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sweet-art-o-mine · 2 years

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Tea [Death x F!Reader - Darksiders]

[[A/N: Author Allie here! I recently got into Darksiders, and wowie I have to say it’s a SUPER underrated game series. I love the stories and characters a LOT! Death is my favorite, of course, I love me a big old softie who pretends to be heartless and mean. Nobody requested this, I just cracked this out in a few minutes because I love this grumpy old Nephilim. Hope you enjoy!]]

Summary: You are the only human left alive after the End Days had come and gone. Death wonders what keeps you going after the Apocalypse, what drives your will to live. Your answer is, surprisingly, very simple. Word Count: 1,276 Warnings: Mentions of past suicidal thoughts.

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The Apocalypse, the End of The World, The End Days - all terrifying notions that had haunted humanity’s stories for eons. Something that you had never been afraid of, before - after all, it was just fictional stuff, things you read in novels about surviving the impossible. You’d never even begin to think that it would happen, let alone in your very own lifetime - and that you would be the only survivor of it. The end of the world has come and gone. You were the sole human remaining on Earth. Your family, your friends, loved ones, any pets or comradery you had once known - all gone. Everything you had ever fought for, strived for, was all gone. The future you had all planned out for yourself, the goals you’d set to achieve greatness in your life as a human being.

Now, there was simply nothing left for you.

Day in and day out, you’d wandered the wreckage of your home world in a mind-numbingly apathetic state, blind to any dangers that lurked around the corners of the smoldering cities or hid in the ruins of places you’d once loved to visit. You could not say how long you wandered in that fugue state, grief and sorrow and depression all driving your will to live deeper into the ground until you wondered if you’d ever had it to begin with.

But somewhere in this dead world, infested with demons and ghouls and nasty creatures of all kinds, you’d somehow found another soul to latch onto. Someone who seemed just as surprised to see you as you had been to see him.

Death himself.

You can’t even remember the details of how you’d met exactly, you were so deep in your sorrow that day that everything passed you by like you were living through a distant, hazy nightmare you couldn’t awaken from. You remember snippets of it, snapshots of a PowerPoint. There had been demons, something big that wanted you dead. You had nothing but a knife and pistol to protect yourself, though you didn’t know what point there was in the act anymore.

Somewhere in between that first day he’d saved your life, and months later where you sat with a hot cup of tea in your hands, waiting out a rainstorm with Death sitting beside you beneath an awning in the streets - you’d re-found yourself. Your will to live.

Death had offered you a swift end, once. You had been overwhelmingly tempted to accept it. You couldn’t deny that the thought of ending things quickly had crossed your mind a thousand times ever since the End Day, but you’d never mustered the energy to do it yourself. Now, though, someone had come along and offered to do it for you...

But, no. You’d looked him in his molten orange eyes, deep and broiling with intense emotions that he’d never voice aloud, and you firmly declined the invitation to a peaceful rest. He’d been surprised, no doubt about it, but he had never asked why. Perhaps he’d just been so grateful, so relieved at your refusal to die, that he didn’t want to question it.

Until now.

You sat side by side, Death methodically wiping down his Redemption canon with a dirt-smudged cloth as you sipped your warm tea from time to time. The storm raged on just beyond the boundaries of the small metal lean-to you both sat under, though you remained untouched by the cold rains thanks to Death quickly ushering you inside with some quip about ‘how easily you humans fall to sickness’.

He paused his ministrations, setting the cloth down in his lap. He looked up, after long moments of contemplative silence, to look directly at the human who set beside him. You looked almost frail, hugging your knees to your chest as you sipped your hot drink, keeping the shivers at bay.

"What made you change your mind?" Death asks, his tone quiet and somber. Your eyes, having been closed as you reveled in the bittersweet taste of your tea, shot open at the question. You were surprised, and confused. Not at the question, no - you knew, without needing any further prodding, exactly what he was talking about. Your confusion only stemmed from how to answer. Did you even know the answer, yourself...?

His amber eyes watched you like a hawk, seeing the mix of emotions cloud your eyes as you thought about how to respond. He could read you like an open book, bare for the world to see, and it never failed to make you nervous. You’d never known someone who could so easily peer into the deepest depths of your soul with a simple glance. After a moment of silence, you finally seem to wrap your thoughts up into a neat enough little box that you could phrase your response.

"Tea," You answered plainly. You hoisted your warm cup up with a nod, as if to drive your point home. You took another sip, watching him nervously. He has no response to that, not right away. He sits quietly as he soaks in the information.

"...Tea?" He's never had the human drink himself, but he knows what it is solely because you've always offered him a cup whenever he came to visit you. ‘It's a little thing called manners,’ you'd jokingly say to him when he asked why you continually offered despite him always saying no. ‘Always offer a cup of tea to house guests.’ It’s what you’d been taught growing up, and damn it all, not even the Apocalypse itself would make you forget your manners.

Your small, unsure smile spreads into an amused grin at his confusion, the tilt of his head that reminds you oh so much of Dust. You aren't sure if Death learned that from his bird, or if his bird had learned it from him.

"I wanted a cup of tea," you explained simply between huffs of quiet laughter. "And, well... I had to find the seeds myself, since I couldn’t just go to the local store and buy them anymore. And then it takes a while for tea leaves to grow, you know? Then I have to dry them - dried herbs will always taste better than fresh herbs do - and find a teapot, or something that could reasonably replace a teapot, and..."

Death's molten gaze never turned away from you as you spoke, and you finally felt a shimmer of embarrassment heat up your face as you realized you’d been rambling. Death was a man of few words, but you certainly were not. You liked talking to him, liked explaining human things that he didn’t understand. You trailed off into silence and scratched the back of your neck, looking down at your knees hugged close to your chest.

"Is that a silly reason to live for?” You mused in the silence that followed. “Probably. But... It kept me going. By the time I finally had a warm cup of tea in my hands again, there were a hundred other things I remembered that I wanted to do again, too." You smile again, gently.

A long silence stretched out before the two of you, listening intently to the pitter-patter of rain gently hitting the metal roof above you. Death hummed in thought, before, finally, he spoke once again.

"It's as good a reason as any," he shrugged. There was amusement in his voice, and you could just hear the smile behind his mask. Silly humans and their silly habits, you were sure he was thinking.

You laughed along with his amusement, cheeks flushed and heart full.

#author allie #darksiders #darksiders 2 #death #darksiders death #death x reader #please feel free to request any darksiders stuff!! its my newest favorite fixation lol #i love death so much omg #also ive just realized i should probably be putting summaries and warnings on my stuff lol #i havent written dark stuff much yet so its fine so far but from now on. ill be putting word counts and summaries and warnings

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 4 years

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Infected/Undead Boyfriend

Warning: some language and fluff.

Part 2 - Part 3 (FINALE)

When It Rains, It Pours

It always rains in January-- or was it February? It didn't matter, it had been a long time since you remembered, and you didn't care. It wasn't a problem for you in fact: what was a problem for you was how you were going to get out of the city without being taken out first.

The city was swarming with infected since the beginning; when the world had gone to rot.

You had been attempting since day one to get out, but the military had been doing its damn best in containing the population through fear and control. They kept the those from coming in and from leaving, practically blocking you all in like cattle from the very start.

The military was eventually taken out, leaving their cells and high walls that were impossible to pass. And it wasn't just the living that had been out of control; the dead were rare but they were rising daily – it didn't matter how you died, they returned stronger and in larger herds; carving their way through the city with little care.

It had been three years since you had heard from your relatives: from your uncle and cousins who had been living outside of your city and had found a refuge to live in. They assured you a safe place to stay when you escaped, but you had last heard from them three months ago; the signal dying.

It was risky, but you needed supplies, and gaining them not just for yourself but for your radio was to help you get out quicker. You weren't going to rot alive inside these walls, no matter how few humans and dead remained.

The supplies were growing scarce, the food dwindling: your fears of starving to death seemed to be the worst way to go out, but you wanted to endure and live, but raiding shops for food was difficult.

The sky was gloomy and bleak when you had been caught by oncoming dead, their swarm had surprised you in the back of a building, where they had been twistedly been locked away for someone like you to run into on purpose.

The many corridors chasms seemed to get deeper and deeper the further you ran in, the less hope you had for getting out when you were certain you would be dead. It was only with a certain gap between the floors had given you a chance to get away only for the very weak floor you had been standing on to collapse beneath you, sweeping you with it to hit the very pit that welcomed you and not very much else.

Your head was pounding, a soaring ache in your sides from how you had fallen had gotten you whimpering and groaning in discomfort and fear: the darkening walls had been slicked so sinisterly that it was impossible to see what could be lurking within the shadows.

When your trembling hands came to touch at your head, there was a slick pool of something falling into your sight, like water heavily, it dampened the front of your face to make you look as if you were wearing a crimson mask.

There was a scuffle of shoes, a groan of the floorboards as something lurched within the dimness that came from the right side of you, and in your short time to respond or react and with your blinded sight that was washing over your vision quickly, you had clumsily pulled out your knife just as you saw the figure stumble out from behind a fallen cabinet.

You reacted loudly, grunting and swinging as you defended yourself pitifully, the figure had kicked the knife out of your hand almost too precisely, the clatter of it hitting the concrete ground brought your attention that you had no case of surviving.

The figure loomed over you momentarily: your bleeding head made it difficult to see when you were trying to stay focused and alert, your head was drubbing with thrums that came every passing second, screaming for rest, with your hands still scrambling before you finally whimpered before you had collapsed fully; your fall not as hard as you had predicted.

There had been light pouring through the small opening when you had come back around: the slow movements that came from not too far to you made you aware that you had been taken out by someone; someone had dragged your unconscious body out from that dreaded Hell.

There was a tentative hand at your forehead, feeling at your temperature, before their touch came to lift individually each eyelid, earning a low groan from you each time. You were alive – for now.

Your eyes had adjusted to the brightness that shouldn't have been coming so early in the day—no not during this month, it always rained. You pondered, your eyes had fallen on the figure beside you, momentarily stunned before your body had kicked yourself free from their grasp, and for you found yourself falling back against the iron wall.

When your unsteady eyes had fallen over their silhouette, you would've been certain that they had been dead. There could've been something human over their shape and how they stayed squat in the same position from nurturing you prior, but you couldn't lay why their appearance didn't look right.

Maybe it was their skin: it was milky and ashen, their hands were darkened and reddened around the knuckles and fingernails and you had assumed they had been wearing gloves, but their nails were peeling and uneven, wild to the fault.

Their—he – you were unsure how to describe them at first, they had masculine features, but you didn't know whether to describe this person in front of you as a human or the glimmer of an apparition.

Your eyes wandered past his wan face, his dark hair was chin-length, thrown messily up with strands that had fallen out and hanging over his deep-set eyes. His eyes—oh, God – the eyes were maybe the most human thing. They held more than just the husk of a shell of a human once. They were alive and conscious even when they had looked so unresponsive from afar.

He observed you carefully, his body language told you that he wasn't like any other infected creature you had dealt with in the many years since the outbreak, he was nothing like them- no, he was still aware of everything going on around him as if he was not one of them at all.

You didn't realise that the two of you had been staring at one another for quite some time, neither one speaking nor reacting in any way, but he watched, being aware of what you did or how you moved, making sure you didn't do anything that would harm him; his angular features told you so.

"Holy fucking shit, how—I-" Your words were stiff in your mouth, like hardened honey everything had solidified in your throat, leaving you just as lifeless as the infected. He had remained in his spot, rigid and hesitant in your language, but he didn't seem reluctant, as, from his jacket pocket, he was pulling something out, some granola bars and a can of dried beans.

He slowly slid them across the hardware floor, the can hit the sole of your sneaker, the granola bars he held up as a peace offering for you to take, all whilst you stared at him in what you could describe as disbelief.

"I- Where'd you find these?" You picked up the can and gave it a gentle rattle; they seemed decent still. He pointed to behind you, and from your view from behind, you never noticed that the two of you were secluded in an area that had a high spot that allowed you to onlook the entire city. It was nothing perfect, but you could tell that he had done a lot in keeping the area cut off with the desks and chairs barred up against the doors. From here, you could even see the deserted block you had been staying in for the last few weeks.

When you had turned back to him, he was standing, now a little closer to you, his hand outstretched with the food. "You got this for me?" You asked, warily taking it from his grip before stuffing the items into your pockets. You could get back to your place before the day ended if you were lucky; with hopes of finally finalising what you needed finishing.

He nodded, and you understood that there was now something of him conscious that was still alive and living: he was infected but not as dead as you had assumed.

"I need to get out of here, I need to get back to my place before it gets too dark." You found it troubling to think of the right words and whether he would say yes. "Will you help me get out of here?"

He didn't have much on him, but he had grabbed at your backpack and handed it to you, and already you knew his silent gestures was him saying yes. It was all that was needed to get you out quicker.

You and your... your new friend had left and travelled east through the stilled avenues and lonely desolate streets, the infected man lingering not too far behind you but close around if you needed help.

When you finally arrived in your place it was eerily tranquil, the sky had reached a calming picture of calmness over the horizon from your barricaded window, the dim light flooding through as you threw your bag to the couch you had been sleeping on; the half-dead, half-living man remaining close by in your closed doorway.

You made your way to your stationed radio, finalising the parts of bolts and wires that you finally had with you, twisting, tinkering and pushing buttons you had to learn in knowing, before finally turning on the HAM radio to be greeted with distorted and unruly squeaks and shrieks of the channels.

Behind you, the undead man grunted, covering his ears, a haunting cry that came from him threw you off as you looked back on him, quickly quieting the sound as you turned through the signals quicker, quieting the static.

"Come on, this gotta work." You gritted your teeth, trying again and again, "Hello? Is anyone out there? Are there any survivors?" You repeated the questions, nothing but your own voice ringing out and dying along with the signal.

Your eyebrows furrowed, slapping the side of the radio, your cheeks burning. "No! Come on! I have everything for it to fucking work, why isn't it working?" You let out your pent up feelings on the old thing, shoving it away as if the sight of it would make you feel better. It didn't.

An unexpected hand came to rest on the back of your shoulder, your body stiffening with your head twisting to look up from your kneeling spot, the male behind you. From his close-up, you could see his face so clearly, the skin had broken into a state of decay: with veins protruding along his round cheeks.

His eyes weren't as dark now that you saw them so closely, they were brown, and a lovely shade too. His eyes had broken blood vessels in his sclera but there was clearly still something so sympathetic that was in the surface.

So alive, but he's trapped in a dying body.

It startled you for a moment when his hand gingerly came to hesitate inches from your face. You didn't back away, inquisitive rather than cautious as to what he was going to do, his eyes looking back and forth over your face before he reached forth, the back of his ashen fingers collecting a just-to-fall teardrop from the corner of your eye.

"Oh, thanks." Your body came to wipe at the unwanted tears, looking away from him momentarily as you looked around your small haven.

"You can uh, I don't know if you wanna stay for a bit?" You suggested to him, watching in your peripheral that he had moved away, and had gone to move towards your window, looking out. You stood yourself, looking to him finally before going to the bathroom, shutting the door and deciding to have a shower to calm down.

When you had finally emerged out, it was now dark finally, and your stomach hadn't settled, the need to eat was making you not think properly. That had to be the real reason. You found the male in the small spot on the wide windowsill, his head and body slouched, eyes shut as he peacefully slept.

Rummaging in your bag had woken him from however long he had been sleeping for, his eyes blinked in and out as they finally landed on you, and you came over to sit opposite him on the sill, watching the empty world outside.

“Want one?" You held one of the granola bars out to him, but he had shaken his head. He doesn't eat, but does he eat... humans?

You chewed nonchalantly on the brittle bar, the dryness was unbearable but it was still decent to eat regardless of how stale it had been. When you had finished your bar, he was still looking at you, as if reading you as best as he could. Not many people do that, but he isn't exactly... normal.

"How long have you been here for?" You asked once the granola was out of your teeth, and the male beside you gave a sign with his darkened fingers as he held them up for you to see. Three. "Three years?" You asked and he had nodded.

"How did... how did you turn?" Your voice was oddly quiet when you had asked him, uncertain.

He didn't seem so sure by your question and how to answer it, but he gave a short answer by the gesture that you could only guess was what he meant. Bitten. "But you didn't... you're not like them. The infected."

His face had given a small smile since your meeting, and it made you wonder how his laugh would sound. You could only hope you would see him smile again. It quickly fell from his face as if it had never been there, to begin with. No. He shook his head. "That's good," you reassured with relief, "you did scare me when I fell through the ceiling."

He gave a silent laugh, his eyes vivid. Sorry. He gestured, his motions tender when his hand came to rest on your knee, squeezing softly. The act itself didn't disgust you nor did you pull away, the mere feel of a person's touch was soothing.

The two of you spoke as best as you could (he found communicating hard and he didn't speak) and by the time early morning had come, you had found yourself lying on the sofa with his folded up jacket beneath your head as a pillow, with no sign of him at all.

You felt a bit gutted that he had left before you had a chance to see him leave; maybe he didn't want to hurt you or risk getting him harmed. You told yourself, but when you heard the soft twisting of your doorknob being opened, you kicked into overdrive, your knife in hand as you hid along the wall so you weren't seen.

You had lunged forward before the person had seen you, your wrist had been caught before you could harm them, those brown eyes were widened and fearful of the situation, but his grip had lessened, as if ready if you wanted to plunge your knife into his colourless flesh.

"I'm sorry," You pulled away quickly, putting your knife away as you led him inside and shut the door, "I didn't know it was you."

Sorry. He had gestured sheepishly, handing you the bag that he had over his shoulder. You took it from him as you opened it up, pulling out the many items he had found. Your eyes were wide, a closed-mouth smile had lit up on your face. "Where'd you find all this?"

He didn't answer you, to begin with, but he had guided you, pointing out towards the cluster of shops that weren't too far from you. How he managed to find all this secret food was amazing, and you didn't know how he did it. "You didn't have to do this for me, you know." You said in an inquisitive tone.

He shook his head, making sure you kept hold of the can as he kept his hand around yours. It's yours. His eyes told you for a fact that he wanted you to have it, and you couldn't turn that away.

You spent the next few days hidden away in your shelter, with enough food that could keep you going, whilst your new friend had been there to go in and out and find necessary things and food if you needed it.

He had been gone like most of the mornings by the time you had woken up, the only thing that you had from him was his jacket, and the smell of rainfall was comforting when you smelt the leather. You had sat up and stretched your bones, finding something small that had fallen from his pocket.

Picking it up, you recognised it as a driver's license, the faded words and photo had caught your interest, your eyes peering back to the door as you had looked over the photo ID tentatively. The face had been oddly familiar to you, their facial features were fuller and healthier, a chiselled jaw and those eyes you could only describe as lifelike.

Your eyes drifted to the name found just below the picture, the name you didn't think you would find:

RYAN CHEN

You had just about heard the front door twist slowly open once more, the adrenaline was quick to make you panic, quickly throwing the ID card underneath his jacket, before slipping into the bathroom before he entered the room.

You had another shower and had opened the door to see him sat on the couch, staring off into space as if he was deep in thought. He didn’t seem to even sense you there. Your hands were shaking when you finally called to him after staring. “Ryan.”

You didn’t think he would react to the name being said aloud, but his head turned so quickly to look back on you, you feared he had gotten whiplash. It wasn’t long before he was standing in front of you, his eyes were so blown with fear that you could feel it radiate it off of him. A hand came to cradle the side of your face with a tenderness that it had made you flinch. “Is that your name?” You questioned softly.

He seemed to be fighting two sides in his mind, but it was more than an astounded you when he said, “Yes.” His voice was a soft timbre, mixed with hoarseness that almost made you back up from him in awe. “You can talk?” Your voice was gravelly, leaning into his touch against the side of your face.

“Sometimes,” he drawled thoughtfully, “it’s… been a while.”

The more you looked up at him, the more you saw the features that looked similar to what he had looked like on his ID, he was still there, and now, Ryan had an identity that hadn't been lost forever.

“Did you hide your ID from me? Or… did you want me to find it?”

“I wasn’t sure. It had been a long time since I had identified as him.” He said with a gentle doubt. “But I wanted you to know.” “You saved me that day,” you leant into the musky scent of his clothes, breathing in deeply. He had been oddly warmer than you had expected, “why?”

“I don’t remember when I last saw a living being, but you were brave and living.” He leant his forehead against yours. “I wanted to know what it felt like… to live again.”

“You’re more than that, Ryan,” you intertwined your fingers with his other hand, the grasp as affectionate as each other’s words. “you’re still to me very much alive.” His face came inches to your before his lips touched almost hesitantly against yours, the tenderness that you had expected when he pulled you in, as if he was trying to pull something from you that you didn’t know you held.

His lips were chapped yet welcoming, and you kissed him like he was the warmth you needed when you had been lonely for all those years, the loneliness you felt from missing another as you pulled him closer to you, both afraid of the other disappearing like a hallucination.

“Stay with me, as long as you can.” You promised him sweetly, running your fingers through his dark locks. Ryan smiled broadly, his smile seemed crooked but it was the sweetest sight to look at. “I won’t be going anywhere.” He pulled you close to his chest tautly. “Not without you.”

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Text

quietus

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #13 - oneirophrenia ]

[ kaye & illya ] ★ [ 1,883 words ] ★ [ wozwald au ] a continuation / sequel to fragrant sorrow, a previous fill i did

a hallucinatory (dream-like) state that is caused by such conditions as prolonged sleep deprivation, sensory isolation, and drug use

in the midst of his delirious, drunken haze he saw her - he can’t tell if it was meant to be his final blessing or an eternal curse

When the man felt the effects of the strong intoxicants begin to take its toll on him, they had already long left the domain of the last minor god he’d slain, dragging his bloodstained scythe behind his back.

Though Lily had insisted that they scour the area for medicine in order to purge his body of the toxins, he’d stubbornly refused and instead stumbled his way back to their base. They both knew that a god of the original pantheon would not be so easily felled by drugs in his system.

But Kaye hasn’t been the same since they’d last visited the ruined temple of the first goddess of creation - his refusal to sleep, eat or even communicate past singular words of acknowledgements or fatigued grunts troubling to no end. She had thought it best to simply leave him in his grief, that time would come to heal him back to normalcy, and that she needed only but to wait for the painful memories to fade.

It was a decision she regretted immensely as she watched as he finally crumpled to the floor. And as she cradled him in her arms and watched in tearful horror as he stared back up at her with an emptiness in his eyes, light slowly fading, she cried out his name that sounded nothing more than like the muffled trickling of water ringing distantly in his ears.

“Kaye! Kaye!”

Perhaps this was the ending he had always longed for, a fate that he has long awaited at far end of the tunnel... and it certainly took it’s sweet time to arrive.

As the closest thing to divinity, it would be no small feat to kill him. No amount of drugs, sleep deprivation or even starvation would be able to grant him eternal rest - he knows first hand. He’d spent many millennia injecting his body with nicotine and alcohol, but they never did anything more than to dull his senses - a small mercy granted for him to put up with the karmic retribution that constantly struck him with pain like hooks sinking into his very flesh.

The only thing that could kill him was one of the other pantheon members - and they’re all gone. The life he has led thus far as the sole survivor is one he saw as divine punishment.

But even a god has his limits - and he wondered if it would perhaps benefit Lily more if he’d just passed on from his own hands, unlikely and irresponsible as that may be.

“Kaye. Kaye.”

He hears his name being called again, but his eyelids feel too heavy to open... until the scent of daisies fill his nostrils.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in an old, familiar body... a long almost forgotten form of himself from ages ago that he abandoned with the passing of the last of the divine pantheon.

He’s silent as he looks down at his tattered robes, loose and out of fashion for the modern age compared to his leather jackets and high laced boots.

“Kaye.”

He turns his head to the sound of the voice behind him, and his eyes widen - but only briefly.

“You seem troubled. Is something wrong?”

An ethereal maiden clad head to toe in silken white garbs rests against the stone pillar, her back resting against the cold cobblestone and a singular white flower clasped tightly between her small fingers. Her once familiar vibrant and sparkling violet eyes are now a muted, murky hue - a luster in which he’s had to watch being lost gradually to the cruelty of time.

Was this a dream? A lucid nightmare? Or perhaps he was in limbo - caught between the realm of the living and the underworld of the dead that awaited his arrival. Where do the souls of dead gods even rest after death? He’s unsure - but he’s certain there is no place for him in heaven.

Despite his initial confusion, Kaye doesn’t seem perturbed or panicked in the least... the sight of the girl filling his heart up with a sorrow that he hadn’t known was even possible for him anymore. He had thought himself incapable of feeling anymore - and yet here he was.

“Nothing.” he answers before he can even think, just like he had back then... Perhaps he really was in a dream - reliving the memories of his biggest regret as punishment for his transgressions.

“Are you sure?” the girl asks, her voice weak and soft... and he furrows his brows at her insistence. “You can talk to me about whatever is bothering you.”

“I’m not the one who is-”

The words die in his throat, caught in a choked mutter that gives away his lapse of weakness. He cannot bring himself to say the words, but she has abandoned all shred of self-pity and spells it out with her own voice... and he can only wonder why she is being so nonchalant about her own fate.

“Going to fade? I know.”

How can her voice remain so gentle? One would assume nothing was amiss about her had she not been wearing an obviously drowsy expression on her face - and even then, she is still smiling.

“But melancholy doesn’t suit you... You’re usually more... passionate, more angry. Like when Roko pranked you into drinking the stale wine.”

“I’m surprise you still remember that.” Kaye huffs, but his words aren’t entirely true. Because of course she would remember - of course the kindest, most pure-hearted of the six of them would remember everything... She loved everyone more than she even loved herself, foolish and naive as she is.

She giggles lightly, like tiny bell chimes ringing and carrying its melody in the wind and into the starry night sky... but none save the trees and himself are here to hear it, and it does nothing to soothe the thorns that are wrapped in his chest.

“Maybe I should take you to the shrine after all.” Kaye suggest, has already suggested multiple times before... But the girl merely shakes her head.

“I’m tired. I don’t think I’d make it even if you carried me.”

He would in a heartbeat if it would help, but the both of them know it’d be pointless. He’s in denial of the situation, clamoring for what little hope there was left. Were his brother around, he’d certainly point out the irony of the situation with a laugh.

“Besides... I want the remainder of my energy to remain there... So you can remember me by.”

Beneath sealed lips, Kaye grits his teeth and bites the insides of his cheeks. He knows she doesn’t mean for it to be... But her words felt like they were meant to be a punishment for him - a promise that he wasn’t ready to commit to and make yet.

“Illya.” At the sound of her name, she quiets, fiddling with the petals of the lone flower in her hand gently. “I probably won’t last long enough to remember anything.”

“Don’t say that.”

Finally, he catches a hint of strain in her words, pain flashing in her eyes as she shakes her head.

“All creation will always meet an inevitable end... But death is everlasting, it’s eternal for as long as the world exists.” The goddess pauses for a moment to let her words linger, to let her voice hang in the air and embed itself into his memories for as long as she can afford it to. “You were always the strongest of us... You’ll keep protecting the world for us, won’t you?”

Kaye doesn’t respond her question, but he doesn’t need to... He knows Illya already knows what his answer would be - she knew even before the world began to fall to anarchy.

“Without life, there can be no death.” He murmurs bitterly, and she smiles sympathetically back at him.

“Which is why I will never truly be gone. As long as you live on, you will be living in my memory.”

A selfish part of himself says he doesn’t want to. He was never known to be the most altruistic of gods, back in the beginning of the world and even now. She knows full well the burden he must bear - and the weight of the words that she spoke to him.

But beneath the surface level, there is a reason for her blind optimism. She sees her urging him to live not as punishment.... but because she still, even after the ugliness of humanity and life has presented itself fully, carries a flickering hope in her heart that he is sure will die with her.

Illya wants him to live because she believes he will one day find a way to be happy... and if that is what it takes for her to pass on in peace, then he is willing to indulge her with that juvenile, unimaginable fantasy.

“Can I ask a favor of you, Kaye?” it was to be her final request out of many... She knows of her own self-centeredness as she asks him apologetically.

Her hand slowly raises, the white flower in her palm grasped weakly between her little fingers. The golden ornaments dangling from her armlets knock together and let out a soft ominous chime.

“When you visit me in the future, could you bring flowers?”

He hesitates to move... knows that if he were to take the flower from her hand, that he’d be sealing her fate... and he was far from ready to accept that.

But the swirling of her hopeful, radiant eyes... even as they were slowly losing their usual jewel-like shine bids him take the flower with his left hand, and he holds it delicately in his palm - so softly that he was afraid it would wither away.

“What kind of flowers? You still haven’t told me what your favorite was.”

“Hehe... you’re right. I am a little indecisive when it comes to that, aren’t I? Let’s see...”

He turns away from her, staring intently at the flower in his hand.

“There are lilies... particularly white ones, but other kinds are pretty too. I really like hydrangeas.. did you know that they bloom in different colors depending on the soil they grow on?”

Her voice is getting softer - more distant. He swallows back the lump in his throat, even if he can tell that she was closing her eyes.

“Yeah, I know. You told me before.”

“I also like plum blossoms... They represent resilience and hope. They’re also called the harbingers of spring.”

She’s so lost in her enamor for flowers that she failed to realize that she hasn’t answered his question... but he cannot bring himself to interrupt her.

“Carnations, hibiscuses, delphiniums...”

Kaye can no longer remember what her final words had been - only that she spent the final seconds of her life listing the names of flowers - of the things that she loved even unto the very end.

By the time he realizes she’s grown quiet, and he turns his head to look behind, she has vanished, leaving naught but the lingering, quickly dissipating warmth of the stone she sat upon and the flower in his hand that swayed gently in the nightly breeze.

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #illya skawi #kaye #wozwald au #fanfic #mine #HEY GUYS WHO ORDERED A FRESH SERVING OF ANGST TODAY

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starwarsfic · 4 years

Text

II.12

Originally posted October 17, 2020

Summary: Obi-Wan readjusts to old routines.

Details: Jango/Obi-Wan. Mandalorian Gods AU. Sequel to II.8.

xxxxxxx

What gods a people worshiped reflected their values.

Thus why the New Mandalorians were called the Faithless, for they'd had no gods. The weak god of Peace from failure, from diminishing oneself, could have been theirs, but it had been killed off by the Faithful themselves, millennia before, after being seen as a cowardly adversary for much of Mandalorian history.

Obi-Wan could remember it, vaguely. And the disdain he had felt for it, despite its attempts to forge kinship. Jango, Ja'rango Vhetine, in particular had despised Naa'ibral, both for their place as natural enemies and for its attempts at a connection to Suu'mirjah, to who Obi-Wan was and is again.

Even the New Mandalorians had made no attempt to resurrect it, despite how it fit so well with their own beliefs. It wasn't until they wanted to draw the Faithful in, trick them into believing they could keep their faith and be Faithless at the same time, that they turned their sights on any gods.

Back, in some way, to his rightful position, Obi-Wan was spending much of his time simply familiarizing himself with the state of the pantheon that had once included over a hundred gods, great and small.

Of the great, only three remained: Jango, Cabur Yai'alii, Family, and Kyr'kantayl, Death. Obi-Wan himself had never placed so highly, dragged along through his marriage to Jango and the way their romance called to warrior hearts into far greater prominence than he may have otherwise had among the Mandalorian pantheon.

Even if, since coming back, he'd felt...more. The focus of tens of thousands of "clone" troopers' fervent daily prayers, of the sacrifices they made everyday on battlefields and at command. Jango's plots had born fruit in many ways.

Kyr'kantayl could not die so easily as all the rest of them, for all the dead Faithful had followed them, and when the Dral'han killed so many, they had bolstered them through the lean centuries ahead. Obi-Wan found it a relief, to see a familiar face, even as Kyr'kantayl loomed above him, taking the form of a skinless pureblood Taung even after so long.

"I have come to plead for the souls of my Faithful," he intoned, as he had so many times before.

The voice that answered was deep and high, soft and loud, legion. "I had felt the Ka'ra diminish, as they dragged you from its embrace. Are you not here to return?"

Obi-Wan didn't try to hide the roll of his eyes, it was always one thing or another with Death trying to tempt Obi-Wan into giving in. "I have a riduur who must be watched, I'm afraid. And a world in dire need of me."

At least Death had never pushed too hard, once denied the first time during each meeting, they held back any more attempts.

"Ja'rango Vhetine has sent me many, those creatures he has created have, as well. Faithless to be weighed and found wanting."

Grimacing, Obi-Wan realized another aspect of the "clone" plot that he hadn't considered--if everyone a trooper killed was a sacrifice, they would all be sent to Kyr'kantayl regardless of their own faiths. And, Faithless as they'd be in Death's eyes, they would not become one with the Manda, instead going to feed the Ka'ra, forever uncreated as their energy supported the network of dead leaders and gods.

"And how long will you be satisfied with such a boring task? Until you want to tear into one of the Faithful, to find them wanting?"

The more of his godhood that Obi-Wan remembered, the more he could see how it had informed his mortal life--how his quest to be a peacekeeper and negotiator had only been continuing what he had once been. Sometimes he wondered if Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever existed, but he still retained the memories--the friendships, the heartbreaks--that could not be claimed solely by Suu'mirjah.

Death laughed at him, a sound designed to make others bristle. Jango would have been at their throat, for all the good it would have done him. Instead, Obi-Wan just sat back and waited them out. He is the hard won Peace of victory, but also the reluctant Peace of strategic retreat. He can not be worn down so easily.

Finally, there was silence.

And, then, "I am not without sympathy, for the plight the others have faced. Your spirits do not pass through my domain. For many centuries I have watched the survivors struggle, lesser and weaker, many losing themselves." Their voice was soft, form seeming smaller, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but reach out, setting a comforting hand against their scalding flesh. "There were years when you were the only other of our kind I ever saw, before, and then you are gone."

Obi-Wan shifted, resisting the urge to pull his arms back around himself. "I believe that's called loneliness, vod," he replied, letting his teasing tone pull a scoff from Kyr'kantayl.

"I'll give your Faithful a pass for a century or two, but don't think that useless riduur of yours will get the same."

He laughed, now, appreciating that Death was both doing him a favor and ensuring that he would visit still, for Jango's Faithful.

xxxxxx

A/N: While writing the first Mandalorian Gods part, I had a lot of ideas about the pantheon, and this is a little bit of some of them.

Mandoa: riduur - spouse cabur - guardian Ka'ra - the mythical collection of dead Mand'alors and prior leaders vod - sibling/comrade

The god names are just made up by spending way too much on mandoa.org and smushing together some semi-relevant words.

#jangobi #kenfetti #obi wan kenobi #sw fic #character: obi wan kenobi #verse: mandalorian gods #theme: dark #ship: kenfetti

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morganas-pendragons · 5 years

Text

Warmth | Echo

finding gifs of echo is so hard holy crap

this is part ii to ice - which you’ll probably want to read first // tagging @kill-the-feels

this also features my clone!commander OC named cain

***

The first thing he thinks of whenever Rex pulls him out of that stasis chamber is how warm it is. Echo can’t remember the last time he actually felt his heart beat or saw people - real breathing people - much less felt warmth.

Then he starts looking for you. Rex sees it too. The wanting, the desperation for someone familiar. Someone who loves him.

“Don’t worry, vode. I’m going to get you back to your cyar’ika.”

Rex grabs his hand and Echo latches on because he, just like his other brothers, craves touch. The ice that’s spent the last two years building up in his chest starts to crack as the warmth bleeds through.

The warmth of a brothers love.

Echo knows without a doubt that Anakin Skywalker will get him off of Skako Minor. That Rex, his Captain and his ori’vod, will keep him away from the steel grasps of the Separatists who saw him as nothing more then a machine.

He follows the other clones, the ones who call themselves The Bad Batch, through the ventilation system in the route that’s been mapped inside his head. It was the only logical means of escape. That unfortunately meant calling on the Keeradaks, which Rex later comes to tell him that they’d used the creatures upon arriving on Skako Minor and meeting the locals.

Echo isn’t paying attention to the droids that can suddenly fly and are pursuing them as they make course for the village. His blaster fits into his flesh hand like it’s meant to be there, and the air is flowing by him and he’s surrounded by his brothers and for the first time Echo feels like he’s alive and on top of the world.

That’s when he start laughing. Oh, how it felt to be alive.

Now he just needs to get back to Anaxes. Back to you.

Cyar’ika.

***

Rex had the good graces to inform you before he left for Skako Minor with the Bad Batch that he was following a lead that would probably lead him to Echo. You hadn’t believed him at first because Fives had told you himself. He’d been the one to see it. He’d seen Echo die.

The Clone Captain hadn’t expected you to believe him. He did, however, take your hand in his own and wish you the best. He made another promise to bring your cyare home to you.

CC-1614 is the one who actually manages to convince you that Rex is telling the truth. He’s the one who gives you hope.

Cain is well built as many of the other clone commanders are, a sole survivor of Reaper Squadron who had all died on Jabiim in a battle that had nearly claimed Obi-Wan Kenobi’s life. His general is a good friend of yours, one of the few Jedi who had the ability to Force Heal. You hadn’t exactly intended on breaking the Code whenever you fell for Echo. It had just happened.

Cain and Kix, along with ARC Trooper Jesse, are three of your closest friends. You haven’t been on the front lines in months and Cain prefers to stick close to his General, who is elbow deep in blood and bacta and desperately trying to calm down the clones who are the most frantic and the most critical.

“You’re doing that thing again.” Cain gently nudges your hip with his own and crosses his arms over his chest. The Commander usually plays a stoic facade as he has a reputation of stern authority to maintain, but Opal Stone has impacted him deeply enough that he feels it necessary to be himself when he’s not on the front lines. “The I’m going to look off longingly into the horizon and if I stare hard enough, Rex will bring my cyare home look. You look like a love-sick teenager.”

His jibes fall on deaf ears. You’re not hearing it.

“Hey.” Two different colored eyes meet your own. “I’ve been a POW. I’ve been where your cyare has been. It won’t be easy for him to reintegrate back into the GAR but if you’re gonna be there for him like General Stone was for me, I think he’ll be okay. He’s strong.” His head dips to his chest. “Stronger then I was.”

There’s alot surrounding Cain’s time as Dooku’s slave that Opal did not tell you. You don’t need to know the gritty details of his time as a prisoner of war because all you have to do is look at Cain to know what he went through. His arms are marked with sleeves of tattoos as a remembrance to his fallen brothers - Abel, Funsize, Viper, Killshot - and the Mark Of Cain sticks out like a brand against his temple.

But for someone who’s seen so much death and so much cruelty, he seems oddly at peace.

“You’re a good man, Cain.” You murmur, beaming back at him as his face splits in that rare smile he almost never lets anyone see. “A good man also brings his favorite Jedi caf. I’m exhausted.”

“Sure thing.” He winks at you and kriff him - it’s enough to make you blush like a schoolgirl. “General.”

You don’t have enough time to banter with Cain because then your comm starts going off.

“Hello?”

“General, this is Anakin Skywalker. We’re enroute back to Anaxes with Echo.” The world stops moving. There’s no dying soldiers or harsh realities or fear or feeling. There is only you and Anakin who has just delivered a truth you’d long denied yourself accepting. These men - these good, brave men - were not meant to come home from the front lines. They were there in service of a Republic that did not care about them and so you did, you'd allowed yourself to be submersed in love and light and laughter that The Order didn’t give you.

Memories flash behind your eyes like the scenes of a holodrama. Echo is there, Echo is always there, but now instead of being too far out of reach for you to hold he is light and laughter and everything your life had been lacking since Fives had told you about the Citadel.

Echo was coming home.

Your breath catches in your chest and your throat knots and Force, you can’t breathe- “He will need treatment. Have Kix help you. I’d recommend a closed off room.”

“Right-Right away, Skywalker-”

Your comm shuts off and hands are resting on your shoulders, slowly traveling down your arms until fingers are lacing with yours and someone starts speaking in a string of Mando’a that’s mostly incomprehensible to your ears. You don’t have to turn around to know it’s Kix.

“Kix-”

Then you hear it. The unmistakable hitch of his breath and the cry building up in the back of his throat reminds you that Echo is so vastly loved by both you and his brothers. The same brothers who’d once thought him dead and are singing their rejoice in their mother tongue upon finding out that a brother long lost is coming home.

You and Kix set to beginning the preparations for Echo’s treatment. Kix gives stern orders to the other medics that no one will be allowed inside of this room except the two of you, Rex, Jesse, Cain and Anakin. You want him to feel safe, to be safe, which means limiting the number of visitors.

‘’GENERAL SKYWALKER HAS LANDED!”

Cains voice resounds across the medbay and before Kix can stop you, you’re taking off through the base to where Anakin’s gunship has just landed. Wide eyes follow each member of the Bad Batch until Rex finally leaves the gunship, and cradled in his arms is presumably the man you love.

He doesn’t look like Echo. Not until you see his eyes.

And then you crumble. You really try not to, you do, and it’s a good thing Kix followed you because Jedi are supposed to be cool and composed. They’re supposed to have a control over their emotions.

Too bad you never had control over yourself, over feeling like the way you felt for Echo, because if you did you’d never have had a chance for warmth.

For love.

***

Echo sees a familiar face, then two, and then his arms are reaching out on their own accord because that is his cyar’ika cradled in the arms of his brother Kix and he wants you-

But then he’s injected with an anesthetic that knocks him out cold.

You and Kix work diligently, along with Tech (who proves to be remarkably useful for all the cybernetics that Echo is now implanted with) to ascertain the extent of his injuries. He’s definitely dehydrated and malnourished, but it seems that the extent of what he’d endured at the Citadel had been dealt with by the Separatists.

Except the memory loss.

After injecting a fluid IV into his arm, you allow yourself to ease into the chair beside Echo’s bed and take his flesh hand into your own. There’s so much of him that’s metal now that it’s almost impossible to see the man beneath it, but if weren't for those eyes and that heart that pounds proudly beneath your hand, you wouldn’t even know it was him to begin with.

“He’s safe for now.” Kix handed you a ration pack and water before wiping his forehead with the back of his hands. “I think you can take it from here.” The clone medics bends down enough to brush a kiss against the crown of your head - an action he only does when the two of you are alone because he trusts you - and you thank him with a soft smile and a nod before he parts from the room.

Your eyes travel up and down his body as you slowly drink the water and chew on the ration cube.

“Echo, cyare.” The words come before you can stop them. Your hand is still linked with his, thumb carefully rubbing back and forth in the same way he’d used to do when he’d held yours for the first time. It was a nervous habit. “I’m.. I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say.” You don’t. You’d been too preoccupied by the war to even mourn him. Fives had been your anchor, the one who reminded you of the good you’d had, and then he’d been ripped away from you too. “There’s so much I left unsaid before the Citadel.. and I didn’t-I didn’t think you’d ever survived that-I gave up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed you, cyare.”

His eyes start fluttering. At first you think he’s waking up, but then you feel the way he grips you and then he starts moving, starts whining - Oh.

Oh.

His head tilts back and his speech is slurred, but you catch a few words before each strangled breath - “No, no, cyare-” and your overwhelming desire to hold him overtakes your rational judgement, the one that blares a warning in your mind to stay away, so you climb behind him and prop your knees on either side of the ARC trooper before wrapping your arms around his middle.

The metal doesn’t bother you.

“Come back to me, cyare.” You whisper. Your fingers trail along the cybernetics on his chest and around his abdomen. The gesture is familiar. Comforting. Warm. “Come back to me.”

Echo snaps awake and the ice that has enveloped his entire being since The Citadel shatters. It’s a foreign feeling learning what it means to be warm again but then he remembers he’s on Anaxes, he’s in the base with the other 501st, and he’d seen you before Kix had injected him with the anesthetic. He’s safe. He’s safe.

His voice cracks as his flesh hand takes your own and bring it to quivering lips. You can feel the tears that fall on your skin when he says, “Cyar’ika.”

“Hello Echo.” You muse lightly. Laughter bubbles in the back of his throat as he leans back against your chest, turning just enough on his side that his face is buried in the crook of your neck. Your eyes meet his, and they’re full of tears but they’re his. “Cyare. I missed you.”

“Beloved.” He hums in reply. Echo may not remember what happened whenever he was in the ice, but he remembers you - your eyes and your heart and your soul - and so he remembers what it’s like to love and be loved in return. “Ni ru'akaanir par gar, ner kar'taylir darasuum.”

Now, you’re no expert in the Mando’a tongue, but you catch the end of the sentence. My love.

Your fingers trail over the nape of his neck and down his spine. He’s limp in your arms, head against your shoulder and breath ghosting over your neck. That’s the only way you know he’s even there.

And oh.

He’s warm.

“What does it mean?”

He’s reminded of a similar conversation years ago, when he’d been with his vode in the mess and Fives had asked you to visit to ‘’boost his morale.’’ Maybe his brother knew before he did. Maybe his brother knew he loved you and wanted Echo to be happy.

“You asked me to fight for you.” He whispers. Your eyes burn with unshed tears as he lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, and you can tell he means it. Which means when he was imprisoned by the Separatists you had been the thing that had kept him alive. “You asked me to fight for you, and I did. I fought for my beloved.”

He falls asleep again, wrapped up there in your arms, in warmth, and you allow yourself to weep again because oh.. oh stars- you love him.

#Echo x Reader #ARC Trooper Echo x Reader #sw: tcw #Star Wars oneshots #Star Wars imagines

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riathedreamer · 4 years

Text

So, I talked about “File Not Found” which was a fic @creatrixanimi and I planned, what, three years ago, but was eventually abandoned. I realized I actually had the first chapter ready, written such a long time ago, and while the story won’t be continued, I might as well share it with you here on tumblr instead of just letting it rot in my folder. Here you go.

File Not Found

Sole Survivor

”That’s not how it works.”

“Pfft. It’s totally how it works.”

The scene was so familiar at this point. The two of them were standing on a ledge, staring at Chorus’ tropical landscape below. Maybe the one change was the fact they were no longer holding onto a rifle. With the newly achieved peace, weapons were no longer needed, and they could enjoy the view of the sun rising above the treetops unarmed.

“You are comparing a bite with a phobia. Just what is the connection between those two?!”

“Batman. Spiderman. Animal plus man equals superhero.”

“Okay,” Simmons admitted gingerly, “but what about the superpowers? Batman doesn’t have any. Spiderman got his from the bite of a radioactive spider. Batman just had a phobia of bats.”

Grif snorted as a slightly offended look snuck its way to his usual bored expression. “Well, maybe he got bit by a bat! Maybe that’s why he has the phobia!”

“That does not make the bat radioactive!”

“It’s a bat, Simmons. It doesn’t need radioactivity – it’s already fucking terrifying!”

They had reached that point of the argument where Simmons would throw his hands in the air. “Batman does not have superpower! He chose his name after his chiroptophobia!”

“So what. Chirowhatevername is cool!”

“Just because you are afraid of bats as well it does not make the phobia cool,” Simmons let him know.

Grif crossed his arms. “Cooler than your snakophobia.”

“Ophidiophobia.”

“Holy crap, how did your tongue not cramp up?” When Grif’s question was answered with a light shrug, he continued, “Whatever. My point still is – Batman and Spiderman are the same shit. You have the recipe for a cool superhero right there. Take an animal and add man to the end of the word.”

Simmons had opened his mouth with the argument against that statement ready on his tongue, but before he could utter a word, Donut seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

The pink soldier gasped in excitement. “So if you take the most dangerous animal on Earth, you get the toughest superhero!” He spread out his arms for the dramatic introduction. “Mosquitoman. When he first starts sucking, men will fall to their knees before him!”

“Nope, this conversation is over. Donut ruined it.” Grif groaned and looked up at the sky that had changed from red to blue as the sun rose. Somewhere back in the headquarters, Sarge must be going through his daily round of disappointment as not even the sky would cheer for their team.

But Donut’s interruption had managed to direct the conversation towards something Grif was not ready to discuss (Mosquitoman’s sucking abilities had to wait for another day - where Grif preferably was not present) and that was a problem bigger than it would seem like.

It was important to keep the dialogue flowing. A statement from Grif, then Simmons would disagree, and so they were kept busy with light-hearted bickering. Grif even had a mental list of possible subjects ready (ukulele versus guitar where ukulele would obviously win - did the fruit pie or the meat pie come first - since this place was called Chorus was there a planet called Verse).

It was rather uncharacteristic for Grif to be so well prepared since it was usually Simmons who would worry himself sick over future scenarios that only might happen. But the bickering was necessary now since it kept them from talking about certain subjects that had appeared when a certain someone had shoved his stupid thing inside a place where it never should have been.

Just to clarify: stupid Tucker had stuck his stupid sword inside the stupid temple, and suddenly Grif and Simmons had been stuck in a too hot closet and some stuff had happened that should never ever be brought up again unless you truly wanted Simmons to swallow his own tongue in pure bewilderment.

The bickering was familiar and required little to no effort since it was almost a bit too easy to make Simmons frown and argue against his points. It was a nice little dance between those two, steps well-known after years of practice. Nothing like Simmons on an actual dance floor which was just a disaster waiting to happen.

“Ugh, Donut.” Simmons’ tone revealed he was just as disappointed with the interruption. “Didn’t you say you would stay and help the Lieutenants?”

“They’re doing fine! Well, either they are planting the trees or they are feeding the birds, but either way helps the wildlife!” With the war finally done, it was time for the planet to heal. That meant rebuilding since humans had a habit of fucking up stuff and so they had to make up for that destruction at some point.

Actual functional cities were starting to appear, people were slowly starting to take off their helmets every once in a while, revealing too young faces with too many scars, and an odd sense of peace was finally beginning to settle. It had taken a while since the Temple Party had stirred up the planet (in a much happier way than a war, at least) and then the reporters had shown up like too many annoying flies on the cadaver called the fall of Hargrove.

“But Kimball said she needed you two back at the headquarters and since you two weren’t wearing your helmets, I of course had to intervene.”

They could feel Donut winking at them through his visor, and it was rather clear that he had his own imaginations of why they had felt the need to take off their helmets on their break. Not that it mattered since they knew the truth; Grif had taken off his to smoke, and Simmons had mirrored the action to reveal his very dissatisfied frown at the sight of the cigarette.

“What now?” Grif groaned at the same time that Simmons worriedly asked, “Has something happened?”

“A new ship landed,” Donut revealed with excitement in his voice.

Grif could not relate. He groaned for the second time within a minute - Donut had the ability to make people moan like that, and oh god that was a thought Grif immediately regretted due to poor wording. “Is it another reporter?” he asked. “Why are they all asking the same stupid questions?! Why the fuck don’t they just steal each other’s work or just make up something? Way easier.”

The swarm of reporters had actually grown to the point where Kimball had talked about relocating them. Which Grif might not disagree on if it could give them some well-deserved peace. He was tired of answering questions over and over, where most of his answers would be “no comments”.

“Kimball says this person is… different.” For dramatic effect, Donut could not help but spread out his fingers in a weak attempt of jazz hands.

Simmons tilted his head. “Different?” And Grif had to resist to moan again. Different was not good unless different meant someone giving them a free vacation to Hawaii or decided to thank them with a supply of snack cakes instead of those meaningless handshakes and empty words about how much their work meant to the rest of the galaxy.

“Maybe the reporter is from Vogue!” Donut suggested with too much hope in his voice. “That would certainly be much more interesting.”

To be honest Grif would probably rather deal with the normal news reporters than someone from a fashion magazine. It was tempting to stay away, but if Kimball was this firm about them facing a newcomer it would mean they would have to show up eventually; if not by their own choice, then one of the Freelancers would track them down and drag them back by the ear.

And Simmons had already picked up his helmet, back turned towards the ledge as he was already lifted his foot to march back to base. “Fine,” Grif said and shoved his own helmet over his head, his HUD revealing the missed radio calls from Donut he would not have answered anyway. “But if someone asks me again what our plans are for the future, I’ll tell them it involves dead journalists.”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Carolina let them know in a tone that made Simmons flinch.

But before the maroon soldier could actually apologize, Grif leaned his head back and whined, “Why did you not start without us?” The less bullshit he had to deal with the better.

“Because she is asking for you,” Kimball told him in a matter-of-fact voice, and despite the fact that she was looking directly at Grif it took him a few seconds before he realized she was indeed referring to him. He could not help but frown though his helmet hid his confusion.

Apparently, he was not the only one shocked by Kimball’s statement as Tucker blurted out, “Grif? What the fuck do they want with him?” He sounded both surprised and dumbfounded but there was also the tiny hint of jealousy in his tone that made Grif narrow his eyes in annoyance.

The entire gang had gathered in the waiting hall in front of Kimball’s office, and at Tucker’s words, they all seemed to shift awkwardly, making it clear that they were all thinking the same question.

“Maybe they wanted a Red to have the spotlight!” Donut suggested carefully, but there was still the slight undertone that he would have been ready to sign up for the task at any time.

Tucker snorted. “Then why pick the orange one?”

“Tucker.” Carolina sent him a warning when the conversation just dragged out without getting closer to give them an answer.

“Hey, no offense, but it just does not work with the pictures. Myself on the other hand…” A true feeling of humor was lacking from Tucker, proving that his stupid jokes mostly served as a distraction to not talk about all the sore subjects that were lying just beneath the surface. There had been a lot of weak jokes since the battle against Hargrove...

“You like playing model, we get it.” Carolina turned her head towards Kimball. “But you said this was not a reporter.”

When Simmons finally spoke, he was wringing his hands. “Then what do they want with Grif?” He glanced briefly towards said teammate before focusing on the general again.

“They didn’t say. Yet. They would not reveal much detail before you were present.”

“Am I in trouble?” Grif asked because, honestly, that was his biggest worry at the moment. Most of the time he would be called to an office by name the whole thing would end with dish duty, and he had better ways to spend his evening. Especially now when Simmons had brought up another Star Wars marathon.

“Always,” Sarge let him know with a huff. “Constant disappointment requires constant punishment. What did he do this time?”

“How about we actually face this reporter and listen to what they have to say?” Wash suggested, and no one could really disagree with that.

One question kept bothering Grif. “If they just want me why the fuck are you assholes all here?”

“‘cause since when have we given a shit about personal privacy?” Tucker asked sarcastically.

Caboose made a disapproving sound. “Ah, except Tucker’s magazines. Always stay away from those.”

“That’s right, Caboose, and don’t you ever fucking dare.”

Kimball let out a quiet sigh at this point and turned around to enter the office, gesturing for them to follow. As the group slowly began to move forward, Grif and Simmons shared a glance. Not knowing how to answer, he just shrugged despite being aware it would not exactly calm his teammate’s anxiety about the whole thing.

But there was only one way to gain the answers they wanted and that was by stepping into the room, pushing themselves through the crowd of colorful soldiers that had gathered, and when Grif was finally in the front, facing this strange investigator turned out to be rather anti-climatic.

When a mysterious stranger asks for you by name, Grif had expected troubles. An intimidating presence, probably a mean stare, definitely some sort of superior who was not a fan of positive words.

But when Grif saw the newcomer, the first thought that hit him was: whose grandma is this? That was perhaps a rather quick judgment but since this planet was mainly inhabited by battle-scarred teenagers, this investigator definitely belonged in the older end, with her grey hair and wrinkles. Though, her furrowed forehead could probably from stressful work through the years.

While she seemed far from fragile - no shaking limbs since she was able to rise from her chair in a swift and elegant movement - she did not seem like a soldier. Her rather stern expression - thin mouth and focused eyes - reminded him of the some of the UNSC staff he had met back when he had been drafted, one of those ladies behind the desk who was spending half of her life reading paperwork.

When her dark, almond-shaped eyes settled on him, the corner of her lips turned upwards in a polite, satisfied smile. Judging from the half-empty cup of tea on the table, Kimball had let her wait for some time.

“Heroes of Chorus,” she said as she greeted them with a short bow. “I’m honored to be here.”

“We still haven’t been informed of why you are here,” Carolina reminded her, keeping her voice just gentle enough to keep the statement from being rude.

“My apologies. But I had preferred to keep some details confidential.” Sensing that confession did not exactly help with the tension in the room, she added, “My name is Marisol Rizal and I am currently running an independent investigation of the Uplora massacre. Which is why I requested to speak with Captain Dexter Grif.”

As soon as she finished speaking, three words were exclaimed at once.

“Uplora?”

“Grif?”

“Hi.”

It was Wash, Simmons and Caboose that had spoken - in that order.

She briefly smiled at Caboose’s greeting, but then set her eyes on Grif again. The orange soldier had gone completely still, stiff as a statue, and Simmons had turned his head to stare at him.

In truth, every single person in the room was staring at Grif who was a little bit too busy dealing with the invisible punch to the stomach which the investigator’s words had caused. He was suddenly grateful that he had put back on his helmet before meeting up with the others - despite the secret pride of his poker face abilities, he doubted he had been able to keep his expression neutral when he had been granted this piece of information.

Kimball was the first to direct the attention back at Rizal. “And what do you require from him?”

“An interview, first of all. And I have managed to uncover some evidence I would like to hear his thoughts on. The entire business should take less than a day.”

“A day?” Carolina repeated, and Grif understood the confusion - none of the earlier reporters had requested more than a few hours from them, and they had been lucky if they had granted them the time.

“I-” She seemed to search for the right words for a moment, eyes darting around before settling on Grif again. “From what I’ve gathered from the previous reports, I understand that you prefer to keep quiet about the experience. I can explain further under two eyes if that is what you want.”

Grif blinked, slowly understanding that this was a question directed towards him and that they actually demanded answers. Too bad his mind was still stuck in oh shit-mode and scrambling a simple sentence together proved to be quite the task. “Uh…”

“Wait, what the fuck is Uplora?” Tucker kept turning his head to look from Grif to Rizal, waiting for one of them to give him an answer.

His question made Grif’s stomach twist itself again, and it was that dreadful feeling that finally allowed him to speak. “Not really a fan of interviews. So, I’ll pass.”

“It’s important,” Rizal insisted. When Kimball looked like she was about to speak again, she quickly added, “I understand you want this business over with as quickly as possible, which is why I decided to seek you out first. Please. I am first of all doing this for the ones who lost someone dear in the massacre, and reading your profile I believed you would be interested in-”

“Massacre?” Donut gasped. “That doesn’t sound-”

“Look, just-” Grif held up his hands, feeling an unfamiliar and unwelcome panic traveling up his spine. “Fuck. Fine. Five minutes, but two eyes and all that. So fuck off,” he told his friends. Perhaps it came out rather harsh but honestly, the only reason he agreed to this talk with a reporter was the make sure they were not told shit.

He has resisted the urge to run out of the room, only because he knew that it would leave them alone with this Rizal and he was not counting on her to keep quiet. Just when she had spoken the name, and oh it had been a long time since he had heard someone say it out loud, things had been stirred up.

“Are you sure?” Kimball asked. She almost sounded concerned which just increased Grif’s need to get away from the scene.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Whatever. It’s fine. Five minutes,” he said again, and Rizal nodded.

“I will explain the situation. You can make your choice about your involvement then.”

The group was slow to leave the room, especially Simmons who had to stare at Grif for four long seconds before finally trudging after the others.

When the door finally slid closed and they were alone, Rizal had already sat down in the chair when Grif turned around. She had folded her hands which were covered by white gloves. They matched the rest of her pale uniform; white with dark green trims, and her neck was surrounded by what seemed to be an uncomfortable stiff and tall collar.

“I am sorry for causing all this. I know it must be unexpected. And unwelcome.”

Grif considered whether to take a seat as well but in the end chose to stand. “Your point?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say much here. But since beginning my investigation I have found remains that will, eventually, stir up attention. By contacting you now I hope to save you from potential troubles later on.” She actually sounded apologetic which reduced Grif’s annoyance, just a little bit.

“Question,” he cut in. “Just what the fuck are you investigating?” The matter had been left behind years ago. They had asked him a lot of questions while he had still been stuck in the hospital, but then they had told him there was nothing more they needed to know. They had declared him fit for duty, shoved a glass of pills into his hand, and the day after he had been dropped off in Blood Gulch.

It had been quiet since then, and Grif had honestly preferred the silence.

“Because,” she said, voice careful and leveled, “I wanted to know the truth. And as I can show you on my ship, I don’t think the previously given details match up.”

“And what does that have to do me?” Grif grunted, losing patience.

She tilted her head slightly. “Because I figured you wanted justice for your dead teammates.”

He was not sure if it was intended to be a low blow, but that was what it felt like. For a brief moment he recalled pale, still faces before he forced the memories away.

“You’ve been through a lot, Captain Grif, and I understand why this is subject you would prefer to avoid. But I am doing this for your sake as well, so you can gain the truth, and so you cannot be lied to once more. I know I am asking for a lot-”

“Just what are you asking for? Some assholes in coats interviewed me back then - can’t you just copy their work? Less effort required and you’ll probably get the same grade. Worked for me in high school.”

To his surprise, she actually laughed softly. “I wish it was that simple. But in order to get my hands on something presentable, I must gather the evidence myself. So here is what I ask from you: you come to my ship, I get to film an interview and I will show you what I have found so far.”

“And just what am I gaining from this?”

“I would point out that you will be doing the right thing, but I understand that is not what you need to hear. You would be gaining my discretion, and it would be the last thing I ask of you. I promise to get this whole thing over with as quickly as possible, and as comfortable for you as I can manage.”

Her last arguments were definitely more convincing than her moral reasoning. The part that Grif found most compelling was the mention of her ship. Right now he had the growing suspicion that his teammates had their ears pressed against the other side of the door, hoping to gain some more information.

And his friends finding out about his past was the biggest of Grif’s worries right now. The few mentions that Rizan had dropped was bad enough, and Grif knew a storm of questions would hit him the moment he left the room.

At least he could tell them to fuck off and mind their own fucking business. But he had sensed the underlying warning in Rizan’s explanation. If he did not take care of this now, this whole thing could escalate and the last thing he needed was actual reporters on Chorus just to discuss the colony. At least Rizan had offered to keep his friends out of it.

“What would we be discussing?” he asked, trying to sound as casual about it as possible.

“A lot of the questions will be familiar to you since I know the UNSC did make a report after the disaster. I am looking at the entire case from a new angle, so hopefully I can shine lights on parts not explored before.”

He did not want to talk about this whole thing, he did not what to remember what he had spent so many years to forget, but if she just stuck to the same questions like the one the UNSC had asked he could manage. He had done it all before.

“If I go too far, you tell me, and I will drop the subject. I will share what I have found so far, if you want to. I am… deeply invested in coming to the bottom of this. I lost someone dear in the chaos, and I firmly believe that the victims, you included, deserve more than what was done. What little information you can give me would be much appreciated.”

Grif held back a groan as the headache became apparent. This was not how he had planned to spend the day.

And the voice back in the corner of his skull, reminding him of how close Kai had been to become one of those left behind, did not help at all.

“Details about the investigation and its progress must await till we reach space. I am sure you of all will appreciate that we keep things quiet. You would be back by evening, tomorrow morning at the latest. If we board my ship now-”

“Wait, we’re leaving Chorus?” Grif frowned, unsure of what exactly this meant.

Rizan nodded. “I’m afraid that General Kimball and I discovered that Chorus’ political situation is rather fragile at the moment. You have just been put back on the galactic map, and if this planet’s next big stunt is to be directly involved in my investigation, you are only known for rather controversial scandals. Both the General and I agreed it was best to keep Chorus out of this.”

“So… Space?” Grif said rather weakly, unsure of just how to comment on this. He understood Kimball’s choice but on the other hand, it just left him more questions about just what Rizan was trying to discover.

“As close to Chorus as possible. You’ll be back as soon as I’ve gathered what I need.” She smiled again, softly. “I have refreshments ready on my ship. Coffee or tea?”

He answered the joke with an amused huff. He closed his eyes, thankful for how the visor shielded his face. “How about something stronger?”

“A very black coffee then. Does this mean you are willing to help?”

Her hopeful voice almost caused him to groan out loud. It was not like he had a handful of options. There was apparently no way of avoiding this subject being brought up again - now he just had to get it dealt with as quickly as possible.

This was going to be the most dreadful tea party he had ever been invited to.

“And there is no way you won’t just take no as an answer?” He shrugged, not even believing she might give him a pleasant answer.

“To your surprise, I think you might become rather invested in my case once I show you my progress.”

“Yeah… I seriously doubt that.”

“We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” She winked, apparently deciding the matter was done with. “I’ll exchange contacts with General Kimball so you can be contacted should the need arrive. I would not want to steal one of their beloved Captains.”

Grif snorted. “Beloved is a very strong word. Unless we are speaking about Matthews.”

“I’ll meet you in an hour,” she informed him, cutting to the chase. She definitely seemed like one of the paperwork ladies now.

“Right. And you won’t-”

“I will keep quiet about any details of the massacre. Any. It is rather obvious you want them uninformed about this. I understand.”

Grif searched for something to say, tongue running across dry lips. It would be nice to have the final word in the conversation, mainly to keep up the weak illusion that he actually had a say in all this, but Grif could feel his control over the situation slipping through his fingers. But it seemed like there was not anything to add to what had already been said.

So he turned around, marching out of the room, and when the door slid open he tried not to comment on how his friends seemingly had been leaning against the wall. Tucker almost had to leap backward when Grif did not slow down his steps.

“She wants to talk with you,” he informed Kimball with a shrug before someone else could break the silence.

The questions came immediately afterward. “Dude, what was that about?”

“Sorry,” Grif said without a hint of caring, “confidential knowledge and all that.”

“C’mon. Really?”

Grif continued his way down the pathway, more determined than ever to dodge their question. But Carolina took a step forward, slowing him down just enough for him to hear. “I was not aware you had ties with the Uplora incident.”

At least it was not directly a question. Grif appreciated that.

“Let’s just…” He clenched his hands in frustration. “Not.”

In the corner of the hallway, Donut tilted his head. “Grif-” Simmons was standing quietly next to him.

Knowing he would have to spend the rest of the evening answering questions, Grif decided he needed a break now. He continued to walk away.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Tucker asked, obviously not ready to let go of the newest source of slander.

Grif flipped him off without looking over his shoulder. “Mess hall. It’s lunchtime and I am not letting Bitters steal all the tacos with extra cheese.”

The did not follow him, at least. But he sure as hell heard the hushed muttering among his friends before he finally gained enough distance between them so he could walk in silence.

He did not go to the mess hall. The last thing he needed right now was someone asking for yet another autograph - which meant he had to avoid Gold Team. Matthews had been saving the papers with handwriting, probably hiding them under his pillow or some shit, and Grif had discovered that Bitters was trying to gain a stock of autographs, only so he could sell them to other soldiers for some quick cash. Grif could almost respect that, had the constant requests from his soldiers not been so freaking annoying.

If Bitters truly was smart he would just start writing fake autographs. Much easier and it would increase production. Now Grif just felt a bit disappointed in his Lieutenant.

Grif went to the quarters he and Simmons shared. For a moment he just stood in the middle of the room, wondering what to do next.

Should he pack? Rizan had mentioned he might have to stay overnight and so bringing a toothbrush could be a good idea… Grif nearly burst out laughing, remembering he would never bother to bring a toothbrush around anywhere.

He sat down heavily on his bed, removing his helmet so he could run a hand through his hair.

Grif liked asking questions. Most of his pillow talk with Simmons had started from what if’s, lot of hypothetical scenarios, questions about the mysteries of the universe where he never truly expected a final answer from his teammate.

Switching roles and being forced to answer questions on the other hand…

Most of the UNSC’s questions had been reduced to numbers. Grif could deal with that. Numbers were simple, short answers with no need to dig further into it. When had the attack happened, how many attackers, how many aliens had died, how many of his teammates had died, when did he wake up, how many days until help had arrived…

Numbers. Simple and quick. The answer could be shorted down into one word, minimum effort required. Still annoying as fuck but he could deal with them.

He could not talk his way out of this, no way to change the subject. It was not like the closet accident which he could easily avoid since neither he or Simmons wanted to bring it up.

The first days afterward had been awkward as hell, since Simmons’ face was constantly red, and if Grif as much as said his name he would jump in surprise and his voice would break. Anyone watching must have thought Simmons was trying to cover up a murder with that amount of anxiety.

After they had agreed that the whole thing had never taken place - since that agreement made it easier it easier not to talk about it - things had still been… tense. It was suddenly too easy to make Simmons stutter, too easy to make him blush, too easy to make him storm out of the room, and it all seemed to have lost its amusement value.

Whenever one of them lost their cool, it could take hours before they could begin another normal conversation. When the movie night had been suggested, it had seemed like the first step towards constant normalcy. A casual, not-awkward, comfortable, totally normally friendly friendship movie marathon like they had done so many times before.

They probably had to sit at different ends of the couch, since Simmons still withdrew his hands like if he had been burned every time they accidentally touched but it could still work…

Grif was so busy planning a movie night that was not going to take place that he did not notice when Simmons stepped inside the room. He did, however, become aware of his presence the moment he closed the door - the action was just a bit too forceful than normally.

Simmons placed himself in the opposite end of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” Grif smacked his lips before readjusting himself so he was lying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah. Figured.”

Simmons had taken off his helmet, revealing a very deep frown. He seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek.

Grif could not help but catch the bitterness in his voice. He turned his head so he was staring at him. “What?” he asked with a slight sneer to his voice. He hated when Simmons was acting passive-aggressive. He sucked at it.

“Nothing.” Simmons looked away, slightly lifting his chin.

“Great.”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

There were two seconds of silence and then Simmons started shuffling his feet. “I mean, you have apparently been a part of a big galactic controversy and you never really felt like telling me, despite knowing me for years so…”

Grif sat up, groaning. “Seriously, Simmons?”

“I just thought we had reached that stage where we would tell each other stuff like that.”

“Stage? We are we - in a fucking play?!”

“You know what I mean!” Simmons was sounding flustered again, but this time from annoyance rather than awkwardness. His eyes were narrowed.

“Tough shit, Simmons. I love sharing tragic backstories. I am sure you are all up to talking ‘bout your sweet daddy. It really brightens up the dinner conversations, huh.”

Simmons seemed to choke on air. “At least you know about it,” he muttered. The strength returned to his voice when he started to accuse Grif again. “I had to hear it from an investigator-”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

“Because I should know-”

Grif stood up from the bed, headache stronger than ever. “What the fuck kind of right is that?!”

Simmons inhaled sharply, finally looking directly at Grif’s face. His mouth was twisted in a manner that looked like a painful scowl. His feelings were hurt, and Grif did not want to deal with it. The maroons soldier sighed. “I just thought we were-”

“We were what?” Grif challenged.

Their staring competition lasted for around five seconds. Then Simmons turned his head. “Never mind.”

“Exactly,” Grif agreed but he was not sure if Simmons heard him.

When his teammate slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of the room, Grif could not help but flinch at the sound. He blamed the headache.

#file not found #my rvb fic #grif #simmons #grimmons

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sixdaysofswordsandshields · 4 years

Text

TW - This story contains murder, swearing, and lots of blood. Please read at your own risk.

This is a somewhat short (~2.7K words), angsty fanfiction about Felix after the war losing his grip, and taking out his frustration in the form of, well, murder. I also would like to say that this is in no way me trying to hate on Dimitri. He is one of my favorite characters, and that is a piece of fiction. I do not agree with everything Felix thinks here, it is fiction. Enjoy!

Felix woke up in a cold sweat. He jolts awake, gasping for air. Glenn... He buries his face in his hands. It's been 10 years, so get out of my head!

Felix hasn't gone a single day without questioning why he alone had to be the sole survivor of his family. Peace was attained, the war was won, Felix was married to the love of his life. Everything was supposed to be good.

He was supposed to be happy.

And part of him was. Truly was happy. Being the new duke of the kingdom had its downsides, but he could finally live freely.

But another part of him was dying, eating away at his very existence. They left you, Felix. They all left you for him. Felix clenches his fist in the silk sheets of his bed, his knuckles turning white. All for that stupid, blond bastard.

Why him?! Why did they have to die for him?! All because of him, Felix had lost everything. With every single day that passed by, that small voice in the back of Felix's head grew louder. It's all his fault, Felix. It's his fault that they're gone.

Felix sighs and gets out of his bed, extra careful to not wake up his lover. He makes his way down to the back door of the Fraldarius Estate, the wood stairs softly creaking with every step. He remembers his childhood. "Felix, little bro!" Glenn would harshly whisper. "Yes, I know. It's the third, ninth, and sixteenth ones that creak." Felix would nod, making his way down as fast as he could. Felix smiles at the thought. They would always sneak out together at night to play...

Felix told his retainers that he simply wanted to be left alone for the time being. He doesn't bother grabbing a jacket. He steps outside into the snow and sighs, his breath foggy in the frigid temperatures of Faerghus.

"Felix... Do you think there will ever be a day where we can rest peacefully?" A voice that sounds too much like Glenn whispers in his ear. Felix gasps, turning around. "Glenn?! Who's there?" He says, stepping backwards in shock and falling back into the snow.

But there was nobody.

Felix takes a deep breath. I'm sure I'm just imagining things. What nonsense, how pathetic. Felix pushes himself up from the snow, his body beginning to shake from the cold. "I should go train." He mutters, turning to the direction of the door.

He hears a deep sigh coming from behind him. "Felix, my son, we've talked about this several times. It's rude to ignore people, especially your own brother."

Felix turns around to be met with his father, who was still looking the exact same as he did the night of his death. He burned with hatred. "Huh. That's damn funny coming from you. You were always the one ignoring me for that idiotic blond mop! Dimitri this, Dimitri that... I'm your son. But you never acknowledged that. Leave me alone, you old bastard."

"Felix, bro, calm down. Why fret over it? The dead are dead, right? We're gone. Forever. You have no right to criticize dad for what he's done because he's dead. The dead are dead, and the living are living." Says Glenn, stepping towards his father. He had seemed to age from when Felix had last seem him. Still towering over him, of course. Felix looks up into his blue eyes, the same shade as his father's, "I know that. Unlike some people around here, I know how to practice what I preach. But... But... I... Nevermind. I'll be going now. Goodbye." He begins to make a beeline towards the door.

"But what, little brother? Spit it out, I know you want to. How did you expect us to rest peacefully when he's still out there?" Asks Glenn, reaching up to tighten his ponytail. Glenn hadn't changed at all. Still obsessed with his hair, still clearly following that 5 step skin routine he was so insistent on, still had that one stupid strand of hair that was more wavy than the others and refused to sit flat upon his head, still Glenn. He was still Glenn. Felix feels a pang in his heart. His brother... He felt like home.

"He took us from you, Felix." Says Rodrigue, nodding along.

"Shut up. You're wrong. Both of you gave up your lives for him. How foolish." Felix says through clenched teeth. The cold of the air was beginning to bite at him, but he didn't care. "Both of you left me for him! For him! You gave up your lives like fools for one man. That's what you chose to do. Why? Why couldn't you have just lived? Why is he so important?!" Felix screams.

"Felix, sweetheart, we didn't want to die for him. He only did it because we had to. This is all his fault, Felix. Blame Dimitri, not us. Right, father?" Says Glenn, the a small smirk on his face.

"Of course, my son. He did this to us, and you're the only person who can avenge us." Nods Rodrigue, a gentle smile on his face. It's been so long since Felix had seen that smile...

Felix clutches his throbbing head in his hands, "Get out of my head! Y-You're wrong! There is no avenging the dead! Go away!" Felix shouts into the cold air.

Glenn chuckles.

"Maybe you'll finally get it when you stop lying to yourself. You hate him, Felix. You always have." He purrs, leaning in.

"No! The war is over. He's saved us so many times and he's... he's... my friend!"

A sigh from Glenn. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry. I forgot about that phase where you couldn't do crap without your pretty little prince by your side. You were a damn cute kid, but damn were you annoying."

Rodrigue softly chuckles, "Glenn, my boy, that sharp tongue of yours truly is relentless."

Felix clenches his fist and tries to throw a punch at Glenn. His hand just goes through him and he falls back into the snow. So cold...

"So quick to resort to violence... You really just a kid, Felix. Just a lost, scared kid who's neck-deep in denial. He's a horrible man. Just open your eyes to the truth." Says Glenn, looking deeply, too deeply, into Felix's eyes. His glare was intense. Felix topped a step back..

"Indeed. How long is it going to take for you to avenge us, Felix?! How long is it going to take for you for bring us his head, like how you've wanted to for so many years?" Sighs Rodrigue, gently rubbing his temples from stress.

"Yeah, Felix. We've been waiting for too long. You're disappointing. We lost everything because of that boy..." Whispers Glenn, staring up at the pale sky.

Felix blinks and they're gone. He buries his face in his hands, tears burning at the edges of them. He shivers in the snow, sniffing from the cold.

One of his retainers comes running outside with a thick, wool blanket. "Lord Felix, please, I insist that you come inside. You're going to catch a cold." She says, offering him a hand.

Felix ignores it and stands up on his own. He stares hole into the ground. "Fine. But, um, I have a question." Felix says, hesitating. "Nevermind, forget I said anything." He needed time to think. Is this truly the right decision...? Felix sighs. Maybe it is. Glenn and Father can finally rest peacefully...

"Of course, my lord." His retainer nods, wrapping him in the blanket. "Would you like for me to brew you some tea? Margrave Gautier gave us a new blend from Almyra. He said that he's been saving it for you and that it's extremely spicy."

"Hmph, fine." He mutters, walking through the door and back into the warmth of his home. He sits down on the large couch in front of the fireplace, watching his retainer prepare the teapot. Father... Glenn... They're hurting. It's all his fault. I was stupid to think that they truly and willingly gave up their lives for him...

"My lord, if I may speak freely, why were you out there? You looked like you were in very much distress. Are you... okay?" The old woman asks, preparing the hot water.

"... Glenn. Father... I must avenge them." He whispers, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Pardon? I didn't quite catch that."

Felix stands up abruptly, tossing aside the blanket and slamming his hand down onto the table. "FATHER AND GLENN NEED ME! THEY'RE IN PAIN AND I'M SITTING AROUND AND BLUBBERING FOR NO REASON!" He scowls, "Make arrangements for me to travel to Fhirdiad as soon as possible. It's for important work."

"M-My lord, are you alright? You're not yourself..."

"You heard what I said. Make the arrangements. Now." He says, storming up the stairs to his study, abandoning his tea.

Felix sits down in the chair of his study, pulling at his own hair. Father, Glenn... No. This is what they would want.

He reaches over to a small, but effective, hunting dagger he kept on his desk. He gently runs his fingers over the textured, wooden handle of the blade. I've skinned so many animals with this... One more won't hurt.

The professor gave this dagger to him on his birthday. He remembers the day vividly. What would the professor say? Would they be disappointed in him? Or would they encourage him to walk his own path?

It doesn't matter, Felix. This is what you want, and it's all for us. For your family. This is the only way we can rest peacefully.

Felix takes a deep breath.

"I'm doing this for you. Both of you."

~~~~~~

It had been weeks since the day he first saw his father and brother begging him to allow them to rest peacefully. Every single day, their voices only grew louder. Felix felt like he was going insane. They were everywhere. Do something, Felix... Bring us his head...

And now, he was at the Palace in Fhirdiad.

Dimitri's advisor couldn't do anything but sigh upon seeing the Duke.

"Good morning, Duke Fraldarius. You requested a meeting with the king?"

Felix nods, "I did."

"For what? And please make it quick, he has an extremely busy schedule full of things much more important than you."

"Hmph," Grunts Felix, "I doubt it. I just... need to play him a visit. Just want to see how an old friend's doing, nothing more."

"Ugh," The young adviser sighs, "He should be taking a break from his papers soon, you can go on ahead to his room."

"Got it. Thank you." Felix mutters, already making his way to the king's office. Felix was dressed in his formal Duke robes. Truth be told, he hated them. It was hard to move quickly and the fashion choice is just... Felix shivers at the thought. He always knew his father had horrible taste, but when did it get this bad?! He made a mental note to commission a new outfit, perhaps something more similar to his war uniform. Practical and stylish, two things the Fraldarius family were always sure to balance. With the exception of his father, of course. What even was that mustache?! At least Glenn knew what he was doing. He cared about his outfits almost as much as he did his knighthood.

Felix can feel the knife inside his sleeve. It was lightweight and small, but it seemed to be dragging him down.

He feels a pair of eyes on him.

Felix turns around in a flash, hand instinctively reaching for the sword he always kept by his side regardless of what he was wearing.

There was nobody there.

Felix sighs and lowers his hand from his blade. "I'm sure I was just imagining things." He whispers to himself, continuing to walk through the carpeted halls of the palace. "Sir, are you alright?" Questions one of the knights who was assigned to his side for safety.

"Yes, my apologizes. Don't worry about me."

Felix continued to walk until the reached the large door on the highest floor of the palace. He remembers following his father here when he met up with Lambert.

Felix takes a deep breath. Glenn, Father... I am doing this for you. He knocks on the door firmly.

"You may come in." Responds a voice behind the door.

Felix opens the door and steps inside. "Hello, Dimitri."

Dimitri looks up from his paperwork, almost like an excited puppy. "Felix! Hello! What brings you here?" He smiles, pushing all his papers aside, "Pardon the mess, things have been rather hectic as of late!" He chuckles, standing up from his chair. Felix takes a good look at him. He looked... happy. His long, blond hair was tied up in a small ponytail in the back of his head, and the scar on his eye was healing nicely. He was dressed in a thin, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Around the desk was several broken quills. Felix would smile, but he couldn't. Not after what he was about to do.

"I just... wanted to visit, that's all. Can we... chat? We need to talk." Felix says, and he could've sworn that he heard a chuckle that sounded a bit too much like Glenn come from behind him. But he payed it no mind. Felix's imagination had been running rampant as of late.

"Of course!" The young king smiles and reverts his attention to the knights behind Felix, "May you please leave us alone for a bit?" They all left.

Felix's heart starts pounding faster in his chest.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about, Felix?" Dimitri asks, stepping close to Felix. Was this really the right choice..?

"You." Says Felix, grabbing the knife from his sleeve. He roughly shoves Dimitri against the wall, the bookshelves shaking from the force.

"Me?! Felix... What are you doing?" Dimitri asks in a panic.

"What father and Glenn couldn't!" He screams, plunging the knife into Dimitri's stomach. Dimitri gasps, "Stop this! Knigh-"

Dimitri tries to call for help, but he couldn't. Not when Felix was tackling him to the ground. Felix hovers over him.

"You took everything that I loved!" He screams, his face red with fury. Almost as red as the blood staining his hands. He takes the knife out and plunges it back into Dimitri's shoulder.

"They all died for you, you bastard!" Felix sniffs, tears stinging at his eyes.

"Felix... No... They died for what they... believed in." Dimitri says weakly, rolling them over so that he was on top. He stands up as fast as he can, shirt soaked with crimson. He attempts to stop the bleeding with his hands, but there was too much.

"You took them away from me. All my life, it was always Dimitri this, Dimitri that. Have you any idea how painful it was?! When Father came to me in tears, telling me that Glenn was gone because of you?! Of course you don't, you useless bastard!" Felix shouts, kicking at Dimitri's chest, knocking him down to the floor.

"Felix, stop this nonsense. It... hurts..." Dimitri whispers, his blood soaking into the wooden floor. But even so, he kept fighting. He tried to push himself back up.

"It hurts, huh?! Good!" Felix says, hot tears streaming down his face as he tackles Dimitri back down to the ground.

Felix grabs the knife again, holding it up to Dimitri's neck, applying just enough pressure to make him bleed.

"Glenn was hurting too." Felix whispers in the king's ear.

Felix removes the knife from his neck, and stabs him again. Again and again. "That one's," the plunges the knife into him once again, "for father!"

"YOU TOOK HIM AWAY FROM YOU! YOU TOOK THEM BOTH AWAY FROM YOU! YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT! YOU'LL PAY!"

"Felix.... why...?" Was all Dimitri could get out before collapsing, becoming as limp as a ragdoll.

Felix sobs, he can't stop sobbing. He holds the body close to him.

He looks down at his hands.

Red.

He looks at his clothes.

Red.

He only sobs harder.

"I-I'm sorry. Father... Glenn... You can rest easy now..."

The Knights come rushing in upon hearing the ruckus.

"Your Highness!" They scream.

There was so much blood, and Felix felt sick.

He clutches the body close to him, and he keeps sobbing. He couldn't stop sobbing, damnit.

The knight looks at him in horror, "You traitor! You bastard!"

Another one lifts him up by the neck. "I would kill you here and now, but where's the fun in that? Take him away."

"I-I'm sorry..."

"It's too late for apologies. He's gone! To hell with you!" He ties Felix's hands together, "I'm looking forward to watching you suffer.

#tw murder #tw blood #so um yeah that was a fun one #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem 16 #fe3h #fe16 #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri fire emblem #felix hugo fraldarius #felix fire emblem #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction #fire emblem fanfic #fire emblem angst #glenn fraldarius #rodrigue achille fraldarius #my writing

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radreactions · 5 years

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Mandalorian Kellogg

Courtesy of our one and only Master of The Force - @saintlyguy!!

Kellogg as the Main Character Instead of the Sole Survivor (inspired by The Mandalorian)

Sent to retrieve an asset for the Institute from Vault 111, Kellogg discovers that the package that’s been under ice for almost 200 years is really just a baby still fussing in the arms of his already dead parent. Rediscovering his paternal instincts and discovering a chance of redemption, Kellogg dispatches the scientists with him and decides to protect the boy and raise him as his own. On his journey to escape the Institute and find a new home for him and his new son, he stumbles upon a unique cast. Are these people potential allies, or just obstacles to his new found family? Ada: Years of experience and overall distrust of any sentient machine due to his experience with 2nd gen synths have led to a preference Kellogg wishes to satisfy in any situation: NO DROIDS. Be it a synth or Protectron (after a certain unpleasant experience with one back in the Mojave), Kellogg prefers to work with those who haven’t been programmed to think the way they do. But with enough whining and teary eyes from his adopted son, Kellogg came in charging to save a lone automatron that looks like a mess of parts. “First that Mr. Handy in Sanctuary, now this.” Ada had no one left and sought to avenge her family. Above all she wished to not be alone. All 3 desires are satisfied with this grizzled man and his son- “No droids. Get lost. No need to thank me. Didn’t want to help in the first place” But he did. Surely that must mean this man must have some shred of compassion. That would be enough to go on at the moment since Ada has nothing. She’d follow this man until he’d take her with him. “I could be of much assistance to you and your son. I’ll protect the two of you. I’m well equiped for scavenging and building. I can even create a nursing subroutine and care for your son.” “ALRIGHT! I’ll take care of this Mechanist for you. Just stop talking. Take point.” “Wonderful. Now that we’re on our way, I’d like to tell you all that I can do for you-“ You ever hear a robot get their head ripped off without a sound? No. That’s because you gotta be Kellogg to pull something like that. “Finally” the exasperated merc exhales as he looks down on his napping son. “Finally he’s asleep.” Cait: “Get outta here you junkie! Don’t show your face ‘round here til you get that psycho out of your system!” Tossed out of the Combat Zone, Cait never thought that putting on a good show and gouging out a raider’s eyes would get her tossed out. “Your loss Tommy! I’ll just put these guns to work somewhere they’ll be appreciated!” Tommy sadly sighs at how Cait doesn’t realize she’s beating herself to death. Eventually Cait made herself a name as yet another Commonwealth merc, one that even the Gunners stay clear of in fear of getting their head smashed in. Cait would take the most dangerous jobs not just for the hazard pay, but to have an excuse to need psycho. She’d go after a raider boss with nothing but a bat and rage fueled by the poison. She can be found in Goodneighbor at the Third Rail where she’s claimed the counter for herself. She’d drink from the top shelf in between jobs with her own space. Until the infamous Kellogg took a seat at the other end. “Oy cunt! This here’s my bar! Piss off!” First that wannabe shakedown, now this. “Don’t see your name on it. I’ll finish my Nuka-Cola and be on my way. You won’t even notice.” “Oh but everyone else will notice the stain that balding head will leave on the counter!” A brawl breaks out. Well I wouldn’t call it a brawl. More like Kellogg just tiring Cait out by just dodging all while having something bundled beneathe his jacket. Almost out of breath, Cait pulled out a psycho she didn’t think she needed. Knowing how much damage a psycho user can inflict, he puts her into a vice and forces it out of her hand. “That stuff could kill you.” Cait was just about to explode as a small hand reached out from Kellogg’s jacket and touched her on the nose. Now you don’t boop Cait on the nose without losing that hand. Unless you were a swaddled baby with big puppy eyes. For the first time in her life, Cait felt...soft. Her rage subsided and she eased up, causing Kellogg to finally release her. Cait felt at ease. Actually more than that. She felt...at peace. She felt better than she ever did in her life. “Holy Shite!” Cait was amazed to see that her arms were no longer veiny or pale, she could see and hear clearly, and she wasn’t as angry! She yanked the psycho from her pockets and threw them in the trash. She doesn’t know what happened, but she’s now healed and free from the psycho. “That kid... Could they have...?” Cait looked back at Kellogg to see him fussing over the kid now knocked out. Codsworth: The butler’s sensors had picked up a familiar lifeform coming from Vault 111. “It couldn’t be.” Then he heard a familiar coo from the end of the street. “It could be?” Anticipation was replaced by fear upon seeing young Shaun in the arms of a rather unpleasant looking stranger. Whoever he is, he has clearly abducted young Shaun and it’s up to Codsworth to save him and deliver him back to his masters. “You! I don’t know who you are! But you will unhand the lad or I will contact the authorities!” Oh blimey, there aren’t any authorities left. This may boil down to fisticuffs, but Codsworth will save Shaun no matter the cost! “That’s not gonna happen Mr. Handy. Now why don’t you go clean something. I gotta get this kid to a safe-“ TALLY HO! Codsworth charges Kellogg with his saw aimed at his head and his claw ready to catch Shaun. Soon Codsworth will have one piece of the family he lost when the bombs dropped. Then he’ll go find his masters and reunite them all. Finally he’ll have the life he had lost serving- SKKRRRRRRR Kellogg let go of the robot’s saw after it had cut clean through its armor and he was sure to have destroyed its cpu. “Ma-Ma-Master Sh-Shaun! Wo-Wo-Would you li-like to see Mu-Mu-Mummy and Da-Da-Da-“ As the Mr.Handy’s voice died out, the child reached out to its lifeless hull. Kellogg had connected the dots. This wasn’t just some malfunctioning Mr. Handy, it somehow knew the kid. All sorts of feelings swelled in Kellogg. Finally he looked down at the child. “So. Your name’s Shaun.” Curie: What’s the perfect place to ride out a radiation storm? The very same vaults that protected its inhabitants from nuclear annihilation. The sky turned green and thundered like never before. The closest place was Vault 81. Although it wasn’t too keen on allowing outsiders in, Kellogg needed to get Shaun out of the storm immediately and he knew he had plenty of worthwhile Institute tools he could trade for shelter. After bargaining his into the Vault, Kellogg was able to finally get a warm meal and rest for himself and his adopted son. That is until this Ms. Nanny came bubbling and insisting on seeing to Shaun. “S’il vous plait monsieur! I only wish to give your little one an examination and any treatment he may need! Free of charge. Just let me-“ “NO!” Silence in the cafeteria except for the humming from Curie’s thruster. “If I need a doctor, I’ll go to the real one. Just let us eat our meal so we can go rest.” Curie complied, hiding her disappointment and hurt. She only wants to help... She’s ashamed to admit, but she had hoped to get in the good graces of the man and convince him to allow her to venture out with him and his son (whom she greatly adored and worried about). Curie wanted more out of her life than being Vautl 81’s Ms. Nanny, she wanted to leave her mark on science! She knew she couldn’t do that in 81’s confines. She also knew she wouldn’t be acheiving her goal anytime soon. Danse: “Brotherhood, better sneak around.” Kellogg maneuvered through College Square as to avoid the ferals only to run into a Brotherhood of Steel outpost and they’re not the biggest fan of the Institute. Kellogg’s pretty sure that saying he betrayed them won’t give him a free pass but a trip to a holding cell and Shaun being taken from him. He couldn’t risk that. While slithering on by, Kellogg halted at the sound of ferals screeching then running towards his direction. Kellogg almost drew his revolver but saw a small squad of Brotherhood soldiers come out to deal with the ferals. “Good a distraction.” Kellogg was almost home free until Shaun pointed back at the Brotherhood with the same damn puppy eyes Kellogg has yet to find the strength to refuse. The ghouls nearly overan the soldiers until a civilian charged in and singlehandedly dispatched then despite their overwhelming numbers. “We need him for the Brotherhood” Paladin Danse thought. Before Danse could thank him, Kellogg hushed him with a finger. “Your welcome. No thanks needed. And no I won’t be staying for long. Also I don’t want to work with a machine.” That last part confused Danse. Maybe he doesn’t like tech, which wouldn’t sit well with being a Brotherhood soldier. Danse then saw a tiny body appear over the civilian’s shoulder which waved back at him. Deacon: Oh crap oh crap oh crap. “I’m in the same room with Kellogg. Worse, he’s got a kid! Where did he get them from? Did he kidnap them?” Whatever the case, Deacon needed to conduct some espionage. “So... you come here often?” “Hmm.” Not much of an answer. “Oh my stars! Your kid is so cute! Mind if I held him.” “Hmm” aggressively as Kellogg turned away. Uh oh, I’m losing him! Better think of something quick! “So I’m guessing a busy man such as yourself needs all the help he can get when raising the little one.” “Hmmm” “Well you’re in luck! I am the Commonwealth’s best, if not the only nanny! I’ll watch him while you go do...stuff! I’m a great cook! My bloatfly jerky is hard to pass up! I’m great with kids and I can entertain your kid for hours. Does your kid like songs? How’s this? Ahem.” “Toss a coin to your-“ Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! “Oh great! Your awful singing upset him!” Dogmeat: A faint scent passed Dogmeat’s nose, waking him from his nap at Red Rocket. Standing at attention, Dogmeat spotted a human carrying a small human. Tail wagging, Dogmeat wanted to run up to see the small human. He wanted to follow to see them all the time. He wanted to PROTECT. But that big human may be dangerous. MORE REASON TO PROTECT TINY HUMAN. So Dogmeat followed at a distance and helped where he could. A pack of hounds too close? They’re gone before the humans get a wiff of them. A yaoi gui looking for a meal? Dogmeat stands his ground and gives the humans time to get far. Dogmeat was a good boy. And good boys get rewarded! One night when the humans rested, Dogmeat was invited to join them by the fire with a hunk of meat thrown in front of him. Kellogg dropped a few more hunks to get Dogmeat to come close. After enjoying his meal and a bowl of water, Dogmeat was finally able to see the tiny human up close. Gage: How could one guy get through the gauntlet with a baby strapped to his chest? And how could he defeat the Overboss without the water gun? BY CRUSHING HIM WITH HIS MIND! That last part seems unreal but it’s the truth! Colter was crushed within his power armor when the bald guy went to fight him! Every raider ran out of there except for Gage, who was still in shock. He didn’t notice the man approach until he was asked “What’s the fastest way back to the Commonwealth?” “R-right this way sir.” Now Gage didn’t like being subservient to those he disliked, but he wasn’t looking to die today. Gage had brought him back to the train, sending the man on his way. Just as the train pulled away, through the window, Gage saw the man’s baby peek out and reach out to him. Gage was confused and was further puzzled when he saw that his pants had fallen out of nowhere. Wait. “Did my pants just- Because of that kid- What the hell is going on?!” Hancock: RIP to the bastard Finn, who thought he could shakedown the guy who looks like he could kill with a stare AND carrying a baby. Now Hancock enjoys seeing bullies get their just desserts, but he wasn’t so sure seeing someone’s jaw get ripped off and shoved down their throat. Sure Hancock has killed his own fair share, but never that brutal. And the guy who just did that is taking care of a BABY. “Now hang on a second. I’m all for not seeing Finn again, but I can’t just let a guy who can do all that carry a baby. Goodneighbor is my town, so everything that walks in is my business. Including you two. Now tell me why I should let you hold on to the little tyke-“ Kellogg retorted without halting “Unless you wanna taste what’s left of your jaw just like him. Leave us alone.” Hancock can’t stand a brushoff threat like that, but he can’t do anything with a baby in the crossfire. So he let the guy go for now, gesturing to Fahrenheit to do surveillance on him. Longfellow:

Kellogg’s journey to find a safe home will take him all over the Commonwealth and to Far Harbor. After hearing of a rumored synth refuge exiting there, Kellogg thought that Maine may be perfect for him and Shaun if the Institute hasn’t found it. Upon arrival, Kellogg realizes that the fog brings all sorts of monsters and that he’d need some of those defogger contraptions if he’s to settle on the island. Asking around the bar, an old man in a trench coat speaks up. “You’re gonna want to get them defoggers from Arcadia, the synth refuge up over yonder.” Kellogg didn’t want to have to interact with the synths, especially since he’s ex Institute. “Are you serious.” With a nod and arming of his rifle, the old man confirms. “I have spoken.” MacCready: Waiting for business in the Third Rail seems like a safe move until Cait gets into a fight. Just like any other fight, Mac was gonna sit this one out. Expecting to hear a loud climatic crack on the bar, Mac was caught of guard to hear Cait happily laugh. Peeking out he sees Cait looking better than she ever did. He then looked over to the man she’d tussled with. He was fawning over a baby?! Mac’s daddy instinct kicked in and he was gonna help the fellow parent. Mac knew something was up with the kid. A sleeping kid doesn’t look like that. As the man tried shaking the kid awake, Mac put a hand on his shoulder only for it to be squeezed and twisted. “Owowowowowow. Hey I just wanna help your kid! I’m a parent too! Just let me help!” “Don’t need it.” “Are you sure about that?” The kid was barely moving but still breathing. It was clear that he needed something more. “I’m gonna buy some meds for him, then a room for the two of you.” Kellogg let go, allowing the help of fellow parent. Mac delivered. Fruit gummy meds for the kid and the cleanest room in Hotel Rexford. Not a single word of thanks. But a hefty sack of caps. Which Mac denied. “This one’s on the house.” Maxson: The Brotherhood’s arrival in the Commonwealth is preceded by reports of Institute teams becoming a more regular occurrence. It’s as if they’re looking for something. Or someone. Scribe Haylen of Paladin Danse’s team mentions that this began shortly after an encounter with a skilled civilian carrying a baby, probably nothing but they’re still worth looking into. Whatever or whoever they’re looking for, Maxson declares that the Brotherhood must find it first. Of course, Maxson wishes to put his best man in charge: Paladin Danse. However, Danse refuses only stating that “I’m not the right person for this job. Please consider Captain Kells to lead the search. Maxson reluctantly agrees but is confused at Danse’s answer. Once again he states that “I’m not the right person” and excuses himself. “I may not even be a person” Danse thinks to himself. Nick: Called out on a case for his old friends the Nakanos, Nick boards a boat to Far Harbor in search of their missing daughter who believes she’s a synth and is escaping to a supposed synth refuge in Maine. “Holy smokes. For a refuge to be out all the way there untouched. Wow.” “Perfect.” Nick sighed as he heard a deep voice and gun click behind his head. He already knew who it was. “Didn’t think I’d run into you out here. Kellogg.” “I see my reputation precedes me. I’m flattered. Now step away from the controls.” Nick does as he’s asked then spits that the most dangerous man in the Commonwealth has a baby strapped to his chest. He has to get the baby away from Kellogg, he doesn’t know how but he has to. Hours pass as Kellogg stands at the control, gun still aimed at Nick, and trying to comfort a fussy Shaun. “I know you got a gun pointed at me, but I’m still decent enough to be willing to take that kid off your chest and give you a break. What say you?” Before Kellogg could refuse, the boat is roughly shaken and makes both lose their balance. In this small window of opportunity, Nick lunges at Kellogg in hopes of getting the kids from him. Nakano’s boat arrives in Far Harbor and is greeted by a welcome party. “Come out where we can see you!” Kellogg emerges from the controls, gently bouncing Shaun in his arms. “Anyone else on board?” “No. Just me and my son.” Piper: Through the town of Diamond City rode a stranger one fine day. Hardly spoke to folks around him. Didn’t have too much to say. No one dared to ask his business. No one dared make a slip. For the stranger there among them had a BABY! Piper has a weakness for babies, whether it be their tiny hands or feet, their coos, or giggles. She just wants to look at the cutie hung from the grizzled man’s chest. Why did this little cinnamon roll have to be with this sort of guy? Why couldn’t he been with some masked stranger in shiny armor? Or hanging in the arms of a well learned woman? “Why do we always get the scary ones?” Suddenly, she felt her hat slightly rise from her head and fall forward. But before reaching the ground, her hat began discreetly floating towards the scary dude. Piper looked up to see a small head and hand over the man’s shoulder. The cutie was reaching out towards...her hat? ............... GASP “Magic baby hands!” Preston: It would take a miracle to deliver him and his friends from Concord. It would take some angel to come from above to save them. But no, they got Kellogg. An unexpected but welcome assistance. “I’m only here because of my kid.” Preston never thought that he’d be saved on the whim of a kid, but here he is on the museum’s rooftop providing cover for Kellogg as he eliminates the raiders. And Mama Murphy and the baby are on the roof watching- MAMA MURPHY AND THE BABY ARE ON THE ROOF WATCHING “Mama! Take the kid and go back inside! It’s too dangerous!” “Aww, don’t be a sourpuss Preston. The little man just wants a front seat.” A front seat to a deathclaw emerging from the sewers and knocking Kellogg a couple of meters back. “Oh crap!” Preston thought as he began to crank his musket in hopes of nailing the deathclaw in a single shot. Just as he thought Kellogg was gonna be deathclaw chow, the big lizard was lifted into the air! As the deathclaw thrashed in the air, Preston felt his jaw drop. “Nice one kid.” Mama Murphy complimented. To which Preston turned his head, seeing the kid’s arm outstretched. “Holy crap the kid is lifting the deathclaw with his mind.” Strong: Nothing gets Strong excited more than a good fight. His favorite by far is when him, human, and tiny human fought Sean. Human had been knocked out with tiny human trying to wake him up. Strong stood between them and Swan to protect them. Just before Swan had brought his anchor down, it was knocked out of his hand. Confused, Strong needed a moment. A moment short lived when he was lifted into the air up to Swan’s head. Looking down, he saw that the tiny humans was doing it! Feeling pride in his tiny brother, Strong knocked Swan’s head clean off. After that fight, Strong would always ask “Tiny Human! Do the magic hand thing!” X6-88: “Kellogg has gone AWOL and intends to keep the asset from us. Eliminate Kellogg and return the asset to us alive X6.” The courser had been given his most important assignment as well as his own long awaited desire: to kill Kellogg. Ever since he had heard of Kellogg’s skills, X6 had wanted to put him to the test and even beat him. Delivering the child is just a bonus. Cornering the two at Greentech, X6 was about to get his wish. “I’ve been waiting to go toe to toe with you, Mr. Kellogg.” “Sure. Fight me. That’s actually easier than the second part of the mission.” “Oh please I’m pretty sure I can handle a baby.” A small head peeks through Kellogg’s jacket and lets out a coo. *Software Instability Detected* “Oh! YOU’RE RIGHT! GET THAT OUTTA HERE!” How could X6 give a baby with such soft cheeks to the Institute?

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vinodiriso · 4 years

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Mejika Nikki: The White Fang’s Last Howl.

Mejika Nikki (The Doe Journal) is an on-going series of stories that deals with crucial events in Yoshino’s story. You can navigate its tag here.

Yoshino couldn't think of anything. Her mind was a blank slab of marble, cold, unfeeling, dumb. Her eyes were open wide and fixed on the ground, but she saw nothing: her vision was past that world, spirited away to the realm of remembrance, of grievance.

Sakumo-sensei was dead. There wasn't a man alive able to kill him, so he’d taken his own life. A life he had spent serving Konohagakure to his fullest and for which he had paid the price. Yoshino hadn't been allowed in the room where they found the body. "Spare yourself this," Minato pleaded her that fateful night, when her eyes had looked even more possessed, her breath wild and frantic, "neither Tsume-san nor you deserve it."

She spent that night curled against the warm body of the last person left in the world whom she still cared about. Neither the Inuzuka nor the Yukinohana uttered a single word that night, each too busy walking through the flames of their personal hell: Haru's departure was a wound still too fresh for them to cope with, Sakumo's suicide felt quite literally like a knife in the back. They wouldn't have allowed his death to become about them, but it did feel personal, as if those other students of his had been too blind to realize their teacher's pain, the extent of his sorrow, as day after day he walked away from life. Survivor's guilt was eating away at their hearts already, wondering why he had resolved to this, why didn't he tell them what they could have done to help him, why couldn't they have seen it by themselves.

"Sakumo-sensei, is there something wrong?" "Why, no, Yoshino. I am just happy I could see you both in person after so long." “Are you turning sentimental on us, old man?" "Ah, Tsume, don't be mean. I’ve just missed my girls. I wish Haru could be here too."

"Are you ready?" Yoshino didn't even hear Tsume coming out of her house, Kuromaru showed his support by staying next to her. Her face was so pale, as if she hadn't rested a sole minute the night before. To be fair, neither Yoshino'd had.

The kunoichi tried to think as hard as she could, but her brain refused to cooperate. She was empty. She was spent. So she simply nodded, despondent and in wordless despair.

They walked side by side, never talking once, only the sound of their sandals and Kuromaru’s soft pads squashing the stone chippings accompanied them. It was a first for Tsume and Yoshino to go silent for so long, but every word uttered felt meaningless: those words should have been used on Sakumo to cheer him up, to quieten the screaming voices of anguish, dishonour and dismay which drove him to that insane resolution. But they had been spoken not, so those words deserved to die in their chest, like Sakumo had.

Konohagakure seemed eerie in its dormant state as they ghosted along its streets. It was little after dawn, so probably most of the village was still asleep, but it gave the gloomy impression that the entire population of Konoha was in mourning for the loss of such a great hero. There was a certain grey tint to the air itself, an ashen look that turned even the lively hearth of their home into a gathering of bereavement. Yoshino still could not think, of anything.

The graveyard was close to empty. A few shinobi were scattered across the meadow, Yoshino recognized Minato holding close a young, silver-haired boy. ‘Kakashi...’

Next to him, two other children, one with dark features and the Uchiha emblem on his vest, the other a girl with brown hair.

Yoshino felt eyes on herself and her companion and turned to meet Rou's frightening visage. His gargantuan, white ninrou, Kibone, swayed her tail drearily. He was back from Suna, then? she started thinking, before realising she didn't really care to know. There were few other people, some older folks she had never met and some other representative of her generation, but none could testify the place was crowded or the funeral attended.

"So he hasn't come," Tsume growled from her left, startling Yoshino. Who was she talking about? But again, as soon as her mind started formulating that thought, it stopped. It didn't want to work. It didn't want to know. If it had known, it would have acknowledged. If it had acknowledged, it would have made it real.

Yoshino and Tsume walked to the front rows and stood there, eyes fixed on the tomb just a few steps before them. Yoshino turned to observe Kakashi: he was crying and Minato was massaging his shoulder with a light hand and a tenderness Yoshino did not anticipate from such a ruthless ninja. The girl was touching his other shoulder, while the Uchiha boy just looked at him in grievance.

One sudden awareness hit her like a hammer on the back of her skull: she had yet to shed a single tear from the announcement of Sakumo's death. She had stopped eating, barely drank, laid wide-awake in her bed all night long, couldn't focus on anything, but she hadn't cried. She did realize it, yet she couldn't do anything more, because that would have meant to think, and she didn't want to think. She didn't want to think.

The solemn celebration started and carried on quietly, without making too much noise. Yoshino wasn't paying it any attention, and she would have kept doing so if Tsume didn't whisper in pure bewilderment: "...Sandaime-sama."

Yoshino spun her hear around to see as rustling murmurs started animating the sombre assembly. In the central gap, left unoccupied to allow free passage, stood the imposing, red-and-white-clad figure of the Hokage.

"Thank you, Hiruzen-sama..." there was a trembling unaccounted for in Tsume's breath. Her tattooed cheeks became lined with fresh tears. She sobbed, pain hastily gushing from the fissure in her heart. Kuromaru rubbed his big, canine head against her outer thigh to show empathy towards his owner.

The Hokage being there was retribution against all the spewers and scandal mongers that had gossiped and sullied their teacher's name. ‘So this is who she was talking about before’.

Yoshino couldn't bring herself to be as happy or comforted about Sarutobi's presence: he should have done something to help Sakumo, to protect him. Failing a mission, no matter how crucial, shouldn't have robbed him of all his achievements and destroyed his worth in front of the village. The Hokage had come to naught as long as defending Sakumo was regarded, and now his body was cold beneath the dirt and the earth.

‘Why did you have to save your comrades, Sakumo-sensei? Why didn't you just complete the mission and then come home? Why did you rob yourself of your own life?’

"Hi, everyone, my name is Hatake Sakumo and I shall be your sensei from this moment on! Why don't we start off by introducing yourselves to your new teammates? Say your name and what is your dream." "SURE! I am Inuzuka Tsume from the Inuzuka Clan, and this is Kuromaru. We are partners! My dream is to become the toughest kunoichi in Konoha and kick everyone's ass, so don't make me mad!" "Haha, I like your enthusiasm! Who is next?" "My name is Hyuuga Haru, I am a member of the Hyuuga Clan. My dream is to become strong enough to protect the people I love and this village whole!" "Very noble of you, Haru. You are the only one left, little one." "Mh. My name is Yukinohana Yoshino. My home used to be Yukinohana Shokumin, or what's left of it. I-I don't think I have a real dream..." I just want to survive and be happy, one day. "It's okay not to have clear ambitions at the start. Your path will be revealed to you when the time comes, Yoshino."

‘It isn't clear yet, Sensei. I don't know yet what I want from my life. What did you want from yours? Why did you take away your chance to be happy? Why didn't you let us help?’

"Yoshino," Tsume's voice was soft in ways her best friend had rarely ever heard. "It's time to go."

"Mh."

An intense gust of wind dragged and crushed the flowers Kakashi and the girl –Rin, her name was Rin– had laid on Sakumo's grave. She saw the petals get ripped off, dancing in the cold air, and then collapse, powerless, to the ground. ‘Not even in death will you accept the gratitude and love of those who were close to you, Sensei? Are we so undeserving of your benevolence? Did we fail you so, Sakumo-sensei?’

The attendants to the funeral dispersed a couple of minutes after the service ended. Minato escorted his team out of the graveyard, Rou gazed at Yoshino and Tsume, it was clear he didn't want to leave the latter alone, but he made the wise choice not to meddle just yet and give them some more time to spend in one another's company.

Tsume looked more at peace with herself on their walk back than what she did on their way there. She was still desperately sad, of course, but there was no more hopelessness in her eyes, rather a –shaky, unstable, feeble, but still some sort of– resolve. Yoshino coveted her strength of mind, her will to keep fighting.

Tsume was likely aware of that, so she told the Yukinohana: "you know what Sakumo-sensei would have told us, Shishi. 'Don't cry for what you can't change, strive to improve what comes after so that your pain won't be in vain'. I won't let his death be in vain, Shishi, and neither will you."

Yoshino truly did want to believe Tsume, but she just couldn't find the energy to do so. Her heartbeat felt shallow, her sight blurred and her touch irresponsive. There was a lulling sense of meaninglessness in that narcolepsy of the soul, where the entire world was absent and noiseless because everyone had turned their back on them. ‘Sakumo-sensei… how lonely were you?’

“Sakumo-sensei… you never told us your dream.” “Haha, I didn’t back then, did I? I want to leave this world a better place than what I found it, for my son and the people I love. This is why I strive to be the best ninja I can be, not to win my battles for my personal pride… to make sure that, one day, Kakashi won’t have to fight them himself.”

Yoshino looked up at the sky. “There’s no clouds today. The sky is so gray.”

“Damn, I can’t believe they actually did it in broad daylight,” a ninja they passed on a secondary alleyway to reach Inuzuka Compound hissed to his friend, “they were lucky none went there to give that bastard what he deserved.”

Yoshino halted, Tsume and her were a few meters from them now. “Say that again.”

The ninja turned back to look at her, a complacent grin on his idiotic face. “Why, what are you gonna do otherwise, you skin and bones? You gonna tickle me to death?”

“Say that again,” Tsume laid it on thick with her barking, her face tilted a bit to eye him. Even with her earnest aspirations, Tsume was still Tsume, and Tsume was not to be provoked. Kuromaru growled with her, feeling the pure murderous intent radiating from the two kunoichi.

“They. Were. Lucky. None. Went there. To give that bastard. What he deserved.”

Tsume and Yoshino sprung to action on the very same instant. The Inuzuka young woman started forming the hand seals for Shikyaku, Kuromaru dashed next to her, a black, muddled stain for how fast he was running, and filled the dense, electricity-sparkling air with his blood-frenzied snarl. Yoshino too was advancing rapidly, she had no weapons at her disposal because of her mourning attire, but someone had left a spare wooden board leaned against a fence: it was chipped, rough and too large to be used effectively as a bō, but she would have done with what she had got.

While Tsume squatted to hurl herself against their enemy, Yoshino spun her makeshift staff in her hand to empower her subsequent blow with even more might. She was not even a step from dealing her strike when she felt a tight grip on her waist cutting her breath short, her armed hand squeezed tight to stop her from hitting. At her right, a very tall individual held Tsume for her throat, claw-like nails scraping against the skin of her neck and drawing blood. ‘Rou...’

Kuromaru too had been stopped, his neck bitten down and his limbs pinned to the ground by some larger ones. Kibone, Rou’s ninja she-wolf, immobilized Kuromaru completely, a testament to her raw strength given also by her ridiculous size. The ninken’s pain was clear, stuck as he was into Kibone’s fangs and claws, but that one-eyed terrifying muzzle was still contorted into a ghoulish expression.

The shinobi Tsume and Yoshino tried to attack grew pale realising he had been saved from a very painful – and dangerous – experience. The Yukinohana never stopped glaring at him with a fiery scowl. She was still angry. Her heart still sought revenge, the bitter taste in her mouth reclaiming blood to wash the shaming insult away.

“Rou! Let me go!” Tsume yelled, trying to kick the Jounin in his shins. Yoshino glanced behind her and saw a Kage Bunshin of Rou restricting her. “LET ME GO!”

“Quit it, Tsume!” Rou screamed back at her. “What were you two trying to do, huh?! Kill him?!”

“Were you following us, Rou?” Yoshino inquired, she forced herself to keep her voice low. No movements of her prey went unnoticed as he swerved, nervous and scared, not knowing whether to hold up to his earlier affront and risk a real assault, or to deny it by running away and lose face in front of his comrade.

“Yeah, daisy girl, I was following you. And thank fuck I was, you two were about to make a mess! Tsume, what happened?!”

“That son of a bitch badmouthed Sakumo-sensei… on the day of his memorial… that huge bastard! I will kill him!” Tsume shrieked so loud she could crack a glass, she shook wildly in Rou’s binding grasp.

Rou sighed, his wild, white mane covered his countenance from Yoshino, but she would have betted in that same moment Rou was trying to bridle his own thirst for revenge; he was quite the ‘an eye for an eye’ type, and a passionate defender of responding to violence with violence, especially when those endangered were people he cared about. Moreover, he had a fervent belief in a code of his own – a code which exalted honour above most things. He couldn’t stand watching someone rob another of their honour.

“It’s not right, Tsume,” he spat from beneath his clenched teeth. “Sakumo-san… didn’t die for this. He didn’t die for you two to pick fights on his behalf, he didn’t die for you to turn bitter and resentful!”

Yoshino was taken aback by Rou’s statement. “I want to leave this world a better place than what I found it, for my son and the people I love. This is why I strive to be the best ninja I can be, not to win my battles for my personal pride… to make sure that, one day, Kakashi won’t have to fight them himself.”

“What do you know?! What do you know about Sakumo-sensei?! Nothing!” Tsume cried out, her anguish threatening to crack through once more as she glowered at Rou. “YOU KNOW NOTHING OF HIM! LIKE ANYONE ELSE IN THIS VILLAGE! YOU KNOW NOTHING!”

Rou stared her down. “I know the person he helped raise, and he didn’t raise you to be scum that attacks a fellow shinobi for a futile reason! Grow up, Tsume!”

His shouting took all the vigour away from Tsume as she, once more, broke up crying. Yoshino envied her bitterly, she wished she could have found an outlet for her pain as healthy as those tears, but she couldn’t, she didn’t have enough strength to shatter just to build herself back up. Not once more.

“Yoshino, Tsume, Haru. In your life it will be asked of you to make difficult choices. It’s the destiny of every ninja. Whatever the circumstance… always follow your conscience. Living with a dirty conscience is hell, it’s not living. Sometimes a hard choice is a right choice. Remember this.”

“Kuromaru… at ease,” at last, Tsume gave in. Then – and just then – Rou released his hold on her neck and put his arms around her. As soon as Kuromaru stopped struggling, Kibone let him go and started licking the wounds she inflicted upon the smaller animal. Yoshino looked at the scene and all of a sudden she realized she was alone. Alone in her pain, alone in her bewilderment, alone in her shock, alone in her loss.

“SHISHI, NO!”

The Yukinohana jabbed her elbow in the clone’s ribs. A swing like that would have cracked some mean bone, for sure, in fact the Bunshin disappeared with a puff of smoke. She started running, as fast as her legs allowed, her throat torn apart by a distraught, furious scream, her momentum increased the second she swung the board behind her. Her chest was heavy with despair, with resignation.

‘If I don’t do this, Sensei, what will it be of me? If I don’t let this rage build inside me, it will just be more pain, again. I don’t want to suffer, Sensei. I am tired of suffering. I wish it all went away… I wish you were all with me still, Sensei. Hacchan. I am sorry. I can’t do this on my own.’

“YOSHINO, STOP!”

‘I don’t want to be alone anymore, Sensei.’

The kunoichi was halted abruptly, her improvised weapon a mere centimetre away from the guy’s head. She could not move, her entire body shuddered with tense muscles, yet she couldn’t take another step forward. She looked around, astounded, and noticed a black pool beneath her feet. A dark tendril spiked away from it, climbed back up the fence to her left, then up the side of a house, till eventually connecting with another figure.

“Thank fuck, Shikaku. That was one hell of a scare,” Rou commented, relieved.

Nara Shikaku was kneeling on the roof of that house, his hands united to form the secret seal for his clan’s signature jutsu, Kage Shibari. He stopped her with his shadow, that’s why she couldn’t move.

“Heh, just in time,” he smirked. Yoshino noticed that him too was in black clothes. Did he came to Sakumo-sensei’s funeral? “I was on my way back home when I heard screaming and I came to check. Glad I did.”

“Release me,” Yoshino commanded.

“No. If I do, you will crack that guy’s noggin open.”

“RELEASE ME!”

“None wanted Sakumo-san dead!” the Nara stated passionately. “It’s something we can’t change, it’s the reality we must accept. That anger inside of you is fair, you have every god-damn right to be angry, I would be. I am. But even if you beat that motherfucker to death, even if you beat up all of us, that’s not gonna make him come back and you know it. It’s just gonna get you in trouble and I know for a fact that’s not what your Sensei wanted, for either of you. Don’t insult his memory by forgetting the kinda man he was in life. He wouldn’t want it.”

“Yoshino, you more than Haru and Tsume know what it is like to suffer truly. You lost your home and your family, but you found within yourself the strength to start anew. You are like the flower you bear the name of: if snowdrops didn’t blossom through the cold snow, we would never know spring is coming our way. Never let bitterness spoil your heart. Promise me, Yoshino.”

“...release me.”

Shikaku observed her for a few seconds and established that his words had managed to calm her down enough. He loosened the hand seal, his stretched shadow hasted to return to its normal size.

“You, piece of shit,” the Nara’s voice was filled with disdain as he addressed the ninja that had started the whole fight. “Go die somewhere else before I come down there and choke you myself, you vermin.”

The two of them didn’t need him to say it twice. Screaming for their lives, they ran away and were soon nowhere to be seen.

Yoshino, able to move, observed her free hand. Her fingers were thin, her nails chipped in some parts, her knuckles bruised and filled with small scars never fully healed, her skin white as a cloud. Yet she could see her hand dripping with blood, blood of those she couldn’t save: Haru, Sakumo-sensei. She survived, but she wasn’t sure she could keep on living. What for? What was the meaning of all that? Why was she breathing? No. No. She couldn’t think. She promised herself she wouldn’t think. To think meant to acknowledge and to acknowledge meant to make it real.

But it was real. It was already too real.

‘None can save me, Sensei.’

The kunoichi threw the plank she was still holding all the way down the alley. It impacted against a wall and broke in two pieces. Yoshino was hit with the sudden realization she did want to kill that guy before. She hadn’t considered the implications until she saw that piece of wood abandoned on the side of the road.

“Shishi...” “I am going home.”

Tsume pushed Rou away gently and tried to reach for her friend’s wrist, but Yoshino vehemently pulled away. She didn’t want to hurt Tsume, but she could breathe no more. She needed to be alone. Maybe then her loneliness wouldn’t have felt so acute, so distant from the world around her.

“Leave me be, Tsu. I will be okay. Rou, take care of her, please.”

“Will do,” he said, holding Tsume’s hand in his. “Look after yourself too, Yoshino.”

She didn’t answer. She just walked away, her hazel eyes as grey as the sky above them.

Her last punch against the tree ended with a painful, loud crack. Yoshino fell to her knees, clutching her right hand to the chest: it was a broken knuckle, no way around it. Her entire body was burning, not only with fatigue, but also with unrestrained chakra: she could feel true fire circling through her body, the ache limitless with her muscles overstressed, her chakra not controlled, her leg tendon pulled.

Blood was smeared all across the tree’s dented bark. Blood was dripping down her hands, not wrapped with any sort of protection or bandage, probably some chippings had ended up inside her skin, under her now broken and hanging nails. She was beyond exhaustion, she felt like she could pass out any seconds now.

Yoshino yelled out in pain, a scream so intense and tormented it resembled the calling of a sorrowful demon. None could hear her there, she was alone. She was always alone.

“Sakumo-sensei… is war right?” “Oh, dear. Men invented Hell for those who invented the war, but I don’t think it’s a good enough punishment.” “What does it mean, Sakumo-sensei?” “Hell is supposed to be a place where all evil people go to when they die. Yet war doesn’t discriminate between good and bad… actually, it ends up killing too many good people instead of those who really deserve to die.”

‘You did not deserve to die, Sakumo-sensei. I am so sorry. Please, forgive me for not having done anything. Forgive me, Sensei.’

She could not cry, because to cry meant to suffer and she was not able to suffer any more. But she could feel rage for him, and have that rage fuel her in battle. She would have not taken her own life, she could not, but if she ended up dying in confrontation… there wasn’t a ninja able to help it, after all. To lose their life in combat.

Yoshino screamed again, the pain burning even brighter. Physical pain was better than spiritual. Physical pain would have gone away eventually, but a scarred soul remains scarred forever. Her soul was already scarred enough.

‘Sakumo-sensei… I am not as strong as you thought. I am a coward. I am worthless. If only I’d been there… if only I’d been stronger… but you’re dead now.’

A sob made her chest jolt up. Then another. ‘Don’t cry!’ It was too late. She had thought. She had acknowledged.

Now it was real.

“SAKUMO-SENSEI!”

#well fuck #death tw #loss tw #suicide tw #suicide idealization tw #Mejika Nikki #long post #mirin writes #yoshino yukinohana/nara.#yoshino (headcanon)#naruto content

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iturbide · 4 years

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Hfjdhjf can I please have more information?? I think the reason I managed to float by so spoiler free was half because up until recently I never was super interested in Three Houses, and my knowledge was limited to what I was told about the routes. WHICH WAS APPARENTLY VERY LIMITED. V E R Y.

friend of course you can have more information

legit though I am so impressed that you’ve managed to stay spoiler free regardless of the context, I am massively spoiled for fandoms I’m not even in and yet you’re managing to come at it fresh like I did when I started my Golden Deer playthrough.

also this came in and frankly your wish is my command

But okay. So.

Dimitri is honestly fascinating and a tragic, deeply flawed character in his own right. But understanding his break requires backstory. His mom died when he was still pretty young due to a plague that swept through Faerghus, and when he was around ten his father re-married an Imperial woman named Patricia von Arundel (who is also Edelgard’s mother, hence the step-siblings thing). Edelgard, as it happens, had come to the Kingdom with her mother and uncle, Volkhart von Arundel, in order to escape the chaos caused by the Insurrection of the Seven, where the Imperial nobles seized power from the Emperor (Edelgard’s father), and the two became friends: she taught him to dance during the three-ish years she was in the Kingdom, and just before she left Dimitri gifted her a dagger, symbolic in the Kingdom of a hope for someone to cut their own path forward.

Two years later, Dimitri’s life basically becomes hell. While he and his family are traveling through the neighboring lands of Duscur, their caravan is attacked: his father Lambert and his bodyguard Glenn are both brutally murdered, his step-mother goes missing, and he is the sole survivor. He witnessed the people responsible, but although he tried to tell people what happened, the people of Duscur were blamed for the attack, and the genocide soon followed. The whole incident came to be known as the Tragedy of Duscur, and it left Dimitri with massive trauma that went completely unaddressed: he suffers from survivor’s guilt and PTSD, he completely lost all sense of taste, he’s had a constant headache since the incident...oh, and also he sees hallucinations of the people who died. So there’s that.

Now, because Dimitri was only 14 at the time and he couldn’t take the Faerghus throne until he reached his majority at 18, his uncle Rufus stepped in as regent in the meantime. Rufus is pretty fucking terrible! In fact, he sent Dimitri at age 16 to go put down a rebellion in Western Faerghus -- and again, Dimitri is a traumatized teenager who’s been getting no help or support. The people around him, notably Gilbert and Felix’s father Rodrigue, are trying to foster him into the next King of Faerghus rather than tending to his very real mental and emotional needs following the events of Duscur, so Dimitri has been silently bottling up all of his problems for the better part of two years. He...kind of snaps during that rebellion, and it ends up as a brutal slaughter; Felix bears witness to it, and ever after he treats Dimitri like a wild animal, calling him a beast and a boar.

This is all just piling on the trauma, as you probably noticed. He manages to hold it together and keep up a calm exterior, though he’s deeply afraid of the darkness within him, and does his utmost to bury it and keep it under control. At age 17 he comes to Garreg Mach, and over the course of the school year things just get progressively worse: he starts slipping and growing more violent over the course of repeated encounters with the Flame Emperor, since he recognizes the masked mages from the attack on his family’s caravan in Duscur and believes that the Flame Emperor must have been responsible for the Tragedy. But he pretty much snaps during the revelation at the Holy Tomb, where Edelgard is unmasked as the Flame Emperor -- in the Blue Lions route, he literally crushes an Imperial soldier’s skull with his bare hands in his attempts to get at Edelgard. It’s shocking, especially since up to that point the super strength that came from his Crest was played for laughs more than anything else.

He continues slipping in the weeks leading up to the attack on Garreg Mach, publicly alluding to his hallucinations and how they whisper to him and vowing to take Edelgard’s head himself. CF is the only route where he actually stays pretty sane, so we’re going to focus on non-CF routes: in the battle for the monastery, Edelgard’s forces end up victorious, and he’s forced back to Faerghus, expecting to take the throne and rally a counterstrike against her...only to arrive and be accused of regicide when it’s revealed that his uncle Rufus has been viciously murdered. Cornelia (who is, in fact, a Twisted agent) takes power in the Kingdom and basically hands it off to Edelgard as the ‘Dukedom of Faerghus,’ then orders Dimitri be imprisoned and later executed; but before he can be killed, his vassal Dedue manages to break him out of prison, though the escape attempt apparently costs him his life (he can be saved by other Duscur survivors depending on the results of an earlier paralogue, though -- the important point is that Dimitri thinks Dedue is dead). After that, Dimitri spends the next four-ish years wandering alone in the Faerghus forests, the isolation exacerbating his already poor mental health until he’s openly conversing with his hallucinations; he also starts attacking Imperial forces he comes across in Faerghus and basically ripping them apart, leading to a lot of rumors about a wild beast on the loose. Also, somewhere in this five year span he loses an eye. No, we have no idea how. Fandom burns for answers.

Now, Dimitri’s fate varies significantly depending on playthrough here. In Silver Snow and Verdant Wind, he’s literally consumed by his rage and guilt and his desire for vengeance on behalf of those taken from him, and he ends up dying in pursuit of it. In Azure Moon, he’s lost any real ability to tell reality from hallucination, and believes even Byleth is nothing more than a figment; he continues his single-minded pursuit of Edelgard, committing atrocities of his own and admitting to being nothing but a base murderer, the beast Felix accused him of being so long ago. But eventually, through the intervention of Byleth and his classmates, he starts to come around a little more -- though it takes Rodrigue’s death and his final words, encouraging him to live for himself rather than those who have already gone, to really wake him up and get him moving forward. The game takes the turn a little fast, but it’s still really touching to see Dimitri coming back from the edge and recognizing the importance of his own desires. The campaign continues, they retake Fhirdiad, there’s a parley with Edelgard where she refuses to back down and continues to insist that war is the only option, things get crazy with the final boss like holy shit, but in the end after Edelgard’s been defeated, Dimitri offers his hand to her...and her final act is to throw the dagger he gifted her when they were children at him, and he instinctively kills her in retaliation.

Look, Dimitri doesn’t come out of this smelling like roses. He killed a lot of people in very, very violent ways. But he recognizes that what he did, even if he wasn’t mentally sound at the time, was pretty atrocious and spends the rest of his life seeking peace with as little bloodshed as possible.

But okay I have gone on for a long time about Dimitri so if you’re still here, congratulations let’s talk about my favorite Lord.

Claude is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. That’s literally how he’s presented in the game, and it’s great. He’s sociable, amiable, friendly, mischievous, and has a reputation as a schemer. He jokes about his own reputation a lot, especially when he’s called out, but he’s wickedly smart, especially where tactics, information gathering, puzzles, and secrets are concerned. We literally go through the whole first half of the game getting only the tiniest hints about him personally and what his aspirations are -- we don’t even know where he came from, he legit just showed up out of the blue when Duke Riegan named Claude as his heir -- and meanwhile he’s out there trying to unravel the mystery behind Crests, the Church, and the Flame Emperor -- and while he doesn’t manage to succeed before the timeskip hits, he manages to uncover an alarming amount of information. Also, despite his reputation as an untrustworthy trickster, he cares deeply about the people around him and does his best to keep them safe, even if it means resorting to underhanded (but ultimately non-lethal) methods.

Once we hit the timeskip, we find out more of the secrets that he’s been hiding. For context, Fodlan’s neighbor to the east is Almyra, and relations between the two nations have been...tense, to say the least: a few hundred years ago Almyra invaded Fodlan and a bad time was had by all. In order to prevent it from happening again, the Alliance built a fortress called Fodlan’s Locket in the pass connecting the two nations (the pass being called Fodlan’s Throat). Presently, the Alliance is headed by a communal council of nobles from the major families, who meet at regular round tables in order to debate business that affects their territories and pass legislature; the round table is headed by Duke Riegan, who had two children, a son set to inherit the title and a daughter who went mysteriously missing years ago. Unfortunately, House Riegan and House Gloucester have never been on the best of terms, and when Duke Riegan’s heir was attacked and killed on the road while traveling to visit Duke Gloucester, there were a lot of rumors that Lorenz’s dad might have been involved, though nothing was ever proven in that regard. It left Duke Riegan in a tough spot, though, since he was getting on in years and suddenly had no heir...at which point, Claude ‘miraculously’ steps in with his Crest and is named heir to House Riegan.

Turns out? Duke Riegan’s daughter didn’t go missing: she eloped with an Almyran. And that Almyran, as it turns out, became king of Almyra. So Claude’s an Almyran prince. Turns out, he didn’t exactly have a great time growing up, though: Almyrans view the people of Fodlan as cowardly and weak, so they viewed Claude’s mom as such...and Claude himself, too, since he was half-Fodlan. No matter how much he argued or fought, it never seemed to matter. He got bullied a lot, and started picking up tactics and poison mixing as ways to defend himself...but more than anything, he hated how small-minded Almyrans were when it came to him and his mother. Then Duke Riegan’s heir died, and his grandfather reached out to his daughter, hoping to have Claude tested for a Crest -- which, as it happens, he bore. Claude was so excited, believing that things in Fodlan would be different, better...

...and instead, he found that things in Fodlan were exactly like they were in Almyra. People hated him for half his heritage -- just this time, it was for his ‘savage’ Almyran half instead of his ‘cowardly’ Fodlan half. It was hilarious, in a sad way, how alike the people of Fodlan and Almyra were when it came to hating things they didn’t know...and that was how he decided on his goal. What Claude wants to do is destroy the borders between people and forge understanding between them. He found through hard experience that people always fear the outsider -- but if you break down the walls, there’s no ‘inside’ or ‘outside’ anymore. There’s just people. What he wants to do is unify the Alliance, then Fodlan, then perhaps even the world...not through force or subjugation, but by bringing them together, uniting them through what they share in common and helping them understand and find value in their differences. His aspiration is to ensure that no one has to suffer like he did growing up.

And so, once things are all settled in Fodlan (and he’s assured that he managed to achieve his goal in small scale with his friends in the Alliance), he leaves Byleth in charge, forgoes leadership in the Alliance, and heads back to Almyra to continue working toward that aspiration. He becomes the king of Almyra so that he can start working toward that larger goal from the other side of the border, intending to open roads toward peaceful diplomacy and trade with Fodlan. He knows their bonds are strong, even when they’re apart, and he knows that they’ll all be reunited someday. Also Claude is the only Lord who has the possibility to live in all routes (barring Silver Snow but he’s only listed as ‘missing’ not ‘dead’ so I hold out hope) which I think says a heck of a lot about how great he is. He’s just so good and so kind and cares so much about people and he makes my heart warm and yes I’m done yelling about how much I love Claude for a moment.

So hopefully that fills you in a little on the other Lords at least in part please enjoy my novel-length ramble.

#answered #anonymous #fire emblem: three houses #fe:3h spoilers #i tried to cram every pertinent bit of information i could remember in here #boy there's a lot isn't there #so much backstory is required to understand these people #like holy shit #also for the record edelgard was not involved in duscur #that was all the twisted #but please understand how much i love claude he's so great #and i feel like he gets passed over a lot #because he's not contentious like edelgard #or tortured and traumatized like dimitri #but he's so incredibly good he's absolutely my favorite of the lords #i love dimitri too don't get me wrong but claude is such a treasure

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finalfrontierpioneer · 5 years

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2019 Fic Recs

To celebrate the end of 2019 (and also to procrastinate on my own fics!), I figured I’d round up 19 of my favorite fics of the year! Now, to be clear, these were all written (at least partly) during 2019, and they’re all complete. But that’s like all they have in common. They’re from random fandoms and some are def explicit and they’re in no particular order, but mostly it’s Riverdale lmao. Bc i’m trash and i ain’t ashamed.

Starting out with the Riverdale here babyyy:

Things unrequited by Bearfacedcheek

New Veronica, new type?

Set after S01E01 Veronica decides that Jughead Jones is the perfect antidote to all the bad romantic and moral choices she always seems to make. But making Jughead hers doesn't prove as straight forward a task as she expects

No peace nor rest by Bearfacedcheek

They're not stupid. They know there's no peace in revenge. But the sight of Betty and Archie together makes them stupid and whisky makes them weak, so they take the only revenge they can.

Set post 2x08 Betty and Archie enter a relationship, leaving Jughead and Veronica heartbroken and a night of drunken revenge sex morphs into something far more complicated.

have i been too discreet? by partyhardy

In which Betty realizes she slowly watched Jughead fall for Veronica.

keep telling myself i'm not the desperate type by Krewlak

The new kid at school argues with Veronica and it sparks something inside of Jughead.

Supporting Characters by torombolo

Maybe this was inevitable, Jughead thought, staring at the couple in front of him. He spared a glance at Veronica. From the look on her face, she thought the same thing. Betty and Archie. Archie and Betty. Perfect. The American Dream.

“Fine,” the dark-headed girl had told him, “I’m fine.”

“Me too,” he said convincingly. Whether he was trying to convince her or himself he wasn’t sure.

But Darling, Who Ever Said That Love Was Fair? by bothromeoandjuliet

There is no room for blood and thorns in the bubblegum scented word that was Betty Cooper's life, and both Jughead and Veronica know it. But that doesn't mean that they can help what they are or what they feel. Only, nothings fair in love and friendship.

Hindsight, As They Say, Is Twenty-Twenty by bothromeoandjuliet

Betty's always wondered why Jughead Jones broke up with her, and now, eight years after the fact, she finally gets her answer. (A one shot/drabble ft. past!bughead, and past!veggie, with a healthy dose of jeronica sprinkled all the way through.) ((Also I manage to write fluff that doesn't just turn to angst!)) (((So thats exciting)))

Some Stucky:

This Side of the Blue by notlucy

Tucked against a set of crumbling, stone steps was a tank made of metal and glass, filled to the brim with greenish water, distorted sunlight filtering through and casting strange shadows. Playing tricks on the eye. A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend.

Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

Paper Tree by Ellessey

Bucky just laughs and shoves another bite of egg in his mouth, giving Steve a shrug and a full-cheeked smile. He's so damn cute Steve wants to shout at him, but he can't seem to say any of the right things. "Shoulda got you a comb for Christmas," is what he comes up with instead.

"What did you get me?"

It's Steve's turn to shrug now, and if he looks more terrified than cheeky as he does so, he can only hope Bucky doesn't catch it before Steve hurries out the door.

On December first, Steve wraps up a letter for Bucky and sets it under their Christmas tree. Now he has twenty-four days left to figure out how to tell Bucky what he wrote, face to face.

Political Animals by crinklefries, Deisderium

Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that.

But okay, the thing that Descartes or whoever didn’t know was that Steve really tries, but Bucky Barnes has a mouth that should probably constitute an eighth sin or something.

Jesus fucking Christ, Sam’s going to kill him.

(or—Steve’s best friend is the U.S. Constitution and he can’t seem to stop fucking a hot Republican. They shouldn’t fall in love, but somehow they do. That’s it, that’s the fic.)

like heaven stood up in you by napricot

“You said you were gonna miss him,” says Bruce slowly. “He was supposed to be back in five seconds, but you hugged him and said ‘I’m gonna miss you.’”

Bucky’s face is serene again now, and gives nothing away. “I know Steve,” he repeats. “You think you can hand him a time machine and some rocks of unspeakable power and he’s just gonna go put ‘em right back where they belong?”

Steve does put the Infinity Stones right back where they belong. He just does a couple other things too. Or: three timelines and a Reverse Time Heist.

Drive It Like You Stole It: A Bodyswap by AggressiveWhenStartled

Steve had gone fully red-faced with pedantic altar-boy fury. “Did your computer forget how to Google translate?” he bellowed, sticking his head up and over. Bucky yanked him down again. “What are you even trying to say?”

Bucky tried to shake the sparkles off the grenade he had been planning on lobbing over the divider. “It sounded like Latin to me,” he said reasonably, pursing his lips and frowning at the explosive. It dripped a sparkle, and a puff of purple smoke curled up where it hit the concrete.

“That’s because you spent Sunday school flirting with Sarah Cunningham,” Steve accused, bobbing back up to throw his shield and ducking back down to dodge a shining ball of blue light. “You wouldn’t know Latin if it came up and kissed you on your ugly mug.”

“I’d sure know it if Sarah Cunningham did, though.” Bucky grinned, struck by the memory. “That gal really knew what she was doing.”

Some DC stuff (Halbarry):

Iconoclast by the_mythologist

When an alien race’s covert invasion and assassination spree decimates the Supercommunity, the survivors must band together to defeat against an unseen, invincible enemy. With many of their greatest heroes off-world or dead, the remnants of the Justice League, Teen Titans, Birds of Prey, Batfamily, and a few unaffiliated ‘heroes’ are all that stand in the way between the ‘Iconoclasts’ and Earth’s annihilation.

John Constantine is most unamused.

Slowing Down by Cinderstrato

It hadn’t been long after they first met before Barry began to suspect, in a vaguely-formed way, that it would be easy to fall in love with Hal.

sweating out a hot day by magnetocent

it's a hot day, but barry decides it's not hot enough

Okay now some one-offs from random fandoms/pairings:

Off The Record by crookedswingset

Peter Parker is a corporate lackey whose sole job is to root out problem executives who waste Oscorp’s money and time. Wade Wilson is a reserve Avenger on the hunt for a prize even Iron Man couldn’t nail down: the real identity of everyone’s favorite webhead.

Too bad most people think Spider-Man is Harry Osborn.

Stars Beneath His Skin by ElloPoppet

On the white piece of paper was a smattering of small, black dots. McCoy turned the paper, in search of a pattern or alignment of some kind but not finding even a trace. The dots appeared to be drawn at random or rather, McCoy noticed as he squinted, printed. He looked up at where Spock was standing over him and returned a cocked eyebrow of his own.

“If you need help cracking some kind of code, this isn’t exactly my specialty, genius.”

Rather than banter back, Spock responded immediately and smoothly. “It is not a code. That is the alignment of stars that would have been visible in the night sky from Earth should one have been standing at the coordinates where my Mother was born at the moment of the occurrence.” Silence blanketed the room, McCoy not having a goddamn clue how to respond to that. Luckily, Spock wasn’t finished.

“I wish to memorialize her with what most races would call a tattoo, and I would like your help with the matter.”

Too Close To Love You by stylescoalition

Aleks used to have a big crush on Brett but he doesn’t anymore, which is great considering they work together, on top of being good friends (suuuper lit). Now, Aleks is going to be living with Brett in LA until he finds a place of his own, but just because he isn’t crushing on Brett doesn’t mean that Brett isn’t crushing on him. Suffice to say, it makes things complicated… except it really isn’t as complicated as they think.

drawn to wilder nights by detectivemeer

Scott and Derek start a frenemies-with-benefits relationship, and it goes about as well as one would expect.

#fic recs #2019 fic recs #Jeronica #stucky #halbarry

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returnn-of-the-mac · 5 years

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How about one where Sole Survivor swipes Elder Maxson`s (AWESOME) battle coat and shows it off to the companions. Please add Maxson`s reation. Please!

This prompt made me laugh when I first read it, and it was really entertaining to write. Since the intro is kinda long, I’m going to hide it behind a “read more.” Please enjoy!

FO4 Companions (+ Maxson) React: Sole Stealing Maxon’s Battle Coat

After a long night of drinking, Sole decided that they were going to do something bold; something they had always fantasized about doing but never had the guts to do: steal Maxson’s coat. A slightly tipsy Sole snuck into the Elder’s quarters while he was sound asleep and swiped his precious jacket. Unfortunately, in their intoxicated state, Sole failed to realize how loud they were actually being. Maxson awoke quickly.

“Who’s there?” He asked sternly. As he reached for his bedside light, Sole booked it out of the room. “HEY!”

Maxson hopped out of bed and sprinted after Sole at full speed. Sole ducked into the neighboring room— Danse’s quarters— and slammed the door behind them.

Nick: “Would you look who it is? I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.” Nick eyed the jacket under Sole’s arm and he shook his head. “It was hard enough convincing them to let a synth onboard and now you’ve gone and done this. Are you actively trying to get us kicked off the Prydwen?”

Curie: “There you are! I hope you had fun! But it is dawn, you need some rest.” Sole agreed and handed Curie the jacket before they crawled into bed. When Curie realized what she was holding, she gasped in alarm and flung the coat across the room. “[Madam/Monsieur]! You’ve stolen the Elder’s coat? Do you know how much trouble we’re going to be in,” Curie fired, her voice stern and slightly raised, “I am very cross. Go return the coat this instant...and apologize for stealing!”

Longfellow: “Get your fill?” Longfellow asked. He was currently working on a bottle of Gwinett. “Wasn’t feelin to social tonight. Just wanted to drink alone,” he then noticed the bundle under Sole’s arm, “Say, whatcha got there?” Sole held up the jacket and Longfellow nearly fell out if his seat. “Rest in peace, you damn rascal,” he stated, taking a long swing of his drink.

Codsworth: [Sir/Mum]! Do you have any idea what time it is,” the robot scolded, “I suggest you go straight to bed.” Codsworth then noticed the jacket Sole was carrying. He gasped, “What’s wrong with you, [sir/mum]!? Go return that jacket immediately!”

MacCready: “There you are. Have a good time?” Sole held up Maxon’s jacket and MacCready’s jaw dropped. “You did not,” he began laughing, “Oh my god, you’re toast.” Sole handed him the jacket and he studied it carefully, “Woah. This is quality material. We could probably pawn this off for some good caps...assuming we survive Maxon’s wrath.”

Piper: “Blue! Oh, thank god. I was worried sick about you! Where’ve you been? It’s almost 6am!” Sole showed Piper the coveted treasure. Piper gasped, “Ohh no. No, no, no, no. Go put that back right now Blue!” Piper panicked, “Maxon is going to personally skin us alive and use us as a replacement!”

Gage: “Yo!” Sole flaunted the jacket and Gage’s eyes doubled in size. “Holy fuckin shit boss,” he began, taking the coat and scrutinizing it, “this is some damn good armor. Warm. Sturdy. Suave as fuck. We gotta make a run for it.”

X6-88: “Hello, [sir/ma’am].” X6 noticed the jacket under his partner’s arm and looked them in the eye. He was not amused. “It was not wise to take the Elder’s battle coat. I wish you luck in trying to talk yourself out of this one.”

Preston: “You had me worried General; I’m glad to see you’re alright,” Preston stated. He then noticed Maxon’s coat under Sole’s arm and froze. “Is...is that Maxon’s coat,” he asked, “You have to return that right now! He’s going to murder us!”

Deacon: “Hey! What kinda trouble did you get yourself into this time?” Deacon joked. As Sole held up the jacket, a look of pure shock crept over Deacon’s face. He then began laughing, “Ye-ah! That’s what I’m talkin about!” Sole handed Deacon the jacket and he slipped it on. “Look, I’m Maxon,” he began, “Humans rule, synths drool! Ferals are Bad Victorium! Mutants make me Mad Victorium!”

Strong: “Where human go? Stong worry.” Sole showed Strong the jacket. “Human...human kill and eat Brotherhood leader?!” Good job, human!” Strong suddenly frowned, “But why no save some for Strong?”

Cait: “Look who it is! Thought ye might’ve gotten into a bar fight or somethin.” Sole showed their companion the jacket and Cait’s eyes bulged, “Do ye have a death wish? Holy shite! You’re mad!” She thought for a moment and then lit up, “But imagine the caps we could get sellin that ugly thing. We’d be filthy rich!”

Ada: “Good morning, [sir/ma’am]. Glad to see you are safe.” Sole showed her robotic companion the coat they had stolen, and Ada scanned the jacket. “This piece of apparel belongs to...Elder Arthur Maxon. It is worth...400 caps. Your chance of survival if caught with the stolen battle coat is...44.876%. Those odds are...moderate.”

Hancock: “Good time last night?” Hancock laughed, “You outlasted me. That’s impressive.” Hancock noticed the coat under Sole’s arm, “What’s that under your arm, my friend?” Sole proudly flaunted the jacket that they had stolen and the ghoul cocked his head to the side “Not sure if I admire your brashness or abhor your recklessness,” he began, “But either way we’re fucking dead.” He pulled some jet out of his coat pocket and took a hit. “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

Danse: “What’s going on?” Sole flaunted the jacket, a shit-eating grin plastered on their face. For the first time ever, Sole saw pure fear in the Paladin’s eyes. A stressed Danse recoiled, grabbing fistfuls of his own hair. “What’s the matter with you, soldier!?” He bellowed, louder than Sole’s ever heard him shout, “Maxson is going to-!” before he could finish his thought, there was a loud pounding on the door. Danse paled, “We’re doomed.”

Maxson: Maxson violently rapped on the door. “Let me in right now.” Sole and their companion exchanged worried glances. “That is an order!” Maxson bellowed, “This your last chance to open the door, otherwise, I’m going to force it down.” Sole hesitantly approached the door and swing it open. In the doorway, Maxson stood tall, arms crossed. “You stole my battle coat,” Maxson began, “I strongly suggest you give it back.” Sole froze, and Maxson’s eyebrows scrunched in frustration. “If you don’t return it, I will have you forcibly removed and barred from the Prydwen. Permanently.” Sole’s companion beckoned to them, and Sole handed Maxson the jacket. Maxson turned around to head back to his quarters. “I am disappointed in you. I should have your title revoked,” he began, “But because I feel like being nice today, I will not do that. Instead, you will be scrubbing every single toilet on the Prydwen for the rest of the month. If you fail to do so, there will be consequences.”

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rainforestgeek · 5 years

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If you lose your strength to stand (I’m gonna reach for your hand) pt. 10 “Don’t You Dare Break Now”

Part 9

AO3 link

Pidge and Lance found Allura and Hunk in the hallway outside the construction hangar that held the sincline ships they were working on with Lotor, and excitedly shared their idea, that they could connect with Shiro’s spirit through Voltron because he was still bonded to Black.

Allura was firmly unconvinced. The mood in the room soured immediately and Lance started getting on the defensive. It quickly devolved into an argument between them. The sudden change nearly gave Pidge whiplash, and she and Hunk could only look on in horrified fascination while the blue and red paladins got progressively louder and redder in the face.

“Allura, don’t you remember when we were trapped in that huge root ball and we all went into that void thingy? Shiro was there, with us! The real Shiro is alive and he’s out there!”

“If the clone could pilot the Black Lion, then there’s no reason to believe he couldn’t connect to Voltron the same way,” Allura replied firmly.

“But the clone doesn’t remember any of it! And when we were all connected like that, that was the first time it felt like Shiro in phoebes. I know it was him.”

“Do you have anything to base this off other than a feeling Lance?”

“He was talking to me.”

“Let’s say you’re right, that Shiro is alive and we could talk to him. What then? We would’nt have time to do anything about it. We’re already en route to Oriande. Sacrificing any time or people is not an option when Haggar may already have learned the deepest secrets of Altean alchemy.”

“But we’re missing a Black paladin. What good will Voltron be against an immortal crazy witch if we can’t form Voltron?”

“We’ve been through this before! Keith searched for movements and couldn’t find any trace of Shiro. We have to accept now that he’s…gone. And it’s terrible. But this time around we still have five paladins.”

“You’re not seriously going to make Keith pilot Black again? Did you forget back when he ran off with his ninja buddies just to get away from that?”

“Of course not. He left behind another Black Paladin that time. You should be more confident that Keith will follow his sense of duty – and we cannot afford to lose more time when we can already form Voltron.”

“Afford to lo – this is Shiro, not some lost cause! He’s rescued you and all our butts more times than I can count. We need him.”

“Keith is more than capable – ”

“Trying to be the leader almost killed him, Allura!”

“Do not interrupt me, Lance!”

“I will not stand aside and let Keith get burned out for good this time! If you cared at all about him you wouldn’t force – ”

“Guys, knock it off.” Hunk pushed his way between them with his hands up like he was negotiating a ceasefire. “We need to table this discussion until Keith’s here to talk about it, too.”

Pidge had never seen Lance and Allura fight like this. “We should remain on course for Oriande,” Allura said. “This time just close enough so Pidge can scan the area for any sign of Haggar, without the energy tear apart the Castle. It’s time we defeated her once and for all.”

Pidge was already thinking about the problems with engaging in battle so close to a white hole. Something pushed her to jump into the conversation. “Ask Lotor if he knows how big her fleet – wait wait wait!” She smacked Lance’s arm with the back of her hand. “Haggar replicated Shiro’s consciousness almost perfectly. There has to be clues on her ships about what happened to him. She might even have him!”

Hunk looked doubtful. “The druids have extensive data on Shiro’s physiology from his time in the gladiator pits. I bet anything that included all the brain scans in existence.”

“You don’t know that! So maybe Shiro’s not there but there still might be some indication about what really happened to him!”

“Allura, please. It’s at least worth a try.” Lance said.

Pidge looked between them. “If Shiro’s alive and we contact him, we could know for sure if we’ll find him when we reach Haggar.”

Allura looked at Lance for several seconds with a mask of royal composure on her face, and flicked her eyes to Pidge. It made Pidge fidget uncomfortably with the hems of her sleeves.

Finally the princess relented. “You’re right. Find Keith, please, we should need him as well.”

“On it.” Lance left.

Allura had the bridge of her nose pinched between her thumb and forefinger. (It was so weird Alteans had the exact same fingers as humans – sometimes the similarities legitimately scared Pidge.) Hunk hesitated at the door, looking at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“You go on and work on the quintessence ships with Lotor, Hunk. I need a moment.”

He did so but didn’t look happy about it. Pidge stayed exactly where she was, while Allura sank onto the nearest chair with her head in her hands and sighed heavily.

Pidge debated with herself internally. Allura was clearly exhausted and frustrated – that was, like, Body Language 101 – and maybe she needed to be left alone but maybe not? And Pidge wasn’t usually helpful in emotional situations. “What’s wrong? I mean, I know there’s everything and their mother going on right now, but is there something specific making you all…” she gestured awkwardly at Allura’s stance, “…morose?”

“I’m fine, Pidge.”

That’s a non-answer. “You don’t look fine. And back home, Matt used to make me talk about it when I was upset and it actually helped. So if you need to talk. I’m here.”

Allura stared into the middle distance. “Voltron needs to be united to win this war. All this squabbling puts us at serious risk.”

“I think we argue to figure out what’s the best choice. We’re still one team.”

“And what if those decisions aren’t the right ones? What if I’m dishonoring my people, my parents, by compromising instead of winning? What if we’re making too many sacrifices to broker peace?”

Pidge couldn’t wrap her mind around the agony the princess must feel about being one of two sole survivors of a genocide. “It makes sense that you feel alone. I know we’re not your family, but you’ve got all of us.”

Allura surprised Pidge by standing and pulling her into a hug. “You are my family, Pidge, all of you. Though I fear I’m losing Lance.” She said the last part so quietly Pidge would’ve missed it were she not talking right in her ear.

Pidge patted her on the shoulder then pulled away as gently as she could. “You don’t get rid of Lance. Once he likes you he latches onto you and it’s impossible to get him off. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“Perhaps. But I broke his heart and he’s angry with me.”

Goddammit. There were way too many feelings to keep track of now and it made Pidge uncomfortable. Not least because apparently some of them were hers. She chewed her tongue and thought carefully about her response.

Finally, she said, “You did the right thing. Falling in love with you made him miserable, and frankly, it was really annoying for the rest of us. You gave him permission to move on and he is.”

Allura grinned weakly but her eyes looked brighter. Thank God. “I hope so. And thank you, Pidge. I couldn’t ask for someone more like a sister.”

And that? That made all the uncomfortable awkwardness worth everything. Pidge smiled. “Let’s go find a magical solution to an economic disaster.”

When Lance got to the elevator, the door slid open and Matt tromped out. He had his arms crossed, hands balled into fists, and everything about him looked tense and just that much closer to snapping.

Good God, why were all the Holts so scary? Sam wasn’t this frightening. Lance’s stomach contracted at the thought of meeting their mother – she’s gotta be a wildfire of a woman if she raised kids like this.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate interrogations,” Matt grumbled.

“She get under your skin?” When he got no response, Lance cleared his throat and changed the subject, “Is Keith still down there? I need him for something.”

“I don’t know. He seemed pretty upset by what Ezor said about Shiro…Shiro being dead. He left to cool off.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Left as in ‘stomped off without an explanation?’”

“Yeah, so?”

A deep, long-suffering groan traveled from the dark recesses of Lance’s soul and out of his mouth like a sick Kaltenecker. Keith was going to make him tear his hair out one day and he’ll never forgive him for it.

“What?”

“He’s not cooling off, he ran off! He’s probably scouring the universe for Shiro right now!”

For Keith, the violet light and soft humming of the Black Lion’s cockpit felt like remembering his dad. A bitter familiarity of lost love lingering in his heart.

When the fuck had he become a poet?

He touched down in the hangar for the Blade of Marmora headquarters. A number of Blades congregated around Black as he disembarked, so it was easy to find a commander to fill him in on what he needed to know.

Keith paced the familiar trail to one of the main tactical chambers, pressed the door buzzer, and entered at the go-ahead. Both Kolivan and Krolia looked up from their work at him. Their faces were both unreadable.

“Kolivan, I need to talk to my mother alone, please.”

The old galra nodded in assent and exited unceremoniously, the door swishing shut behind him.

Krolia took a step closer to him then hesitated. Keith had infrequently known galra to act nervous, but she stood awkwardly like she didn’t know what to do next. She was rubbing her thumb over her closed fist at her side, something Keith did too when he was anxious. Seeing her in front of him felt so strange but so familiar. Like she was an old, half-forgotten dream.

“Keith.”

“How did you meet my dad?”

Part 11

#plance #pidge #lance #allura #hunk #pidgance #flirtyrobot #fanfic #vld fix it #katt #keith #matt #matt holt #kolivan #krolia #katie holt #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender

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