#the bars quite a bit higher than ''i hope your ship is ignored''

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

.

[topazy]

Silent bloom

Pairings: Bellamy Blake/reader Finn Collins/reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, and vomiting

Chapter: 1.12 (Bellamy’s pov)

1.02

"Cut it out!" Y/N snapped, which took me by surprise. She seemed so quiet. "The only thing that matters right now is finding Jasper! Bellamy, stop moaning. You’re coming with us and that’s the end of it."

"Excuse me?" I was irritated by her tone.

Y/N walked closer to me, with a look of disbelief on her face. "You want to lead? Then lead. You’re the only person here with a gun, and those kids out there won’t follow you unless you give them a reason to."

"She’s right." Clarke chimed in. "Because you want them to follow you and right now they’re thinking only one of us is scared."

"Fine."

I watched as the bossy girl froze just before she reached the camp gates. It seemed like she was telling Finn to get lost. The last thing I needed was any more drama in camp. I had a feeling the girl with the scarred eye would cause it.

—

"So how did you earn the nickname angel eyes?"

My ears perked up when I heard Murphy shamelessly trying to flirt with the girl walking beside him. It was hard to figure out if she was enjoying his attention or not. "The only person who calls me that is you, Murphy."

"How did you get the scar?" I listened in, as I was curious myself about how she got it.

"Fist fight in a bar. You should have seen the other guy." She had a dry sense of humor, "I fell and cut it."

"Can you see clearly out of it?" He asked, standing closer to her.

"Yes, and I know what you are doing!" She snatched her wrist back, laughing. Murphy just shrugged. "I’m not giving it to you, so you and your little king can stop trying."

I glared at Y/N when she turned around to face me. I had nothing to do with Murphy trying to take her bracelet off. It wasn’t my fault if he wanted to try and show off.

"Did you hear that?" Wells asked, "It sounds like a moaning pain."

"Jasper!" Y/N gasped before running off in the direction of the noise. "He’s over here!"

"Y/N wait!"

She didn’t listen to Wells. What a stupid girl. She was going to get herself killed. I watched as she suddenly disappeared. I lunged forward to see what happened to her. Y/N was hanging onto the grass to stop herself from being killed, "Help me up!"

"Y/N? Bellamy pull her up!" Finn yelled just as I grabbed hold of her wrist. Clarke and Murphy helped us pull her up.

Y/N landed on top of Finn before quickly rolling off him, and glared at me. "What the fuck was that about?! You almost got me killed!"

Clarke shook her head and stepped forward before she could reply. "This isn’t going to help. The grounders are setting traps to catch us. We all need to be more careful."

The ‘princess’ was right. Y/N continued to glare at me. Was it my fault? Did she think I was going to let her die? I didn’t care about her, but we needed all the bodies on earth we could get.

—

"Stay here, I'll be back shortly." I watched the girl curiously as she walked towards the fire pit.

"Hey, John?"

I was expecting Murphy to kick off at being called his first name, but he looked amused. "What?"

She held up her wrist, "fancy freeing me?"

"Anything for angel eyes," Murphy said, grinning.

I watched her pick up a stick of meat and head towards her previous spot, but Finn and Clarke stopped her. I couldn’t hear the full conversation, just bits of it. I didn’t get Finn’s obsession with her. I wondered if they knew each other on the ark. "Yes, I am aware of that. Now if you don’t mind, can you move out of my way?"

"Then tell me, why did you take it off?" Finn demanded, not moving out of her way.

"Some of us don’t want to get punched in the face...Plus, It was hurting my cut wrist."

Her comment didn’t bother me, but Finn bothering her did. Also, I felt slightly bad that she cut her wrist while we pulled her up. I was getting ready to intervene when she walked away from Finn and sat back down beside a young girl, and handed her food. She had taken off her own wristband to feed someone else. Not many people would have done that, not even me.

1.03

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Finn storming towards Y/N, or whatever her name was. "Is it true?" She ignored him, "Well! Is it?"

She shrugged, "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a little busy here, Finn, so if you don’t mind."

"Please tell me you didn’t spend the night with Murphy." I noticed how offended she looked by his accusation. "You are so much better than that Daze. Why would you do that? Don’t you have any self-respect?"

"At least Murphy is flying solo."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Clarke asked from behind him.

"Nothing... it means nothing." She turned to walk away when she caught me staring. It didn’t seem to phase her much as she turned back to throwing knives.

I waited until Clarke and Finn were gone before approaching her. Even if she had screwed Murphy, neither of them had a right to judge her. "Y/N right?"

"Yeah," she answered without taking her eyes off the target. "But I go by Daze or Daisy."

That made sense. It suddenly occurred to me that this was the same girl that my sister wouldn’t shut up about. Somebody with her aim would be good at hunting. I wondered if she would be interested in joining us. "Useful to know. You have a good aim. Any interest in killing?"

"I’m not leaving the camp until Jasper is better," she replied, "maybe next time."

"Do you hear that?" I asked. "He’s dying. Don’t get your hopes up."

She scoffed at my comment, "enjoy the hunting trip."

I left her alone to practice. I wasn’t pointing out the obvious to be cruel, I just needed people to be prepared for the worst. When Jasper dies, the rest of us will still need to go on living.

—

I noticed Daisy walking out of the drop-ship, which surprised me. I thought she would have been celebrating her friend surviving. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I just needed a moment... I’m sorry about Atom."

I stared down at the ground to avoid eye contact with her. The last thing I wanted was anybody to see me get upset over Atom. He was my friend who trusted me, and I had let him down. "I don’t think Octavia is feeling sorry for me."

"She’ll come around. She’s just upset. Give her time," Daisy said with a smile.

"I’m glad you never came hunting with us." I confessed out loud, "Like I said, you have a good aim. It would have been a shame to lose someone with such skills."

I could see a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "Yeah, yeah. Goodnight Bellamy."

—

"Finn move aside," I snapped.

"I can’t do that."

I pushed him out of my way as I walked into Daisy’s tent. I had to see for myself if she was still alive. When she never came back with Wells, I decided to look for her and saw her laying on the ground with a knife in her stomach. I thought she was dead.

Kneeling down beside her bed, I noticed how fragile she looked. Clarke had worked a miracle by saving her.

"Bellamy, you need to leave now!" I stood up again, and faced Finn. I found it ironic that he only cared about Daisy after she almost died. "If Daze gets an infection, she will die. The more people she comes in contact with, the higher the risk."

"Whatever," I shoved past him. "When Octavia comes, you will let her in."

1.05

I had just disposed of the god-damn radio when I felt something bang into me. I was surprised to see a slightly confused Daisy standing behind me.

"Y/N, what are you doing out here?"

"Me and Clarke came looking for you."

Was she joking? Nobody had seen her in hours. If she wasn’t back by the time I returned, I was going to go look for her myself. If anything, it was to stop Octavia from going off on her own. "Looking for me? Octavia was worried sick when she couldn’t find you last night. Where the hell did you go?"

"Bellamy Blake? They’re looking everywhere for you."

Fuck. The brunette had survived. I should have made sure she was dead before I stole from her. As Clarke, Finn, and the new girl lectured me, I noticed how unusually quiet Daisy was. She didn’t seem interested.

—

"It’s no use, it’s gone."

Daisy rolled her eyes at me, "That’s not a good leader’s attitude."

"Guess I’m not a good leader then. You’re really not going to ask why I did it?" I was curious.

"It’s not my business." She shrugged. When Daisy removed her jacket, I noticed how badly her stomach was bleeding. She must have burst her stitches open.

"Hey," Raven said, stepping closer to her. "Your bleeding is pretty bad."

I stood awkwardly trying not to listen to the two girls' interactions. It was clear they didn’t like each other. I just wanted Daisy out of the water before she passed out.

—

"Hey, have any of you seen Octavia?"

Clarke shook her head. "No, I mean...it’s Octavia. She’s probably chasing butterflies."

Daisy frowned at the comment. I imagined she didn’t like Clarke’s attitude either. I thought back to the conversation I overheard with Daisy and Finn earlier, and wondered if she was looking for my sister because she needed a shoulder to cry on. It wouldn’t have surprised me. I couldn’t believe she was sleeping with Finn while leaving the rest of us to worry about her.

1.07

"What the hell, Bellamy? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Your aim is off."

"Thanks." She rolled her eyes and turned back to face the tree. "Don’t you have anything better to do than sneak up on me?"

I probably shouldn’t have walked up to someone holding a deadly weapon without making my presence known beforehand. I couldn’t tell by her tone if she was mad at me as well. "Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things."

"Seriously Blake?" She scrunched up her nose, "A line like that might work on others, but not on me."

Daisy walked over to the tree and let out a whine when she pulled the knife out. I rushed over to her and grabbed her hand, concerned she’d cut herself on the knife's edge. I was relieved to see it was just a small splinter in her hand, "It’ll push itself out."

"I know that...I just can’t quit thinking about how painful it must have been for Finn."

I stared blankly at her. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that she cared for the spacewalker so much, especially when he took her for granted. It was obvious that she cared about him more than herself. Hell, she even burst her own stitches while having sex with him.

"You got stabbed in the stomach," I pointed out. She shrugged. Daisy hadn’t been able to look at me since we brought the grounder back to camp. "I’m not sorry we saved Finn, but I am sorry for what you saw me do."

"Are you ready to go?" Clarke asked, walking towards me. I nodded in response. She turned to face Daisy. "Daze, Finn was asking for you."

Of course he was. I was going to ask Daisy if she wanted to join us while looking for weapons, but I knew she’d never come with Finn wanting her attention. "You better go run off and find him then."

She smiled at us, "be safe out there."

As she walked away, Clarke stood beside me, saying, "You didn’t ask her, did you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Good question. "We are better off with just us two. She would have slowed us down."

Clarke leaned into me, "you know, that was a very fake smile she just gave us."

1.09

As we walked towards the gates, I noticed movement outside camp. We slowed down until we got a better look. Clarke suddenly ran over to the couple, "Daisy!"

On closer inspection I could see why she ran over to them. Daisy was violently throwing up. Clarke held her hair back while she continued to vomit. "What’s wrong with her? Is she the only one sick in camp?"

Finn shook his head, "She was just high for the first time."

"What?" I snapped.

Finn shrugged, "Yeah, most of the camp is high. They ate some bad nuts, I guess."

Clarke continued to rub Daisy’s back, saying, "Bellamy, I'm going to take Daze back to her tent, then I'll meet you in the drop-ship."

I frowned at Finn, who seemed to find the situation amusing. "Grounders are out here," his smile faded. "You’re just lucky you didn’t get her or yourself killed."

—

I noticed Daisy finally emerging from her tent. She looked slightly better than the night before, but still hellish. "Hey, you good?"

"Yeah, I’m good. Enjoying unity day?"

I pointed towards the rest of camp, "somebody needs to be sober while the rest have fun."

She chuckled, "Everyone deserves to have some fun, even you Blake."

She had a point, but my idea of fun would be different from hers. Although I found myself tired of sleeping with a different girl every night, they all bored me once the sex was over. "I’ll have fun when the grounders come."

"Dark as always," she laughed.

I smiled, "you look a lot better than when I last saw you."

The moment the words left my mouth, Daisy’s face turned red. I had accidentally embarrassed her. I gulped down before changing the subject, "What did you get arrested for anyway?"

I noticed she wasn’t listening to me by the way she was watching something else, "It’s Finn."

I tried my best not to groan. I honestly didn’t understand what was so special about bloody Finn. He had Raven, Daisy, and Clarke wrapped around his finger. I doubt he cared that much about any of them. Lost in my thoughts, I almost missed Daisy going to leave camp. "Where do you think you’re going?"

"To get Finn, he’ll get killed out there on his own."

"So could you." I paused for a moment before letting out a sigh of defeat. I could tell by the look on her face that she was going after him regardless of what I said. "I’ll come with you."

"No...Somebody needs to stay here in case the grounders do turn up. If I can’t see where he went past the tree-lines, I’ll come back."

I clenched my jaw with frustration. I didn’t like this one bit. "Fine. But if you are gone too long, I’m sending out a search party."

—

"Bellamy?"

"So much for staying in the tree lines," I frowned.

Daisy rolled her eyes as she pulled me into my tent. Was this really happening? Was she trying... "Whatever, look, Finn set up a meeting with the grounders to call a truce."

"He did what?" Finn had quickly gone from being a little annoying to a real pain in my ass. He was going to get himself killed. I just hoped when that happened he didn’t drag anybody else down with him.

"We spoke to Lincoln... the grounder who stabbed him. He’s going to set up a meeting between our people and his. Finn and Clarke are getting ready to leave."

I stepped closer to her so I could speak in a lower voice, "Why are you looking for me then?"

She seemed nervous the closer I got to her. Her lips parted slightly as she looked up at me. "I’m going to follow them, and you’re coming with me."

"Anyone ever told you that you have a bossy side?" I preferred the bossier side of her.

"We should wait five minutes," she answered, ignoring what I said. "Finn doesn’t know that we are following them."

"Why not?"

She knotted her fingers together, and looked down at the ground. I made a mental note to remember she did that when she was lying. "Because Lincoln told us not to take any weapons, and I don’t agree with him. But Finn does. We are going to be their backup."

I didn’t see the point in arguing with her when it was already happening. "Okay, I think we need one more person to come with us."

1.10

"Not now Finn, we don’t have time for this. The grounders are coming and arguing among ourselves is exactly what they want. " I watched Finn’s face twist with anger when Daisy butted in. I just hoped he was smart enough not to say anything back to her. "I’m going for a walk. You guys are giving me a headache. Murphy better be alive when I get back."

"Seems I’ve got a fan club starting in camp Bellamy. Who knows, maybe she likes me more than you." Murphy said before spitting out blood.

"Go float yourself."

"Happily," he scoffed. "But I don’t imagine angel eyes being too happy when she finds out you’ve killed me." Finn stormed out of the drop-ship, mostly likely to go look for Daisy. "Looks like I’ve upset her boyfriend. My bad."

"They aren’t together," I snapped.

A look of amusement spread across his face. Being covered in blood only made him look more sinister. "Ohh... I see what it is."

"What are you talking about?" I mentally slapped myself for even entertaining Murphy. I should just kill him before he hurts anybody else.

"You care for her... and she’s in love with spacewalker."

I glared at him, "Shut the fuck up."

"Don’t worry Bellamy, I’ll keep it our little secret. For now."

—

"Bellamy, you're sick, okay? I'm just trying to help. Here."

If it wasn’t for the fact that I was so weak, I would have flung Murphy across the room by now. "When I get better, if you're still here--" I frowned when I saw Daisy walking towards us. The last time I saw her, she was throwing up blood. "Why are you up? You should be resting."

"I’ve got this one Murphy," she smiled and took the cup from his hand. "Thanks for saving my life and all that."

When she sat down next to me, I noticed the way Murphy looked at her before leaving. "What are you now? His best friend? After-"

“Murphy is an ass," she cut me off. "But he never hurt me, and I believe in second chances."

I took a drink of water before she started wiping some of the blood off my face. Daisy suddenly stopped and squinted at me, "something you want to talk about?"

"You and Finn-" I was cut off by a loud noise from outside the ship. I sat up as Clarke ran into the room, "They did it."

"I became death, a destroyer of worlds. It's Oppenheimer, the man who built the first-"

"I know who Oppenheimer is."

"Who cares about him?" Daisy shrugged. "I want to know what the hell caused the explosion."

"Raven..." I glanced down at her. "I thought O told you? Raven and Finn went to blow up the bridge to slow the grounders down."

It was worrying that Daisy couldn’t remember. I was honestly surprised she was still alive by this point. Between being stabbed and catching the virus, I’d say she was very lucky to be with us. Daisy must have noticed me staring because she was frowning, "I’m sure they are fine."

Looking back out of the drop-ship, I sighed. We would need to wait to see if the grounders got scared off or not.

1.11

"Like that star of the waning summer who, beyond all stars, rises bathed in the ocean stream to glitter in brilliance." I saw Daisy sitting on her own again and thought I’d give her some company. "I thought your post finished hours ago?"

"It did," she shrugged. "I like being out here at night. The sky looks beautiful from down here."

I never would have guessed she would have enjoyed stargazing, this girl was full of surprises. "I suppose it does."

"You suppose? It’s the most amazing sight in the world. I honestly have no idea why people used to use drugs to live in a distorted reality, when the earth is just-" I could not help but smile at the way she talked about the sky. It was the first real conversation we had that didn’t involve anybody else. "What?"

"Nothing," I shook my head, smiling. "I’ve just never heard you talk so passionately about something that wasn’t to do with your friends."

"You don’t know me very well, Blake."

I knew much more than she thought. The girl with the scarred face was much more interesting than I first thought. "You're a good shot. We have the same taste in books, and you don’t know who Oppenheimer is."

"Touché, I’m guessing you’ve read the Iliad a few times then?" I nodded, "How do you know we have the same taste in books?"

"Octavia has mentioned it,” I lied. I had heard Monty and Daisy talking one night about books they liked to read on the ark, but I wasn’t going to admit I listened in on their conversation.

I noticed her shaking slightly. She was cold. I removed my jacket and placed it on her back. "Thanks..."

"No problem."

Sitting with Daisy was nice. It didn’t feel awkward when there was silence between us, although I wouldn’t have minded talking a little more. But I didn’t want to force her to spend time with me.

"So this Oppenheimer, who is he?"

—

"Bellamy!" I heard Daisy call out. Before I had a chance to finish getting dressed, she barged into my tent. "Bellamy I-"

"Daisy, what the hell happened?" I asked her. I stepped out in front of her when she tried to walk away. She was covered in blood and had an arrow sticking out of her leg. "Daisy, what happened out there?"

"Grounders attacked us."

Raven stepped out of my tent, "Finn... is..."

“Myles got hit with a few arrows. I don’t know if he’s dead or not. They took Clarke and Finn.I have no idea where they went."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn’t miss the look of disgust on Daisy’s face or the way she pulled away from me when I reached out to her. I had no reason to feel guilty, but I did.

—

"I never told him."

I stopped when I reached the outside of Daisy’s tent. "Told who what?"

"I lied to Finn. I told him I tripped and fell, I’m only telling you so you don’t mention it later on."

I stepped back. We wouldn’t be ready to leave for a couple of minutes, so I didn’t need to interrupt them just yet. My opinion of Daisy was always changing. I thought she would have been a spoiled brat when I met her, and assumed she got her scar in a pointless fight, but now... now I know she was a good person. She lied for Raven even when it caused her so much pain. She would do anything for her friends, including Octavia. Maybe Murphy was right, maybe I was starting to care for her.

1.13

"Bellamy!" I looked up to see my sister barging into my tent. She looked worried. "I haven’t seen Daisy!"

"Okay," I shrugged. "She’s probably in her tent or the drop-ship. You know she can’t go far until her leg heals."

"She’s not there! I’ve checked with Jasper and Finn. Neither of them have seen her all day. I’ve checked everywhere bell!"

Shit. This was bad. People didn’t just disappear from camp. Unless the grounders take them, or worse. "When did you last see her?"

"She was going to Wells' grave. She had found some flowers to put down."

"Octavia, go get Clarke and meet me at the drop-ship in two minutes."

We didn’t have time for a search and rescue with the grounders closing in on us, but I was sure as hell not leaving Daisy out there to die.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Twelve Rounds

Read on AO3

“You know on the scale of the Qresh heist, your best plan, and the Leith escape route, your worst fucking plan, this is somewhere way closer to Leith,” Magnus whisper yells in the small space between them.

They’re trapped in a closet, oh the fucking irony, with a couple dozen guards just on the outside, guards that the guy they’re supposed to be picking up and taking back to the Rack wasn’t supposed to have.

Alec just rolls his eyes wiggling a hand into the miniscule space between them to undo the latch on his thigh holster. The fact that Magnus is blaming this on him, when the plans only gone to hells because Magnus’ intel was bad. It’s not because of Alec’s plan, Alec’s plan was simple and efficient dammit.

“Easy in, easy out,” Magnus had said tossing the tablet across the table at Alec nearly knocking over the very expensive, treat himself glass of hawk Alec had ordered. “The guy’s not smart and has never so much as bought a weapon to protect himself, the trip alone to get him won’t be longer than twenty minutes. We pick him up, we bring him back, warrant done and we make an easy 500 joy.”

Alec had scrolled through the warrant, reading it with a doubting eye.

“This guy has had six warrants on him go untouched, you sure it’s that easy?” Alec had asked and Magnus had just waved it away the rings on his fingers glittering in the low light of the bar.

“I already sent out some feelers, the intel is good,” Magnus said with a smile. “He’s just not wanted for anything big so no one’s ever bothered going through with the pick-up, now the price has gotten a little higher and I think we should add a little padding to our current bank balance.”

Alec had sighed dropping the tablet down. “The ship still needs new nav panels, they’re about to fall off, babe.”

“Exactly and 500 joy will fix those right up and we’ll still have some leftover to get a room for the night, a fancy one at the Westerley Inn instead of above the bar, maybe for a few nights,” Magnus said leaning across the table getting incrementally closer and closer to Alec. “Think about it, Alexander. No sleeping in the cold ship, nice fresh warm sheets, no running out of hot water in five minutes.”

Alec had wanted to say no, fixing the nav panels before taking on another warrant, easy or not, should have been the priority. But after being Killjoy’s together for seven years, lovers for six and husbands for two he’d always found himself saying yes to every single request, idea and silly whim Magnus had ever had.

Alec let out a long-suffering breath, “Fine, let’s do it.”

Magnus had beamed leaning across the table to kiss him once before accepting the warrant and running off to the ship to get things ready. Alec had smiled, shaking his head in amusement at his husband.

Now he wishes he had a better resolve to just say no.

“I’m not the one who got bad intel,” Alec whisper yells back. “If your intel had been good my plan would have worked.”

Magnus scoffs attempting to cross his arms in annoyance but realizes at the last minute there isn’t enough room to do so. He settles for poking Alec in the side once instead.

“Really?” Alec whispers looking incredulously at Magnus. Magnus just shrugs huffing in annoyance.

“How was I supposed to know the intel was bad,” he argues. “It was from a trusted source.”

“Jace is not a trusted source, if you had told me it was Jace of all people I never would have even agreed to take the warrant in the first place,” Alec whisper shouts back. He feels ridiculous whisper fighting with his husband in a poorly lit linen closet. They should be playfully bantering to the annoyance of their catch with a completed warrant in their hands right now.

“He’s your brother,” Magnus hisses back.

“Exactly and I know just how stupid he is,” Alec replies attempting to wave his hands around as he speaks angrily the way he likes to. He gives up after a second realizing there’s just not enough space to do that. “He fights, he’s a great shot, but his intel is garbage because he never thinks ahead. Simon is who you get the intel from.”

Magnus sighs and Alec can tell from the look on his face he knows Alec’s right.

“I have half the mind to just slip out of here and call it all off n-” Alec starts, but Magnus lifts a hand slapping it over Alec’s mouth silencing him. Through the closet doors Alec hears the slow purposeful footsteps of at least six people maybe closer to eight walking outside.

Magnus drops his hand but not until the footsteps have disappeared.

“Good news I think they’ve given up searching for us in the house,” he whispers biting his glossy bottom lip in thought.

“Bad news there are two dozen of them and there’s two of us,” Alec replies. “Not to mention the guy we’re supposed to be taking with us.” He tacks on suddenly remembering the whole point of this at the last moment.

“We’ve faced worse odds and lived to drink about it,” Magnus says with a smile. Alec’s face doesn’t budge determined to hold onto his stony annoyance.

Magnus sighs tilting his head and slipping his arms around Alec’s waist. “I’m sorry my intel was bad and that your brother is stupid,” he says pouting in that frustratingly fake, but frustratingly sexy way that Alec never can quite resist. “And also that you’re plan sucked.”

Alec huffs out a breath unable to fight the smile creeping at the corner of his lips.

“You fully loaded?” Alec asks tapping at the side of Magnus’ thigh holster.

“For you?” he says shifting his hips up against Alec’s. “Always.”

“Magnus, be serious,” Alec says not able to resist shifting is own hips back in retaliation.

Magnus groans then his face goes fully solemn. “I’m always serious about you and my load.”

Alec only barely stops the laugh he lets out from being too loud. He is married to a ridiculous, brilliant, beautiful man.

“Twelve rounds a piece, that’s one shot per guard for both of us. And then the hopes that the idiot we need to catch doesn’t count them or doesn’t know how many are in a sidearm and buys it when we threaten to shoot him too,” Alec says pointedly shifting a bit to the side so their hips are no longer pressed together, trying to ignore the thoughts Magnus’ completely unsubtle innuendos put inside his head.

“Don’t miss,” Magnus says with a wicked smirk unholstering his weapon and bringing it up to the ready. Alec does the same with a matching smirk of his own.

“For you?” he says winking once before reaching his hand above Magnus to push open the closet door. “I never do.”

Magnus chuckles delighted and uncaring if the guards hear them as Alec shoves open the door. Magnus spins gracefully his electric blue ammunition flying down the hall instantly hitting through the wrist of the first reacting guard. Alec moves behind him the two of them working in perfect tandem like they always do bobbing and weaving as they should around and over one another disarming the guards one by one hitting them in just the right spots to take them down, but keep them alive.

They’re not here on a kill warrant and even if they were they’re not fans of taking out more than the target anyways. They’re only getting paid for them in the end.

Alec ducks behind a near wall Magnus covering him as he heads towards the door of the house already wide open the hot Westerley desert air blowing inside.

“Shit,” he says harshly just before catching sight of one of the last guards hovering outside of the door. Putrid yellow ammunition makes its way around the corner narrowly missing him. Alec ducks behind a shitty looking old couch that reminds him annoyingly of the chair he never saw his father get up from as a child.

Magnus comes sliding in next to him a grin on his face. “Got mine,” he says popping his head up once over the edge of the chair. Another round of ammo whizzes past him, actually grazing the stark neon pink patch of hair at the front of his head.

“Well he’s almost out of ammo, or he’s a terrible shot,” Magnus says ducking back down quickly.

“We’re also almost out of ammo, I’ve got one round for this one guy,” Alec says. He takes a deep collecting breath. He dips his head around the corner of the chair catching sight of the guard in the reflection from the window. The guard doesn’t take a shot despite Alec’s vulnerable position which tells him he’s definitely down to his last round as well.

He starts to make the move to take his final shot changing course at the last second.

“Switch me,” Alec says to Magnus holding out his gun. Magnus doesn’t question him taking the weapon and unholstering his own empty one and placing it in Alec’s hand.

“Shoot high and cover me,” he says not bothering with a countdown knowing Magnus will know exactly when to take his shot. He moves from his safe spot behind the chair immediately staying low.

The guard shifts just slightly from his perfectly shielded position taking his final shot at Alec just a shy too wide. Magnus takes that as his queue just as Alec’s about to reach the doorway shooting once high into the wall roughly right above the guard’s head startling him into a crouch.

When he stands to his full height Alec’s right in front of him waiting with a big smile.

“Hi,” he says with a large grin raising the base of his gun and smacking it into the center of the guy’s forehead hard just once knocking him fully unconscious.

Magnus sidles up behind him standing up on his toes just a bit to look over his shoulder at the unconscious man.

“Technically you missed,” Alec says turning to look at him over his shoulder. Magnus chuckles.

“You told me to, I was just being a good husband and listening,” he says holstering the empty weapon. “We should go find the warrant.”

Alec nods pointing over to a wooden barrel tilted up against the side of the house. Magnus gives him a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me look’ before walking over to the barrel kicking it once dislodging the lid as it goes down.

And out comes tumbling the mark with a high-pitched screech.

“No tracks?” Magnus asks gesturing to the clear sand before them guessing that’s how Alec knew he was in the barrel.

Alec shakes his head. “This one,” Alec explains pointing to the unconscious guard at his feet. “Shot his eyes over to that barrel right before I knocked him out cold, so either he really loves pickles or..”

“You should have hired better security,” Magnus says lifting the man up from the ground cuffing his hands together behind his back.

“Raj Laghari you are being taken into custody for six active level three warrants against you ranging from petty theft to extortion, you’ll be taken to the Rack where you will await further charges, trial or imprisonment as seen fit,” Magnus rattles off pushing the guy along in front of him.

Raj starts crying and Alec just rolls his eyes. This guy is an idiot, that much intel was right. They walk quietly back to their ship locking Raj up in the cargo hold before prepping the wavering nav to take them back to the Rack.

“I can’t believe you were going to try and call it off you know how it goes,” Magnus says tossing himself into the chair at the head of the ship. “The warrant is all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alec says casually, Magnus knows he’s loyal to the code even when he’s frustrated. One of these days a quick and easy job is going to be just that.

Alec slips into Magnus’ lap uncaring that he’s taller and that this chair is far too small to fit both of them comfortably.

“Fuck the nav system, we’re staying a full week at the Inn,” he says tiredly pressing a light kiss to Magnus’ temple.

“Hells yes,” Magnus says in glee kicking the nav switch with his foot before pulling Alec in for a proper kiss.

[minetteenfers]

Lucky Cat - Day 1: Bad Luck (Adrien AUG-reste 2021)

Here is Day 1: Bad Luck of @adrienaugust!

Read, kudo, comment, or bookmark the fic here! (RATED E)

Captain Chat Noir was merely nine years old when he was tossed overboard from his father’s galleon for disobeying orders. Some said that he was born from bad luck and so he was given the name, Chat Noir due to the superstition of black cats. Having a polydactyl black cat on board a vessel was good luck and so he hoped being named after such would bring him some. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to bring him it.

He sighed and fell back into his wooden chair, bringing his mug of grog to his lips as his good luck charm leaped onto his desk. The sliding of his black cat’s paws along the maps and parchment made him curse. He grabbed the brass candle stick before it could fall to the floor and start a fire on the ship.

“Bastard cat,” Chat Noir cursed and brought his cup to his lips, taking a long drink and cringing at the less than favorable flavor. “God, I cannot wait to get to port, hm?” He scratched beneath his cat’s chin with a smirk. “Ladies, food, drink… supplies and a nice bath. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for a nice warm bath and a warm bed with a wench in it.”

“What would any of us give, Captain.” Nino, his quartermaster, walked into his quarters to talk to him.

“What say you?” Chat Noir brought his boots down from his desk onto the wood deck and leaned onto his desk, trying to ignore how the sea made their vessel shift and bob. The weighted golden hoops in his ears only did so much to help with his sea sickness.

“We’re arriving at port soon, Captain.” Nino brought his mug of grog to his lips and sat down on Chat Noir’s bed.

“How soon?” Chat Noir ran his fingers behind Plagg’s twitching ears and scratched before a mouse distracted the aloof cat and made him run off. Chat Noir peered up at Nino with interest, finishing his drink.

“Few hours.” Nino shrugged, unsure of how soon they would be there exactly. He could only guess, which Chat Noir had taken into account.

“Gather a log of supplies that need to be replenished until then for me.” Chat Noir gestured for his friend to go away to do his duties.

“Yes, Captain.” Nino nodded and left Chat Noir alone.

Chat Noir sighed and stood up, walking over to a wooden chest to get ready. He crouched down and opened it, taking in the items that filled the inside. From clothing to treasures that he had gathered along the way as a pirate. When he was nine years old Captain Fu had found him floating on a bit of wood in the middle of the ocean. He had saved him and given him the very name he was known by. Of course, tales had broken out as he had aged. None of them pretty.

He was known for pillaging, plundering, and more unpleasantries, but those that truly knew him… which were few… knew that he wasn’t as they said. Yes, he set vessels aflame but only those that had wronged him or those he cared most about, and he had never murdered anyone. He merely would place them on an island, plunder their vessel, and then set it ablaze. Sometimes, he would simply use the element of surprise and take what he needed before leaving. Occasionally, he would tell a simple fantastical story to get what he needed, using empty threats to accomplish it. But he never murdered a man, woman, or child.

He lived by the power of vote as most did within piracy, letting every man have a chance to speak and give their case. Nothing on board was done without putting it through vote and booty was split equally amongst his crew. Most captains would take a higher cut, but he never wanted it. He’d rather stay an equal to an extent, which many did not agree with.

Chat Noir quickly went to work getting ready to go ashore, throwing on an elaborate outfit made from fabulous emerald silks and black fabrics. He rarely dressed up due to the amount of water that sloshed across the deck and along his feet. Most of his men went barefoot and wore a mishmash of clothing depending on what they had scavenged from vessels.

He focused on getting ready, trying to not think about how many more knots they had to travel still to reach the treasure that lied beneath the waves. A treasure that everyone around him was after as well. He sighed and peered up as his quartermaster returned with a log of what they needed for the rest of their journey.

“We are at port, Captain.” Nino nodded and left Chat Noir alone again.

Chat Noir nodded and grabbed his pistol, putting it in place on his holster, and headed to the docks to get off his galleon. A few men stayed on board to keep watch, as they stepped off it. He made his way down the pier, making sure one of his men was tending to the sale of jerky in order to get them some coin.

He hadn’t been to port in so long and all he wanted was a nice bath. A tavern stood off to the right and he headed towards it. But right as he was about to step foot inside, a commotion brought his attention elsewhere.

“Wife for sale! Beautiful and a good lay, she is! A fine wench!”

Chat Noir gritted his teeth, turning around to find a woman with dark hair piled up on top of her head and a dress that had seen better days. She seemed nervous and upset with the way tears streamed down her cheeks and her hands trembled in front of her hips. A loose rope was placed around her neck and the end of it trailed over to her husband. Her eyes were a beautiful blue that reminded him of the sea and something deep inside him drew him towards the auction. He hated practices such as this and usually he kept out of it, but he couldn’t when her saddened gaze locked on his. Her eyes were full of desperation, and he could practically hear her cries for help.

Chat Noir sighed and raised a hand to bid. All around him, men whistled and hollered. They laughed and called her atrocious names. Chat Noir knew it was bad luck to bring a woman on board his vessel, but there was nothing else he could do. He had to save her, had to have her.

He raised his hand again to bid. It took a few more raises before he outbid everyone and secured her as his property. She looked worried and scared as her husband took the mysterious man’s coin and passed him the rope.

“You needn’t do that,” the woman sighed and peered down at her feet.

“Let’s get this off you, m’lady.” Chat Noir took the rope from around her neck, shocking her more.

“I promise to make you happy, sir,” she curtsied, and Chat Noir sighed.

“I don’t wish for your services. What’s your name?” Chat Noir rolled the rope around his elbow and hand before tossing the bundle aside.

“Marinette, sir.” She worried her bottom lip and didn’t meet his eyes.

“Captain Chat Noir,” Chat Noir held his hand out for her.

She placed her hand in his and he bowed to softly kiss along her knuckles. He stood up straight with a cunning smile. A blush fell on her cheeks, and she let her bottom lip go.

“Thank you, Captain Chat Noir.” Marinette bowed slightly and followed him to the tavern.

“Are you hungry?” Chat Noir didn’t peer back at her as he led her into the establishment that he had been headed towards to begin with.

“Famished,” Marinette swallowed hard, taking in the music and women being railed against various surfaces.

Men played cards and drank, while eyeing the wenches around them. She licked her lips and swallowed hard, wondering who exactly she had gotten saved by. If she could even call it that at this point. She was beginning to wonder if her good luck had worn out.

“Do you intend to lie with me?” Marinette swallowed hard as he pulled out a chair for her to sit down.

“No. Did you want for me to?” Chat Noir smirked and winked at her from across the table.

“No, no. I just- I assumed since you bought me as your property…” Marinette hid in her hair and Chat Noir burst out laughing.

“If I wanted a quick fuck, I would grab one of these cheap whores.” Chat Noir raised a hand and swirled it around to gesture to the room. “I actually felt sorry for you, m’lady, or should I call you wench.”

Marinette covered her mouth as she burst out in a sharp giggle. She brought her hand down and licked her lips with a blush, “You are quite crass, Captain Noir.”

“So, I’ve been told. How about some food and drink? Surely, you did say you were famished, did you not?” Chat Noir winked at her before standing up to go to the bar to order them sustenance.

Marinette sat at the table, playing with her skirt and taking in the dirty fabric. Her husband and her hadn’t had much money and he had been selling her in order to pay a debt that he owed. She hadn’t married him for love, but rather because she was expected to. What she didn’t expect was for her husband to sell her off, but it was the way it worked. Was it legal? No, but there was no way to divorce her, so the next best thing was to sell her at port like the rest of stock around her. But for some reason this Captain had chosen to save her, and she wasn’t sure if this was a good omen or not.

She swallowed hard, watching the man walk back to her with a certain way about him. He was stopped along the way by a wench, but as he spoke to her, he kept his eyes locked on Marinette instead. A few moments later and he was on his way back to their table and setting down plates of food and drink.

“Sure you weren’t a wench for a time, Captain?” Marinette teased and giggled, as he smirked and sat down.

“So, maybe I was.” Chat Noir winked at her and picked up a roll to take a bite from it. “And you? What’s your story?”

“I was forced into a loveless marriage and when he needed debts paid… he brought me here to be auctioned with the rest of the lot.” Marinette shrugged and swallowed hard. “You?”

“Doubt I need to share my story with you. I’m sure you’ve heard enough,” Chat Noir scoffed and brought his cup of ale to his lips.

“I actually have not.” Marinette brought a vegetable to her lips.

“Really?” Chat Noir was surprised to say the least that she hadn’t heard of him.

“Nope. Your name isn’t familiar to me, but that might be because my husband tried to keep me from piracy and privateering.” Marinette sighed and fell back against her chair. “So, enlighten me.”

Chat Noir chewed on his bottom lip, realizing that he could actually tell her who he truly was, and the rumors wouldn’t corrupt her like so many others. He stabbed a piece of meat and ate it before he began to tell his story.

“I was tossed off a ship at the age of nine by my father for being disobedient. I probably floated in the ocean for days on a piece of driftwood before an old Chinese man found me. His name was Captain Fu. He took me aboard and as I grew up and learned sailing along with traditional Chinese medicine, I commandeered my own vessel. Of course, I joined the great race to find the lost treasure that is spilled through the Caribbean because what else is a man to do, who has nothing else to live for. No family, no job, no nothing. All I know is sailing and traditional medicine.” Chat Noir poked at the food on his plate.

“So, naturally, all you can do is Captain a vessel,” Marinette nodded and put a piece of meat into her mouth.

“Exactly, m’lady, all I know to do is such. Of course, that means that I also must pillage vessels. I started with a sloop and moved up to a galleon, taking in men who felt useless and giving them something to do with their idle hands besides pleasuring themselves for sport.” Marinette choked on her ale at the last words that fell from his mouth.

“I beg your pardon.” Marinette set her mug down.

“You understood,” Chat Noir winked at her and took a sip from his mug. “Men get lonely at sea. Either you pick a mate to have your way with or you got your hand. Pick wisely. One knows when to shut up and just take it.”

“Again, I hope you’ve gathered that I am not always one to just ‘shut up and take it’, Captain Noir.” Marinette gave him an insulted expression.

“I gathered you weren’t, m’lady. I wasn’t meaning you or any lady that is.” Chat Noir smiled and went back to eating.

“Even a wench?” She stressed the last word with a blush.

“Even a wench,” Chat Noir smiled and froze when he felt fingertips run along his shoulders.

They leaned closer and whispered against his ear, “Would you like to have a go, Captain?”

Chat Noir set down his utensil and peered over his shoulder to smile at the woman, “Not tonight, love, but I see a gentleman over there that is looking for a flower like you.”

She nodded and took off towards a man, who was watching from far away. Chat Noir gave his attention back to Marinette with a warm smile. She was beyond shocked that he hadn’t taken the offer.

“Call me surprised,” Marinette finished her meal.

“What?” Chat Noir raised an eyebrow at her.

“You didn’t take her up on her offer.” Marinette shrugged and picked up her mug.

“I believe I told you if I was looking for a quick fuck I-” Chat Noir was interrupted by the woman across from him.

“Then you would grab one of these cheap whores. I understood quite well, Captain.” Marinette brought her mug to her lips and finished her drink. “But am I not one?”

“No,” Chat Noir shook his head and finished his meal.

“How do you gather?” Marinette crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “I already said I wouldn’t put up a fight.”

“That doesn’t make you a whore, m’lady.” Chat Noir stood up and grabbed his plate, taking hers as well.

Marinette watched him take the dishes back to the bar, tapping on the side of her mug. He was an odd man with how he could be so crass and unapologetic yet nice at the same time. It confused her. She didn’t know which side was him.

He walked back and held out his arm for her. She stood up and took it, following him out of the tavern. “Now, surely you know the rules of the sea.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Captain.” Marinette sighed, letting him stroll her around the port.

“If I let you on my ship… it’s bad luck and a capital offense to have a woman on board.” Chat Noir cleared his throat and stopped, turning her around to face him.

“So, you’ll have to leave me.” Marinette peered down, realizing what he was saying.

“No, but you’ll need a disguise to board my ship, love.” Chat Noir touched beneath her chin and raised her saddened gaze to his. “We’ll be needing clothes for ya.” He winked at her and watched a smile appear on her lips.

[acefeather2002]

Love: Something That Is Quite Ineffable (Cats 1998) (Pt. 2)

Thanks to @the-rum-tum-hatter for this first request of this new series that I’m writing for CATS 1998. If you have a request, please leave it in the comments, send an ask, or dm me of your pairing. Be sure, though, to not use any cats that were previously used before. At the time of writing, the ships used were Platoria, Tuggoffelees, Demestrap, and now Coricojerrie. Thanks again for reading. Hope you enjoy.

As you know, Love is a peculiar thing. It’ll make friends with you, make you chase it, or even provide a sense of comfort. But, sometimes, Love makes us question why. LITERALLY! You look at your soulmate and ask shaking your head sometimes, “...Why...? Why did I fall for you?” And then you fall in love with them even more anyway. Yeah. Coricopat found himself in that situation multiple times with his mate, Mungojerrie.

One time in particular that he likes to share was when he was meditating with his sister in their shared den and linking a brainwave. Their breathing was in perfect sync as their chain grew stronger, until a scream and loud crash from outside disturbed their peace. The two glanced up at each other with Tantomile sighing sightly annoyed as her brother gave a nervous chuckle, both of them knowing the cause of their shattered focus. “I’ll check on him,” the psychic male uttered as he went into a meditative state to find his boyfriend in his mind’s eye.

Come to find out, as he predicted, the calico tom was tangled in a rope-like object with Pouncival and Tumblebrutus not sure what to do. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Cori returned from his vision and stood up while announcing, “My mate needs me...again.” “Go on then,” ushered Tantomile, “I’ll put on some tea for when you get back so we may continue our session.” The tom of the twins gave a nod and stepped out to the junkyard.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he envisioned the quickest path to get to his boyfriend in danger. Four minutes later, he found himself at the scene of the matter: a large pile of trash having strewn across the ground, Pouncival and Tumblebrutus sitting worriedly to the side of the mess, and Mungojerrie caught and tangled in a roped hammock that had been cut up and knotted strangely somehow all with a look of embarrassment behind a sheepish smile. “Uh..Hehe. Hey, Cori,” the clumsy calico greeted. “What happened this time?” the paranormal cat asked the two witnesses.

The two kits explained that while practicing their flips, they asked Jerrie to demonstrate a particular trick that would propel them even higher. Well, when he obliged, he went into a back-handspring then went to reach for a protruding bar in a pile of trash that was now toppled over. In doing so, he quickly realized, but still too late, that there wasn’t enough support on the bar to hold him. So, it slipped out and fell, dropping him into a laid out hammock almost like a safety net in a circus and rolling down to the ground while getting more and more wrapped up and tangled.

Coricopat gave another sigh and shook his head as he loomed over his lover before asking, “How do you keep getting yourself into these situations?” “Oi don’t know! It jus’ sor’ of ‘appens, it does,” the cockney cat whined as he scratched at the thick rope to no avail before begging, “Get me out, please?” The psychic tom looked around for a moment before his eyes focused in on a rusted pocket knife that fell free from the debris. It was likely dulled from how old it was and the reason it being in the junkyard in the first place, but it was better than nothing. Taking the handle between his teeth, he walked back over and noticed the nervousness in his mate’s eyes. “Hon’t worry. I’hh hust cu’ de ro’e and ge’ yo’ ou’,” he reassured with the filling mass in his jaw. 

Carefully and precisely, the tom sawed at the proper cords of rope and freed his tomfriend. Climbing out from the mess, Mungojerrie stretched from being curled up and shook out the rubble in his fur. He then turned and moved to nuzzle his mate in thanks before he felt a paw push back on his chest. He let out a questioning whine until Cori explained, “What were you thinking, Jerrie? You could have seriously gotten hurt. You need to be more careful when pulling stunts. I know you’re notorious for being acrobatic with your sister, but the junkyard is not as stable as a neighborhood. A higher risk requires more caution. Do you understand me, Jerrie?” the calico in question looked down with shame like a scolded kitten as he gave a nod of understanding. 

“As for you two,” the Abyssinian acknowledged the two kits who watched the whole exchange, “ Always make sure that you’re practicing your tricks in a safe area where things can stand properly on their own or in a wider, open space. Now, neither of you are hurt are you?” The two shook their heads no, and Cori replied, “Good. Now, I’m not TOO opposed to you seeking advice from Jerrie...” “Oi!” the calico called out in mock offense. The supernatural cat ignored him and continued, “...but make sure it can be done safely where no one is at risk. Do I make myself clear?” The duo nodded fervently and scampered away from the mess.

Giving an approving nod, Coricopat sat down for a moment in silence with his eyes closed. Jerrie stood up and shyly walked over to his mate silently and sat beside him. "You interrupted my linking session with Miley," the stoic tom revealed. Even though he didn't fully understand the concept, the calico gasped in shock knowing how important linking was to the Psychic Twins. "Oh, no, Cori, Oi'm SO sorry! Really, Oi am!" he apologized, "Oi never meant to disturb such an important thing, honest!" "I know, at least just find something peaceful to do until we're done, please," the tom in question asked. The multi-colored male nodded eagerly before giving his mate an apologetic nuzzle on the head and walking away.

As he watched his tomfriend walk off, Coricopat gave another sigh and shook his head with a smile, thinking to himself, "How and why did I fall in love with him?" "That's a question that still baffles me to this day," he heard his sister's voice reply. "M-Miley! I'm on my way. Jerrie was in a bind, and needed some help," the brother tried to explain as he raced back to the den. "I know. Just hurry up. The tea is ready and I want to get back soon as possible," the Abyssinian queen replied somewhat jokingly.

An hour later, the Psychic Twins stepped out of their den and went on their separate ways for the rest of the day. The brother turned a corner and found something quite surprising. A soft, medium sized, galaxy patterned rug arranged with a couple of dead birds and rodents, little flowers, and various gems and crystals. He stalked forward toward the items when Mungojerrie popped up next to him all of a sudden. Geez, that cat walks quieter than a shadow!

"J-Jerrie!" Coricopat acknowledged, having been startled a bit, which was beyond unusual. "Hehe...hello, Cori," the calico tom greeted shyly, his ears pressed down and his tail drooped, and explained, "Oi'm really really sorry again for interrupting your linking today. Oi wanted to make it up to you, so Oi found different things that Oi thought would interest you. Oi hope you're not still mad at me." The Abyssinian looked back at the decently arranged setup and smiled before nuzzling his mate on the neck. "I was never mad at you, Jerrie," he admitted, "I was annoyed that the linking was interrupted, but I was more worried you'd hurt yourself. I enjoy your stunts. I really do, but it scares me to know that the tom I love could be injured just from simply misplacing his paw. I love you, Jerrie, and I don't want anything bad happening to you." 

The notorious thief returned the affection in understanding and replied, “Oi love you too, Cori. An’ Oi do troi to be careful. It just ‘appens sometoimes, it does. Oi’m usually much be’er when Oi’m with Teazer, so maybe that’s wha’ it is. Oi don’t know, bu’ Oi DO know tha’ Oi promise to be more careful for you. To be a hundred percent honest, Oi always question how or why you still put up with someone loike me. Oi though’ Oi’d ‘ave drove you away by now.” “Well,” the intellectual tom said thoughtfully, “you do tend to do things that scare me and leave me wondering why, but then you do things like this,” he gestured to the scene that was put together, “and that always remind me of how sweet, understanding, and considerate you really are. That’s why I stayed. Because you are the only one aside from Miley that understands me. Plus, you’re fun to be around.” Overjoyed by the sentiment, Mungojerrie pounced on his mate and cuddled into him even more, the pair laughing giddily in their ever growing love for one another. “I love you, Jerrie.” “Oi love you, too, Cori.”

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

So, this was an example of Love being a confusingly goofy ball of antics. You question how or why you stayed despite the ridiculous happenings involving (or being caused by) your partner, and yet you wind up getting reminded of why. And it somehow makes you fall for that person all over again with a newfound love that is quite ineffable.

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (4)

summary: patton knows that roman is the bravest, strongest hero of them all.  words: 1,500 / ship: royality (patton/roman) author’s note: this is part four of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) read on ao3

— — —

The sun was relentless in its heat, beating down on Roman without remorse. It felt like he was baking inside of his armor. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and he couldn’t help but squirm uncomfortably at the sensation. He held a hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes and squinted at the imposing mountain towering above him. He was mere hours from his destination and the prospect of being so close to completing his quest filled him with energy and determination. With renewed vigor, he began his ascent.

Time was lost to him as he progressed. He steadfastly ignored his aching limbs and focused instead on keeping his breathing measured. Each step was careful but sure, so as not to lose his footing or make a wrong move. Every so often, a cloud drifted across the sky, blocking out the sun, and providing him momentary relief. He passed by a number of trees, tempting him with shade and rest, but still, he pressed on. The higher he climbed, the more frequently the wind blew; this, too, helped keep his resolve up, encouraged by the breeze pushing at his back.

And finally, he found himself at the mouth of a cave. The sunshine only went so far before darkness engulfed the tunnel. He took a deep breath and marched forward. He drew his sword from its sheath and whispered “iluminar;” the blade lit up with a radiant glow, providing him a consistent source of light. While some rational part of him knew that he ought to move slowly and check for traps, the eager realization that he had reached the home stretch egged him on. Without really noticing, he’d quickly gone from a steady pace to a power walk to a dead sprint.

When he came skidding to a stop at the entrance of an open chamber, it was as if his heart was trying to jump up and out of his throat, and his breathing was strained. There, though, at the far end of the room and just barely discernible in the low light, was his love. A resounding thud interrupted him the moment he began to call out.

“Well well well,” purred his greatest enemy, “it certainly took you long enough.”

The Dragon Witch prowled back and forth, blocking Roman’s view of his dearest companion.

“Release him!” Roman shouted, darting along the walls of the cavern, and learning better the lay of the land as light fell upon the space. “And I might spare you!”

Her laughter was a rumbling echo, shaking bits of rock and dust from the ceiling. “You are funny, little prince. I’ve so missed your ridiculous demands.”

Roman stumbled, backed up, and leapt just in time to avoid the Dragon Witch’s tail sweeping his feet out from under him. From his side, he pulled a dagger. Without much aim, he threw it in her general direction, knowing at least that with a target as big as she, it would be hard to miss.

“Roman!”

Every thought rushed from his head at the sound of Patton’s cry. At the reminder of what was really at stake here, Roman came to a halt, and faced his foe. There was no saving Patton and leaving the Dragon Witch be. He had to defeat her in order to get Patton out. It was easier said than done, apparently. One beat of her wings had him knocked back and onto the ground. He slammed hard into metal bars and grunted in pain, blinking the stars from his vision.

“Oh, honey,” cooed a voice from above him.

An arm reached through its prison, one hand reaching forward to cradle his cheek. Lips pressed against his forehead, a kiss so gentle he wasn’t sure it was real.

“Show her who’s boss, sweetie,” Patton murmured.

As if by magic, all of Roman’s sore muscles and minor wounds were wiped away. He was emboldened by Patton’s gift, his strength invigorated, and he was certain now that nothing would stand in his way. He left a lingering kiss on Patton’s knuckles and retrieved his sword before standing. The Dragon Witch looked infuriatingly smug to have taken him down so easily and that, Roman decided, would simply not do.

As we expect most stories to go, our brave hero came out victorious. There were close calls — a claw too close here, teeth too sharp there — just as there were defining strikes — the final plunge of his sword into the Dragon Witch’s heart. She disappeared, scattered into ashes, and silence fell over the chamber.

“Woohoo! That’s my knight in shining armor!”

Roman startled, dropping his weapon, and darting for Patton’s prison. Without her presence to keep it locked, freeing him was no issue. Roman ignored that he hurt all over and instead, held onto Patton as if letting him go meant he’d lose him forever.

“I’m okay,” Patton reassured, taking Roman’s helmet off, and carding his fingers through his hair. “You did it! You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you.”

“Please,” Roman laughed breathlessly, clinging to Patton all the more, “it was nothing.”

Patton leaned back, taking Roman’s face in his hands. His expression was stern. “It was spectacular. I love you so much. You’re incredible.”

“Patton,” Roman whined, hoping he could blame his redness on exertion instead of blushing.

“Let’s see what treasure awaits you!” He exclaimed, allowing Roman some shred of mercy, at least.

He took Roman’s hand and pulled him along, further back into the cave. The hoard was piled all the way to the ceiling, a good 20ft of gold, jewels, and trinkets. Roman shed his heavy breastplate before they knelt down, groaning in relief at being able to move freely and stretch properly. This also meant taking Patton into his arms once more, hugging him to his chest.

“This is my favorite prize of them all,” he muttered, pressing his cheek to the top of Patton’s head.

Patton giggled. “You haven’t even seen all of your options.”

“Hmm, none could compare to you, my heart.”

“Oh, hush!”

Eventually, Patton did manage to convince Roman to at least look at what all was laid out before them. The first thing to catch his eye was a crown, embedded with gems of every color of the rainbow. It was bright and it fit him perfectly and he never wanted to take it off.

“I’m going to make special bobby pins for that one,” Patton said offhandedly. When Roman gave him a curious look, Patton returned it with a knowing expression of his own. “You wiggle, dear.”

If Roman wasn’t sure what Patton could possibly mean, it was proven hardly five minutes later. They found plenty more jewelry: bracelets with charms that all must have been picked just for him, silly bandz that looked like they might glow in the dark, and colorful hair clips in all sorts of shapes. His joy at so many accessories led to plenty of head shaking and hand fluttering; the crown only just barely stayed on and that might have had something to do with Patton keeping a careful eye on it.

“You were my hero today, Roman,” Patton told him on their way back out. “You are every day, you know?”

Roman shrugged in a noncommittal sort of way, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to say thank you or disagree completely. His hand squeezed tight around Patton’s, though, trying to convey his gratitude. The sun was setting by the time they made it outside. It was chillier this high up on the mountain now and Roman no longer had his adrenaline to keep him warm. Not that he didn’t have something even better at his side to help with that…

“Wanna take the easy way home? I could go for some hot cocoa.”

“I like the sound of that very much,” Patton agreed.

It was only a blink and they were no longer buffeted by sharp winds but on safe stable ground instead. Whatever ailments Roman had suffered in the Fantasy Realm were left behind; now he only felt comfort, inspiration, and fondness. … Okay, maybe hunger, too.

Patton surprised him with another kiss on the cheek and then another to his lips. Roman didn’t let that one go, savoring the sweet taste of his one true love. While neither would have minded this lasting quite some time, their stomachs had other ideas in mind. They parted, giggling as their bellies growled noisily.

“Okay, okay,” Patton relented. “Dinner time.”

“Can we have pasta?”

“Sweetpea, you know we’re making all your favorites.”

“... Peach cobbler, too?”

“Duh!”

“I love you,” Roman said, as if Patton had just promised him the world.

“I know. Happy birthday, my knight.”

Going to bed that night with Patton curled up beside him, full on delicious food and drink, on love and precious reminders of everything he had, Roman couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #18- Rung Psychologically Tortures a Man with Poor Snack Management

So, Swerve’s having a less than stellar day, and for once it isn’t linked to his deep-rooted sense of self-loathing.

Good thing he already emptied those stills, otherwise this would be just the hugest mess.

Thanks to some off-panel Whirl shenanigans that took place prior to this storyline, Swerve had Brainstorm put in a few security measures. Of course, Brainstorm being Brainstorm, never does weaponry in any half-measures.

Still, it isn’t quite enough. Looks like Swerve’s going to have to break out the big guns for this guy.

There’s a lot going on here, so let’s break it down.

On the character side of things, it would appear that Swerve is a merciful god of robot booze, as he’s not yet banned anyone from his small business, even when he probably ought to- Fort Max I get, and Whirl has the whole “is also an Autobot” thing going on, but Cyclonus has actively attempted to murder Swerve in the past, and also is the closest thing to a Decepticon they’ve got on the ship at any given time.

On the weaponry side of things, it would seem that Swerve having blown his face clean off his skull back in issue #12 got back to Brainstorm, who- because he’s married to his career and loves a project- immediately got to work on a gun that Swerve could actually handle with his funky little cartoon-man hands. Of course, that doesn’t mean Swerve’s going to get away with his dignity intact, oh heavens no! This thing has a literal smiley face slapped on the front of it. Well, you know what they say: it’s Nerf or Nothing.

Swerve blasts a hole in the Legislator with his silly, silly gun, and the bar is saved from further destruction.

I like to imagine that Brainstorm recorded that victory line himself, because he wants to support his friends, in his own, bizarre way.

Things are looking rough for the rest of the Lost Light, as the Legislators have completely flooded the ship with their forces, as the crew do their best to fight them off. Blaster’s had his titty compartment blasted open. Huffer is screaming. The medics have taken to violence. Skids has broken out the brass knuckles and is making god-awful math puns. The Legislators are still coming, without any end in sight. It’s a real shitshow.

Over on Luna 1, it would appear that Ratchet immediately passed out after seeing Pharma, which is a fair response to seeing someone who’s supposed to be very much dead, I think. Pharma calls Lockdown, they have a bit of banter, and then the scene moves on to whatever Cyclonus and Whirl are doing.

Because these two are the only ones on the away team who can actually fly, they’ve broken off from the rest. Whirl’s getting antsy, and decides he’s gonna fight something. Cyclonus, though he does mention that Rodimus told them not to do exactly what Whirl is suggesting, seems to agree with this line of thought.

Speaking of Rodimus, him and the rest of the gang are zipping around on those M.A.R.B.s, though it appears as if some of the passengers have switched drivers. Rung’s over with Chromedome now, holding on to him for dear life. Maybe they’re having an impromptu grief counseling session as they run from danger. Tailgate’s with Rodimus, and he���s just pointed out that Ratchet got left behind. Rodimus can’t deal with that right now, though, and decides that they need to get away from all these gotdang Decepticons and then figure out their next step.

Then he’s distracted by the literal lineup of dead Titans just hanging out on the moon.

Luna 1’s kinda fucked up.

Cutting back to our framing device- nope, still haven’t gotten caught up with the present yet- Ambus asks what Rodimus did next. Well, a lot happened. A lot. Chromedome jumped out of his therapy session with Rung and transforms into his alt, which I want to say is the only time he’ll do it in MTMTE. Whirl and Cyclonus are faffing about in the sky, more or less toying with the Decepticons following them. Rodimus wants to pull another Fantastic Voyage, much to Tailgate’s horror.

Rodimus zooms into the first crack he sees, but doesn’t manage to lose his attackers. Tailgate provides commentary, as Rodimus wraps the little guy around his neck like a cape, leaps from the M.A.R.B., and does some super sick gymnastics, hanging from a pipe jutting out of the ceiling as the guys who were chasing them run into… well, I assume each other, but it’s not terribly clear.

Crisis avoided, Rodimus drops down, transforming as he does. Tailgate goes with him, because gravity is still a thing on the moon, and we get a reminder that he’s only got a couple days left to live. Unfortunately, it would appear he’ll be spending his final days rotting in a prison cell, as Lockdown shows up with everyone else in handcuffs, forcing Rodimus to come quietly. Everyone seems very put out by this whole situation, especially Brainstorm. He’s downright furious, probably because he got captured by the guy with a fish butt on his head.

Oh, the indignity of it all!

Then again, maybe he’s just focused on working up the cajones to ask just what the hell is going on on this super weird moon. Lockdown obviously isn’t a bad enough dude to be running this operation- we saw what happened the last time he went against someone who actually had the time to plan something out- so our away team has deduced that there’s someone higher up on the food chain here. Also, there’s the whole issue of money clearly being a major factor in all this.

That sort of tech doesn’t just fall out of the sky.

As they’re being walked down this corridor of tension building, Chromedome spies Ultra Magnus in an adjoining hallway. He calls to him, but is very solidly ignored. But there’s no time to worry about Magnus being a rude shit, because it’s time for character reveals!

There’s an interesting little detail about Tyrest’s character, which is a little hard to see given the layout of the art for this page, but here it is, on the end of his staff:

Now, I know that the Autobot badge was appropriated from a symbol meant to represent Primus, but that was millions of years ago. So much for being a neutral party, huh Tyrest?

Rodimus is real peeved about being chased, shot at, arrested, and held against his will, and fully intends to give Tyrest a piece of his mind. Tyrest isn’t interested, however, telling him to shove a sock in it, or be “held in contempt.” While this is happening, Perceptor and Brainstorm have noticed the positively humongous and positively ancient space bridge that Tyrest just has lying around in this room.

Oh no, this is about the baby field from last issue, isn’t it? Brainstorm’s going to jail for infant arson.

Rodimus greatly dislikes this whole situation, and expresses himself through the art of verbal abuse. Smash cut to them back in the cell, Ambus not seeming terribly impressed with how Rodimus handled himself with Tyrest.

The tale is finished, we know where we were. Now how to move forward?

Chromedome asks for a bit more information on our new friend, because the whole “Ambus” thing is throwing him off, and with good reason: how do you tell your late husband’s ex that you had to blow up your mutual partner to keep him from being eaten by a lippy bastard? But this isn’t the illustrious Dominus Ambus- this is MINIMUS Ambus, the lesser known brother. Chromedome/Dominus isn’t completely taken off the table, however, as Minimus uses some awkward phrases that seems to tell me Dominus isn’t confirmed dead.

Rung wants to know what Minimus’ whole deal is, seeing as he’s also in prison with the lot of them. Minimus explains that he’d been moving a shipment of energon derivatives, when Tyrest had arrested him for having traces of space cocaine in his goods.

Was taking his eye really necessary, Tyrest?

Minimus was placed into custody years ago, and has been awaiting trial this whole time. Not exactly sure why, seeing as this moon isn’t exactly off the chain populated. Maybe Tyrest’s just been busy doing things that are absolutely NOT nefarious in any form or fashion whatsoever.

Minimus mentions that he’s lost his Autobot badge, and Rung offers to let him borrow his own- which we’ve never seen him wear because it’s apparently too big for him- but Minimus would rather he wear it himself.

Tailgate doesn’t take to this bit of information about the appeals system very well, seeing as he’s not got years to wait around. He’s beginning to panic, not trusting Cyclonus and Whirl to break them out, and starts needling the others to do something. Brainstorm reveals that his briefcase, which he’s had this entire time, as he always does, has an attention deflector built into it, making it effectively invisible to Tyrest and his goons. Rung feels a certain kinship with the briefcase in that moment.

Imagine walking up to a widower and saying “Hey there, honeybunches, how about submitting to that crippling addiction your late spouse begged you to quit so we can bust out of prison?”

Of course, Tailgate’s only told Cyclonus about his condition, so no one’s exactly raring to go busting out, since they’ve assumed everyone present is effectively immortal.

Over on another part of the moon, Ratchet’s finally waking up from his stress-induced nap to find Pharma channeling his inner Jigsaw. Ratchet gives him some constructive criticism on his new hands, but Pharma’s kind of over listening to whatever Ratchet thinks.

Oh, I hope it’s one of those gag gifts where you open it and get hit in the face with a pie. Those are always a laugh.

Back on the Lost Light, Swerve is looking for his very best friend in the whole wide world. I really hope the feeling is mutual, because there’s no way Swerve would survive that sort of rejection.

The doors to the oil reservoir open, looking like the elevator scene from The Shining, and we see what’s become of our dear, dear Skidsy.

Skids is pretty sure all this Legislator nonsense is because of him, and he’s not about to let people die for his sorry butt today, no siree. He’s gonna save the day.

Then again, this is about where Star Saber pops into existence behind him and stabs him through the spine, so maybe not.

Behold, a bastard!

Star Saber in the IDW run is well-known as being a witch-hunting zealot who can and will commit acts of violence over any perceived slight against Primus he identifies in any given living creature. This is a stark removal from his original character, who is so pure-hearted, kind, and generous, he literally adopted an orphan to raise as his own son. So, what exactly happened here?

TMUK happened.

Back in the days before Roberts was a professional scriptwriter, back before IDW had the license for Transformers, the members of the TMUK fan group decided that Victory’s Star Saber was going to be evil. Why isn’t exactly clear, only that it was a decision that was made not by Roberts on his lonesome, but more as a collaborative effort. Of course, this Star Saber isn’t a one-to-one copy of the TMUK Star Saber- that guy was much more conniving and, uh, Hitler-y, than what we have here.

Getting back to the story, Swerve tries to save/avenge Skids, firing with his custom gun, only to miss every single shot.

Looks like there’s going to need to be a rework on the My First Blaster.

Swerve gets beaned over the head with the butt of Star Saber’s sword for his troubles, his visor shattering in the process. Damn, sure hope he’s got a reading prescription, and not anything he’ll actually need to see.

Back over on the moon, Ratchet’s pretty uninterested in playing Pharma’s little game. It’s just as well though, because, as it turns out, Pharma’s an impatient guy. Must be an absolute nightmare during the holiday season and birthdays. He throws open the box, revealing what’s inside.

THAT IS NOT PIE.

But we saw Ratchet’s face over on the other side of the room. How can he be in two places at once? Well, here’s the thing about Transformers…

They’re pretty darn hard to kill.

Back in the cell, Rung’s doing his part as a member of the away team by passing out snacks. Tailgate reveals his awful garbage disposal mouth. We get the down-low on Tyrest.

Once upon a time, Tyrest was an engineer. Then the war happened, shit got crazy, and suddenly he was organizing exoduses and peace talks with genocidal maniacs, and got appointed Chief Justice by the space pope himself.

Rodimus comes over to get in on the little snack party Rung and Tailgate are having, mentioning the Aequitas Trials- the very ones that were recorded onto Ironfist’s brain back in Last Stand of the Wreckers. Minimus comes over, warning Rodimus to keep hush-hush about those, since they’re top secret and all. Kind of a weird thing for you to do, Minimus. Hell, why do YOU know about these super secret trials, Mr. Nobody Trader Guy? Those were after Dominus disappeared, so it’s not like you had an in through your cool older brother.

Rodimus gives everyone the skinny on the trials, despite Minimus being weird about the whole thing.

Perceptor knows all this already, but I suppose it’s possible Rodimus is the only son of a gun who isn’t subscribed to Wreckers: Declassified and isn’t aware of Perceptor’s whole deal.

Minimus moves the topic over to the crew of the Lost Light, latching on to Skids specifically the moment he’s mentioned. Rung does his due diligence and offers Minimus a ride on the snack train. Minimus declines, Rung insists, and the box of space pocky is dropped on the floor.

Minimus goes to help Rung pick up the snacks, as Rung actively hinders the clean up effort.

Minimus is two seconds from snapping Rung’s scrawny little wrist like a toothpick if he doesn’t quit it. Luckily Rodimus is there to break up this positively bizarre situation. And then things get really weird.

Rung’s been watching Minimus since they got here, noticing things that were very familiar- speech patterns, mannerisms, tone, inflection, OCD behaviors, things like that. Once he developed enough of a hunch, Rung started intentionally antagonizing him by making a mess and putting his Autobot badge on in a way that isn’t up to standards. Why would he do this? Why would he want to cause an outburst in someone he just met?

Well, the thing is, he hasn’t just met Minimus Ambus. He’s actually been serving under him for the last year.

That’s a rather dark use of your doctorate, Rung, forcing a man to reveal his true identity by poking at his mental health until he was about to snap your neck over some candy. You did it so well, too.

Maybe you were on Kimia for more than just psych evals. What was your career officially called again? Psyops specialist is what they have listed on the Wiki. Truth be told, I don’t even know what that entails. Let’s look it up, shall we?

...I guess therapy is his side gig?

So either Roberts meant something else entirely, or Rung is actually super fucking scary.

[everythingstarwars]

Mine - A Kylo Ren x Reader Fic

Warnings:

- leading up to smut (none in this chapter)

- kissing

- choking

- anger issues

- possible TLJ spoilers?

Chapter Three - You’re Safe Here

Weeks passed, and you saw no more of Ren. This shouldn’t have bothered you quite as much as it did. He was a Commander, after all. Why would he visit? And yet, your desire for familiarity in this bleak, monotonous lifestyle had you scanning the doorway every now and then, heart fluttering with the hope of seeing his face. The notion that Kylo Ren’s masked face had become a source of comfort was almost enough to make you laugh.

That was until one day, roughly 2 months from the day you were brought onboard. A sharp knock on the door alerted you to the emergence of a visitor, and you glanced up from your book (Imperial Legacy, Volume 9), prepared to greet the stormtroopers for their weekly check in.

“You came back,” You said, eyes widening.

Kylo Ren stepped out of the shadows for the millionth time in your brief history with him. He seemed less stiff today. He walked into the room and allowed the door to slide shut, signaling that this would be more than just a short visit. The stormtroopers were nowhere to be seen.

He strode across the cell until he reached you, then stood still - hovering. It seemed like an eternity until he spoke. “I’ve decided to take the duties of checking up on you myself. As one of our more… capable prisoners, you require a higher level of security,” he informed you.

It was almost a compliment.

“Understood.” Was all you said in response. “Sir.” You added after a brief deliberation. This caught him off guard. Kylo brought a cloaked hand to his helmet and ran it over the back, as though stroking his hair in thought. He glanced backward, noticed the simple metal bench at the corner of your room, and approached it to take a seat.

You leaned back against the headboard and smirked. “So, what - are you gonna just watch me do nothing for eternity?”

You didn’t expect a response, and he did not provide one. Reclining once more, you opened up the book and continued to read. While the story - now on a voyage through the particularly murderous years of the Empire - was riveting as always, something had been awoken in the back of your mind. The thrumming of your heart cared not for your persistent ignorance. After a moment, you peered over the crest of the book with a soft gaze and waited until you were sure he was looking you in the eyes. It didn’t take long.

“I don’t mind,” you said, your voice inching toward a whisper.

As the months went by, Kylo returned week after week, just as he had promised. For the most part, he remained silent, stealing away to his secluded corner and dutifully watching you read, write, sing, or sleep - which admittedly, you found a bit disturbing. Informing him of this, he agreed to the surprising promise of waking you up upon his arrival, should you be asleep again in the future. Your respect for him grew little by little.

Conversation was limited. He was not a social creature. Kylo seemed to have no issue keeping silent for hours at a time. However, that was not to say that he was robotic in manner. Many times, you caught him staring at you while reading or writing, or almost-inconspicuously scanning your body from top to bottom as he entered your room. Almost. Occasionally, he would even instigate conversation.

The first time was one day as he sat watching you read the latest Imperial Rule Manual (Volume Twelve: Droid Edition). Walking to the bookshelf, he stooped down and examined the rows of books, most of which had been clearly removed and replaced, returned to their home heavily dog-eared and evidently consumed.

“You read all of these?” He asked. You glanced up from your pages.

You allowed yourself a smirk. “I had nothing else to do.” Keep the explanation short and simple, that was your best move. Somewhere in deep caverns of your mind you registered the fact that your starvation for human contact had led you to treating Kylo Ren like a tentative street cat.

“I’ve always found them incredibly boring.” Kylo admitted. This response wouldn’t have surprised you if the fact that Supreme Leader Kylo Ren speaking to you at all wasn’t the most shocking thing you had experienced to date.

“Oh, they are.”

“You read them anyway? Interesting …”

Was there… amusement in his voice?

“Well, they may be a bit boring but… I agree with most of their beliefs.” The words were true, as was your surprise at his reaction.

“Tell me,” He responded, settling on the floor next to your bed with his back against the bookshelf. For a moment, his villainous guise flickered, and he seemed very normal. Very young. Sitting there next to you, silent and calm, giving you his full attention in a moment of abrupt compassion.

You raised an eyebrow and obeyed, beginning to explain your thoughts on the imperial texts. He didn’t make a sound, allowing you to speak for as long as you wanted and add as much detail as you desired. When you finished, he responded with his own opinions on the matter, and the conversation continued.

It was almost two hours before he stood up to leave. Despite his brief politeness, he left without a word of goodbye and never brought up the conversation again. But from that day on, your dynamic had changed. Kylo Ren was no longer a voiceless captor. He had opened the channels of interaction, and you wanted more.

Over the following months, you began to speak more and more, soon growing almost comfortable with each other. Often he would arrive at your cell only to be greeted by a beaming smile on your face. The two of you discussed literature, history, the beliefs of the empire you already shared, the planets you had visited, and the worlds you yet longed to see. He refused to share any information about himself or his past, but invested fully in any stories you were willing to share or hopes of the future. Contact remained prohibited.

Even in the lightest of times, however, darkness tends to linger. You were occasionally reminded of this. No matter how open Kylo Ren grew to be around you, he was an Imperial Commander, a force of evil, and a Sith.

“There’s a celebration they do, every year at the end of the harvest season. They gather all the younglings and float Lilieans in the river. I used to watch them drift down the riverbanks with my father, until they reached the waterfall, and then whoosh-,” you made a swishing gesture with your hand. “There they would go. Gone forever. But we would do it again the next year.”

You had been conversing with him for about an hour already, and you both were deeply immersed in stories from your childhood. Kylo, curious and willing to listen, and you, passionate and eager to share. The stories brought a smile to your face, in addition to making you a bit homesick.

Kylo nodded. “It sounds beautiful,” he said. You smiled wistfully.

“It was.”

He noticed your expression. “You miss it?”

“Very much so. It has been my home since birth. Wouldn’t you miss yours?”

“No,” he admitted. “I find it surprising that you do.”

You cocked your head. “And why’s that?”

“I had taken you for someone smarter than that. Such sentimentality; attachment to something as meaningless as a planet…”

“A planet that you ravaged,” you reminded him.

Kylo sighed. “When will you understand,” he said eventually. “That sometimes the intent outweighs the outcome?”

You narrowed your eyes. His words rarely angered you, the bar set as low as it was, but somehow these struck a nerve. “Look, I don’t know what your intent was,” you growled, “And I doubt you’ll tell me. But that was my home you destroyed. Those were my people you massacred. And when you took me aboard this ship, it was for doing something that I still believe in. I was protecting them, protecting my family and our legacy.” You were nearly spitting with anger now. You weren’t sure where it had all come from so quickly, but a fire had ignited in your chest and it was futile to resist the flames.

“You imperial beasts have no idea of the lives you are destroying, even less so of the lives you are taking- ” Something silenced you. A tightening in your throat. Your vocal chords were compressed enough to mute them entirely, and soon you felt oxygen begin to diminish in your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Hands raised to your throat in desperation, you struggled for air that was not supplied.

Kylo approached you. Slowly. Taking his time. His hand was raised in a grasping motion. When he reached you, he kneeled down and leaned in a little too close for your liking. He squeezed his hand and your throat closed along with it.

“Careful what you say next, delicate one. Would be a shame if something happened to your pretty little neck.”

You tried to gasp and failed.

“I would be more careful with your words, moving forward. Not everyone here is as forgiving as I am. And seeing as you consistently defy my orders about staying quiet, you may want to learn to beg for forgiveness soon.”

With a single flick of his wrist, your throat reopened. You inhaled deeply and struggled for breath, gasping and heaving like a fish. He allowed you a moment to regain oxygen. When you felt more stable, you met his glare with one of your own.

“You almost killed me,” you growled.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have.”

You considered this for a moment. The strangulation had not lasted very long, and his force-grip wasn’t as tight as you would have expected. Your throat felt surprisingly devoid of lingering pain. The whole affair seemed to be more of a fear tactic than anything else. It worked.

Furthermore, you found yourself considering his words from before carefully. You were surprised to find you believed him. He was more forgiving than many First Order officers had been so far, that was undeniable. It struck you that you could have gotten in far more trouble than you did for your traitorous words.

You held his gaze in a new light. Shadows of anger remained in your heart, he had still strangled you and he clearly hadn’t lost the fiery nature you had first experienced. But you found yourself able to nod politely and whisper, “I’m sorry, Commander. I understand when to hold my tongue.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t entirely the truth.

He nodded and stole away to the doorframe, where he lingered for a moment. Dramatically, as was the routine with everything he did.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said.

For the first time, he didn’t seem to relish in the candor of his words. He glanced back at you one last time and left the room.

. . .

Weeks passed, and life in solitude continued. The storm troopers returned once again for the weekly-check in. Kylo did not. You couldn’t bring yourself to be sad. If anything, it was almost nice to be able to push him from your mind once and for all. Well, almost.

You hadn’t seen him for an eternity, when one night you were woken by a weight on your shoulder. Something jostled you once. Then twice. After a moment, you were awake and sitting up. Your head felt full of sand. Even with groggy vision, you could tell it was the middle of the night.

Kylo stood at the foot of the bed, his arm extended and his voice impatient.

“Get up,” he instructed. You stood, took his hand, and allowed him to lead you to the door. You registered the fact that your hair must be a mess and your voice was raspy with exhaustion. His wasn’t. Did the guy ever sleep?

“Follow me. Don’t make a sound.” He spoke quietly. When you reached the door he grasped your wrist. In the darkness, you saw the glint of metal and heard a sharp clicking noise. Your bracelet clattered to the floor. With the handcuff removed, he pulled you out of the cell for the first time in months and the two of you took off down a barren hallway. The entire ship was asleep, and the only sound was the monotone humming of an engine somewhere.

“Where are you taking me?” You inquired. His hand was to your throat in an instant. The walking ceased.

“What did I say?” He growled in your ear. His leather glove was cool against the skin of your neck. Your heart thrummed at the feeling. When you tried to breathe, you found you could, just barely. The thought was exciting.

“Apologies, sir,” You submitted as he released you. You hoped the darkness was enough to disguise your smirk.

He resumed his pace, leading you along with him, though he no longer clutched your hand. Willfully, you followed him, more out of curiosity than anything else.

After a couple of hallways that brought no change of scenery, a new thought dawned on you. Your throat closed up without any action from Kylo. Beads of sweat met the skin of your forehead and crystallized in the cold night air.

“Kylo,” You whispered. “Am I going to die?”

He almost stopped, but then seemed to think better of it and keep walking.

“What?”

“Am I being led to my execution? Did they send you to make it easier on me?”

You heard a soft laugh from somewhere inside his helmet. “My presence has grown to soothe you, has it?” He teased.

“I- uh… no.”

“No,” He consoled, “You’re not going to die.”

You sighed in relief, but a million questions remained.

“Then-,” You began.

“Quiet. We’re almost there.”

He took you down one final hallway and the path opened up into a cavernous control room. Blinking lights, abandoned consoles, and empty chairs filled the room. Even at night, it purred with electricity and activity, as if alive in some way. Massive computers lined the walls, and the front of the room was consumed by an enormous floor-to-ceiling window, revealing the vast expanse of space outside.

You walked through it in amazement. A long, glossy pathway through the center guided your way to the window. It was like walking down an aisle. As you passed each computer console, your fingers skimmed the tops enviously, imagining the power contained in just a single one, and what you could do with such ability. So much information, so much control, held in this one single room.

Kylo walked behind you for the first time. He allowed you to take your time admiring the room. You imagined he must be proud. This was his accomplishment, after all. His empire.

The window rose in front of you, tall and enchanting, like a gateway to the outside world. As you grew closer, you began to spot the small dots of stars in the distance, tiny flickering lights that appeared and vanished in your vision. One by one, then clusters, until the entire sky was filled with them. It was a sight you were familiar with, but seeing such wonder from space itself, as though you were another star among them, was different in every way. Your eyes glowed in their light.

Kylo joined you next to the window and watched as you reached out to touch the glass. You recoiled immediately. It was freezing. Colder than anything you had ever felt, as though it would solidify your blood with just one touch.

He ignored your activity and stared out the window. You tried to decipher what he found so interesting and could not, beautiful as the void was. You were about to ask him why he had brought you here, when something caught your eye.

A sliver of light lit up a corner of the window, growing larger and larger by the second. You remembered suddenly that you were on a ship, and it was moving.

The light was being omitted by something far in the distance, many light years away. There were only a couple of celestial bodies that did that.

Kylo gestured to the light - as if you hadn’t noticed - and spoke for the first time in minutes.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, as the ball of light edged into view.

You nodded, recognizing it after a moment. “...Pleione, right? It’s a star,” you responded, smiling. It struck you what was about to happen.

“When it passes our ship in a few minutes, it will generate a mirage of light across the sky.” Kylo voiced what you were just piecing together.

“A sunrise,” you murmured. Sudden excitement consumed you as your scientific brain kicked in. You had seen a sunrise before, of course, but never from a ship. You hadn’t realized it would be possible until now. “From the angle of the destroyer against it’s rays… similar to that of a mini-planet. We’ll actually get to see a sunrise.”

“Indeed,” Kylo confirmed, sounding a bit awestruck. He looked at you, and allowed his gaze to linger for a moment. Had he been expecting you to understand? Wouldn’t most people? You couldn't be sure, but why would he bring you out here otherwise? You wondered what he was thinking.

“Kylo, why did you bring me out here?”

“I figured you missed seeing them,” he answered, still looking at you.

Something stirred in your heart. A genuine act of kindness, of sympathy… from Kylo Ren. It should have surprised you more than it did. Still, the act was unexpected and brought a bright flush to your face despite efforts to remain cool.

His next move surprised you more.

You had turned back to watch the approaching star, when a low click brought your attention back to Kylo. With a sound similar to that of a vacuum cleaner being turned off, his helmet was removed and cast aside. A heavy sound resonated through the room as it hit the floor by his feet.

“Kylo, what’re you…?” You inquired with widening eyes.

He turned to face you, and the man that met your eyes was worlds away from how you envisioned Kylo Ren. He had tumbling black hair, pushed back by the mold of his helmet, that reached the base of his neck in length and curled around his ears ever so slightly. His eyes were a shade of brown so dark they were almost black, and his skin was the color of ivory.

When he smirked at you, he looked so different from the man you thought you had grown to know. So young… so pretty. It struck you how handsome he was, a development you were certain you had not prepared for.

“Well, I can’t see the beauty of the sunrise if I’m wearing a mask, can I?” He said, almost flippantly. His voice, his real voice, mesmerized you. It was low and sonorous, less raspy than it had been with the helmet on yet still slightly cracked. The voice of someone tall, someone warm. Of a man with a young heart but an old soul.

You realized your lips were dry and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Look,” he said, interrupting your swirling thoughts, all too abstract to form words. The sunset had begun.

It began slowly, as though waking up from a long nap. Tiny slivers of warmth crept along the edges of the window. Not too many, not enough to overwhelm. Soon, an entire glowing curve of raw sunlight was visible. Then, the night sky burst to life, massive brushes of colorful light spreading in every direction, painting the sky with its splendor. Every panel of the window was illuminated by a magnificent golden glow, the stars in the distance fading as they were consumed by the light.

It was a spectacle unlike any you had ever seen. It light up Kylo in the warmth as well, his raven-black hair turning a shade of burgundy and his dark eyes glittering gold. You realized it must be doing the same to you.

You both turned to look at each other in awe at the same time and locked eyes. You were smiling, he had a serene look on his face. You looked away first, blushing. His eyes stayed on you.

When it was over and the sky returned to an eerie pitch black, he led you back to your cell.

You stepped inside rubbed your eyes, the effect of waking up so early finally hitting you. Kylo stood in the doorway with his mask in hand, staring at you with a thoughtful expression.

You took a step toward him. Upon receiving no reaction, you took another. And another. Until you were a mere few inches from him. Almost breathing the same air. With tentative slowness, you extended a hand and he met it, allowing you to take his. His hand was nearly twice the size of yours, but his fingers were long and laced gently with yours.

“Thank you for keeping me sane,” You whispered. The words weren’t really enough to express your true gratitude, but it would do for now.

Kylo narrowed his eyes. “I trust this will be enough to keep you behaved for a while?” He asked.

“Very well behaved, Commander,” you teased, moving closer and closer to him. He didn’t stop you.

You were an inch away. Less than. His arms were around you. You weren’t sure when that had happened. Your hands were around his neck. His skin was smooth, and cool to the touch. But his lips were warm when he kissed you.

It happened in an instant, almost too fast to register. You two connected, and all the barriers that had been put up melted away.

His lips were firm, but used gently. He took the lead, wrapping his arms further around your waist and kissing you deeply. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you fought a whimper. How was he so good at this? Your thoughts became giddy. Kylo...kylo...kylo… His lips were magic, his touch electrifying. His upper lip pressed into yours with the perfect amount of pressure, while his bottom lip grazed yours lightly, almost as if trying to open it.

He bit your bottom lip teasingly as he pulled away and a light moan left your mouth. He smirked at the sound. You were certain your face was now flushed completely red and possibly sweaty, but you didn’t care. He looked perfect, still, and he had just kissed you so… passionately. Your mind was too fuzzy with lust to think straight.

Kylo was still looking at you, but it was clear the time had come for him to leave. His eyes were asking a question, and you responded with a nod but reached for his hand one last time.

“I don’t want you to go,” You confessed.

He gazed into your eyes. His expression betrayed nothing, but he squeezed your hand lightly and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“I’ll be back,” he said as he pulled away.

Whether that was a threat or a promise, you couldn’t tell. But a moment later, he was gone.

You stood there standing at the door for long after it closed.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 13 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 13 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 4: Preparations

Captain Mord easily held the long tiller bar of the Longin under his right arm, and concentrated.  He was staring at one of the few fluffy clouds near the horizon to help him relax and feel, through the action of the deck beneath his feet, the long tidally generated waves.  He was only just now finding out, after a lifetime at sea, that they held a wealth of information for the navigator.  Kurin sat on a coil of rope on the upwind side of the Longin.  She was just out of the ‘tiller-walk’, the specially roughened area to improve the footing of the folk who steered the Longin.  With her were four children, from ten to fifteen, and six officers of the ship.

These, along with the Captain, were her class.  They were also concentrating.  Captain Mord said, after considering things a bit, “I am feeling a change.  The wave has gotten uneven.”

“Well done, Captain,” said Kurin quietly.  “Does everybody else feel it?”

The children all raised their hands and two of the six officers. Hesitantly, Glor, the Second Officer of the first Night Watch raised a hand.  Kurin had high hopes for him.  He was very good, but lacked confidence in what he was feeling.

“That isn’t what I feel,” Glor said.

“What are you feeling?” she asked, hoping for his often clear analysis.

“The wave that we have been quartering, the one that you said is from the Naral Current, lifts the ship and rolls us a little to port, as we come up from trough to crest.  I still feel it.  The port rolls are still happening evenly.  What makes it feel uneven seems to be another wave that is rolling us to starboard, but it isn’t quite as long as the Naral Wave.  That appears to be what makes waves feel uneven.”

Kurin was delighted.  “Exactly right.  Which way should we turn if we are to go straight into the new wave?”

They all thought that one over.  Bron, who was only twelve and a cabin-boy, but very sharp both with mathematics and intuition, raised his hand.  “We should turn to port, about  … ,” he screwed his face up as he thought, “about twenty or twenty-five degrees?” he ended questioningly.

Around the class heads were slowly nodding as people felt out the waves and arrived at the same conclusion.

“Lecture time,” said Kurin brightly.  It was her mannerism to say this before any information that was of special note. Several of her students took out tallow-slates, rimmed flat pieces of Strong Skin filled with Glue Fish tallow.  These were used for temporary notes and general correspondence.  The more expensive parchment made of paperfish skins was reserved for the important, usually after it had been composed on a tallow-slate.

“The Naral Current is over there,” she pointed to starboard, “about two leagues off.  Over there,” again she pointed, but this time to port, “is the Cliftos Current.  As Glor noticed, the waves from it are shorter than the waves from the Naral Current, but they are also higher.  What does that mean?”  She waited for her class to come through.

Silor, fifteen Gatherings old and until recently, the lead deck-hand, said with a smirk, “It means too much work for deck-hands.  Changes of course aren’t needed, and that’s what you’re getting to, isn’t it?  The Gathering is south and some west.  That’s all that we have to do.  Just hold course.”  He raised his voice into a fair imitation of Kurin’s, “Four things affect these waves, the tides, the currents, the shape of the bottom and the depth of the bottom.” He let his voice lapse into his own, and went on, not noticing the gathering storm on the faces of his Captain, the Officers, and the irritation of the other children.  “It’s all from dry land anyway.  I can see the currents pushing waves around, but the bottom — — — Please!  She’s just guessing.”

That, along with previous outbursts and sly ‘witticisms’ aimed at casting doubt on what Kurin was teaching, was enough for Captain Mord.  “Silor Elon Longin, if you do not want to listen or learn, that is your privilege.  Kurin alone wanted you in this class.  You have done well, except that you try to scuttle what we are learning at every opportunity.  I want to learn.  Everyone else here wants to learn.  You mock.  Go back to your watch, and be prepared to change course, soon.  Twice.  Go.”

It was a shaken Silor who got up, and went forward.  He was wondering how this could happen to him so soon after his other disaster? It’s as if the Captain’s her puppet.  As if the white-haired little witch runs the whole ship by some kind of Dragon magic … .  The last thing that he heard from the class was Kurin saying, “The Cliftos Current runs SSW at three and a half miles per hour.  That will save us a lot of time getting to the Gathering.”

Shortly, the tocsin drum beat orders for a new course and, a few hours later, for another. In spite of being heavily laden, which should have made her slow, the Longin arrived at the Gathering three days early.

Captain Mord volunteered the services of the ship and crew.  It was help that was greatly appreciated, for there was much to do.  They pitched in to assist the organizers in making everything ready for the other ships when they arrived.  The road-stead, or anchorage was at a place where the bottom was only fifty to sixty feet in depth over an area great enough to allow the whole Naral fleet to tie up. Each ship needed room to swing about with the wind and tide changes.

The Gathering also needed a place where people could meet and trade could take place.  Huge rafts were stored here, sunk to the shallow bottom, and secured to the coral of the sea floor until needed.  These rafts, almost four hundred feet long by nearly two hundred feet wide, were designed for building the hulls and masts of new ships.  They were the single greatest investment of capital possessed by any fleet and every fleet had at least one.  For the Gathering, the great ship construction rafts were raised from the bottom.  When they were stored, their decks were a full thirty feet under the sea, safe from storm or Dragon tide.  Air was pumped into their floats until they lifted up from the coral bottom.  Supported between ships, big decks just awash, sea water was pumped out of the floats of the rafts.

When they were done, the decks were about a fathom above the sea.  Divers had to scrape the submerged parts of the floats free of marine life. Men in small boats went under the deck areas to free them of barnacles, limpets and seaweeds.  The decks had to be prepared and marked out for lanes, booth-spaces, squares and dock areas.  Strong nets with big meshes were hung over the side in the dock areas to serve as a combination of small boat tie-up and ladder. Heavy bumpers of woven rope were hung between the rafts.  Finally, they lashed the rafts together and moored them into place with large cables fastened securely to the sea-floor.  Only then did the ships holding them cast off.

The rafts were large and massive enough to simply ignore the wind driven waves.  The long waves that Kurin had been teaching her class to feel were a different story.  The rafts gently rose fell, rocked by a sea that never rested, stirred as it was by a sun and three moons.  The joint between them was about three feet wide, and constantly shifting up or down, side to side as much as a foot at times.

All of the mooring floats had to be raised from storage on the bottom, air filled, cables checked, and everything cleaned for service.  The Council Pavilion needed to be set up, and the Captains’ benches got out of storage and set in place for the opening meeting of the Council.

The rest of the Naral fleet arrived a ship or two at a time.  In a few days, the several hundred-strong fleet was riding at anchorage all about the ship construction rafts that made up the meeting place and market square of the Gathering.

The Dorton, Dolthin, and Grython as sponsors of the Gathering, had their booths up and ready.  However, there was one booth that everyone came to, even before they had signed the Gathering Log Book or begun to set up their own booths.  It was the only one actually open for business.  The Longin had been feeding the sponsors’ crews from a new food booth.  It sped the work and made everything more pleasant. Now the booth was ready and serving all of the new arrivals.

This new booth was already a popular addition to the rest of the Longin’s stalls.  The bill of fare advertised fresh steamed crabs, crab-cakes, fish, fish-cakes, mussels and clams all piping hot from big solar ovens.  Marad, one of the Longin’s journeyman cooks had persuaded the crew to add this enterprise and now he presided over all of the bustling activity in the booth.  No other booth was actually selling anything yet and the delicious aromas from Marad’s handiwork drew newcomers like Strong Skins to bloody bait.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[serendipitykpop]

amusement park

Pairing: wong kunhang x reader

Summary: “Let’s go to the amusement park!”

“Y/N. Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“What was with the attitude just now, Yangyang?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that my idiotic sibling is going on a date to the amusement park even though you can’t handle the rides. Then, there’s also the fact that you’re going on this date because apparently you’re in love with one of my members now.” He rolled over onto his stomach on your bed.

“You said you were fine with it.”

“I am, but I still just don’t get it. What does he see in my overly dramatic, and bothersome sibling anyway?”

You frowned, and threw a pillow at him, which made him laugh.

“I’m kidding.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’m happy for you, you dork.”

“Mhm.”

“Aw, come on. You know I have to play the annoying little brother card now that you’ve managed to somehow get a boyfriend.”

“Why is it that whenever you talk, it’s always an insult?”

“Love you.”

“Get out of here.”

“Can’t.”

You rolled your eyes, and went back to double checking everything you needed for the day.

“Sunscreen? Money? Your stuffed turtle for when you get too scared?”

“Quit it.”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged right when the doorbell rang from downstairs. You two looked at each other, then bolted for the door.

“I’m saying hi to my best friend first. Screw the fact that you’re dating.”

“I get first priority though because I am dating him.”

“Not in my book!”

“Yangyang!”

While the two of you were fighting to get down to the bottom step of the stairwell, your mother opens the front door.

“Kunhang, it’s lovely to see you. Here to pick up Y/N?”

“Yes, I-” He paused when he saw you, and your brother entangled at the stairs. Meanwhile, your mother let out a tired sigh, and shook her head.

Yangyang pushed you down, and jumped to his feet. He stood in front of his fellow member, and smiled.

“Kunhang! Glad to-” He stopped, then cleared his throat. “I mean, have Y/N back on time. No later than the curfew, got it?”

“Got it,” He smiled, and ruffled your brother’s hair. Yangyang grunted, and pushed his hand away to point a finger at him.

“Don’t take me so lightly, young man.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Come on! Let me do this for once! It’s never happened before since Y/N’s never brought a boy home before.”

“Oi.”

“So take me seriously,” He said, completely ignoring you.

“You’re just too cute for that though.” Your boyfriend ruffled his hair again, which made him pout.

“Kunhang!”

“Can I go on my date now, bothersome little brother?” You glared when you passed him, then a smile was directed at your date.

He stuck his tongue out at you, and crossed his arms. “Remember to have fun, but not too much fun.”

“Go to bed, Yangyang.”

“We just had dinner, stupid.”

“Babies need early bedtimes, blah!” You childishly stuck your tongue out at him. He then shooed you and Kunhang out the door, so you were off to the amusement park together.

“You ready for a fun time?”

“Uh huh.” You nervously laughed. You didn’t know how he was so excited when those death traps were standing before you. Maybe this was a bad suggestion for a date on your part, but you couldn’t resist the smile when you suggested it.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” He intertwined your fingers together, then pulled you towards the first roller coaster you could find.

“A roller coaster for the first ride? Are you sure about this?”

“Mm! It’s the new ride everyone’s been talking about, so I thought we could try it together.”

“Oh, great.” You gave him a thumbs up before turning away to panic. Meanwhile, Kunhang couldn’t stop talking about how excited he was. “What the hell am I supposed to? I can’t spoil the fun by telling him I have a fear of heights, and death traps like this.”

Before you could decide what to do, it was your turn to get on, and you couldn’t help but regret every life decision you have ever made. You tightly gripped onto the bars, and muttered for your safety through this hard journey.

“I can do this. Yes, Y/N. You can do this. Totally can do this.”

“Y/N?”

“Y-Yeah?” You slowly turned your head to him.

“You okay? You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine. I’m just so excited to ride this, you know?” You nervously laughed, it dying down to almost a silent sob. He was about to question you when the announcer came on to say it was time for the ride to start.

“Y/N,” He called softly, and you turned to him with fear in your eyes. He smiled, and extended his hand out to you to hold. You blushed, and slipped your hand into his. “Ready?”

“Mm.”

As soon as the ride started, and you felt a jolt, you gripped onto his hand. He giggled, and turned to the front.

“Relax, angel. I’m right here.”

You nodded, but there was still fear for your life in your heart as you got higher up the roller coaster. You went through what seemed like an endless loop of loops, turns, ups and downs, and twists.

“Y/N, put your hands up! Come on!”

Your eyes widened in fear as he put your intertwined hands up towards the sky.

“This is so fun!”

“This is so bad!”

You shut your eyes, and mumbled your prayers as you hoped to make it out alive. When it came to a stop, you almost kissed the stable ground, but that was too unsanitary.

“Ready for the next one?”

“Already? We just got off this one though.”

“You have to keep up the energy when you’re here, Y/N!”

You sighed, and nodded. He pulled you along, racing towards the next ride. It was the one that went in a circle, but went so fast that you would end up pressed to the side, squishing the poor soul who sat at the end.

“Well, this is better than roller coasters.”

You eyed the people coming off the ride, seeing their crazy eyes, and wide smiles.

“I could’ve sworn I got whiplash.”

Your knees gave out from under you, and you crouched down. Kunhang looked at you with worry as he held your hand.

“You okay?”

“Peachy.”

“You look a bit sick though. Maybe we should sit this one out if you-”

“No!” You interrupted. He blinked in surprise. “We, we can go on the next one. L-Let’s go!”

You grabbed hold of his wrist, and pulled him along. You went on the pirate ship, the ride where you’re raised into the air and is spun around, another roller coaster, then finished it off with the one that dropped you after going up. You were really regretting all of this, but you still held on.

After going on ride after ride, you asked for a small break before continuing. You weren’t sure how much you can endure, and for how long. You plopped down on your seat, and buried your face into your arm while he went to get you a bottle of water.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You barely lifted your head to look at him, having been worn out by the events of today. He took your hands in his, and gave them a squeeze.

“Are you, are you scared of rides?”

Your head shot up. “W-What made you think that?”

“Well, whenever we went on any of the rides, you looked sick to your stomach. I noticed how scared you were, yet I was insensitive by making you go on them.”

“I-” There was no use in hiding it anymore. “All right, yes. I’m a little terrified with rides. I may, or may not have a slight fear of heights, and such.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have picked the amusement park for our date! I would’ve chosen something you liked.”

“But that’s the thing. We always go to places where I want to go. For once, I wanted to do something you liked. Even if it meant going on those death machines.”

He chuckled at your choice of words.

“As cheesy as this sounds, I don’t mind going anywhere with you. As long as I get to be with you, that’s all I want.”

You scrunched your nose.

“So cheesy!” The both of you laughed.

“You weren’t enjoying yourself though, were you?” He sadly smiled, and patted your head. Your cheeks burned a crimson red.

“Well actually, I did have fun. It was worth the rides, seeing as how much you were smiling, and talking so excitedly about everything you wanted to try today.”

Still, he felt awful.

“Kunhang,” You softly spoke, giving his hand a squeeze. “Please don’t feel bad.”

“I have to make it up to you!” Completely ignoring what you said, he made his declaration. He stood up, and pulled you along with him before you could say anything. “Let’s go on the ferris wheel!”

“Kunhang,” You chuckled.

“No, it’s a must, okay? We really have to go on it, or else,” He trailed off.

“Or else what?”

He shook his head, and picked up his pace. The wait wasn’t long, and you two were able to go on fairly quickly. Except, you didn’t want that to be the case.

“Y/N, look, look! You could see everything from up here, even though we’re not at the top yet.” He didn’t get a reply. “Y/N?”

Kunhang turned to you, and his smile faded. He let out a gasp, and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, no! I forgot about your fear. I went running off like an idiot again!”

While he cursed at himself, you were holding onto the side for your life. You didn’t dare take a look down, or even outside. Your only focus was on him.

“Here, do you want me to come over there?”

You held up a hand in a hurry. “No! You’ll rock it!”

He froze in his spot when you shouted, and realized his mistake.

“Right.”

You felt bad for yelling at him, but at the moment, you were too busy with your own emotions. You squeezed your eyes shut, and tried to think of happy moments with Kunhang that would distract you long enough for the ride to end.

“I’m sorry. I just, I just needed to bring you up here.”

You peeked at him through one eye.

“Why?”

“Before I headed out to pick you up, the members told me of a jinx here. They said if I brought you, the person I really, really like, up to the ferris wheel, it’s good luck for our relationship. Meaning we’ll get to be together forever.”

He was so cute.

“Ah! Wong Kunhang, you are going to be the death of me! That was so cute. I would hug, and kiss you right now, but I don’t think I can move.”

A smile finally appeared on his face as you waved for him to slowly make his way over. He sat down beside you, and you let out a whimper. You hugged onto his arm, and buried your face into the crook of his neck.

“How are you supposed to kiss me if you’re hiding?”

“Give me a minute to calm my beating heart, Wong.”

He laughed, and nodded. You rested your chin on his shoulder, and pouted. He grinned, then leaned in to place a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I can’t believe you did all this for the jinx.”

His lips formed a pout. “I wanted to make sure there was a guarantee we’d be together until the end of time!”

“You dork.” You threw your head back, and laughed. He let out a whine, his cheeks growing a bright red. The two of you enjoyed the rest of the ride as he tried everything to keep you distracted. Though, your mind was already occupied with thoughts of him.

“I am happy!” You gleefully spun around, and giggled. You heard him chuckle from behind as he tried to keep up with your fast pace.

“I should’ve gotten you food in the first place.”

You looked at him over your shoulder, and winked.

“That’s one way to my heart.”

He gasped. “And not my incredible flirting skills?”

“That too.”

[vanithesquidwrites]

Every Breaking Wave

A little oneshot for the road. Crosspost to AO3 for those who prefer to read there. No tags nor warnings apply. =)

Most ships merely pass in the night, but perhaps, if one waits long enough, a ship might finally come ashore.

They come in pairs, always, much like Ritha and you once did.

It is never easy, and never gets any easier — by nature, of course, but also by design. You have seen disdain doom too many men to count, and you refuse to let it blunt you enough to doom your own guests. It will likely make no difference, but they at least deserve a chance. So you hone respect and care both to keep understanding alive, and try to let compassion guide your words as much as pride once did.

Hard work in itself, after so long.

It never gets any easier, but there is a routine to it. A sort of methodology to leaving hope behind. You've whittled it down to an art. Several arts, to be accurate.

You'd taken to writing, at first, once it had become obvious to you that your voice would go unheard. Historical accounts of sorts, in the vein of those ancients tomes that had awed you in your childhood. You consigned each name and each achievement of mankind to paper, a silent scribe to every country, every change of the world's name.

Still, soon enough, all of them read like nothing but echoes and rhymes, as time let mankind fold itself in interchangeable layers, each more similar to the last, each burning to the ground in turn.

You'd tried to not let it bother you, to remember that their — your — sameness was a treasure of its own. But one can only describe how the world burns down so many times. Weariness had won, in the end, and you'd set ink and quill aside. Time takes its toll, even on you.

Especially on you, perhaps.

You'd moved to music, afterwards. Reed pipes, at first, then plucked strings arranged much like those of a lyre. With each new era and culture came a new harmony of sounds, and you thought of archiving those, in place of archiving people. The piano had come quite late — twelve, perhaps twenty Cycles in, in then-Asabti's capital. It had been love at first listen, and you had almost thought to steal the wonder from its maker's hands, afraid a Beacon would be lit and destroy the sound forever. Thankfully the woman had been amenable to sale, and for enough of your old gold to see her live well into old age, you'd taken what would become your one true jewel to your abode.

You'd taken to composing, in the beginning. You had woven your hopes and sorrows into garlands of bright notes, let them speak in your place when curious men peeked through your gates. But your songs were not heeded any more than your advice had been, and so you'd come to improvise, to let emotion guide your hands into whatever art would come. It filled the time and the silence, and you imagined that, perhaps, Ritha would one day sing with you.

The sculpting had come last of all, though your sheer productivity more than made up for the lateness. You had been just as gifted with blades and spells as ages before, and soon an army of silent silhouettes was born from your hands, each one a sentinel, a tomb for a lost world. Regrets sprung anew from your memories, and you carved them into wood, sculpted with all the care you had not known to give when sculpting men.

Some were reminders for yourself, of lessons best not forgotten; some were meant for your visitors, omens of what was sure to come.

They had not been understood any more than the words, books, or songs, but they had kept you company. They stood by Ritha through the night, museum of your better days and mausoleum of your worst, a graveyard for all the dead souls you could never afford to grieve.

Even now, they come in pairs. Always.

Always on that same quest, with that same vanity, that same conviction you'd once held that this time will be the last one. That strength of will and strength of arms will bring the Cycle to a halt, make of recurrence a bad dream. That evil is without and not hiding within.

You cannot answer their questions; not in ways that satisfy them, that do not lead the cogs of fate to careening even faster. You've attempted many a time, and you have failed every last one. You cannot lift their burdens from their shoulders nor their minds, not without fracturing their beauty or damaging their purpose — but you can grant them the kindness of a night spent in a warm room. You can grant them all plushy beds, good music, and hearty dinners.

Every meal is different. You make a point of it. History and human nature may twist all things into echoes, but to your many successors — these people who, like you once did, crave naught more than being special — you can grant this one, painstakingly handmade bite of uniqueness. It takes patience and much research, but by the time each new Prophet comes to ring the bell at your gates, a new recipe awaits them, each prepared to suit its diner. Each crafted with just as much care as the wood you carve afterwards, a brand new ghost of a soon-to-be-dead world left to haunt your halls.

You travel far, for these dinners. You've crossed oceans by boat and spell, climbed atop mountains with bare feet. You have never done things halfway, and you are more than determined to spare no expense for this one. If time and fate cannot let you be more than a cook for a night, then you will cook to perfection — for the sake of your successors, and for the sake of memory.

Yet another thing to collect, to store in the vaults of your mind as a trace of a world gone by. Of lesser value to the world than your artworks and artifacts, but priceless to your soul as practice of how to remain human.

The last meal you served, you prepared from Nehrimese game and poultry, with potatoes and tomatoes picked in Ostian with your own hand. Wild apples, cranberries, and leek, you'd plucked from across the Sun Coast, and the wild herbs and juniper had been grown in your own garden. You'd sun-dried it all a little, made sure that the meat had aged well, then set it to roast over open flames until it charred just right. You'd made the broth from rainwater and copious amounts of sea salt; a little algae for texture, mixed with a spoon you'd carved yourself. It had tasted of home and doubt and charcoal in equal measure, all served in your best silverware, with your best wine, your best efforts — and every last bit of oblique warning you could weave into words.

They come in pairs, always, and so had they, of course. They'd left the plates just as untouched as all the others before them; ignored your statues, your recital, the true meaning of your letter. You'd left them the casket with just as heavy a heart as ever, then you had let your routine complete, left hope behind, and moved on.

You feel no need to watch the end. The white light always burns the same, each shriveled corpse a new proof of your failure to bring Ritha home.

Yet there had been no empty world waiting when you returned, this time. The mountains had stood tall, still bearing your likeness, yet a handful of impossible birds had flown the skies. The cliff had been shaken, some of its rock unmoored, but it, too, had held some rare life — a handful of mayflies and a cricket or two, buzzing atop this or that stone. Your wrought-iron fence had caved under the strength of some unseen wind, and yet the world had still been there, gray and old, right beyond the bars.

The grass had been laden with dust, the trees fallen, the skies cloudy, and you had stood as if struck dumb by the lack of complete silence.

You'd expected a vacuum, or two god-kings in their heaven.

You hadn't expected ruin to be confined to Enderal.

You had barely dared to explore, fearing any word, any breath could send the gears spinning anew. You'd kept to your abode and your not-so-deserted cliff, observing from afar, watching the winter turn. You'd been careful — and you still are — to not let hope flare up too soon. There have been outliers before. Ritha and you, so long ago. Eras lasting longer than most. Beacons lit with a slight delay. Emissaries assassinated only for new ones to rise.

Still the moons came and turned, the birds sang, and the crickets chirped. Still new small things — a frog, a mouse — came to rest on your windowsills, the shadow of a Myrad sometimes passing by the mountaintops. And still, one day, a boat sailed by flying the flag of Arazeal, almost surreal in the fog.

They come in pairs, always, and it takes them thousands of years. But this one rings your bell alone, a mere three years after the last. And when he comes, he bears a smile and a wine bottle in each hand, as if you were some good old friend he was all too happy to see.

"Greetings, Mysir Gajus," he says with a crooked smile, unkempt gray hair plastered to his face by the wind and pouring rain. "And to your companion as well. Our gratitude to both of you."

You remember the man, of course, from his roguish air to his stilted attempts at conversation. He is, much like the world, both old and new alike, seeming fragile — brittle, almost — in his continued existence.

He reminds you of Elimar before the light had taken him, and you have not been reminded of Elimar in quite some time.

"A dear friend of mine thought you in need of drinks and a long story," he goes on as you stay silent. "I happen to be Enderal's best and last remaining expert on inebriated chatter — and decent enough company to share bottles with, I've been told. Though you may have higher standards. I would never dare to presume."

You let the words wash over you to pay attention to his voice, the sadness under the humor, the tense wrinkles around his eyes. It answers most of your questions, and quite a few others besides.

You gather there will be no need for a second guest bed, this time.

"Forgive me, Mysir Dal'Varek," you answer him at length, walking all the way to your gates. "My manners seem to have taken their leave of me in my old age. Must I open the gate for you, or will you find a way to tresspass into my home unaided?"

"Wise Hermit, no, no," the man stutters, having, it seems, acquired some sense since your last encounter. "No, I've just come to bring our sympathies and a peace offering. Endralean wine. The very last! Dug out and rescued from the brewery two weeks ago, by yours truly, and after quite a bit of effort if I do say so myself. Not quite the brooch of a Seraph," he smiles that self-deprecating grin of Elimar's once more, "but more enjoyable, I'd say."

You stare at the man through the gate, arms crossed over your chest, brow furrowed. Still young and more than a bit of a fool, for all that his hair is whiter than yours and his eyes just as tired. You tap your foot, consider chances, wonder what eventualities could spring from an open door. No danger to you, you are sure; compared to your magical might, the man is but a babe in arms. But dangers to an auspicious fate are not so easily measured, and you find yourself frustrated, wishing you could merely observe.

You could. You'd only have to leave. But then when would there next come to be a man standing at your door, bearing nothing but gratitude, sympathy, and a cup of wine?

"You visit is... unexpected," you admit, for lack of better words. "And quite a surprise, to be frank."

"But a pleasant surprise, I hope," Dal'Varek answers, raising both of his bottle-filled hands.

The bottles are tied with ribbons, hastily cut from dust-spotted fabric. Some sort of old green cloth, perhaps, likely salvaged from the ruins. The rain plasters them to the glass like the man's hair to his forehead, but you still appreciate the attention, for some reason. Some old memory, perhaps.

"I find myself in the position of being uncertain, for once," you reply to the rain-drenched man, a rare, wry smile coming to stretch the corners of your lips. "Time will tell, as it always does."

Dal'Varek nods, as if he could have the slightest conception of how much you mean by the words. But then, what had Elimar been, if not charmingly impudent?

"So," Dal'Varek continues, giving the two bottles a shake. "Would you prefer to begin with the drinks, or with the long story?"

"Why not begin with the story," you tell the waiting man as you make to open your gates. "It so happens that I have just set meat to cook on the fire — though nothing quite so carefully prepared as for your last visit. If you'll forgive the humbler fare, then there is room at my table."

"Why not," the man nods, his smile tainted an instant by memories. "We didn't take the chance to taste it at all last time. Our apologies for the waste. It did look delicious."

You shake your head in humor as you step aside to let Dal'Varek pass, gesturing him onto the path with a hand as you close the gates again. The hinges whine like cattle to the slaughter, as they always do, but you find that the sound, for once, is not quite as mournful as you've grown to expect.

"Worry yourself not, Mysir Dal'Varek," you reassure the man. "It has been quite some time since I was last upset by the wastefulness of mankind."

"...I suppose it would," he agrees, cordially enough. "I suppose you have much better wine to drink than this one, as well."

"I do indeed," you say, laying a hand on his shoulder as you both begin to make your way up the path to your abode. "Nevertheless," you add, "I appreciate the spirit of the offer — and its sentimental value."

Dal'Varek nods mutely by your side, eyes fleeting from one statue to the next. He does not stop or slow his steps, but he greets them all as he passes, bowing his head, whispering thanks. Better thanks than fright, you suppose.

Better late than never at all.

"Who knows," you tell the man, "it way still age quite well. Endralean 8234 could yet prove a fine vintage."

"Here's to hope," Dal'Varek concurs — and there his smile finally breaks, the silent shudders of sobbing beginning to shake his shoulders.

You were never a man for embraces and soothing words, but you know Ritha would speak them, if she were standing in your place. And so you let your hand leave Dal'Varek's shoulder to circle his back, and run it through his hair, pressing his head to your shoulder to let him cry into your coat.

"Yes," you comfort Jespar Dal'Varek and the ghost of Elimar both, as you see them into your house like dreams rather than bad memories. "Here's to hope springing eternal."

Titular song and lyrics on Youtube

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score  Chapter 3: Knowing

“You said it yourself bitch, we’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.” Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title “The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma,” by Bessel van der Kolk

“She moves with shameless wonder

The perfect creature rarely seen

Since some lie I brought the thunder

When the land was godless and free

Her eyes look sharp and steady

Into the empty parts of me”

Foreigner's God - Hozier

“We’ll follow your lead, Star-Lord,” Gamora smiled happily, leaning against Peter’s chair. She forced a slow breath, feeling the bright Xandarian suns shining on her through the wide window of the ship. The light feeling in her chest rushing through her veins.

“Bit of both,” Peter decided, swinging the ship upward away from the surface of the planet, away from the Nova Corps. The only thing louder than the bumping music was Drax’s laughter. Let yourself have this, she thought sitting down and strapping herself in. You deserve this. The Benatar leapt through the jump point and her hair went flying into her face playfully as the ship evened out. Gamora  looked from Peter to Rocket regarding the latter with sympathy, it hadn’t occurred to her until just now, he’d lost Groot. She tilted her head carefully to look at him and...there was a pot in his lap, and in that pot ...Impossible. No, not totally, she remembered slicing Groot’s arm off not four days ago. The sharp sound of her sword hacking through his bark. The same bark that had wrapped around her, to save her...despite all she’d done to him. Mutilated him and then virtually ignored him. Noxious guilt writhed in her chest. The little twig in its container stared back at her with wide, innocent eyes.

“Is that….?”

“Groot!” Peter gasped, he shifted the Benatar into auto-pilot and jumped out of his seat, looming over the tiny twig.

“Don’t crowd him!” Rocket hissed, waving Peter’s hand away. The little sapling only blinked up at them. Something’s not right, the realization of it dawned on her slowly. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the way Groot looked at her was, off.

Rocket unclasped his seat belt and slid off the chair, holding Groot’s container in one arm and baring his teeth as Peter reached out a helpful hand.

“Don’t touch him.”

“Easy man I’m just trying to help,” Peter held his arms out and open. Gamora only watched the raccoonoid settle Groot down on the nearby table.

“Groot! My wooden compatriot, I am glad you have regrown! You are smaller than me now, and quite puny. I am fond of you.” Drax gushed with such sincerity Gamora had to laugh. Groot only reached out his arms and flailed in joy.

“Well team, I think this is cause for celebration! I think we should treat ourselves,” Peter placed his hands on his hips triumphantly looking down at Groot. “We deserve some R and R!”

“R and R?” Drax’s face squinted in confusion, “R is a letter in the English Human tongue. How can we have two of  a letter?”

“It means rest and relaxation!” Rocket grumbled. At least he didn’t attach an insult to the remark Gamora observed thankfully.

“What do you guys say? We could go to Ertrbra or Wvonta, I know some great bars on Presscoa but if the bartender at Ikva asks I am definitely not the same guy who stole their top shelf Hrania bourbon.” Gamora shook her head in amusement, ever optimistic Peter. Peter who could brush off his past with humor.  

“Let us go to this planet of libation!” Drax prompted, “and we will toast to Groot for his sacrifice and his return!”

His return, Gamora watched Rocket ignore the conversation and run off to fetch something. He returned moments later with a jar of water and carefully let it pour over the soil at the saplings thin roots. Groot gurgled in a high-pitched squeak as the water soaked in. The vague feeling of uncertainty persisted in her gut. She swallowed it and punched in the coordinates for Presscoa.

                                                        ---

“Ohh, looking fancy,” Peter leaned against the doorway of her room. She turned, the black cloak stirring with her movement. “What’s the occasion?” She fashioned the strings of the garment pulling it tight against her collar and tie it in a knot.

“The occasion is Nebula is still out there, she’s gone back to Thanos no doubt. We are not his only children,” she fixed Peter with a look. “Once she goes to him she will tell him of my betrayal. It is only a matter of time before they come searching.” Peter’s face softened with comprehension.

“We won’t let that happen,” he tried to reassure her. “And if he or his goons try anything we’ll take them on. And we’re protected by the Nova Corps.”

Protected, that’s one way of putting it. She met him in the doorway, looking over that face still so full of hope and wanton foolery.

“Rocket was right,” she recalled. “I have a reputation.” How did he know her before they clashed on Xandar? Where did he hear of her? What else did he know? She’d ponder these questions later no doubt, later that night when everyone else was asleep. Peter’s hand raised slowly, aiming for her cheek but stopped short, dropping to her shoulder.

“Let’s just go out, have fun, we’ll be back on the ship before long and if you want to leave at any point. We leave. Okay?” She looked at him. “If we’re going to work together you might try trusting me.” Trust. She nodded, pulling the hood of the cloak over her head.

                                                             ---

“I like this bar you have selected!” Drax hoisted his drink into the air, sending a good portion of it spilling onto the table. The five of them crowded into a booth in the dimly lit dive. Gamora had already located two exits and another possible exit point on the ceiling if it came to that. The couple at the end of bar across from their table seemed kindly enough. But the woman had looked over her shoulder four times since the Guardians entered.  Gamora took note and switched her gaze to the booth directly in front of them, over Drax’s head. Two oprevien men, neither of whom appeared to be armed.   But the booth behind her, the woman sitting there…

“Right Gamora? Gamora?”  Peter’s voice called her back.

“Um right,” she mumbled.

“See! I knew it! Drink!” Drax muttered something but downed his glass of ale in three single gulps. On the table Groot struggled to reach for the empty shot glass beside his container.

“Let us toast! To Groot! Who gave his life for his friends and is now living again! We are most glad!” A sad smile lifted on Gamora’s face as she clinked her drink against those of the others. The yekkelian mixed drink was bitter and purple, but oddly tasty. Drax hoisted his third drink towards Groot’s pot and let the clear liquid seep into the dirt much to the saplings delight.

“Drax no!” Rocket was on the bottle in a moment, knocking it away from the Groot. “Don’t give him that!” Gamora nodded approvingly. “Give him this!” Her appreciation instantly turned to concern as the raccoonoid swiped the bottle of Hyerlian Liquor he and Peter had split and tipped it into Groot’s pot. “Don’t give him that cheap shit, top shelf only!” Drax and even Peter, five drinks gone at this point erupted in erroneous laughter. The sapling only laughed and hiccuped, swaying happily. Gamora reached for the water beside her own drink and allowed Groot to drink it in. He gazed up at her, those large brown eyes...too innocent. Too loving. Groot would never look at me that way, kind as he was. I only ever tried to hurt him. Her nostrils flared, taking a long breath out as the uncertainty now revealed itself. She looked at Rocket, who drank from a glass the size of his face. He laughed and slid one paw around Groot’s pot, bringing him closer.

That is not Groot.

                                                      ---

“See! We had a great time and we didn’t even have to fake our own deaths or steal a ship!” Peter’s arm weighed heavy across her shoulders as she helped him back to the ship.

He is right, no one made a stir. No one tried to kill us. But they still could have noticed me.  She forced that thought to the back of her mind and concentrated on getting Peter to his room. Behind them, Rocket was sitting a top Drax’s shoulders with Groot hoisted even higher still in the raccoonoid’s arms above his head. A risky move especially as Gamora watched the destroyer stumble forward. Pick and choose your battles. Groot’s safety is…. the little flora giggled, eyes half closed. Let it be. She led Peter into his room and helped him down to sit on his bed. He ran a hand over his face, flushed with the alcohol and smiled.

“Say it,” he prompted, leaning forward. “Say you had a good time.”

“I had a good time,” she responded honestly. His smile widened and he tilted his head forward. Instinctively she drew back. Then waited in the tense silence, whatever it was between them pressed against her at all sides. Suffocating. She tensed, even as his lips missed their target and his head instead rested on her shoulder.

“Good! I think this is going to be the start of something great for us.” Us? Which us? You and I or all of us? She knew the answer to that and nodded, harboring a secret hope that he could be right. “Nova let you leave,” he continued happily.

“Not sure why,” she speculated.  Peter waved a dismissive hand.

“Because you’re….” he caught himself. “You’re cool, you're with us, the Guardians!” She smirked.

“Goodnight Peter,” she sat up, his head falling onto the pillows.

“G’night!” His snoring sounded in her ears before she even made it to the hall.

Alone at last. She made her way through the metallic halls of the ship. Listening to the thrum of the engines. The darkness was serene, the darkness was how she moved, she knew how to navigate it. An empty slate to think on. Think. Groot is not himself. Well he is A Groot, but not our Groot. She tip-toed up the steps to the main deck. Not Rocket’s Groot. Whether or not to tell him. The scales tipped in either direction. She tried to measure as she walked, pausing every now and then to admire the stars out the wide windows.  Better to live a horrible truth than a sweet lie. That’s what I am after all. A daughter of Thanos. A lie. She sighed, running her hand along the cool metal piping of the ship. Down passed the common area, through the storage chambers. Toward the engine room.  She summoned her courage, putting on the face. The imperial, unfeeling veneer of unflinching honest without emotion. One of the many skills Thanos had taught her.

“Rocket….”

“I’m glad your back buddy,” she stopped short of the metal door to the engine room. Rocket’s slurred voice echoing against the corridor.  “Don’t ever do that to me again. I thought...thought I lost yah. Okay?” Groot did not reply. “I mean it man. I know I called you an idiot and all...and...I feel really lousy about it.” 

Gamora peeked forward, Rocket sat on his work bench. Groot’s little pot on the table. The sapling was most definitely down for the count. His head flung back, mouth agape. Yet Rocket’s arms wound around the base of the pot. “You gotta hurry up and grow bud. Or at least say something.” He punctuated the sentiment with a belch and hugged the pot close to him, resting his snout in the dirt. “Your the only thing I got man….I’m...I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Gamora watched the tears in Rocket’s eyes fall into the soil at Groot’s roots. She backed away, down the hall. Leaving Rocket in sickly sweet inebriated denial.

                                                           ---

The straps dug into her wrist with a biting ache. The table hard beneath her. She shut her eyes against the blinding lights.

“Daughter,” that voice. It held no face but she knew. “You are doing well my child. But there is always room for improvement.” Gamora made to struggle, arching against the straps but her body lay immobile. Thrash! Kick! Find the lock on the straps it’s to the right just under the...Ebony Maw came to her side, beady eyes gleaming.

“Full facial enhancement then?”

“Yes.”

No! Kick damnit! Kick! Bite him! Why aren’t you…? The needle pressed to her skin, at her left temple just against the metal webbing. Something hot and burning entered her flesh. Gamora screamed, trying to move but her body would not obey.

“Ease yourself daughter.”

I...am...n...not...y..your...daught...ter!

More agony, spreading through her insides, burning the metal inside her.

Ahhhhh!!!!

“Gamora!”

“N...not...your...d...daughter!”

“Gamora!”

Peter?!

Her eyes flashed open in a wicked sensation of falling. She gasped for breath, her heart hitching. Sweat slicked against her face.

“P...peter?!”

“What, no!”

Gamora rubbed her eyes, must have fallen asleep in the common area. She realized, gazing up at Peter’s large movie poster for The Goonies. Whatever that is.

“Rocket,” she swallowed. His disgruntled face nodded.

“Will you keep it down? Groot’s trying’ to sleep.” 

His words barely registered, she nodded numbly putting a hand to her chest to steady her pounding heart. He looked at her with irritation and resolve? She could read most aliens in the galaxy very well. It’s what had led to her “success” as a lackey for Thanos. No matter how many eyes or appendages they had. Gamora was skilled at reading intentions but Rocket ….those red pupiless eyes. They glowed in the dark of the ship, the hairs on the back of her neck rising with the unfamiliarity. Rocket folded his arms in a huff and flicked his tail turning towards the hall. Gamora stood, crossing the room to the kitchen area and fumbled for a glass of water, watching him leave.

“Gotta drink more next time,” he whispered.

“What?”

Rocket halted, back to her.

“Drink more next time,” he repeated. “It keeps the nightmares away ...at least that’s what I tell myself.”

Gamora narrowed her eyes, in the dark she could see him open his mouth to speak once more, then shut it, sniffed, and scurried down the hall out of sight.

[sonicrainicorn]

Made of Love, Chapter 19

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Logan realizes that it's a lot harder to be strong when you're faced with your worst nightmare.

TW: Cursing, implied past abuse, violence, choking/suffocating, vague mentions of self-harm

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Okay. So maybe things got a little out of control. And maybe that was Virgil’s fault, but… yeah, he didn’t have much of a defense for that. He took it upon himself to help everyone out and considered himself responsible for them. He was the only one unaffected by Anxiety -- he needed to be the voice of reason. Sure, under normal circumstances he wouldn’t be, but who else would do it?

Tensions got a little high over the last few days. Patton and Logan argued a lot more than usual. Sometimes over things that didn’t quite need an argument. Roman tended to avoid the room when that happened. Thomas would sit in silence until it passed. Which left Virgil floundering between wanting to act and wanting to wait it out. He didn’t want them to argue so much. Especially since they were arguments that didn’t mean anything. He didn’t want them to say anything they might regret over something dumb.

He knew first hand how damaging that could be.

Nevertheless, this all led up to a rather big deal one day. It was one Virgil hoped wouldn’t ever come, but knew would happen eventually. Like all issues, if no one intervened then it would continue to fester. It was just a matter of time before the pot boiled over. And, in this scenario, Virgil was the idiot chef who let the pot get there in the first place.

Roman, Virgil, and Thomas sat in the living room while Patton and Logan argued in the kitchen. Virgil fidgeted on the couch, Thomas spared anxious glances at them from his armchair, and Roman did his best to ignore it all. But in truth, none of them could ignore it. Their voices steadily grew louder and louder until the TV became background noise. They never argued like this before.

"Just listen to me, for once!" Then a loud crash. Something shattered.

The three snapped their heads to the kitchen. They saw Patton slowly raise his hands to his mouth in shock. Logan stared at him, eyes wide and terrified. Terrified. As if Patton was capable of hurting him. He hurried out of the room. Patton didn't stop him.

Thomas unfurled himself from the armchair to make his way over to Patton. But no sooner did he open his mouth did Patton speak to him.

"Go check on Logan." His hands had yet to move from his mouth.

"Why can't you do it?" His voice was small. A genuine question rather than a complaint.

"I can't.” He closed his eyes. “He won't want to see me. Just go check on him. Please. He needs someone."

Thomas hesitated, visibly torn between two options, before doing as Patton asked.

Roman and Virgil shared a confused glance. Roman shrugged, an answer to an unspoken question between them. So Virgil stood up. The closer he got to Patton, the more his chest crushed with guilt. The more the world pushed down on his shoulders. He managed to sit down at the breakfast bar despite the weight hanging off of him.

“Should I even ask what happened?” Virgil asked in a soft voice. He didn’t think he could manage to raise it any higher.

Patton opened his eyes and dropped his hands. “I messed up. I should’ve stayed calm, but I, I couldn’t. I let my anger get the best of me. I’ve never -- I don’t know why.” He leaned over the breakfast bar.

Virgil tried to blink away the tears filling his eyes faster than he thought they could.

“I don’t get angry like that. I don’t know why I couldn’t control it.”

“I think we’ve all been feeling a little punchy since the… incident. It’s not your fault.” He wiped his eyes. “We just need to step back and take a breather.”

Patton looked at the floor. “I should clean this up.” Pieces of a broken plate were scattered along the tile.

“Did you break it?” Roman’s voice whispered from beside Virgil.

“Yes. I-I don’t know why. It was just on the counter and I was frustrated and I --” he buried his face in his hands, which pushed up his glasses. “Did you see how he looked at me? I scared him. I could feel it -- he was afraid of me. I made him afraid of me.”

Tears fell down Virgil’s cheeks in a steady stream. He hadn’t cried this hard before or felt such sorrow in his chest. It hurt. It hurt so much and the pain wasn’t even his.

“You’ve never… hit him before. Have you?” Despite the tears, Roman managed to look concerned. Maybe even a little scared himself.

“No!” Patton dropped his hands, glasses falling in place, and looked at them with wide eyes. His cheeks glistened with tears. “No, I would never.” He frowned back down at the broken plate. “But I guess it doesn’t really seem that way, does it? I promise I never have. This is the first time I’ve ever done something like this.”

“It just kinda seemed like…”

“Like he expected me to hit him?” Patton spared a glance up at them. Somehow, the weight on Virgil’s shoulders became heavier. “Maybe he did. I don’t think I stirred up any pleasant memories.”

Roman stiffened.

Virgil took note of it but decided it wouldn’t be the best time to bring it up. “I’ll help you clean up, Pat.” He didn’t leave any room for arguments.

After that, Virgil didn’t see Logan. Not until much later.

Virgil had managed to fall asleep at a reasonable time for once. He spent a good portion of the day engulfed in guilt and tears trying to calm Patton down. The crying stopped eventually but the guilt didn't go away. It was so heavy for a feeling that wasn't even his. It weighed down his chest and clung to him like an annoying bug that wouldn't go away. So yeah he was kind of exhausted.

He woke up because he needed water. Which is always the worst way to wake up. Before rolling out of bed to quench the dry desert that was his mouth, he checked the time on his phone. Two in the morning. Wonderful.

That wasn't annoying at all.

He shuffled out the door and was confused to see light. His first thought was Thomas, but even if it was him, it would be brighter. This seemed like it was coming from the TV alone. Who else would it be? Roman didn't ever leave his room at night, and Patton and Logan could barely stay up past midnight. It still had to be one of them. Unless someone broke in to watch TV for the night.

Deciding that was a slim but possible scenario to Virgil's sleepy brain, he tip-toed down the hall. It became clear soon enough that there wasn't anything to worry about. At least not in an intruder sense. Logan sat with his legs pulled onto the sofa, his glasses perched on his nose and his head resting on his knees.

"Are you watching Beetlejuice?" Virgil whispered. He didn't know why that was the one detail his brain latched on to. It was two AM and he woke up a minute ago. Don't judge him.

Logan lifted his head to look in Virgil's direction. "It happened to be on," he whispered right back. "What are you doing up?"

"I came to get water," he shuffled into the kitchen, "but now I think I might stay for Beetlejuice." He poured himself a glass of water before making his way to the armchair. He didn't miss much. Barbara and Adam just discovered The Handbook for the Recently Deceased. "I didn't think this would be the kind of movie you were into."

"I find it charming." Logan put his head back down. "The character designs are interesting and the story is unique."

Yeah, it was pretty great. Plus the music was by Danny Elfman. That always made movies twenty times better. "I used to watch this all the time when I was a kid." He stared down into the glass, swirling the water a bit. "That, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. I think I had both of them memorized at one point."

"What about Edward Scissorhands?"

Virgil almost choked on his water in an attempt to respond fast enough. "That one actually scared me -- and it was sad. So I never wanted to watch it. I've only seen it a handful of times."

Logan hummed. "It's certainly not the most pleasant story."

It wasn't the happiest, no. Rather depressing and bittersweet. Virgil set down his glass on the coffee table. "So do you often watch Tim Burton movies in the middle of the night or is this a new tradition I'm unaware of?"

"I just couldn't sleep." His eyes stayed trained on the TV. "I figured a distraction would help. Or at least force me to stay awake until I can't keep my eyes open anymore."

Ah, yes, Virgil was familiar with those tactics. "Would you rather do that alone?"

Logan somehow appeared smaller than he did before. "Not really."

Oof. That didn’t feel nice in the chest area. “Bet you five bucks I can still recite the movie.”

Logan’s eyes flicked over to him and a small smirk spread across his face. “Bet you five bucks I could actually do it.”

“Alright. You’re on, old man.”

Turned out, they could both do it. But that made things more fun. They ended up assigning themselves lines for the main characters and went back and forth on lines for the minor characters. Virgil had Lydia (obviously), Barbara, and Charles. Which left Logan with Beetlejuice, Adam, and Delia. They couldn’t get through the scene where Beetlejuice tried to marry Lydia, however. By that point, they started laughing and it was downhill from there.

They each tried to stifle their laughter, which of course, made them laugh more. Virgil had to admit that Logan’s laughter was contagious. It was light and airy and made him smile. Not that he’d admit that. He’d also never admit to being happy for getting Logan to laugh in the first place. That was no one else’s business but his own.

“Okay, that was fun, but I think I’m gonna go back to bed now,” Virgil said as the credits started to roll. He stood up and stretched.

“I think I will, too.” Logan began to search around for wherever he left the remote.

Great. “Sounds like a plan. Night, L.”

Logan froze. “What was that?”

Virgil stopped and looked back. “Uh, ‘night, L’?” He furrowed his brows. “Do you not want me to call you that?” He was too tired to decipher the weirdness going on.

Logan stared at him before seeming to remember that words needed to be spoken. “No, I-I don’t… It’s just that someone else used to call me that. A long time ago.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Feel free to call me that if you wish. Goodnight, Virgil.”

The next time Virgil woke up it was because he heard “Helena” by My Chemical Romance playing in the kitchen. Of fucking course he had to fling himself out of bed to see who was listening. He stumbled onto Patton quietly singing along while he made breakfast. Well, that was a bit unexpected.

“You listen to My Chemical Romance?” Virgil was sure he stood far enough away.

Patton stopped singing and fumbled with the fork in his hand. “No,” he rushed out. He paused the music before turning to Virgil. “How do you always manage to sneak up on me?”

Virgil shrugged. He decided to enter the kitchen since the risk of injury had passed. “Does Picani listen to My Chemical Romance, then?”

“Picani listens to everything.” Patton unlocked the phone before tossing it to Virgil. “When you live a long time it’s kind of difficult to stick to just one genre of music. There’s more of it every decade.” He turned back to mixing pancake batter.

To say that Picani’s playlists were impressive was a bit of an understatement. Each decade had its own playlist. There was such a diverse array of music that Virgil was kind of jealous that he didn’t know half as many songs. Though he noticed an odd skip in years. There were a few from the 40s but then it went straight to the 70s. No 50s or 60s music at all. “Not a fan of early rock?” If Virgil remembered correctly, some of Thomas’s favorite music was from that time period. It didn’t make sense for Picani not to have it.

“What?” Patton almost dropped the bowl this time.

“You’re missing two decades.” Virgil shook the phone for emphasis. “No Elvis? The Beatles? Johnny Cash?”

“Oh, uh,” Patton focused on the bowl, “we don’t really like listening to that music anymore. It reminds us a little too much of someone.” He paused and frowned at the bowl for a moment before smiling up at Virgil. “But we’re working on it.”

Virgil had a bit of a feeling he knew who he was referring to. To be fair, if Virgil lost his best friend, he didn’t think he’d be able to listen to their favorite kind of music either. “Well, there’s a lot of other songs here. Let’s see how many genres we can flip through.”

And if Logan walked in on them performing “This Is Gospel”, well, he was going to keep that to himself.

When everyone came in for breakfast, Virgil wished he could have said that it was all back normal. To anyone else, it would have seemed normal. But there were little things that were off -- things only the group members would be able to tell. The biggest one being that Logan and Patton weren’t sitting next to each other. It was kind of jarring. It didn’t seem as if they should be separated, yet it was a conscious decision. Logan chose to sit next to Thomas instead.

Clearly, it was something that bothered Patton because he fidgeted with everything more than usual. On the bright side, none of his own feelings spread out to anyone else. Virgil didn’t know how much more tears or guilt he could handle before going crazy.

Regardless; Thomas, Roman, and Virgil tried to carry on conversations. Neither Patton nor Logan said a word the whole time. By the time breakfast was over, they continued to not talk to each other. Or anyone. Which, of course, the other three couldn’t stand for. It was awkward and weird and somehow way too quiet.

But before anyone could do anything about it, Thomas’s phone rang. Because of course it did. It played generic default music that came with the phone.

Thomas gave it a weird look before answering. "You know texting is a thing, right?" He sighed and rolled his eyes so hard Virgil was sure he’d be able to see the inside of his skull. "Hello, Joan, how are you? It's a lovely day, thank you for calling me. It's always great to hear your voice." He shook his head with an amused smile. “What’s up?”

Everyone gathered their plates to put in the sink while Joan responded on the other end.

“Okay, uh, hang on a second.” Thomas took the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. “So what’s going on?”

“I realize this might not be the best time, but I have a bit of a side quest for you guys. If you’re up for it.”

“I don’t appreciate the wording, but continue,” Logan responded.

“Always great to hear your positivity, Logan. Anyway, Talyn and I heard a report of someone with a magical object downtown. We don’t know who or what, but we know they’re hiding in the apartment complex off of Cyprus.”

That’s the same one where Roman lived.

"Is this a time sensitive case?" Patton asked.

"You don't have to do it right at this minute, but -- y'know -- do it. They don't seem like they're going anywhere."

"Is that really all you have?" Thomas sighed -- something closer to a whine, however.

"It was just a tip. People don't like to be descriptive when they're selling someone out."

"Fair enough."

"Good luck, guys. And don't die 'cause that would really be a bummer."

"Wow, thanks." Thomas rolled his eyes again. "Bye Joan." He hung up and turned to the others with a smile. "So we're doing a side quest?"

"I suppose so," Logan answered.

Patton hesitated. "Are you sure you should go? It could be dangerous and you don't have --"

"I can handle myself," Logan snapped, then immediately recoiled. Roman and Thomas shared an uneasy glance. He continued in a calmer voice, "I mean, I will be fine. You don't have to worry about me."

"But --"

"I think he's got it handled," Roman interjected. "And we'll all be there, won't we?"

"Yeah, everything will be fine," Thomas added.

Virgil gazed at them in confusion. It sort of seemed like they were trying to cover up something.

Patton gave them a nervous smile. "Oh, um, okay."

This was nonsense. "Alright before we get to any of that, you two have to talk to each other.” Virgil nudged Patton toward Logan. “Figure things out. If you keep acting this way something is going to go wrong. It hasn’t even been that long and I’m already exhausted by you two." He wasn’t going to stand for it. He may not have been able to prevent it, but he sure as hell was going to do damage control.

After seeing that he was serious (and that Roman and Thomas agreed) Patton decided to give in. He fidgeted with his hands like a little boy trying to approach his crush. “Uh, wanna take a walk?”

Logan studied him up and down. “Sure.”

That was the best thing to happen these last few days.

Roman, Virgil, and Thomas waited for them in the living room. In order to avoid the overwhelming anxiety crushing them, they decided to play some card games. They didn’t know what to expect. Patton reminding Logan about an awful time in his life by imitating the actions he had grown to fear wasn’t something that could be brushed off. It was serious. And as much as they loved each other, forgiveness wasn’t easy.

But it wasn’t something that Roman, Virgil, or Thomas could have an opinion on. It was between Patton and Logan. They needed to decide for themselves what to do.

After three rounds of Speed, two rounds of Bullshit, a round of Go Fish, and far too many rounds of Slapjack; Patton and Logan came back in. Thomas and Roman were a bit too busy agonizing over their loss to notice. Virgil was also a bit busy with their reactions to process their return. It wasn’t until Patton spoke up that they paid attention.

“You boys having fun?” He leaned over the back of the sofa with a soft smile. Logan stayed at his side.

“Apparently Virgil has a hidden talent he didn’t tell us about,” Roman grumbled as he collected all the cards.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Virgil handed him the box.

“He won almost every single round of Slapjack,” Thomas continued with a huff. He placed his head in his hand. “What about you guys? You doing okay?”

“We’re getting there.” He sent a small smile to Logan. There wasn’t any reason to doubt that.

~~~

They all sat in the car staring up at the apartment complex. They didn’t know for sure if there were any Figments still hanging around, so they couldn’t quite waltz in there. There was also the issue of where this person was exactly. They were somewhere inside. And that was all the information that existed.

“Anyone who works with Altair is going to know our faces.” Thomas shifted in the middle seat. “Even if there aren’t any Figments, there could still be someone else.” He frowned out the window. “How are we supposed to get inside without raising any suspicions?”

“We use someone else,” Patton answered as if it was obvious.

“What are you --?” The three in the backseat cried out in alarm upon seeing Joan in the driver’s seat. Logan didn’t appear phased at all.

Virgil put his hands on his chest. “Jesus Christ. Give us a warning before you turn into someone else.”

He smiled sheepishly. The action was so very Patton it was almost unsettling to see it on Joan’s face. “Sorry,” he responded in a perfect imitation of their voice.

“How are you able to do that?” Roman asked. As the shock passed he seemed more fascinated than anything.

“Mimicry. Well -- illusion specifically.”

Thomas leaned forward. “I thought you hated using illusion magic.”

“Oh, I do. But someone has to get inside.” He gazed out the window.

“You didn’t change your eyes.”

Patton returned his gaze back to them. It was true. They were the wrong shade of brown. “I can’t. It’s really hard to do, and I never bothered learning it. Illusion was always my brother’s thing, anyway.”

“He doesn’t have to be a perfect copy,” Logan said, voice more level than normal. “He just has to not be one of us.”

“Exactly.” Patton grinned.

Boy, magic was weird. Virgil didn’t think he’d ever understand it. “Okay, so what’re you gonna do when you get inside?”

“I’m gonna see if there’s anyone we have to worry about, and hopefully find the apartment our mystery person is in. If it’s safe I’ll come get you guys.”

“And if it’s not?” Thomas frowned.

“We’ll figure that out if we get to it.” He left the car without any further remarks.

The group waited for his return. They couldn’t do much of anything else. Thomas and Virgil started a game of Chopsticks which soon became a game of “who-could-lose-less” between Roman and Virgil. Thomas had an absurd amount of tricks for winning. Roman ended up figuring some of them out, leaving Virgil as the Ultimate Loser. Oh, how cruel fate could be.

Logan watched them with the same amusement a father would his children. It could also be that he thought they were idiots, but it was a lot cuter to think about it the other way.

When Patton returned, he slid into the driver’s seat with a sigh. His disguise melted away. “They weren’t there.”

“What?” Thomas asked. “Like they were never there? Or like they just stepped out for a minute?”

“I don’t know. The apartment was completely empty, but the landlord swears up and down that someone was living in it.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “It felt bad in there.”

“What do you mean?” Roman's brows knitted together in confusion.

“I don’t know how to explain it. It just felt… awful. Like misery. Like someone who causes misery.” He frowned. “But I swear I’ve felt that somewhere else before. I just can’t seem to remember where.” His eyes flicked over to Logan, studying him as if that would help him remember.

“If you felt something, that means they were there at some point, right?” Virgil asked. “Is there a way to know if they were there recently?”

“I guess it depends on how strong the emotion is.” He thought about it. “I think we just missed them.”

Thomas let out a puff of air. “Now what do we do?”

“Can you follow them? The emotion, I mean,” Roman inquired. “I feel like that’s a pretty specific one to latch on to.”

“It doesn’t really work like that. It’s not a trail I can follow, it’s more like --” he tried to use his hands to explain -- “like a, a thing. An aura I guess would be the right word for it. Something I can feel around people or where they have a strong attachment. I won’t be able to know where they are unless we were right there with them.”

“So what? We walk around until you can feel them?” Virgil asked somewhat sarcastically.

Patton and Logan shared a glance. Oh no.

That’s what they ended up doing. They parked the car and started their search. Without much to go off of, they sort of picked a random direction and walked. At least it was a nice day out, though not many people were around. A few people wandered by every once in a while, but not a whole lot. The farther they got from the apartment, the fewer people they saw.

They were heading down a street that wasn’t ever all that busy -- even on the best days. The little stores themselves seemed to be empty. This was more barren than normal. It was kind of off-putting. Virgil wanted to mention it, but he noticed the trio in front of him come to a halt.

Patton winced at the same time Logan and Thomas hissed in pain.

“You guys okay?” Virgil stopped in his tracks.

“Fine,” Logan muttered as he rubbed the center of his chest.

“What was that? Why did it feel -- can something feel evil? Is that a thing that can happen? That seems really cliche, I can’t believe that’s a real thing I just felt.” Thomas’s expression turned sour. He smacked his lips together. “My mouth tastes bitter.”

“That was magic.” Patton exchanged a troubled look with Logan. “Someone wants us to find them.”

“Uh, do people normally walk into foreclosed buildings like that?” Roman pointed across the street as someone slipped through the door of an abandoned store. “If not I think we might have found our person.”

Virgil sighed in defeat. “Of course it’s another abandoned place.”

Patton and Logan led the group across the street. The store, thank God, didn’t seem as old or musty as the previous places. In fact, it seemed recently abandoned. The foreclosed signs were still stuck to the windows as well as the posters for the “everything must go” sale. It must have been a clothing place before. Inside there were still racks and display shelves -- even a mannequin or two.

And, making their way around without a care, was the person they were looking for. They walked like they didn’t have anywhere better to be. Their steps were slow and random, walking about the store with the purpose of waiting for someone to come in. Heels clicked against the hard floor.

Logan pulled out his sword, making Virgil hyper-aware of the pens still resting in his pockets. “I think it might be best if you hand over what you’re hiding.”

The person stopped in their tracks and sighed. “Always straight to business,” they turned around, “aren’t you, Logan?”

Logan’s sword clattered to the floor. He took several steps back, his wide eyes never leaving the woman before them. “That… that’s not possible. You shouldn’t be here.”

From the sunlight that came in through the windows, they could make out her features clear as day. She appeared to be in her early twenties -- but that wasn't a trustworthy indication. She had straight black hair chopped off in a bob. Lips spread out into a sly smile. For such a petite woman, everything about her was sharp edges. A threatening mantle on an otherwise harmless figure. Her long gray coat did nothing to soften her up. Even her eyes seemed hard.

“Why?” Thomas glanced between Logan and the woman. “What’s wrong?”

Logan didn’t respond. He just stared.

Thomas turned to Patton. “Who is she?”

“She…” Patton visibly struggled for words. He stared at her with almost as much shock as Logan.

“Oh -- what?” The woman's expression evolved into a smirk. “You haven’t told him about little ol’ me? I figured I deserved at least that. After Picani tried to kill me.”

“W-what?” Thomas stared at her in disbelief.

“He wasn’t very good at it, obviously.” She stepped closer. “You decided to just leave me for Altair instead. But you know what? Instead of killing me he offered me something I couldn’t refuse.” Her smirk widened. “A chance to get back at the two of you.”

That caused Patton to snap out of his surprise. “Don’t act like a victim. You know what you did.”

Virgil pulled Thomas behind him. He had a bad feeling that something was about to start up.

The woman let out a gentle gasp and placed a hand on her chest. “But did that elicit such a harsh punishment? Tied up and left for a horrendous death?”

Patton continued to glare at her.

She dropped her offended act. “Fine. I’m not here for you, anyway.” Her gaze turned over to Logan, who still stared at her with wide eyes. “Somehow, everything always comes back to you, doesn’t it? Guess you’re just that irresistible.” She held out her hand toward him. “Do I have your permission?” A sly grin spread across her face with a sick amusement for something that only she seemed to get a kick out of.

Logan didn’t say anything.

“No, you don’t,” Patton snapped. He stood in front of Logan protectively. “You’re not getting anywhere near him.”

The woman pouted. “You gave him up so easily last time. Why is this so different?”

“I learned not to trust you.”

She tsked. “Shame. I thought we could do this the easy way. Ah, well, a job is a job.” She lifted her hand and a ghostly echo of an arm stretched out from under her feet. At the end was a hand with long slender fingers -- a claw more like. With every movement her hand made, the claw followed. It pushed Patton to the side and grabbed Logan, dragging him toward her.

Patton growled, almost animalistic in nature, and a thick column of weeds broke through the concrete floor. It severed the arm in half which caused it to fade out of existence.

Once Logan was free, he sprinted back toward the group. Patton tried to meet him halfway. But two claws halted their progress. One stopped Patton from getting any further while the other pulled Logan back until he stumbled to the woman’s side.

“Can’t have you two getting together.” She wagged her finger. “I remember what happened last time.”

The group felt a flare of anger. “Arlene, I swear --”

“Swear to what? Last time I checked, you didn’t believe in much of anything anymore.” She stared him down, challenging him to start something. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to complete.” She seized Logan’s arm.

And Logan sort of locked up. He didn’t make any attempt to free himself. An automatic panic response to something he probably never wanted to happen again.

A few of the weeds broke loose of the column and shot out toward Arlene. They tore her away from Logan, keeping her pinned down as far away as possible. Logan remained frozen.

“Logan.” Patton ran over to him. “C’mon, we gotta go.” He didn't get to do anything before a claw swatted him back.

Virgil grabbed Roman and Thomas’s wrists and pulled them behind a display shelf. Patton and Arlene were going to play keep-away with Logan at the center. “We have to get Logan out of here,” Virgil said in a low voice. “Those two are going to tear each other apart before they let the other get him.”

“Then what?” Roman wasn’t as crouched down as Thomas and Virgil were. Enough to be hidden, but not totally on the floor.

So having to look up at his worried face was more than Virgil could handle. “Then we run like hell.”

Roman let out a steady stream of air through his mouth. Thomas didn’t say much of anything, but Virgil had a feeling he wouldn’t oppose. They didn't have a lot of options. This was a new kind of threat.

“Oh, there you are.”

The three yelped. They turned to see Arlene edging around the shelves with a wide grin.

“I was wondering where you boys ran off to. It was looking pretty empty.” She lifted her hand, a menacing claw rose with it. Before she could strike, Roman shot up, swinging his katana straight through the claw. They stared at each other in bewilderment. As if neither side could believe that Roman did, in fact, do what he did. Hell, even Virgil was shocked. Impressed, but shocked.

Which meant Thomas had enough time to squeeze by Arlene. He grabbed Logan’s hand and sprinted away.

Arlene scowled. She turned to go after them but Roman stuck his katana in front of her. Virgil stood up, slipping his pens out of his pockets. Arlene scowled further.

Thomas ran to the back section of the store. He pulled Logan out of sight. They stood in a little hallway connecting the two back sections, which couldn’t be seen from the front. That would give them a little time. He hoped. They just needed to figure out an escape route. As far as he could see, there weren’t any other doors than the main entrance. But first thing’s first.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m, I’m fine.” Logan held onto his arms with his fingers digging into his sleeves. “I’m fine.”

That wasn’t very believable. He didn’t look fine at all. It looked like he was ready to break apart at any second. “I have to get you out of here.”

“B-but Patton.”

“Patton will be fine.” He winced when he heard a loud crash from the other room. “Roman and Virgil are with him. We can’t let Arlene get you.”

“I… I don’t want her to.” Logan tightened his grip. “I can’t be with her again.”

Thomas paused, mind processing the absolute fear in Logan’s words, before settling into a resolved composure. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Virgil was going to lose it. He didn’t know if it was Patton’s anger or his own, but he was starting to get really pissed off with this Arlene lady. She wouldn't let up! She had magic that Virgil had yet to see before. It was different. A horrible different. An annoying different.

He and Roman were trapped underneath bent wood. When they broke the shelves, Arlene moved them to make a cage. She separated them from each other, as well. So they couldn’t do much to help the other break out. They were small, cramped spaces. And Virgil wasn't going to stay in there any longer than he had to.

“Why are you doing this now?” Patton shook out his hands. Arlene pulled weeds out of them, creating the equivalent to rope burns. “If all you wanted was ‘revenge’ then why wait?”

“Sometimes you just have to wait for the right moment.” The weeds shriveled up and died in her hand. “Wouldn’t you say that now would be the right moment?” They crumbled into ash, falling to the floor when she opened her palm. She stalked toward Patton. “Picani is gone. Logan is defenseless. And you can’t do anything about it. Without Picani… you’re useless. Aren’t you?”

Patton scowled at her. The air became tense -- almost suffocating. Pure hatred. Unabashed loathing filled the room. A feeling so genuine it wouldn’t be possible to understand unless someone felt it them-self. Then, in a seamless flow of anger, Patton swung at her. No magic this time.

Arlene had no choice but to stumble back. She almost looked surprised. Maybe a bit impressed. But that quickly changed to hatred. Annoyance. Like trying to kill a bug that won’t stay still. She responded to Patton’s actions aptly. Though with every move it became clear that she was nowhere near Patton’s skill set. She wasn’t even near Logan’s.

She didn’t create her own actions. She copied. She didn’t move unless Patton moved first. Unsure. Messy. The type of movements found in people who are out of their comfort zone. And this seemed far, far away from her comfort zone. Virgil could see her start to panic. She needed to do something else. Bring this fight back to where she could win.

“Cesso drahen,” Arlene hissed, venom in every syllable.

Patton stopped. His hands made their way to his chest and throat as he choked. He gasped, eyes going wide as the realization kicked in. He couldn’t breathe. He fell to his knees and heaved -- struggling to get any kind of air.

“Well, that takes care of that, doesn’t it?” Arlene adjusted her coat. “Should’ve done that ninety years ago.”

She turned around and Virgil swung at her as Right had instructed. He managed to slice a small portion of her cheek. As she stepped back, she stared at him in offense more than anything. But instead of blood, as was to be expected, black liquid creeped out. Then the skin around the cut transformed into smoky clouds. It covered the injured area before fading back into her skin. The cut was gone. What the hell…?

Then it clicked.

Virgil took a sharp intake, eyes widening. “You’re a --”

Arlene spat out, “Intercludo ritan,” and Virgil couldn’t move. His whole body became frozen. She put a finger up to her smirking lips. “Let’s keep that between us, shall we?”

Oh, fuck no. She wasn’t real! He had to tell the others. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do anything. He was stuck in this position. It was like every muscle in his body tensed up and he didn’t have the ability to relax them.

“I think I see why they’d want to keep you around.” Arlene gazed at him with mild interest. “You’re a lot like her. You have that same light in your eyes -- the same kind of determination. You’re one and the same.”

“Virgil!” Roman sprinted over. He hovered between Virgil and Arlene as if he didn't know which he wanted to go after more.

“Oh, they have the other one, too.” Arlene glanced between them with a knowing smirk. “The complete set. I guess that means soulmates are real.”

Roman gave her a weird look. “What are you --?” He stopped abruptly when she put a finger to his lips.

She repeated the same words she used on Virgil. She dropped her hand. “Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in a couple hours.” She spared a glance around the room before backing away from them. “You boys stay right where you are. I have a kid to get rid of and a boyfriend to steal.”

No one could stop her from leaving.

Thomas’s head peeked out from behind one of the shelves. He was always told that spoken spells were the strongest magic. He just never realized how accurate it was. He had never felt magic like that before. In fact, he was never able to feel magic at all. Unless it was your own, it was almost undetectable. But this was… ugly.

He felt a pull in him to help them. What could he do? He didn’t have magic and neither did Logan. The one person that did was suffocating in the middle of the floor. There had to be something he could do. He turned to Logan and found him staring hard at the wall with his fingernails digging into his palm. It didn’t seem as if he was completely in the moment. He needed to get out of here.

Thomas grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the exit. There was only so much time before Arlene came back out to look for them. They needed to be gone before then. They crept along as silently as they could, careful to hide behind anything useful.

Then Thomas felt Logan's hand ripped from his own. An icy feeling spread throughout his chest. He spun around to see Arlene there. Logan had his back pressed against the wall from the floor with a claw keeping him in place. They shared a horrified glance.

"Where are you going, sweetie?" She took a step toward Thomas, making him scramble to stand up. "Don't you know it's rude to sneak away like that?" She continued walking toward him.

Thomas took a step back for every step she took forward. He didn't know what to do. She wasn't going to go easy on him. He stepped on debris that caused his foot to roll forward and the rest of him to fall to the ground. He continued to clamber back until he hit something solid.

Arlene stood over him. Like a cat who finally caught the mouse.

"Thomas!" Logan tried to wriggle out from the claw but to no avail.

"Oh, you're Thomas. I've heard so much about you." Arlene smirked down at him and tapped his nose. "You're the runt of the litter, aren't you?"

Thomas kicked her square in the chest. She stumbled back enough for him to get away. He dove straight for Logan's sword still discarded on the floor.

When he held it up, Arlene laughed. "Be careful, little boy. You might hurt yourself with that." Her full attention was on him now, but she still held out her arm to keep Logan in place. "Do you even know how to use it?"

Thomas's hands were trembling. He couldn't hold it steady. He had seen people hold and fight with swords before. He saw Roman practice. He used to watch his father do the same. He saw Logan more times than anyone else. But he himself had never even held one before. No one considered he would need to.

"Why don't we give you some practice?" She lifted her other hand and a claw showed up, ready to strike. "If you can survive this then I'm sure you'll be able to get to me."

Thomas held his breath.

"Wait!" Logan shouted before Arlene could move. "Leave him alone. You just want me, don't you? Isn't that all you're here for?"

Arlene continued to keep the claw raised. "Of course."

"So just take me. Make your job easier and leave with me right now."

Thomas's heart dropped. "Logan --"

"Shh. The adults are talking." Arlene held a finger up. The claw did the same.

Logan didn't look anywhere but at Arlene. "Leave them alone and you can have me. I won't fight you on it. I'm sure Altair would be glad to have this over and done with. The sooner he has elemental magic, the better, right?"

Arlene didn't say anything for a moment. Her eyes had yet to leave Thomas. Then, the claw that had been all too eager to strike, disappeared. Faded out of existence. She snapped and Thomas could practically feel the evil magic disappear from the room. Patton swallowed gulps of air he was now allowed to have. Roman and Virgil fell to the floor at the sudden ability to use their legs again.

"You drive such easy bargains, Logan." Arlene turned and walked back to him. "You're always so willing to throw yourself away if it means saving someone else. If I knew you hadn't changed, this would have made things much easier."

Roman and Virgil struggled to rise to their feet, the magic made their limbs jelly. Patton could barely breathe enough to do anything. Not that it stopped him.

“Logan,” he wheezed out. “Don’t --”

Thomas tightened his grip on the sword.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Pattycake.” The claw around Logan faded. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. “He’s already made up his mind. And he chose me again. Isn’t that --?” She choked on her next words. It might have been a bit hard to continue with a sword in her back. “The little runt has some guts, doesn’t he?” Then she erupted into smoke like every other Figment they had ever seen before. Thomas was able to see Logan stare at him in disbelief.

“She wasn’t real,” Logan whispered.

Thomas didn’t respond. He didn’t know how. He lowered the sword and took a step back for Patton to stumble through. He hesitated before deciding to go check on the two on the floor.

He helped them both up, though they still seemed unsteady.

"Nice save," Roman commented.

Thomas twisted the pommel. He never knew there was a bit of a kick to it as the sword retracted.

"You okay?" Virgil must have seen the look on his face. He was always so concerned about him.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He stared down at the pommel. Logan had been using it for years. It was his first and only sword. Thomas didn't think he'd ever seen anyone else use it before.

"Are you, really?"

"I mean," he looked up. They both stared at him in concern, "I -- I've never had to do that before. I didn’t really want to." He averted his eyes. “I was… I was just scared and mad and -- I don’t know.” He added, almost as an afterthought under his breath, “I didn’t wanna lose anyone else.”

“Thomas,” Virgil put a hand on his shoulder, “she wasn’t real. I know that probably doesn’t make this any easier, but you didn’t kill her. She was already dead. Acting in the heat of the moment doesn’t make you bad. No one’s upset with you here.”

“And think about it,” Roman continued. “Would Arlene really stop any other way? She was pretty willing to take all of us out. I don’t think talking would have gotten us anywhere. You weren’t left with much of a choice.”

Thomas didn’t know what to think. “I guess.”

“Hey,” Virgil squeezed his shoulder, “he’s right. Sure, it’s a bit extreme, but nothing else worked. Sometimes doing the right thing isn’t easy.”

“But how do I know if it was the right thing?”

“We’re all here. We’re all alive.” Roman gave him a gentle smile. “I’d count that as the right thing.”

Thomas couldn’t help but smile back.

Their moment was cut short when they heard the commotion going on with Patton and Logan. Logan was holding onto his arms like a life-line and overall seemed quite frantic. Patton appeared to be trying to calm him down with little success. The three gave each other a look before deciding to approach.

“She’s gone now,” Patton said. “She won’t hurt us again -- she won’t hurt you again.”

“That’s not the point,” Logan exploded. Everyone stared at him in shock. “She acted real. She had all her memories. All of her magic. Altair was able to make an exact replica of her.” He dug his fingers into his arms. “What if he does it again? How can we trust anyone that we meet?”

The other members were stunned into silence.

“I -- I can’t --” Logan’s breathing became erratic. “Patton.” He fell against Patton’s chest.

Patton wrapped his arms around him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He shut his eyes tight.

A warm, soft feeling covered the area like a blanket. And much like a blanket, it was comforting. It was safe. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of as long as it was there. Well… as long as Patton was there. It was fake. Underneath every blanket is a person. And underneath the security was fear. There was panic and uncertainty. If they prodded enough, they’d be able to find it. But no one wanted to. They curled further in the blanket because it was better than being exposed to the cold.

(Next)

[schrijverr]

Somtimes secrets are best left covered

I’m really into Stanford-era Sam and how strange he must have been to his friends. So, I tried my own hand at it.

Sams friends try to get him drunk and get information out of him, but he doesn’t give them much besides dart skills

Ships: none, maybe a bit pre- Jessica x Sam

Warnings: none

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

Sam was a little odd, but his friends chalked that up to a strange childhood with a lot of moving around which was also the only thing they knew about his childhood. You see, Sam was very tight lipped over his family, his nonexistent home and his whole life before Standford. And his friends were curious as fuck, so they hatched a plan: get Sam drunk.

This was of course a great plan in theory, but the execution was harder than expected, because as it turned out Sam was great at holding his liquor. They were already five shots and a few beers in him and the only indicator that he had drank was the small blush on his face. Julian tripped over his words as he asked: “How do you do that man?”

Sam chuckled and said: “Dude, weird ass bars that serve to underage kids were basically my second home next to motels.”

Immediately more ears listen to the conversation, Sam had given them more information than before, maybe the alcohol was getting to him. Julian noticed too and asked further: “Really? How old were you when you had your first drink?”

Sam shrugged and said: “I think around fifteen, but my first time in a bar was when I was ten.”

That got some raised eyebrows and Toby got himself involved in the conversation. He asked: “What were you doing in a bar at age ten?”

Sam shrugged again, but didn’t react any further. That had been enough information for one night. He however continued to drink with his friends and after a couple more rounds his friend were completely shitfaced, save a the two designated drivers. One of which said: “Come on, guys, if we want to be able to afford the bill we need to stop. Lets go.”

“No, no, no, I’ll get us some more money.” that was Sam, now swaying a bit on his feet.

Julian said: “You can’t make money appear, Sam.”

Sam grinned and said: “Watch me.”

Then he walked, or stumbled, over to the dart board where a few scary looking dudes were darting. He put a twenty dollar bill down and slurred: “I feel lucky, who wants to play?”

His friends wanted to stop him, but he waved them away and focused on the guys who took one look at this baby-faced boy who was drunk of his ass and smirked at each other. “Yeah, I’ll play.” a guy said and also put down 20 dollar.

Two other guys followed. Sam smiled at started and, he was terrible. He was way behind and lost his money easily. His friend now really wanted to drag him away, but he shook his head and said: “This one just wasn’t my round, next one will. I feel it! 30 dollar!”

He fished the money out of his pants. The other players rolled their eyes at the boys naivety and put their own money in the pot. Sam lost again and his friend were getting really desperate, but Sam pushed them back again. He told everyone: “Ok, ok, maybe that wasn’t the best. I just need higher stakes, jep, that’s it. Higher stakes and it will be my round, I feel it in my bones.”

He smiled his goofy smile and got 50 dollars out of his pocket. He looked disappointed and quickly turned to his friends and asked: “Does anyone have 100 dollars?”

“No, Sam. Please quit. You need that money to pay for-”

Jessica was cut off by a totally drunk Brady who was so drunk he believed in Sam. He pushed 100 dollars in his hand without question. “Thanks, dude. I’ll pay you back.” Sam said.

He turned back to the group guys and asked: “What do you say? 150 dollar?”

The guys shook their head, but didn’t let the opportunity pass to make some more cash. The three dudes put down their money and a fourth said: “Hell, I’ll risk it.” and put his money down too.

Sam smiled and the game started. Everybody was confused as Sam suddenly became much better and was beating the guys. One grabbed him by the collar after a particularly good throw and suspiciously said: “Were you playing us, boy?”

Sam put on his best confused/scared face and innocently said: “What do you mean? I sobered up a bit, that’s all. I don’t know what’s going on either.”

The guy eyed him for a second, but let him go. A few more throws later and Sam was collecting his money, smiling all the way.

His group was still shocked as they payed their bill and left. When they were outside Julian asked: “When did you get good at that?”

“What? Darts?” Sam smiled, “Me and my brother used to play all the time when my dad left us at bars when he was working. After a while you get good and convince guys like that that they couldn’t possibly lose to two kids. Always nice to have a dollar extra.”

He continued smiling at the memory, but was taken out of it when Jessica and Julian both asked him a question: “You have a brother?” “Why weren’t you good from the beginning then?”

He decided to answer Julians question and ignore Jessicas. “Number one rule of hustling: You gotta lose some money to win a lot. You can’t raise the staked to a 150 when no one knows your skill, that way no one will bite. You gotta take it slow.”

Julian nodded and said: “Nice”, but Jessica was not amused and she asked: “Did your brother teach you that?”

Sam nodded and looked to the sky then he thoughtfully said: “Hope he isn’t dead yet.”

That got Jessica to frown concerned and she softly asked: “What makes you say that? Did he get into a lot of bar fights?”

Sam looked at her and whispered: “Yeah, you could say it’s something like that.”

After that he didn’t say anything anymore and the next morning he pretended that he didn’t remember a thing, but Jessica did and her interest was piqued. She would get to know this Sam better.

[pixelgrotto]

The horrific Resident Evil playthrough, interlude three

Resident Evil’s a franchise that has almost as many spin-offs as it does main games, and when I told a friend several months ago that I was going to attempt a series playthrough, he was like, “Dude, aren’t there thirty of those?” 

Thirty’s an exaggeration, but there are about eleven spin-off games, give or take a bunch of mobile quickies that only came out in Japan. I’m not counting the “big” spin-offs like Code: Veronica or the Revelations titles, because those are essentially mainline releases with pivotal, canon story elements. I’m talking about games like Resident Evil: Survivor, an early PS1 effort that tried to fulfill the series’ first person perspective fetish with clunky results, Resident Evil: Dead Aim, a light gun shooter, and Resident Evil: Outbreak, an online game that let you tag team with buddies to escape Racoon City.

I decided to pick and choose which of these spin-offs I’d sit down to play, since quite a few of ‘em are mediocre, others have components that are now difficult to get running (Outbreak’s online multiplayer) and I just didn’t have the necessary hardware, like a PS2 light gun, to fully enjoy stuff like Dead Aim. (If you want a more comprehensive study of all of these games, then check out Avalanche Reviews’ Resident Evil Retrospective, which he began at around the same time that I started this playthrough.) I finally settled on Resident Evil 1.5, Resident Evil Gaiden, Resident Evil: The Umbrella Chronicles and Resident Evil: The Darkside Chronicles as the ones I was most interesting in experiencing...and honestly, it was a mixed bag. 

Resident Evil 1.5 - This isn’t so much a game as it’s a leaked beta release of what would eventually become Resident Evil 2, and the reason I chose to play this is because it’s famously different from the final product. Thanks to lots of behind-the-scenes development drama, Resident Evil 1.5 (still shown as 2 in my screenshot up there) is an unfinished build that was scrapped and heavily reworked before it became the RE2 that we know today. The differences between this and the final version are stark - the famous Raccoon City Police Station is a modern office building rather than a gothic hall of weird puzzles and art, the enemies include strange foes like zombie gorillas, there was no partner zapping system, and there’s a whole different character available from the get-go named Elza Walker. Elza, initially just a random motorcycle-riding civilian who crashed into the police station during the zombie outbreak, later became Claire Redfield in order to create a connection with Chris Redfield of RE1. I’m kind of fascinated with her, since it’s rare to get a glimpse of a character that was totally revamped during a game’s development, and I mostly ignored Leon to dabble through portions of the playable build with her. I say “dabble” rather than “play” because you can’t exactly finish RE1.5 - all you can do is wander around rooms and use a debug menu to teleport to different spots before giving up and watching a playthrough of someone more experienced do this on YouTube. At the end of the day, RE1.5 is more of a fascinating look behind the curtain than it is an actual game, and the final version of RE2 is definitely superior. It’s no wonder why the devs decided that a drastic revamp was needed, since RE1.5, even in its unfinished state, feels kind of samey to RE1. That said, I remain enamored with Elza Walker and her slick motorcycle suit, and I ain’t the only one, since it’s available as a skin for Claire in the upcoming Resident Evil 2 remake. 

Resident Evil Gaiden - RE Gaiden is a game that got infamously bad reviews upon release, with reviewers crapping on it for not being like the PS1 games. This is kind of unfair in hindsight, because it was released for the darn Game Boy Color, of all systems, and there was no way we were going to get an accurate copy of an experience which originated on hardware that was much more powerful. If anything, it shows how bad gaming journalism was in the early 2000s (you could make the argument that it still is bad, but that’s another story altogether), because honestly...I kinda enjoyed Gaiden? It’s flawed to be sure, but it comes darn close to taking the experience of “survival,” always at the heart of this series, and distilling it down to an 8-bit formula. The setting is a huge ship, just like Resident Evil Revelations (which oddly seems like it borrowed a lot of concepts from this game), and you’ve got to do the usual schtick of running around, collecting ammo and items and dodging zombies. Combat takes place from an RPG-esque first-person perspective that I liked because it struck me as an elegant reminder of Sweet Home, and you’ve got a constantly moving slider bar for each weapon with a key point in the middle that you need to hit in order to accurately fire off a shot. It’s novel but frustrating at times, since advanced weapons have the slider moving so damn fast, and it’s totally possible to end up in a fail state by running out of ammo. You can do this in any Resident Evil game, technically, but it feels more plausible here. Case in point - I got all the way to the final boss and was unable to beat him because I had no bullets. Dang! Still, despite its rough edges, Gaiden feels like a sleeper that didn’t quite deserve the bashing that it got upon release, and for a spin-off designed by a small British studio who had previously only made Mary Kate & Ashley and Tazmanian Devil games, it’s worth a look for people who always wondered what RE would be like in 2D.

Resident Evil: The Umbrella Chronicles/Darkside Chronicles - I’m grouping these Wii rail shooters together because I expected to enjoy ‘em the most, since they contain remixes of the plots of RE1 to Code: Veronica and also new bits of lore, like the actual story of Umbrella’s downfall. (Why Capcom never stuck this in a mainline game and relegated it to a chapter in a Wii spin-off remains one of the company’s more bizarre franchise decisions.) Unfortunately, I couldn’t finish them, because I realized while playing both that...I don’t really like rail shooters very much. I mean, I think stuff like Time Crisis is okay in the arcade, when you’ve got a partner by your side and a physical zapper in your hand. But playing these after the fact and solo via the Dolphin emulator just isn’t as fun, though they are technically well made, for what it’s worth. I think my issue is that rail shooters take nearly all movement away from the player, and to me a vital facet of this series since day one has been exploration, so to be ushered from location to location with not much to do but blast zombies in the head just isn’t very appealing to me. The camera work in both games was also too much for me to handle, particularly in Darkside Chronicles, which has near constant shaky cam and gave me a headache after ten minutes. Overall, I think the new lore is worth checking out, at least via a YouTube collection of all the cutscenes, but I couldn’t bring myself to play these to completion. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, since I found the Time Crisis-style shoot ‘em up sections of RE5 and 6 to be kinda aggravating, but I was hoping to be surprised. This wasn’t the case, and part of me also finds both of these games to be something of a depressing reminder of the Wii era, where just about every major franchise got a gimmicky spin-off designed around the motion controls of Nintendo’s white box. It happened with Soulcalibur, it happened with Dragon Quest, and it happened with Resident Evil. The Umbrella Chronicles and Darkside Chronicles are certainly on a higher tier when it comes to Wii spin-offs, but...I still think they aren’t for me.

And with that, I wrap up this so-so experience of Resident Evil side stories just in time for the big B.O.W. in the room... Resident Evil RE2make releases in two days, and you bet that I’ve got it pre-ordered and ready to load. 

All screenshots taken by me. 

[archangel1023]

PJO Mass Effect Story

Wrote this after coming across @anxiouspineapples pjo mass effect stuff. Took a little bit of creative liberty with it, and I hope you all enjoy! Story starts under the cut.

Commander Annabeth Chase was not new to the Citadel. At this point in her military career, there was little that was new to the Commander. Hero of the Blitz, graduate of the N7 program, highly decorated soldier even before she received the Star of Terra, Spectre candidate, XO of the Normandy, the young Commander had been across the galaxy several times over, and had remained, for the most part, unflappable. Until Eden Prime. In less than an hour, the Commander had lost a long time Alliance Marine, Malcolm Pace, lost her biotic Lou Ellen, picked up Gunnery Chief Zoe Nightshade, recovered the dead body of Spectre Nihlus Kryik, who had been shot in the back by rogue Spectre Luke Castellan, defused several bombs set by said rogue Spectre, and been put into a coma after touching a large metal beacon of sorts that had shown her images that would haunt her nightmares for decades to come.

The N7 marine had her blonde hair pulled back into a short ponytail that fell over the back of her armor’s high collar. Her armor was primarily dark grey, with black accents, an N7 emblem on the right side of her chest, and a stripe of red down her right arm, with a stripe of white on either side all the way down her arm. Her armor was scratched and dented in places, as she hadn’t had a chance to get it repaired since Eden Prime, but it didn’t seem to make a difference to the Commander.

“Nightshade, stay close. This is the Citadel, but I don’t trust these politicians as far as I could throw them.” Annabeth said, and Zoe fell in behind her Commander just as the doors finally opened, and the three soldiers walked out into the council chambers. Annabeth stopped on their way up towards the audience chamber, when she heard Luke’s name mentioned by two C-Sec officers. The higher ranking one walked away, and the three approached the remaining turian, who was rubbing the side of his head in thought.

“Jason, correct?” Annabeth asked, extending a hand to the turian, who nodded and shook it. “Commander Chase. I heard you talking about Luke to your CO there. Just so happens we’re here to meet with the Council about Luke.”

“Yeah, you’re why C-Sec even investigated him. I got assigned the case, but with his Spectre status, I couldn’t find anything of use, it makes him untouchable.” Jason rasped, in a duo tone voice, his mandibles flaring in anger, and the light shining on a thin scar that ran from just above his mouth down to a centimeter or so above his chin. He wore black and blue armor, with a yellow holoscreen projected over his eyes, though even behind it, his eyes scanned Chase and Nightshade like an eagle would survey a threatening predator. “Well, I’ve got to go. I’ll be running down one last lead if you want to help.” The turian walked back towards the elevator, and Commander Chase turned to look at Nightshade, who shrugged.

To say the audience with the Council went poorly would be a bit of an understatement. The Council brought Luke in via hologram, and what little evidence the Alliance had, namely Annabeth’s vision, and her word, was openly laughed at by Luke before he was dismissed. The Council rejected their proposal to strip Luke’s Spectre status, citing lack of evidence, and Commander Chase, Captain Chiron, and Councilor Udina, were sent on their way.

“Commander Chase. I suggest you continue this investigation.” Udina said, as the three of them reached the bottom of the steps, and were joined by Nightshade.

“I had every intention of doing just that, Ambassador.” Annabeth said, noting Chiron’s prideful smile at those words.

“Well, when you do, do stop and talk to Officer Harkin. He can put you in touch with the C-Sec officer in charge of their investigation into Luke.” Udina suggested, and left when Annabeth nodded her understanding. As the Ambassador left, Chiron took his place in front of the Commander.

“Be careful, Commander, Harkin is, well, a disgrace to his species. Last I heard, he was suspended for drinking on the job. If you get the chance, go talk to Barla Von. He works for the Shadow Broker, and will likely be able to help, should you be able to pay the price. Good luck, Chase.” He said, and Annabeth shook the hand he extended, starting to walk away, but stopped several feet away when Chiron spoke up again.

“Oh, and Commander, I already have a human biotic I’d like you to work with. I think you’d do very well together.” She turned and nodded to her CO, and started walking toward the elevator, Zoe barely a step behind the whole time until they stepped in.

“Where are we going, Commander?” The Gunnery Chief asked, and Annabeth looked at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Harkin. Then to Barla Von if we need to. I’m not sure I want to make a deal with the Shadow Broker.” Zoe nodded in understanding, as the elevator opened up not far from Chora’s Den. As they approached they saw a massive Krogan threatening the bouncers, but skirted past, having no interest in dealing with that soon to be mess. Harkin indeed told them of little use, only pointing them towards the Med Clinic in the Wards, where Jason was running down one last lead, evidently. When the two Alliance women approached, they noticed that the door was ajar, and they creeped in. A wall, just taller than Chase’s hips, separated the two women from the doctor and the thugs with her.

“I didn’t tell anyone, I swear!” Dr. Michel said.

“That was smart, doc. Now, if Garrus comes around, you stay smart. Keep your mouth shut” One of the men said, before noticing Shepard, drawing his pistol, and grabbing Dr. Michel.

“Who are you?” He yelled, pointing his gun at the Commander.

“Let her go.” She replied, and the two women drew their own pistols, pointing them at the man. Meanwhile, Jason crept around the corner and fired, dropping the man holding Dr. Michel to the ground with a hole in the side of his head. Annabeth and Zoe quickly fired and dropped the other three thugs in the room with several shots, before walking over to join Jason and Dr. Michel.

“Good timing. I was able to get a clear shot off onto him.” Jason said.

“Clean shooting on your part as well. I don’t think Dr. Michel was in any real danger there.” She said, and Jason didn’t so much as twitch.

“Well, everyone gets lucky sometimes. Dr. Michel, you’re alright?” He asked, turning to look at the doctor in question.

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” She replied, and Annabeth turned to look at the doctor as well.

“Why were they threatening you? Who do they work for?” The Commander asked.

“They work for Fist. They wanted to shut me up, keep me from telling Garrus about the quarian.” She answered. “A few days ago, a quarian came into my office. They had been shot, but wouldn’t tell me who did it. I could tell she was scared, probably on the run. They asked me about the Shadow Broker. They wanted to trade information in exchange for a safe place to hide.

“So I put them in contact with Fist. He’s an agent for the Shadow Broker.” The doctor continued, and Jason’s mandibles flared.

“Something wrong?” Annabeth asked.

“Fist doesn’t work for the Shadow Broker anymore. He’s with Saren, and the Shadow Broker isn’t happy about it from what I’ve heard.” He said, and Dr. Michel looked at the turian in shock.

“He betrayed the Shadow Broker? That’s stupid, even for Fist. He must have gotten quite the offer.” Annabeth looked at the doctor with interest at those words.

“That quarian has something that Luke wants. Something that’s worth crossing the Shadow Broker to get.” The commander mused. “Can you tell me anything else about the quarian, what they were trying to trade, maybe?” The doctor scratched her head, looking puzzled for a minute before her expression cleared.

“Yes, actually, the quarian mentioned something about the geth!” She exclaimed, and Jason’s head whipped to look at Commander Chase.

“The quarian must be able to link Luke to the geth. If we could get that evidence, the council couldn’t ignore it!” Jason looked about as happy as a turian could be.

“Well, let’s get going then.” Annabeth said, walking towards the door of the infirmary, but she stopped when she noticed only Zoe was with her.

“What are you doing soldier? Catch up.” She barked, and Jason’s mandibles flared as he jogged over to join them.

“You know, the Shadow Broker sent a krogan mercenary after Fist. We might benefit from her help.” Jason said, as they walked out. Annabeth nodded.

“Where would she be?” The commander asked, as they loaded into the elevator.

“C-sec offices. Heard over the radio that they dragged her down there for a scene she started outside Fist’s bar, Chora’s Den.” He answered, and Annabeth punched the button.

“Humans working with turians, a rare pairing.” Jason mentioned, and Annabeth nodded.

“A criminally rare team. The Normandy was designed and built by a team of human and turian engineers, and it’s arguably the best ship in the galaxy.” Annabeth said, and Jason hummed his assent.

“A shame not everyone shares your opinion, Commander.” Jason responded.

“Well, some of us have good reason.” Zoe muttered, and Jason looked at her.

“Care to repeat that?” He asked, and she glared at him.

“All I’m saying is, some of us remember the First Contact War better than others.” She shot back at him, and she glared at him for a few seconds while he searched her face.

“So you’re General Nightshade’s granddaughter. He made the right decision at Shanxi, saved a lot of lives on both sides.” Jason said, his dual-toned voice level, and his eyes filled with respect. Zoe merely curled her lip in a snarl and looked back towards the elevator door as it opened. Not far from the elevator was a massive krogan in black and grey armor, which was scarred many times over by long dead enemies. The Krogan was face to face with a C-Sec officer.

“Do you want me to arrest you, Wrex?” The officer asked, leaning in in what he likely thought was a threatening manner, but the krogan just laughed at him.

“I would like to see you try.” He said, leaning in to loom over the much smaller human, who had to take a step back to still be able to look at him. Wrex, however, noticed the approach of Annabeth, Jason, and Zoe, and pushed past the officer, shoulder checking him in the process.

“Who are you three?” He asked, towering over all but Jason, who was maybe half a head shorter than the behemoth.

“I’m Commander Annabeth Chase of the Normandy, this is Gunnery Chief Zoe Nightshade, and Citadel Security Officer Jason Grace. We heard you’re looking for Fist.” Commander Chase said, and Wrex shook his head.

“I know where Fist is. I was just about to bust into Chora’s Den and kill him before these C-Sec flunkies showed up.” He shot a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the human officer he’d been arguing with before, and the two turian officers with him.

“He knows you’re coming. We stand a better chance of killing Fist working together.” Jason said, and Wrex looked at him with what passed for a rueful smile on a krogan.

“The krogan have a saying: ‘Seek the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend.’” Wrex said, and Commander chase smiled.

“I like that saying. I think we’ll get along just fine, Wrex.” Annabeth said, extending a hand that Wrex grasped in a firm handshake. The krogan led them through the Wards to the rapid transport, from where Annabeth flew the four of them to Chora’s den. The door was unguarded, but Annabeth had Jason and Zoe back up and cover the door as she walked up to it. Commander Chase smacked the button to open the door, and immediately the bartender turned to shoot at her, but was dropped by two shots to the chest, and he slumped behind the bar without a sound.

Barely a second later, Annabeth threw a grenade in, and when the explosion went off, Wrex went charging in to the right, smashing through an overturned table, picking up a gunman, slamming him into the ground, and unloading a shotgun shell into his chest. Annabeth dropped another gunman who aimed at Wrex with shot from her rifle before turning to the left through the doorway, and dropping another one. A concussive blast signalled Wrex launching one more clear across the bar to slam into the wall with a crunch, where he slid to the ground and didn’t move. A thug standing above the bar tried to fire down on Commander Chase, but was dropped instantly by a clean shot from Jason’s sniper rifle, and Zoe rounded the central bar to unload half a magazine into the last one in the bar, leaving him a bloody mess on the ground.

A Krogan burst through from the back, gunning to slam into Annabeth, but she rolled out of the way, throwing an incinerate into his back, forcing him off balance, and into Wrex, who shoved his shotgun into his gut and fired, the fires from the incinerate slowly dying out. They pushed through to the hallway leading to the back office, where two more thugs were waiting, and though a bullet winged off Commander Chase’s shield, both thugs were down in seconds, and they opened the door to reveal two warehouse workers holding pistols.

“Stop right there! Don’t come any closer!” One of them exclaimed, and Annabeth holstered her pistol, holding her hands up in the air.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you guys. If you leave now, we won’t have to.” She said, and the workers looked at each other before nodding.

“Fuck this. Fist doesn’t pay us enough for this.” The other said, and they left past the group.

“Would have been easier to shoot them.” Wrex mentioned, but Zoe shrugged her shoulders.

“Would have been a waste of ammo.” She said, and Wrex barked a laugh and the four moved on. Fist’s office door opened up in front of them, and the four burst in, only to have to find cover behind some walls almost immediately when they were pinned down with fire from automatic turrets. Annabeth and Garrus popped out from cover just long enough to kill the turrets, which exploded in artistic fashion. Wrex charged forward once the turrets were down to slam shoulder first into Fist, and coming to a dead stop, throwing him back through his desk and into the wall behind it. Fist slumped down to the ground, and started crawling towards the door until Annabeth stepped in front of him, and looked down.

“Wait! Don’t kill me! I surrender!” He cried, staring up at the Commander, who crossed her arms, looking nonplussed.

“That’s a smart move. I’d start talking to, while you’re at it. Where’s the quarian?” She asked, stepping closer to him.

“I don’t know. He’s not here. That’s the truth.” He answered, and Wrex stepped closer, brandishing his shotgun.

“Alright, he’s no use to you now. Let me kill him.” She said, and Fist recoiled.

“Wait! I don’t know where he is now, but I know where you can find him. He isn’t here. Said he’d only deal with the Shadow Broker himself.” He said, and Wrex lowered his shotgun marginally, scoffing.

“Face to face? You’ve got to be joking. Even I was hired through an agent.” Wrex said.

“Yeah, I know. Nobody ever meets the Shadow Broker. Ever. I don’t even know his true identity. But he didn’t know that. I told him I’d set up a meeting. But when he shows up, it’ll be Luke’s men waiting for him.” Annabeth clenched and unclenched her fists.

“Tell me where the meeting is, now.” She stepped up into Fist’s face, and he held his hands up in surrender.

“The back alley by the markets. He’s supposed to be meeting them in a minute or so. You should be able to make it if you hurry.” He barely finished the sentence before Wrex pulled the trigger, blowing him off his feet with the force of the shot.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Jason yelled.

“I don’t leave jobs half done.” Was all he offered up, and Annabeth shook her head.

“I’m not happy with it, but there’s not point arguing it now. We have to save that quarian!” She yelled, and the four sprinted out the door back towards the bar, only to draw to a stop when a shot slammed into Commander Chase’s shields, and she stumbled to a stop, looking for the shooter, only for the thug to drop to a headshot from Jason. Several thugs popped up across the bar, but between the four of them, they were killed easily, and they raced out the door of the club, towards the alley. Up a set of stairs, through a door, and down more stairs, and the Commander and her posse found themselves squaring up against three assassins after the quarian had dropped a grenade at his feet and leaped into cover, blowing the assassins off their feet. A quick few shots took their shields, and then the assassins dropped to normal gunfire easily.

The quarian joined them, emerging from where he had hid, controlling a combat drone during the fight. His suit was maroon, highlighted with burnt orange, and with a burnt orange hood. He walked over the one of the assassins, cursing quietly under his breath.

“That bastard set me up! I knew I couldn’t trust him!” He yelled, angrily kicking one of the dead assassins.

“Are, uh, are you okay?” Commander Chase asked, and the quarian nodded, walking over and extending a hand that Annabeth shook.

“Thanks a ton. I’m Leo’Valdez nar Rayya. I’ve seen your vids.” He said, enthusiastically.

“My… vids?” She asked, tilting her head in confusion, noticing how his hands never quite stopped moving, whether he was just idly playing with his fingers, picking at a loose thread on his suit, or gesturing while he spoke.

“Yeah, your holovids. Well, the Alliance holovids, but you show up in them. Hero of the Blitz! Come recruit and fight for humanity like the paragon of the Alliance! It’s a whole thing.” He said.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” She looked unconvinced. “Anyway, you have some evidence linking Luke Castellan to the Geth?”

“Sure do! But I can’t give it to you here.” He said, looking around suspiciously, or, well, Annabeth assumed it was suspiciously. It’s hard to tell with the mask.

“What about the embassy? Ambassador Udina will want to see it anyway.” Zoe offered, and Leo nodded. Annabeth led them through the maze of back alleys back to a rapid transport station and quickly got them a ride to the embassies.

“You’re not making my life easy, Chase. Firefights in the ward? An all-out assault on Chora’s Den? Do you- Who’s this? A quarian? What’s your game, Chase?” Udina asked, when he turned and noticed the quarian.

“He can help us. He’s got evidence that can link Luke with the Geth. I would have told you that if you hadn’t jumped down my throat the second I showed up.” She shot back, and Udina had the decency to at least look apologetic.

“My mistake Chase, this entire business with Luke has me a bit on edge, I’m sure you can understand.” He said, turning to look at Leo. “Maybe we should just start at the beginning, Mr.-?”

“Leo. Nar Rayya.” The jittery quarian supplied.

“Well, Leo, we don’t see many quarians on the Citadel. What led you to leave the flotilla?” Udina inquired.

“I was on my Pilgrimage when I heard reports of geth activity. Weird, right, since they haven’t left the Veil after they drove my people into exile. Well, I tracked a geth patrol to an abandoned world, waited for one to get separated, then I jumped it, disabled it and extracted it’s memory core.” He said, and Captain Chiron cut in.

“I thought the geth fried their memory cores when they died.” Chiron said, the unspoken question lingering in the air.

“Well, yeah, but if you’re quick, know what to look for, and are more than a little lucky, you can recover some of the data. Most of the data got ‘deep-sixed’ as your engineers would say, but I was able to recover an audio file.” Leo said, and pulled up his omni tool, tapped some buttons, and waited. After a second or two, Luke’s voice came through the speakers of his omni tool.

“Eden Prime was a major victory. The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit.” Luke said, before the audio file cut out.

“That was Luke! That proves he was involved in the attack!” Chiron said, and Udina nodded thoughtfully, chin in his palm.

“He said something about the Conduit. Is that some weapon? Prothean, maybe?” Annabeth suggested, and Leo cut in.

“That actually wasn’t all I got.” He said, and he tapped a few more times on his omni tool.

“And one step closer to the return of the Reapers.” A female voice said.

“Who is that, I don’t recognize that voice.” Udina said, but Commander Chase turned to look at Captain Chiron.

“Who are the Reapers? A new alien species?” She asked, and Leo shook his head.

“Not quite. According to the Geth’s memory core, the Reapers were a hyper-advanced machine race that existed 50,000 years ago. Apparently they hunted the Protheans down until they were completely extinct, and then they vanished. Or, at least, that’s what the Geth believe.” Leo said, but Udina didn’t look convinced.

“Sounds a bit far-fetched.” He said, and Annabeth’s eyes widened as a thought struck her.

“The vision on Eden Prime! That’s what I saw! The Protheans getting wiped out by the Reapers!” She exclaimed.

“The geth revere the Reapers like gods, they view them as the pinnacle of non-organic life. And the geth believe that Luke knows how to bring the Reapers back.” Leo said.

“We have to share this with the Council.” Udina said.

“Will the council even believe us?” Annabeth asked, looking at Udina.

“If nothing else, this proves that Luke is a traitor. We have to tell them.” Udina said.

“What about the quarian?” Wrex asked, and Leo’s gaze snapped to the krogan.

“I have a name! And you saw me in the alley, Commander Chase. I can help. My Pilgrimage will have to wait.” Leo spoke earnestly, and Annabeth had to think about it for a few seconds. Udina and Chiron left during this, the door closing behind them on their way out.

“Fine. I’ll take all the help I can get. Wrex, Zoe, Jason, go to the Normandy.” Annabeth said, leaving the room with Leo in tow. They reached the Council chambers as Udina finished presenting the audio recording to the Council. They subsequently stripped Luke of his Spectre status, identified the other voice as Matriarch Benezia, and argued extensively about the merits of an Alliance hunt for a rogue Spectre, until the Asari Councillor spoke up, and suggested that humanity get a Spectre to replace the one they lost in Luke. The whole event passed in a blur, and Commander Chase found herself walking down the stairs, a strange ringing in her ears, and her head feeling light, like she had simultaneously stood up too fast and gotten blasted by an air horn. When she got to the bottom, she was stopped by Captain Chiron and Ambassador Udina, though she had to shake her head to center herself.

“All the relevant intel will be forwarded to you as soon as possible, Commander.” Ambassador Udina was saying, and Annabeth had to make an effort to focus on his words as a single thought blared through her mind.

‘I’m a Spectre.’

“You’ll need supplies, a ship, of course, and a team.” Udina said, and Annabeth cut him off, her thoughts catching up to the conversation at hand.

“I have a team sir.” She said, and Chiron nodded in understanding.

“Of course, Commander, but you’re still down a biotic. A krogan battlemaster, a quarian engineer, turian sniper, and an Alliance marine is a formidable force to be reckoned with, to be sure, but I have someone in mind who can give your battlemaster a little bit more help on the frontline, and make you and your team that much more effective.” He said, and Annabeth sighed heavily.

“Alright, where are they?” She asked, and Chiron smiled triumphantly.

“He’s in my office right now.” He answered. Annabeth turned to Leo only to find him walking away already.

“See you on the ship, Commander!” The quarian shot over his shoulder as he walked to the elevator, and Annabeth turned back to Chiron.

“Lead the way, sir.”

…

“Before he joined the Alliance, he was part of a gang in New York back on Earth. An incredibly talented biotic, called a prodigy by some, he was fast-tracked for the Vanguard program. He was part of that mess with the thresher maws on Akuze, only survivor if I remember correctly, but after that he got recruited into the N7 program, graduated only a month after you did. Since then, he’s bounced around squads, companies, and divisions, been part of all-out assaults, surgical insertion teams, manhunts, covert ops, black ops, wetworks, you think of it, he’s done it. Most recently joined up with the 12th about a year back, but I managed to convince his CO he was better suited here.” Chiron said, and Annabeth nodded her understanding, looking around idly in the elevator, her grey eyes fixating, at one point, on the red and white stripes going down her right arm, before noticing that she had some thug’s blood splashed across her chest, partially obscuring the N7 insignia there.

“How have I never heard of him?” She asked, and Chiron laughed.

“Well, he has a bit of a problem with authority, and a talent to get on their bad sides faster than anyone I’ve met. The Alliance brass, especially the Rear Admirals like your mother, seem to hate him with a passion. Part of why he’s bounced between squads so often.” He mentioned, and she sighed.

“Just what I need, an insubordinate XO. This will be great.” She groused, and Chiron laughed again.

“You’ll get along quite well, I believe.” He said, and Annabeth managed to look completely unconvinced.

“We’ll see.” She muttered, as the doors of the elevator slid open, and Chiron’s office was revealed. It was spartan, as the Captain rarely used it, so it was hard to miss the tall man with messy black hair wearing minimalist black Special Operations armor, an N7 insignia of his own on the right side of his chest, and the marine division insignia of the 12th still on both pauldrons, which was an eagle with it’s wings spread wide, and claws sank into the top of the Alliance Navy’s sigil. Despite the high collar of the armor, Annabeth could see just the ends of tattoos peaking up behind his ear as he turned to face them. Even with the armor on, it was clear that he was muscular, but not so much that he looked like a walking mountain with armor on.

“Commander Annabeth Chase, it is a pleasure to introduce you to Lieutenant Percy Jackson.” Chiron said, and the man, Percy, approached, a hand extended to Annabeth, who had to crane her neck to see the man who was over a head taller than her.

“I prefer just Percy.” He said, and she does her best to fix with an intimidating gaze, an attempt that worked, evidently, as his green eyes locked with her greys, and he stopped moving.

“Heard you don’t get along well with authority, Jackson.” She said, dead serious, a feeling of dread settling like a rock in her stomach when his gaze hardens.

“I didn’t get along with my past COs because they made the wrong calls.” He said, and she spoke before thinking.

“Like on Akuze?” She shot, and something flashed in his eyes.

“Are you hear to dig into my past, Commander, or do you have something to talk about?” He asked, and she decided to figuratively dig in her heels.

“Are you going to answer my question?” She asked, and watched as he took a few steps back, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Yes, like on Akuze. We landed at the colonization outpost, found noone. I had a bad feeling, said that we should leave, but my CO insisted that we push out, start looking for survivors. Before we made camp, I approached my CO, told him we should leave, that something was seriously wrong, and again, I was ignored. That night, over fifty marines were slaughtered by thresher maws, and only I made it back to the LZ, barely alive. But you already knew about that, didn’t you?” He asked, glaring at her.

“I did.” She said, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as a crackling filled the air, and his hair started to whip in an invisible wind.

“Well? You wanna keep digging? Go into my wetworks history? Maybe the time a few years back when my squad and I fucked up, and the diplomat we were escorting got tossed, and I ended up getting booted from the entire company as a result? Maybe go all the way back to Earth, ask about my time in a gang? I’m dying to know what you’ll ask about next.” Annabeth felt heat rush to her face, and she took several deep breaths to calm herself before she shook her head.

“No, that’s not what I’m here for.” She answered, and watched Percy deflate marginally, his hair falling back down to lay motionless on his head.

“Then what the hell are you here for?” He asked, and she took a second to answer.

“You know Luke Castellan?” She asked and he nodded, noticeably deflated.

“Sure. First Human Spectre. What about him?” He asked, and Annabeth looked at Chiron, who nodded.

“He’s gone rogue. We’re going to hunt him down.” She said, and Percy looked surprised before smiling.

“Always did have a bad feeling about that guy. Reckon we’ve got a shot?” He asked, and Annabeth scoffed.

“Please. You and I are N7, we have another tenured and talented Alliance Marine, a quarian engineer, a turian sharpshooter, and a krogan battlemaster. Luke doesn’t have a chance.” She said, and Percy’s smile widened.

“Alright, I’m in.” He said, leaning down to gather the large duffle at his feet and sling it over his shoulder.

“Then we need to get down to the Normandy.”

…