chuckle erupts from the wraith in front of him, taloned hand slipping away from Jack’s neck and cutting open the body suit down the middle.

“You smell like heaven, Jack.” Gabe’s voice is a sensual rumble, “You blossom beautifully for me.” The talons bleed into fingertips as they push the suit material down Jack’s arms. “You always did.”

“Gabe.” Jack should be ashamed of the way his whines the name, but he can’t find it in him to care. He’s already blown his mission. His heat is reacting properly for the first time since Gabriel snarled and sent him away. So many wasted years.

Gabriel’s fingers find his face, “Are you sure about this, cariño?”

The question startles Jack and he opens his eyes to peer up at him. Gabriel’s face is blurry, but Jack can see the hesitation, smell it along with Gabriel’s arousal.

He really shouldn’t do this. He should tell Gabe No and walk out of here and back to the carrier. To Lucio and Angela and Overwatch. He shouldn’t be crossing enemy lines.

He shouldn’t.

Jack presses his mouth to Gabe’s and sighs out a ‘yes.’

-0-0-0-0-0-

Gabe smelt Jack’s honey drenched scent long before he’d arrived at the room. Jack had left a trail of it from the first floor all the way up to the tenth. His body burned with arousal and anger as he followed it, waiting patiently for Sombra to hack the hotels security system.

His anger was a potent thing as he spotted Jack standing in another alphas room, ready to do what he must for the good of Overwatch.

But now, now Jack’s scent is leaking from him, filling Gabe’s head and sending his regenerating body into a frenzy. He can barely hold his form as Jack whispers yes against his lips.

He pushes Jack towards the bed and the blond goes willingly, falling back against the sheets and toeing off his boots. Gabe makes quick work of his own shoes, yanking his shirt from his body and reaching down to unbuckle the belt on Jack’s pants. The cargos come off and Jack’s intoxicating scent hits him like a punch. He groans into the skin of Jack’s thigh, mouthing gently and pulling the pants the rest of the way off.

Jack chuckles from above, a hand brushing against his head.

Gabe bites into the muscle, making Jack hiss and the hand tighten into his hair. Jack’s boxers come off next and the scent is stronger, slick stuck to his inner thigh as the material slides away. Gabriel is a greedy man, so he wastes no time in pushing Jack’s leg up and over his shoulder so he can lick up what the boxers left behind. The taste explodes across his tongue, another trait he thought he’d lost. It’s not as sweet as it once was, when they were young and eager boys, Jack is older and now he tastes like well-aged wine.

He follows the trail to Jack’s leaking hole, nosing behind his balls and tongue laving at the juices. Jack howls, fingers yanking at the roots of Gabe’s hair, thighs tense around his head. Straight from the source it’s even better and Gabriel rumbles approvingly against the furled hole.

His dick is straining inside his own pants, eagerly awaiting its reunion with Jack. The throb would be unbearable if he wasn’t already enjoying Jack’s throaty keens and shaking thighs. The taste of him is an even bigger distraction, but he unbuttons his pants and slips his cock out to give it some attention. A few hearty strokes has him moaning against Jack, lapping up more of the leaking juices every time Jack jerks in pleasure.

“Gabe….Gabriel…” Jack sighs above him and now his hands are grabbing eagerly at Gabe’s shoulders, trying to drag him away.

He doesn’t ever want to leave. He’s been dreaming of getting between Jack’s thighs again for months.

He sighs heavily and obliges, giving Jack’s hole one final lick and finishing up his balls to the tip of his cock. Jack whines at him and Gabriel smirks while wrapping a hand around Jack’s straining erection. He gives it a few tight strokes before sliding his body along Jack’s so he can reach the omegas mouth.

Jack moans when their tongues meet, tasting himself and loving it. The omega grasps blindly at Gabriel’s skin, running gun worn hands over his arms and chest and pecs. Gabriel rumbles happily at the treatment and jerks out a soft sigh when Jack’s fingers wrap around his jutting cock. Jack’s strokes are sure and confident, just as they always have been. Gabe didn’t realize how much he missed them until they were wrapped around him.

“Oh, Jack. Nunca me cansaré de tu olor.” He murmurs against Jack’s lips.

Jack stutters under him, mouth opening for another kiss. He busies his hands over Jack’s skin, sinking nails into flesh and scraping down his ribcage. Jack pushes into it, head tossing against the mattress. His strokes never falter, keeping Gabriel on the knife edge of orgasm. A dangerous territory to be in when you have a gorgeous omega in heat beneath you.

“Slow, mi amor.” Gabriel says into his neck.

Jack growls under him, chest vibrating against Gabe’s, “No. I’ve been waiting.”

Gabriel chuckles, “So impatient.”

“Just fuck me.” Jack snarls.

Gabriel jerks back at the command, eyes narrowing down at his spitfire omega. Jack was a golden boy to the core and he only ever fought with Gabe. He fought dirty too. He snatches Jack’s hand from his dick and slams it behind Jack’s head. His other hand wraps tight around that pale throat and Gabriel growls down at him, “You don’t tell me what to do.”

Jack sneers, licking his lips, “Fuck. Me. Now.”

He wants to resist, snarl and snap and show his teeth at the defiant man beneath him. He can’t. Jack’s scent spikes, iced honey drenching the sheets under them and causing a feral moan to erupt from Gabe’s chest.

Jack crows in victory as Gabriel drops back between his legs, pushing them out by his thighs and lining his cock up. He bites at Jack’s ankles in warning, watching the man’s chest heave in anticipation. Milky blue eyes meet his across the space between them and Gabe sinks into slick, tight heat.

He howls.

Jack’s satisfied moan is drawn out and breathy, eyes wide as Gabe buries himself to the hilt. He pulls back, the drag wet and warm, then slams back in, sending Jack’s back into a painful arch. His fingers bleed smoke as he holds tight to Jack’s pale thighs, hips slapping against Jack’s ass.

Everything is too much and not enough all at once. He can feel the burn of his orgasm just beyond reach and Jack screams under him, cock spraying white across his chest as the first orgasm grips him. Jack’s hands scramble down to pull at Gabe’s hips, urging him to keep going.

“Faster. Again!” Jack hisses.

Gabriel doesn’t have time to argue the order, just continues to slam in and out, slick leaking around him and the sound like music to his ears. He watches Jack’s head tilt to the side, faded mark a reminder of what used to be his. It contrasts against Jack’s sweaty skin, calling out to him as his hips continue to push into Jack. His mouth waters at the sight and the burn of his orgasm is right there.

His fingers tighten into Jack’s skin as he tries to tear his eyes from what is not his. Jack is not his anymore. He pumps his hips faster, wrapping a hand around Jack’s still hard cock. Jack looks at him again and Gabriel suddenly misses the bright, endless blue of his eyes. They stare at each other as Gabriel tries to bring them both off together, hips pounding, everything throbbing, Jack’s scent poisoning the air around them.

All Jack does is tip his head to the side again, neck offered in the most primal of ways. His hole gushes with slick around Gabe’s cock and the smell of the sex is so concentrated it makes Gabriel hungry.

“Bite me, Gabriel.” Jack groans, “We’ve waited long enough.”

He doesn’t need to be told again. He slams into Jack, leaning over him, teeth bared and instincts screaming. Jack keens in anticipation, arms wrapping around Gabriel’s back to pull him down against his chest. He sinks his teeth right over the old mark, body humming in feral joy as he feels his knot expand, priming him for his first orgasm in years.

Jack shouts under him, nails digging into the skin of Gabe’s back, and he feels another orgasm coat both of their stomachs.

It doesn’t take Gabe long before his knot catches and the orgasm sluices through him like a shot of tequila. It burns through him, muscles tight and teeth locked against Jack’s throat. He lets out a long, growled moan as he empties himself inside his mate.

His mate.

His Jack.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

It takes almost three rounds before the two of them are sated. Jack’s body is a wreck, covered in come and his neck is still bleeding, but goddamn does he feel good. His bones ache and his skin is still burning despite the air conditioner blowing at full capacity.

He’s hasn’t felt this good since…..

His face twists up at the memory of Gabriel throwing him out of their room.

“Why the sad face, cariño?” Gabriel emerges from the bathroom, still naked and holding something, probably a washcloth.

Jack sighs heavily, watching him, “This was too short.”

The bed dips as Gabriel climbs back in. Jack jerks as the cold cloth wipes across the sensitive skin of his stomach.

“Doesn’t have to be.” Gabriel grunts.

“You know it does.” Jack mutters, “With the life I live, Overwatch verses Talon. I’m not guaranteed.”

He can feel Gabriel bristle beside him, cloth going still mid-swipe, “You looking to die sometime soon?”

“I’m old Gabe.” He casts his eyes to the ceiling, “I’m old and worn. You….you’re dead, but you’ll still be here once I’m gone.”

Gabriel abandons the cloth and Jack gasps as the retreating hand grabs his chin and jerks him to meet angry black eyes. “Don’t you dare.” Gabe’s mouth is like a brand as he kisses Jack, possessive and a warning. “You go. I go. Comprende?”

“Together or not at all.” Jack whispers.

The words had been passed to his flesh the first time they mated. The first time Gabriel made Jack his omega, the words had felt seared into his skin. They had been so young, so in love. The idea of them being enemies had been foolish at the time.

Jack can feel his chest burning at the memory, emotions still high from his heat, “I’m a breath to you, Gabriel. A second in the span of your millennia. Yet you’ve always loved me as if you would be gone tomorrow.” He swallows back the tears, “Would you take another-?”

Gabriel presses their foreheads together, face twisted in agony, “I have no need of anyone but you.”

Jack lets a low whine rattle his chest, sagging in relief, “Then we should make the most of the time we have left.”

Much later, when his body is too tired to function and he feels himself falling asleep, he knows Gabriel is leaving. They can’t be seen together. Jack knows this.

He fights to stay awake as Gabriel leans over him, smoking fingers brushing his cheek. The touch is so tender it breaks Jack’s heart.

Gabriel presses a kiss to his mouth, “Until we meet again, mis milenios.”

end

#reaper76 #r76 #a/b/o dynamics #alpha gabriel #omega jack #my stories #my fics

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qarajhcreations · 8 years ago

Text

Hairballs and Asteroids, chapter one

”Space… An endless void that we are all floating in, towards unknown borders, new frontiers or certain, impending doom? No one can truly know how far space is reaching; no one knows the final destination. Well… I’d hope the pilot of this goddamned vessel knows; we’ve been stuck in this cargo hold for three hours now!”

Oh, hi, didn’t quite see you there… Perhaps I should start by introducing myself; my name is Jade Khezad, I’m a black anthropomorphic tiger. I know, I know, that seems a bit weird, and frankly; there aren’t a lot of tigers around. At least not what I’ve seen so far. I’m mostly a merchant of pretty much whatever I can sell and buy. But in the most recent times I’ve also had a side-job, a side-job that got me into this situation; bound and chained to a make-shift bench, in the cargo-hold of an Imperial freighter, along with several other people. Let me go back to where it all started…

It was a regular day at the Nexus-8 trading station, many people coming around looking for items, for supplies, for a chat. Anything you’d expect from an intergalactic market, really. I had managed to acquire a stall for my wares this day, mostly tools and ship-parts left for scrap, but at the Nexus you could almost be certain to be able to sell pretty much anything and everything. A couple of hares bought a crate of laser-wielders, small but accurate and quick assembly tools. They were hover-racers, as it turned out, and due to a series of sabotages, many of the teams had lost most of their gear for the crew. I’ve made a standard out of never asking where my wares come from, of course it never hurts to be careful. With the Nexus being a neutral place, no planet or organisation had security forces at the station. But the Overseers, mostly storks and cranes, were always keen to follow requests on stolen or illegal equipment. Everyone at the Nexus was there for the sake of trade on equal terms, so other traders quickly disrupted the few attempts at attacks there had been over time. The station itself weren’t armed with any weapons, though it had an energy-shield, kept running by a massive hydrogen-plasma generator in the centre of the station, this was more meant against comets and meteors, rather than attacks from ships. The halls inside the Nexus were filled with wares and people looking to sell or buy, the brushed blue silver floors could almost not be seen from the bridge, located directly above the main hall. Several shops were permanent, by agreement with the Overseers, typically these shops had items that was needed at all times, such as food, fuel and stock exchange. I was about to close down to get some dinner, when a rather corpulent hippo in grey striped business suit approached me. As a merchant, you get accustomed to reading what people want from their looks. This guy however was hard to read, he seemed to be focused when he walked towards my stall, but when he got over, looking over my wares and me, he seemed confused and unsure about himself. The suit was neat, albeit a bit tight around his stomach. A pale red tie was fastened around his neck, and there were small pearls of sweat hiding in the folds of his grey skin. Having taken him for a businessman, on the wealthier side, and seeing as how he did not take contact, I decided to break the ice: “Can I help you, sir?” He turned his gaze downwards, he was quite a bit taller than me, but he didn’t feel threatening. He spoke, a pleasant, somewhat deep (and slightly constipated) voice: “Ah well, err… Yes, maybe… You deal in ship-parts, yes?” Hmm… that was an odd approach, I had never a particular ware more than any other, and I didn’t really care much to let the Nexus know what I was selling. But, there was truth to it, I had been scavenging around for wrecked ships. Mostly because, through listening at other stalls, I discovered that there was a lot of scrappers around, so ship-parts in good condition would sell nicely. I would have to show that I wasn’t suspicious of his question, so completely unfazed, I replied: “Yes, on occasion, I do. Anything particular you’re looking for?” His small black eyes blinked for a couple of seconds, as if surprised no questions to the request were made. “Well, I am looking for a flux capacitor to a personal cruiser ship, three stock drive.” Okay… well, that was unexpected. Personal cruisers were more than often designed specifically to the buyer’s demands, this made them expensive and the parts equally so. A flux capacitor were almost only installed in much heavier and larger ships, typically war-ships. This complex technological engine part helps using the fuel much better for short usage, normally known as the ship “warping”. Before the first flux capacitors, invented by Jegarr D. Flux, larger ships used a so-called “burst-engines”, where the fuel consumption, when warping, often came with the risk of wrecking the engine, as many of the burst-engines weren’t built to perform that much. As for the stock drive, personal cruisers were meant for comfort, the stock drive allows the engine to filter more of the cosmic dusts out, thus making the flight smoother. For a “standard” cruiser, a single stock drive would be considered a luxury, two stock drives was very rare, and the mere existence of a third stock drive was to most people, a myth. So, naturally, I raised an eyebrow, “I am afraid that I cannot help you in that, it’s quite beyond what I have on display.” Expecting that amount of quality from a stall at a Nexus was a bit on the odd side. Strangely enough, the man just smiled, shaking his large head slightly, “I wasn’t expecting that either, but if you’d like a job offer that pays well, and” he added in a lower voice, as to hide it from other people nearby, “I mean REALLY well, come and see me at the loading bay in one hour. Here’s my card, with the frequency to my CommsUnit, if needed.”

A CommsUnit is a small, but hugely practical, device. It uses a set of twelve-symbol frequency code, using both letters and numbers; this gives a total of 3.379.220.508.056.640.625 possible combinations, and thus it’s nearly impossible to just guess a frequency. Typically, a CommsUnit is placed in a bracelet or as a small trinket, placed on the side of the head. CommsUnits come with a holographic projector, which allows them to receive messages, with both sound and visual input. I glanced at the card, as the man turned around and walked, or rather waddled, towards other stands. “Alexander Swift Jr., We’ll find a ship suiting your needs.” I took some time to consider it, and as the only trade I had, was a badger looking for hull plating for his cargo-ship, I had plenty of time to think things through regarding the offer. I began thinking about how much I disliked being at the Nexus, not that the people were bad or hostile… It was just… Boring. I enjoyed scavenging for parts and other items a lot more. Especially when the scavenging wasn’t exactly legal, that always got the adrenaline flowing through me. Flinging my leather jacket over my shoulder, after having locked my stall down with the remaining wares, I headed for the loading bay. The ramps from the main hall were mostly empty, though the Nexus was open for trade all the time. This was mainly due to the fact that it kept itself out of planetary orbit and maintained it’s own gravity, this also meant that there was no “days” and no “nights” on the Nexus. The loading bay was, naturally, connected to the docking area, where the ships were located. I quickly spotted Alexander; he was talking to a pit-bull in overalls, part of the docking crew, no doubt. The pit-bull signed on a clipboard, and slugged himself towards another merchant and another ship. Alexander looked up at me, and then at his CommsUnit, “You’re about seven minutes too early. That is good, that is good. I was half expecting you to not show up at all.” I shrugged my shoulders, it was in general a good idea to not straight-out trust a ship-salesman, he spoke again, not awaiting an answer, “Can we take your ship? I’ll have some-one bring my own back to the shop. We can discuss the terms of the job on the way.” There was nothing of a threat in his voice, but still you quickly got the feeling of Alexander not being a man you said no to. I was inclined to hear more though, so I just signalled for Alexander to follow.

My ship was of somewhat elder date, a lot of the plating was considered as “old-fashioned”, even though most of the parts weren’t more than a couple of years old... Tops. The oldest part, and probably what I loved the most of the quirks to my ship, was the dashboard. I had stripped it from a newly wrecked Hunter-7X fighter, a very fast and agile single-pilot fighter, with a fuel-consumption like a black hole. The few of them that were even put into service, had a short lifespan, most crashed because of the Hunter-7X’s high speed, but also because the fuel containers were largerly exposed, turning the Hunter-7X into a potential superfast fire-bomb, rather than a sleak fighter. And verily, not long after I had gotten into the damn thing, it started reaking of gas; the tanks were gonna blow. In fact, much of my ship had scrapped or scavenged parts, to say nothing of the countless moderations added and removed again. Alexander raised a brow on his grey, wrinkley head, it was easy to see as his stubby hairs were few and far apart. “Might not look it, but she’s reliable, mostly built her myself.” I padded the under-side of the “Scrap Eagle” (as I had come to call her), to ensure Alexander that my ship was sturdy. Pressing a hidden panel, three buttons appeared, pressing the middle one (the two others were meant to do something, but those functions was not a part of the Scrap Eagle). A hydralic gasp came, as the entry hatch into the small cargo hold of my ship opened up. “Pardon the mess, I practically live in this ship, so things are a bit cramped.” Alexander had to duck, squeeze and push his way through, but for his size, he was surprisingly nimble. Closing the hatch behind us again, Alexander made room, so I could take the lead. For me, I could manouvre the mess and other stuff, pretty much in my sleep, but I had to slow down for Alexander to follow, I noticed him taking into account many details about my ship.

Finally we reached the cockpit, I conviently closed the side-room with my bunk and clothing; a girl’s gotta have some privacy. A total of eight chairs were present in the cockpit; two by the controls and six in two rows of three. I had taken odd-jobs like freighting passengers back and forth, usually shady stuff, but also pretty rewarding in the end. Had a few rough batches, not so much with passengers themselves, except for that one turkey, who tried to have his way with me while piloting the ship. He got into a lovely and very close relationship with the pipe-wrench that I kept under my own chair. Paid a little less on delivery, but it was worth it. Mostly the trouble was either with getting passengers on, or when the “welcoming party” were greeting my passengers. The two chairs by the controls were comfy and soft, kind of a need if you are to sit on your own tail for hours on end. While it was comfy for me, Alexander sank deep into his chair beside me, as I began warming the engine up. Signalling to one of the Overseer cranes, a hatch soon opened up into outer space, and as the Scrap Eagle began taking off, I turned to Alexander, “So, where’re we headed?”

#Qa'Rajh Creations #Writing #Fiction #Furries #Sci-fi #Space #Hairballs and Asteroids

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kujo1597 · 8 years ago

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A New Life Chapter 3

Lapis and Peridot have fallen into a comfortable routine together. They have a cute cuddly dog in the house, have a lot of shows they enjoy together, and they even occasionally play video games.

Life is pretty good for them.

"Okay, I really like how it turned out this time.”

Peridot stepped out of the washroom to show Lapis her latest hairstyle. A few more months had passed, Peridot’s hair now stood at an impressive height and when it wasn’t styled it almost reached her shoulders. but she decided to sweep the bottom of her hair forward and tucked behind her ears which she stretched out even more the previous month.

Lapis assessed Peridot new look lazily from the couch. Max was lying down next to her and wagged his tail.

“You know, this is probably your least goofy attempt yet,” Lapis gave Peridot a thumbs-up. “I still say the top’s too long though.

Peridot pushed Lapis’ legs to the side then sat down. “And I still disagree, tall hair balances out my long face.”

“So now that you look presentable you should run errands.”

“But I did them last week,” Peridot whined. “We agreed to take turns.”

“Well I can’t do it, I have a dog curled up with me,” Lapis pointed at Max.

“He weighs like, two pounds, you can easily move him.”

Lapis put her hand on her chest in mock offense. “What kind of mother wakes her sleeping baby?”

“He’s not even sleeping,” sure enough, Max was wide awake. Peridot patted her thigh and he came over to her. “There, your problem’s been solved.”

With a groan Lapis got off of the couch, she grabbed the shopping list off of the wall then left the house.

After she heard the door close Peridot picked Max up and gave him a kiss. She put him on the floor then walked to her office with him bouncing behind her.

“I know it’s silly that I put so much effort into my hair and then don’t leave the house. I just like looking cool, you know?”

Max sneezed and Peridot giggled.

“You’re the cutest little thing,” she cooed.

Peridot reached her office then sat on her chair. Like usual, Max begged to be lifted onto her lap, Peridot did so then turned on her music then got to work.

Lapis returned from running errands, she put everything away then walked into Peridot’s office. When she got in there she saw Peridot slumped in her chair sound asleep with Max snoring on her lap. Lapis couldn’t help smiling at the sight so she decided to let them sleep for a bit.

A half hour had passed and Peridot was still in her office. Lapis walked up to it and heard Peridot’s music meaning that she woke up.

Lapis entered the room and sure enough, Peridot was typing away.

Peridot heard Lapis come in and turned around. “Oh hey Lapis, welcome home.”

“Yeah, hey,” Lapis lazily waved. “You’re making dinner tonight, I picked up the food so you’re cooking.”

“Sure, I do most of the cooking anyway,” Peridot said with a shrug. She then put Max on the floor and stood up.

Her and Lapis walked into the kitchen and Peridot took stock of the food. She figured out what she could make and then got to work.

“Did you just sleep all day?” Lapis asked.

"No, I got most of my work done," Peridot replied as she handed Max a carrot. "I dozed off during a TubeTube break."

"Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"I should ask you that; I heard you moving around when I used the washroom at three."

"Mid-sleep inspiration, I'm fine. You avoided my question by the way."

Peridot clicked her tongue. "I woke up three times but fell asleep relatively quickly." Peridot made a slightly disgruntled noise. "And before you ask, only two of those times were due to stress, the third was having to pee." Peridot turned around. "Max is a big help, maybe you could have him on your bed some nights."

"My problem is that I get too wrapped up in work to sleep. Besides, I'm a bed-hog, he'd probably end up on the floor."

"Hm, okay. But if you change your mind let me know."

Lapis thought, "you're way too nice for your own good. He was prescribed to you." But she could never say that so she made a noncommittal noise.

“So anyway,” Peridot decided to start a new conversation. “How was your day?”

“Same as any other,” Lapis replied. “They did have a sale on soda so I picked some up. Who needs bones, right?”

This got a little laugh out of Peridot. “We’ll be the coolest looking brittle old ladies ever.”

Lapis laughed. “I will, not so sure about you.”

Peridot stuck out her tongue in response.

The two continued to talk about nothing while Peridot cooked the delicious smelling meal.

With their tummies full Lapis ad Peridot lounged on the living room couch and watched TV.

“Hey, wanna do something tomorrow? Lapis asked, “you haven’t left the house in a while.”

Peridot’s face showed exactly how she felt. “It’s only been a little over a week.”

“I know, but it might be good for you to walk around and see the sun.”

With a sigh Peridot gave in. “Alright, I’ll come out with you. What do you have in mind?”

Lapis shrugged. “Just walk around the boardwalk and do some shopping. It’s not like there’s much to do around here.”

“That sounds okay.”

“Great! Maybe we can finally find some clothes that fit you.”

“Good luck with that,” Peridot rolled her eyes, “ I gave up on that years ago.”

Lapis wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, you’re a disproportionate mess. How can somebody be both short and lanky?”

"I don't know," Peridot sounded exasperated. "My mother's really tall so I think I get my lankiness from her but the women on my dad's side of the family are all short. I guess I just got the best of both worlds."

Lapis gave Peridot her 'that was rhetorical, you nerd' look.

Peridot groaned. "One of these days I'll learn how to tell if a question is."

Lapis didn't exactly hold her breath.

"This looks good on you," Lapis said as she held a pretty shirt from a boutique on the boardwalk up to Peridot.

Who made a face. "Lapis, you should know by now that I don't like this type of clothing."

"I know, but it might be nice if you need to dress up a bit."

"I have button-down shirts for that."

Lapis put the shirt back on the rack. "Alright, I guess this store's not for you."

The two looked around for a bit longer not finding anything for Peridot. Lapis found a few things though.

The next stop on the boardwalk was more Peridot's style, geeky t-shirts, hoodies, cargo pants, and even the occasional sweater.

But that didn't really make a ton of difference to Peridot, she's never been one for clothes shopping. It was more interesting than the boutique at least.

A few t-shirts caught Peridot's eye so she kept them in mind. Money was still a bit tight, she couldn't exactly buy every cool shirt she saw.

Growing more and more bored Peridot looked around. Eventually she spotted something beautiful and dark green hanging on the wall. She picked up the hoodie and took a good look at it.

The fabric was soft, the hoodie wasn't form-fitting in the slightest and the sleeves were intentionally long enough to cover the wearer's hands, they even have holes for their thumbs.

It was perfect.

"Find something you like?" Lapis asked, amused by Peridot's bright smile.

"Yeah, check out this hoodie," Peridot slipped off her sweater and passed it off to Lapis then pulled the hoodie over her head. "How do I look?"

"Like a teenage boy."

Peridot giggled then looked at the pricetag. She frowned. "This is pricey." Peridot started doing the math in her head. "I should have enough saved up to be able to afford it. It'll be this month's treat."

Lapis groaned. "Not your fun budget. How is a hoodie fun?"

Peridot raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who dubbed it my 'fun budget.' It's more for small unnecessary things that I will enjoy. I have clothes, I don't need this hoodie, therefore it's a treat."

"Alright, I see your point," Lapis looked at the rack. "Do they have it in a smaller size?"

"I think this size is perfect," Peridot responded while changing back. "I like huge hoodies; they're really comfy when you're spending the whole day coding."

That reasoning would be fine if it was given by anybody but Peridot. Lapis knew full well that Peridot would go out in public wearing that hoodie.

But Peridot did really like it so Lapis didn't argue.

Lapis grabbed the hoodie from Peridot. "I'm buying this."

"You don't-"

"No arguments. I saved up for the day I could get you to go clothes shopping with me. Go get that nerdy shirt you wanted."

"Thank you Lapis but you really didn't have to."

They continued to talked as the walked through the store.

"The plan was to buy you clothes that'll actually fit," Lapis said with a sigh. "But apparently that's not only impossible it's also your choice."

Peridot laughed. "It really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"You're actually kind of good looking but you dress so frumpy. It's kind of a waste, don't you think?"

"I suppose, but that's not me, you know?"

"Yeah I know. I'm mostly over it now."

"Well if it makes you feel better, I do like a well tailored suit."

"That helps, at least you have some taste."

"I tell ya Lapis, I look really nice in a suit. I'm looking forward to being able to afford a new one."

"When would you wear it?"

Peridot blushed. "Well... sometimes I like to dress up for fun. Put on something nice and cook my favourite meal, or eat somewhere fancy if my budget allows it."

"That actually sounds kind of nice," Lapis had expected something really silly or depressing as it's the usual for Peridot.

"You really think so?" Peridot asked genuinely surprised at the positive response. "I thought you'd just write it off as me being weird."

"You are weird. But sometimes weird things can be nice," Lapis smirked. "You're living proof of that."

"I'm not weird, I'm endearingly eccentric," Peridot puffed out her chest.

"Just take the compliment, nerd."

"But it's incorrect."

Lapis rolled her eyes. "Fine, you're an endearing weirdo."

"I can accept that."

The two arrived at the till and the person working it rung up Peridot's clothes and Lapis paid for them.

They walked out of the store while talking about that evening's meal.

"I've been craving curry lately," Lapis said as her and Peridot walked home. "Can you make that tonight?"

"Yeah, sure," Peridot replied with a shrug. "We'll need to pick up some things first."

They took a slight turn and headed towards the grocery store.

That evening Peridot made supper and they finished the day by watching TV together with Max.

Just like every evening from then to the foreseeable future.

One night a little over a year later Lapis said something that would kick off a new chapter in their lives.

"Hey, come to the club with me. I need a D.D. and you need to socialize."

"Fine."

#Steven Universe #SU Fanfic #SU Lapis Lazuli #SU Peridot #100% platonic #Sorry for putting so much emphasis on that. this is backstory for my Amedot human AU #I don't want Lapidot fans to come in expecting them to kiss and leaving disappointed #It's a cute ship but it's not the one I'm writing #Kujo Writes #Human AU #Not Such a Bad Thing Universe

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