#the deed (sure let's call it that) had already been done. several times. without anyone's knowledge but theirs

[transingthoseformers]

Actually i love how the two factions were immediately prepared to treat their highest ranking generals like teenagers when they started to act like a pair of overgrown horny teenargers for each other

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

The Bet (Bakugou x reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x female reader Word count: 2,653 Warnings: 18+, orgasm denial, over stimulation Notes: An excellent idea I had one day. I was originally going to send this idea in an ask to @lady-bakuhoe (especially since the idea came from something she said once), but I never got around to it and then realized I could write it for Bakugou’s birthday bash. I hope this is good, this is my second 18+ fic and the first one to actually have vaginal penetration, so I hope I did it justice.

 ~~~

"Bakugou's hot, but he's probably terrible at sex," you said to a friend once.

You were in your workshop. And your friend was free and decided to come around. She was an old classmate from U.A.’s support course. You rarely saw each other since graduating. But whenever you did see her, it was always an enjoyable experience. So it was decided that you would catch up while you were working.

The conversation somehow led to the point where she started pondering how the pro heroes could do the deed. Of course, she mainly mentioned the popular ones. Which led her to mention Bakugou.

"What was that!?" Bakugou came barreling into the room. A vein bulging from his forehead.

Perhaps it would have been best if you remembered that you were finishing up a project for Bakugou. And that he was in the next room waiting for it to be done. You didn’t know him well the first two years in U.A., but the last year you were given the task of inventing something for him. Ever since then, you had taken more jobs for him and became friends of a sort.

It was too late to take your words back now, and you just had to roll with it. Plus, it was the truth.

"I said you'd be terrible at sex."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you could be! How do you know? Last I checked, you still had your v-card."

"Does he really?" Your friend asked, her emotions a combination of shock and amusement.

"Yeah." You laughed.

"Shut up! I'd be the best at it, and you know it!"

"No, I bet you wouldn’t."

"I bet would!"

"Prove it!"

"Fine! Let's settle this right now!"

His words catch you off guard, but you aren't losing to him. "O-okay! As long as you're paying for the hotel room."

You and Bakugou left the room. You looking up a good place on your phone. And your friend sat there, wide eyed, with her mouth gaping.

It went how you expected.

You asked for a room, after having Bakugou’s promise that he'd pay you back. You texted him the room number so he could sneak in from the back without being noticed. Lord knew the media internet would go crazy if they saw pro-hero Dynamite enter a hotel room with some girl. Especially if anyone happened to notice condoms in his pocket. You also made sure to text your friend later and make her promise not to tell anyone.

He was very clearly inexperienced. Jackhammering into you, not even pay attention to your clit. Eventually he did remember that you had to please the other person to be good at sex. But his attempts were clumsy.

You had to remind him to stay quiet several times when his growls got too loud. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he came and struggled to hide his exhaustion. It ended there.

"See, you're terrible at it. Not even close to cumming." You told him. And with that, you left to go get your vibrator.

It was a while until you saw him again. You were called into another city for work, and was just getting back. And it just so happened that you were back when it was Bakugou’s birthday.

Kirishima and a few other classmates from his U.A. days arranged a party at his place, one you were doubtful that Bakugou had agreed to. You were invited, which surprised you, but you accepted. You did your best to converse, but it was difficult when you didn’t know most of them particularly well. You mostly hung around Bakugou.

As evening bled into night, people slowly began leaving. You hadn’t left yet because you, quite frankly, had nothing better to do. Though, you thought it would be nice if you could catch up with Bakugou alone.

The conversation was fairly mundane. Work, news. At least both of your workplaces were fairly interesting. He had the usual angry bite to his voice, but you expected it of him at this point. You were asking him about how the improvement you finished for him was working out, when he had a faraway look in his eyes. His cheeks had turned a red color. You asked him what he was thinking about.

"We still haven't settled our bet!" He said.

"What?"

"Our bet! You said I was bad at sex!"

"This again? I thought we settled it. And, as I said, you were bad at it."

"No! That was just a fluke! We're gonna do it again!"

You let out a sigh. "Nothing's going to change. We already did it once and know the answer."

"You're just saying that because you're afraid you're going to lose." He pointed at you.

That was it.

"No," you glared, "I'm not."

"Then what's stopping you!?"

"Nothing!" You stood up. "Where’s the bedroom?"

With a smirk, he pointed with his thumb.

How did you get yourself into this? Well, you said you didn’t have anything better to do.

You confidently strode over to the bed. Throwing the bottom half of your clothes off, you got onto the mattress and waited. He wasted no time in undoing his belt with a quick jingle, and climbed over you. You felt the bed dip under your combined weight as he ran a finger against your folds.

He pushed one finger into your hole. Last time he had just tried to shove his length in, which is why his new behavior confused you. Though you didn’t dwell on it. Your tight walls clamped down on his finger as he added a second one. You hissed at the stretch. He shoved them in and out of you, knuckles deep. His fingers brushed against your sensitive spot. You bit your lip in an attempt to not buck into his fingers.

"Everything alright?"

The words alone would have made you believe he was genuinely concerned. But you saw his face, his smirk. His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah, of course. Just waiting for you to actually be good at this," you retorted.

Your comment didn’t seem to have any effect on his ego. He twisted his digits around, until they brushed against a spot that almost made you lose your composure.

You hoped he didn't notice, but he must have, because he applied more pressure to it. The sheets bunched up in your hands as you grasped at anything to stop the moan that threatened to escape from your throat.

Your breaths became labored and inconsistent. To your embarrassment, you could hear the wet slide of his finger that came out only to hit the spot once more. A pressure built up inside of you, begging to be released the more intense it became.

A long whine escaped from you, still heard even with your mouth closed. Your thoughts blurred. You were close. You tried to resist at first, but was slowly surrendering.

Almost as soon as you had come to accept it, it stopped. Your heart rate quickened as if facing a fatal misfortune.

"What? You weren’t going to cum if I'm bad at sex, right? Or do you want to be wrong?"

No. Your pride was on the line and you weren’t losing.

He got on top of you. You sunk further into the mattress with his arms caging you in. You could smell yourself on his fingers. He tugged down his pants and boxers, finally releasing his cock from its confines.

You pursed your lips at seeing how large it was. You didn’t think you'd see it again after the first time. The blond ripped a condom out of the crinkling plastic and put it on.

He ran the tip along your slit. It pushed against your clit. You grasped the covers and bit your lip to conceal a whine. Collecting your arousal. This was different from last time. He just stuck it in.

He was taking so long to just stick it in! Your hole clenched around nothing in anticipation. It was almost like he was being slow on purpose. Making you desperate for him after you challenged him.

You must have accidentally shown some of your frustration on your face. He leaned in with a smirk. His breath fanning your warm face as his tip pushed even harder against your sensitive bud. You let out a gasp.

"What's wrong, princess?" He said mockingly. Enjoying your pain. God, you wished you could punch him.

"Nothing, just wonder when y--" he suddenly pushed into you, not even letting you finish.

Your mouth gaped open and eyes widened, feeling him invade your pussy. His smirk grew and he repositioned himself. His mouth was at your neck. You could feel his sharp breaths on you.

"You can't handle my cock when I haven't even moved yet?" His growls vibrated against your skin. "Need me to stay still even longer?"

You couldn't let him win. You were never going to give him that satisfaction. "No," you lied.

You regretted it immediately. His length started pistoning in and out of you. So fast you almost lost yourself.

His hips slightly adjusted their thrusts. Confusion began to show on your face until it twisted back into shocked pleasure when he hit that perfect spot. You couldn’t stop a moan from tumbling out of your mouth. That little ba-

"Ah-hh!" He kept hitting it at an unforgiving pace.

“Heh. You’re enjoying it this much already?”

“No--” you were cut off by a moan escaping your throat. “God, right there.”

You could feel him grin as he began biting your neck. Licking, and teasing where you were most sensitive. All the while, he moved a hand down to your neglected clit. He rubbed circular motions into it. A small moan tumbled out of you.

You could feel it, a heat intensifying again. A lot faster after being edged the first time. It was coming. You were going to cum. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you were so close.

He must have been able to tell. Because he slowed. Oh, he slowed to a painful pace. Your eyes went wide in panic.

"What are you doing?! Why did you--?" One quick thrust interrupted you before slowing again. You were hating this new habit of his.

"Nothing. Just not letting you cum until you beg for it. So beg."

You shook your head. You were dripping. Your primal instincts screaming at you. But you had enough wits about you to not sacrifice your dignity.

He shrugged, the slightest bit of irritation in his face. "Suit yourself."

He continued at the same, slow, painful pace. You withheld a whine of quickly losing the promise of a release. Gradually he began going faster. Consistent, quick claps filled the room once more. You twisted the soft sheets in your hand. Trying to hide how quickly the pressure was built up again.

He was making an absolute mess out of your pussy and of you.

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to get fucked real good.” His pace was relentless. Words couldn’t even form in your head from the overstimulation.

Almost there. Almost- then any sort of stimulation stopped again.

You felt like crying. No, you were crying. Desperate to meet your end. Your attempts to be subtle while helpless grinding on his cock was pathetic. And you knew it.

He let you fall from your high, only to build you back up again. Your body writhing, feeling every cell in your body overheating.

"What's wrong? Need me to make you feel good? Need me to finish you off? That's right! You need me right now. Me and my cock."

Your mind was too clouded to even create a witty response. He wasn't this good last time! What happened?

Your eyes went wide at this realization. "How are you--?"

"I did my research."

"I thought Midoriya was the only one who would- ah-h!"

"Don't," he gave an extra hard thrust, hitting your cervix, "say his name. I should be," he pounded into you at every word like a punctuation, "the only person you can even think of right now."

You frantically nodded, completely forgetting about the competition you had made this out to be.

A strong arm wrapped around you, holding you against him. He grinned while staring at your face, contorting in pleasure.

You let out a long whine, combined with a sob. "Please," you said, forgetting everything. Screw your dignity and pride. You couldn’t take this anymore.

"Please what?" He teased, savoring the victory on his tongue.

"Please," you mindlessly babbled. Tears rolled down your face as your resolve shattered, "please let me cum. Please. Please. Please."

"Well, all you had to do was ask." He hit the perfect spot in you. Over and over again, while rolling your clit between his fingers.

Almost instantly, it all returned and you felt yourself gushing all over him. Relief and euphoria flooding through you. He kept thrusting into you during your orgasm, making your brain spark and sputter.

As you started to come down from your high, was when he came undone. He grunted and gave one shove to the hilt, creating a large wet slap.

He slumped over somewhat, having lost his rigid energy from before. He pulled out of you. Your own liquid running out and making your skin sensitive to the air. Your breaths were still deep. You tried to pull yourself together as quickly as you could and started to sit up.

"No way, sister." He pushed you back down by your shoulders. He threw the used condom to the side and put a new one on in a fluid motion. He was already hard again… "We're not done yet."

He pushed calculated thrusts into your sopping pussy. Continuing at a pace only a hero could so short after cummimg. His strong hands clamped down on your hip, letting him roll into you more easily. Constant pressure to your g-spot made your eyelids flutter.

It built up and snapped all over again. You moaned out gibberish deliriously. Waves of pleasure washing over you becoming harder to stand.

He showed no sign of stopping. Angling himself to ram into that spot mercilessly. He adjusts his hand to allow his thumb access to your clit. He lifted up your shirt and bra and leaned down to lick and nibble at your breasts. You tried to pull away, the overstimulation being too much, but he held you down.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Body heating up so much you thought you would catch fire. He shoved you over the edge once again. And again. Reminding you of a computer stalling, only to perform the action you wanted far too many times.

His face was twisted in a determined concentration before it finally relaxed in a groan. Finally he came again. He let out a long sigh before letting himself fall on the bed next to you, sweat glistening on his toned body.

You both lay there. Recovering your energy, trying not to give into exhaustion demands to fall asleep. Apparently it took more out of him than he let on. You tried to ignore how wet you felt.

You breathed heavily. Trying to catch your breath. "That was… better."

"Better? Do you know how many times you came?"

"Yeah. But, just," you took a deep breath every word, "not sure. I would have to try again, to really know. It could have been a fluke." You were too tired to even acknowledge your pathetic argument.

"There’s no way it could have been a fluke!"

"It was the last time, according to you. Why can't it be one again." Trying to remember you schedule was getting easier as you came down, but was still hard. "I'm busy tomorrow. Next week?"

"Three days from now."

"Deal."

But you would only have to wait for two.

[plus-size-reader]

Sport

Billy Loomis x Plus size!reader x Stu Macher x Plus!size reader

Word Count: 1871 words

Warnings: Usual horror warning stuff. 

Summary: The reader starting a friendship with Casey Becker for a bit in order to start off the whole murder thing

—————————————————————————————————

You never really wanted to be her friend.

There was nothing wrong with Casey Becker, of course, but you didn’t care too much for anyone in Woodsboro. Aside from Billy and Stu, you sort of saw the rest of them as a sort of inconvenience, but that didn’t mean you weren’t a team player.

The plan you and your boys were taking on was nearly a year in the making, and whatever it was you had to do to make it go off without a hitch, you would do. Even if that meant playing nice with someone you couldn’t have found more dull.

Which was exactly why you were here in the first place.

You each had a role to play in this whole thing. Billy had a handle on Sydney, Stu managed most of the business with Tatum, and you were in charge of figuring out everything with Casey Becker.

To start off a murder spree like you had planned, you couldn’t just jump right into it with the main focus of your anger, or so Billy had informed you. This all had to go according to his plan and to lead up to the main event, and Casey was the perfect ice breaker.

Stu hated her, Billy hated everyone, and it didn’t hurt that Steve Oris had been added in there at some point, who made you increasingly uncomfortable.

It just worked out that way, but you had to find a way to get in and get information, which they guys just couldn’t get. Billy approaching her out of nowhere would be too suspicious, and she and Stu didn’t get along.

That was why it had to be you.

After Marleen Prescott’s death, you had plenty of time to get on her good side without putting yourself in a place where you would ever be a suspect. If nothing else, after the deed was done, you could play the heartbroken best friend.

No one would ever put the pieces together, but you got all you needed. Casey trusted you, she cared about you, and that meant you knew everything that was going on in her life. That included, among quite a bit of other crap, when her parents would be home, when they wouldn’t, and what she would be doing with Steve.

She never had a prayer, not after you started that conversation with her at school.

...And after all this time, tonight was the night.

You made your way to the house, as you had pretty often at this point in your friendship without anything out of the ordinary. Anyone looking in would have just seen two best friends, ready to hang out and have a good time, though the truth was far more sinister.

Somewhere, headed this way was Steve Oris undoubtedly going to meet up with Stu and Billy before getting anywhere near his girlfriend tonight.

Not that you were going to get off easy just because time was ticking down for them. You still had to finish this whole thing out strong, even if there was a little bit of wiggle room.

No matter what happened, Casey wasn’t getting out of her alive, but just because you could loosen up a little didn’t mean you could be reckless. You still had plenty of time to kill, and the night was far from over.

After all, you had just knocked on her front door.

“Open the door” you called, knocking a few times on her front door. You were friends, best friends in her eyes, but you had become so in the perfect way.

No one would even know you were here, with the only person familiar with you being Casey, who wouldn’t live to incriminate you.

“I thought I told you that Steve and I were hanging out tonight, I’m just waiting for him to get here” she hummed, opening the door with an almost apologetic look on her face. She had told you, of course, but you didn’t care.

You knew something that she didn’t.

“I’ll just keep you company till he shows up, besides, I brought ice cream” you tried, presenting the bag to her as proof that you had really just come to hang out with her. It was her all time favorite flavor, cookies and cream, which you knew she couldn’t turn down.

So, she let you in.

You followed her into the house, closing the door behind you, though you decided to leave it unlocked. It was a casual action, one that the blonde didn’t even notice as she made her way into the kitchen, intent on putting on some popcorn.

She still had a movie night planned with Steve, after all.

You were casual as you moved through the foyer of the house, just barely catching a glimpse of Billy in one of the far windows. Clearly, Steve would be a little preoccupied, or at least, far too busy for popcorn, .

“I guess I should just put the ice cream in the freezer” you decided, talking more to yourself than anything as you passed behind her, opening the door casually. You had been here enough times before to know what you were doing.

In fact, you were almost sure that not even Casey knew this house as well as you did. You had been doing extensive research over it, all these months, keeping track of what was where and who would be in the house on certain nights of the week.

You were good at this, lying and all that.

So good that you didn’t even flinch when you heard the phone start ringing on the hook, which Casey was quick to retrieve all the way in the living room. All you could do was stand still for a moment, doing your best to listen in to figure out who was on the other line.

She spoke for a few moments before hanging up, and when it rang a second time, you knew for sure who it was.

It was happening.

There was a noticeable change in the space after she picked the phone up a second time, with the air growing more and more still with each breath she took. Clearly, something was wrong and while you briefly considered to act concerned, you abandoned that quickly.

Keeping up appearances wouldn’t matter now.

“Boo”

The blonde jumped, understandably given the circumstances, when you spoke behind her. Between the things Billy was muttering through the phone and the fact that Steve still wasn’t here, she was stressing herself out.

“Who’s on the phone?” you mouthed, holding your hand up to your face like a mock phone. Something had changed in your demeanor since how you were before and this moment but she didn’t even have time to process it.

Too much was happening at once.

When she didn’t answer, you couldn’t help but sigh, plopping down against the armchair in her living room. After all this time, this was what you were doing this for? You just had to sit back and watch her pace around.

It was hardly the excitement Billy had promised you.

Gingerly, you leaned back to stretch the muscles in your back, your arms over your head for a moment. Glancing behind you, there was just enough of the patio visible to you for you to catch a bit of something there in the darkness but you couldn’t make it out.

Not that you had to be a rocket scientist to figure it out.

By the time Casey caught on though, there was screaming and begging and freaking out going on which made it a little difficult to relax.

“We have to get out of here” she decided, under her breath, the sicko on the phone still occupying most of her attention. The blonde was in a full panic, and had yet to connect the dots, fairly assuming you had no part in this.

Though, as soon as she said it, Casey noticed that you didn’t seem even a bit concerned by what was happening.

Something was wrong with you.

All at once, she went through several possibilities. She thought that maybe you were in shock, still a little lost over what was going down over the phone, or that maybe you just weren’t the kind to panic.

...but the truth was obvious.

You clearly weren’t surprised by this.

Then, before she could really come to any real conclusion, you grinned, standing from your place and walking across the room. You didn’t stop until you reached the patio doors, allowing yourself to gaze out into the darkness for a moment before flicking on the light.

Billy was still spouting horrors into her ear, but the girl could only focus on you, trying to figure out what was happening. Though, she didn’t get very far before even more panic set in. Evidently, he’d asked her his first question, and she’d gotten it wrong.

Of course she had.

All in all, it was a trick. Stu had come up with it, knowing that only real horror buffs like the three of you could really answer it. The added panic only served to guarantee that she’d get it wrong, not that any of that even mattered.

Once she spoke his name, “Jason”, you flicked the light off again, waiting for the auditory cue from Billy to turn it back on. Of course, when you did, Steve’s insides were splayed all over the pavement, dripping out of him like wax onto a birthday cake.

“You lost, you know the rules” you shrugged, turning around carelessly toward the kitchen.

“You smell burning?” you asked, briefly taking note of the fire that had started on the stovetop, long forgotten between Casey answering the phone, and Steve’s untimely death. At this point, she was a blubbering mess, which couldn’t have been more boring.

Surely your job here was done.

“Hey Cas? I think the front door is unlocked, you should probably go check that” you teased, taking the phone from the girl, and sitting back down in the chair you’d previously been in, as she scrambled in that direction.

It wouldn’t have mattered how quickly she went, as Stu was surely already in the house, but that didn’t phase you either. In truth, the actual killing was of no interest to you at all.

That was really where the boys came in.

You just liked the sport of it all.

“How’d I do?” you asked, casually placing the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you made your way out the broken patio door, which had gotten shattered shortly after Steve took his final breath.

You were careful to avoid the glass, making quick strides of it as you listened to Billy breathing into the phone. He didn’t answer you, of course, with Casey having gotten outside at some point, making him her problem but you didn’t mind.

You just kept walking until you found a nice little tree swing on the other side of the yard to sit in while you waited. They would be done soon enough anyway, and then you could go home and get a shower or something.

Maybe you’d even give Sidney a call for an alibi.

[undead-merman]

🦚Maitho, Peacock Harpy

Decided to make some new content, No idea what to call it. Headcanons will be posted still every Saturday and Sunday and requests are always open.

Appearance

Maitho is a twenty five year old male harpy and stands proudly at a perfect ten feet. His long folded black and white tail trails behind him at an extra five feet. 

Besides his eyes and the freckle-like iridescent black Semiplume feathers on his cheeks, Maitho is completely black-white monochromatic. His hair is a mix of feathers and hair but it’s colored a dark, glossy onyx black. His skin is stark and sterile white. 

His face and torso are that of a normal human male although his arms are connected to his long black and water smooth wings, at the bend of his wings he has three fingered hands which are tipped with large two inch long talons.

Maitho’s gray colored legs are thick and extremely powerful looking, almost like a raptor’s: four large talon tipped toes but also possessing a large curved spur on each foot. They’re pure muscle and make up a good portion of his body weight. 

He has natural markings and colorings that make it look like he wears a simple dark makeup look, black lips with sharp black lines which are shaped with three points. 

Daily Life as a Harpy

His life is a simple one and he enjoys it that way. He wants to keep the trouble of humans and other harpies away from him; the only one he could tolerate is a mate. He keeps his nest high in a moss covered, giant red cedar tree and adds to it every day to make it perfect. He has a hard wired primal instinct to keep his nest perfect and if a stick or piece of fur is out of place his only thoughts are to yap and bicker with whatever ruined it as he fixes it. 

Hunting for food is one of his favorite parts of his day. He prays on larger predators he likes the fight they put up and it fills him with a rush. He loves the chase. He eats everything including the bones cracking them into pieces with his sharp teeth and powerful jaw. 

He’s very territorial of his nest, if he smells or senses any creatures in his territory he actively seeks them out and attacks them, if they are able to communicate which he’s able to converse with humans and some speaking monsters, with those he threaten them out. Most harpies tend to try and pick them off as a group; he's upfront and willing to face them in a brawl with heavy kicks and claws. But as he’s patrolling he’s curious of the other’s who don’t intrude and watch them from a distance and may approach them if he finds them interesting. 

Every night before he goes to bed he sings, normally they’re just songs he’s thought of in his bed but if he’s heard passing music then he’s singing what he last listened to. But as spring rolls around he finds himself singing for a mate which embarrasses him since he doesn't sing it consciously.    

First Introduction 

Traveling would be the one of only two ways you could meet him, second if you lived in a distant town and strayed from home. Either way with his sharp senses he’s most likely to be aware of you before you get close to his nest. Watching you as you travel and every so often gliding from one treetop to another watching you go. 

It’s when you're attacked by a beast is when he discovers that he likes you. No matter how you may or may not fight it off, it’s your will to live and your tenacity is what draws him to you. Should you be fighting, with magic or with a weapon he’ll happily swoop in after you struggled a bit and step in to steal your kill. Should you run he’ll dart it with deadly force and kill it with one blow from his massive talons. 

After the deed is done he introduces himself. He’s calm and even jokes a bit about your situation but assures you he doesn’t mean to hurt you, he thinks you're a small funny little thing. The power difference between you two is staggering, you can clearly tell if he wanted to he could have already killed you without much of a fight.

He’ll follow you around for a bit longer just speaking with you, or at you if you refuse to answer him. He doesn’t mind, he just wants company. After a bit he feels a desire to take you. Carry you away like a little prize, you couldn’t have met him at a worse time, with spring hormones making him feel more sociable and more lonely he decides to take you and make you his mate.

He suddenly snatches you up, minding how hard he holds you with his claws he takes you to his nest and plops you in it. It’s big enough for several people to lay in and he sits on the lip and watches as you discover the tree is so impossibly tall and slick with moss and rain there’s no way you’d make it down without falling to your death. He’ll pick off any weapons you may have and toss them away, he coolly states you don’t need them if he’s your husband.   

Courting and Dating

In his mind as soon as your ass plopped down in his nest you were now paired for life. But he knew he had to get you warmed up to him, show you his love so you can calm down and get used to your new life. Normally he would have to try courting you but he skipped a few steps, so he figured might as well try it now, he has nothing to lose since he already has you. 

He spends most of his time now trying to find you interesting gifts. Good and hard to find meat, dropped loot from travelers, he’s not above robbing passerby for a nice gift for you. He’s running trial and error seeing which gifts you like best. When you spend a nice bit of time examining a gift he brings his face towards it and frills his feathers asking if you like it with a coy and playful smile. 

If you let him, he constantly tries to groom you. Nibbling at your hair trying to preen your featherless head, and carrying you down to bathe in a nearby stream. He’ll try dunking you in playfully but after a bit of rough housing he’ll help you properly wash.

His spring songs come flying out a lot more now that you're around. Singing as he watches you in the morning get up, watching you eat, or when he’s trying to playfight with you. When he notices he turns a pink which stands out broadly on his skin. He gets his revenge if you make fun of them though whapping your ass with a wing leaving your bottom stinging. 

He shows off a lot, swooping into the nest quickly and letting the wind smack you as he grins at your tossed hair and shocked face. He’ll spread his tail feathers and scoot closer to you and play footsie with his large talons ever watchful to make sure he doesn��t nick you.

For the rest of that spring season, he spends a lot staring at you with big blown out pupils and constantly flashing his tail feathers at you, being extremely overprotective of you even shooing the song birds and bugs away from you. Any affection you give him even if it’s just glancing at him he puffs up and coos at you. After spring though, he refuses to talk about his embarrassing habits.  

Current Relationship

It’s fully up to you if the relationship gets deeper and you both bond together more. Even if you don't, he just sees you as his stubborn little spouse. But if you do allow him to grow closer with you, not much changes. He’s much more loving and somehow more touchy than before. He’ll yank you into his lap and nip your ears and casually chat with you as he teases you.

As he gets to know you he starts bringing you more items that you actually enjoy instead of just random items, it doesn’t matter if it’s rare or hard to find he’ll get it one way or another. Once he does he brings it back to you, he teases you saying you have to work for it but in the end he always gives it to you grinning as he watches your reactions. 

He playfully bats you more frequently, slapping your hip or shoulder to get a reaction; he finds it cute if you get embarrassed or yell at him. He can’t get enough of those funny little faces you make and the more flustered the funnier they are.

If you had pet him before, he’s commanding you to run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp. It’s his favorite thing in the world and sends shivers down his spine when you do it. He won’t beg for it but he damn loves it.

Should you two get closer he gets less embarrassed when those soft songs come from him as he watches you. Of course he still does, and teasing him about it is a good way to shut him up. Of course he’s learned your weakness too so always be ready for some combative teasing of trying to embarrass each other. He always ends up laughing afterwards though.

Being good, or really just accepting your new fate he’ll begin to offer to move his nest to a ground based location. You get the honors of picking and he’ll be willing to move wherever, even outside of his forest. He’ll have to be heavily persuaded to even think about moving to a town, he is a monster after all. 

In the mornings he chirps along with song birds that end up in his tree, He tells you they never came around before you came. He lounges in the swaying branches as tons of birds the size of mice compared to him. 

When spring rolls around he’s actively trying to get your attention and refusing to leave your side. He presses his face into you constantly and gets a bit bitey, though never too much to hurt you. He actively bites and smacks at any tiny creature approaching you, even snapping his teeth at a fly buzzing around. The song birds avoid the area for a time.      

Dark Tendencies

There’s not much he’s not willing to do for his cute small mate. Ever since you became mates he’s been willing to murder and steal for your gifts, other humans don’t mean anything to him. It doesn't matter who it is. Dressed in riches or rags it doesn’t mean anything as long as you're taken care of. 

He doesn’t mind if you see him hunt down a passerby or anyone that comes to rescue you. You belong to each other and he doesn’t want any bothersome people getting in the way of your time. Though it's not like they could climb up to his nest anyway. He plans to keep it just the two of you forever, and nothing will stand in the way of that. He has many ways of dealing with threats, but his favorite is stepping on their skulls with his massive and powerful feet. He can’t help but snicker at each person’s attempt.

If you first try to escape, he’ll find it amusing, often making fun of the attempts but picks you up and takes you back to the nest. He never punishes you, he simply chuckles and pulls you into a sweet embrace.

Trying to deny his feelings and saying that he’s not your husband does get him upset. He frowns and just keeps correcting you, saying you both are mates and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’ll learn to warm up to the idea in time. He has no doubt in his mind about that and he doesn’t mind waiting. One day you’ll understand.

After he takes care of any threats he makes sure to chew on their bones as he holds you in his arms. A perfect trophy for his devotion to you it fills him with euphoria knowing he has protected his mate he’ll hum a small song as he chews.      

Misc Stuff

His tail is sensitive so a lot of the time he forces it to stay down even if he’s happy or upset since it’s easy for him to brush up on things and he hates it even though the wind is a bit much to him when his tail is unfurled. 

When it rains Maitho loves to fly you down to the ground and dance. He moves with a lot of grace for something so big but the rain makes his feathers glisten and his iridescent cheeks sparkle. He’s extremely flirty during these dances, and always playfully batting at you and asking you to dance with him. Passionately swaying around in the dripping rain and never looking away from you.

His songs can almost sound like two or more different people singing them at once creating harmonies so sweet that it causes goosebumps. He says it sounds better when you sing with him though. 

Take Care-Stay Spooky

[antihero-writings]

WOOHOO IT'S CHASSEUR DAY!!

This is a fic I started for this prompt on my ph and vnc blog, which I finally got around to finishing today for @phmonth2021's vnc countdown, Day 5: The Chasseurs!

Since the prompt helps explain a bit of why the story is the way it is, I'll include it here!

"But I also agree, Roland & Olivier are two characters that would be really fun to explore. What are they doing when they break out of chasseur mode? I find it amusing that Olivier is so popular with the ladies but can't be bothered by all that. Heh!"

Thank you @adriisamused so much for this prompt!! <3 <3 And once again, I'm sorry it took so long.

I'm honestly really proud of this fic, and I had such much fun with it!! I really hope you all like it!! I'd absolutely love to hear it if you do!!

Lastly, if you enjoyed this, please please don't hesitate to send me more prompts/asks--for anyone in vnc or ph, but especially for these two!! I love writing for them. You can either send them here, or to my ph and vnc blog @this-idiots-left-eye.

Thanks so much for reading!! Reblogs and comments are especially appreciated!! <3

*

Olivier was having a perfectly satisfactory morning. His coffee smelled just the right shade of black, and was scalding hot—just as he liked it. He brought a book he’d been hoping to read for a while, but hadn’t had the time for recently. He lit a cigarette, and—whatever anyone else said—the smoke was as decadent as any sweet treat from a pastry shop. He was just opening up said book, just bringing the mug to his lips when—

“OLIVER!”

Oliver didn’t jump. Didn’t shout or otherwise react in surprise at the sudden disruption to his morning. Instead, very slowly, he closed the book, very carefully he set down his coffee. He lifted the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing out a substantial wisp of smoke.

And he silently regretted (for what was probably the eightieth time) telling Roland where his favorite coffee shop was.

Roland presently was running up to him, dragging behind him a dazed looking old man, and successfully made it to him by the time he finished his drag.

“Olivier! This poor man has lost his parakeet! He’s looked everywhere and he just can’t find Monsieur Butterbeans! Code blue! Code blue!

“…You know that’s for hospitals, right?”

“Well red just didn’t seem high enough! The situation is dire!”

Olivier blinked, eyes lidded. “Go look for it.”

“Oh Olivier! This simply isn’t a two person job! Two sets of eyes isn’t going to be enough! We simply cannot scour all the skies by ourselves!”

And he was having such a good morning.

“You think I want to spend my afternoon giving myself a crick in the neck?” Olivier asked.

Roland leaned in closer. “I think you want to spend the afternoon helping one of God’s lambs who is in need.” When Olivier stared at him Roland sighed. “If you help...I might just be inclined to work extra hard tomorrow.”

Olivier leaned to the side to look at the old man, who was staring up at the sky, not seeming too bothered. “Where did you lose it?”

“He lost her at the docks!” Roland jumped in—(quite literally jumped in front of him)—and answered for him.

After taking an extra second to try to calculate why a parakeet called ‘Monsieur’ was a ‘she,’ he spoke, perfectly monotone, “So go to the docks.”

“You think we haven’t already tried that! We searched everywhere! She was nowhere to be found!”

“Well if you’ve already searched everywhere—” He began to take another sip of coffee.

“Oh come now, Olivier!” Roland took his arm and shook him, making him both spill some coffee on the table, as well as cough coffee. “What kind of Chasseurs would we be if we gave up helping one of God’s children after one measly search? We’re more determined than that!” He curled his hand into a fist, his eyes sparkling. “Remember the story of the lady and her coins?” He was practically dragging him out of his chair now.

“I don’t think Jesus was talking about parakeets.”

“It’s a parable Olivier, it can be about parakeets if it’s applicable!”

Rather than arguing with him (like he was very much inclined to do) Olivier took another drag from his cigarette and sighed out smoke. “Let me finish my coffee.”

“But Olivier, Monsieur Butterbeans could be halfway up the Seine by now!”

“Let me. Finish. My coffee.” Olivier enunciated each word, staring intently at Roland as he lifted the coffee to his lips.

Roland sighed, and sat down across from him, gesturing to the old man to sit next to him, he obeyed diligently, like he was a pet himself.

Roland folded his hands on the table, and stared at him, with big, imploring eyes, the entire time. Others would have found this more than mildly intimidating, and incentive to drink faster. But Olivier drank his coffee at an ordinary pace, if a little slower than usual. After he was finished he set it down, paid, and left.

If this day was going to be as long as he thought it would be, he wanted to experience it on a full head of caffeine.

They indeed spent all the noon, and half the afternoon searching for her. Olivier tried his best not to look up too much (due to the aforementioned neck-crick potential), but with Roland taking the opportunity every few minutes to slap them both on the shoulders, then point upwards, and shout at shadows, and oddly placed light fixtures, and decorations, “IS THAT HER?!” he couldn’t help looking up.

It was never her.

At one point he was convinced she was nesting in a lady’s hat.

That was also not her.

They had decided to go by the park, and Olivier was just asking why the old man deigned to call a female parakeet “Monsieur” and before the old man could respond, Roland shouted:

“THAT’S HER!”

Olivier, sure it was another false alarm, turned his head with an exasperated sigh building in his throat.

But there was indeed a pretty little parakeet sitting there.

This whole time they thought they would find her nestled in the rafters of some house, or perched on a shop roof, or sign. They had been hoping she wouldn’t find herself too high for them to even see (though Roland had made them climb up building staircases and onto their roofs more than twice).

But there she was, nestled comfortably, not in a tree or on a roof, but on the shoulder of a woman.

More accurately, a mime.

Monsieur Butterbeans was sitting on the shoulder of a mime, and seemed to be having a perfectly pleasant time (ignore the rhyme).

“I mean that simply must be her, right?!” Roland turned to the old man.

The old man nodded vigorously.

Roland’s whole face lit up (though his face was always lit with a sort of angelic glow, so this was a bit of a Moses-and-Mt-Sinai situation) and he was running towards her before they could say a word.

“Salut, Mademoiselle! May I say, you are looking lovely today!”—She waved her hand as if to say, ‘oh stop’—“I simply must thank you!”—She gave an over-exaggerated expression of delight—“That parakeet on your shoulder? She belongs to my friend over there!” He pointed a finger at the old man with the speed and rigidity of a compass needle. “He lost her early this morning!” Roland turned around and was about to march victoriously back, “So thank you so much for—!”

She pretended to make a lasso and swing it around Roland. Even though it was made of nothing more than air, Roland was pulled back.

Olivier put his face in his palm.

He didn’t like mimes on the best of days. They were quiet, which would potentially be a nice quality... if it weren’t for that quietness being, not a means for peace, but rather something to make their interactions with normal-human-beings all that much more frustrating and difficult to discern. And their games with empty air seemed but another reason to disrupt the days of normal natural-world abiding people. They were like vampires…except they couldn’t actually see anything beyond this world, and couldn’t actually alter anything, and they were much more annoying to deal with.

And this one was proving, (as mimes generally did), unable to let them get away without participating in her little farce.

He had a theory that mimes weren’t really there to entertain normal people, rather normal people were there to entertain mimes.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Roland asked.

She held her hand up, and bent her fingers a few times as if to say she would like payment.

“You want a reward?” Roland seemed more than slightly affronted at this. The thought that anyone wouldn’t do a good deed out of the goodness of their heart was nothing short of diabolical to him.

The mimette made several hand motions which, while confusing at first seemed to be her way of conveying that she wasn’t asking for much (Olivier thought that would remain to be seen).

She pondered for a moment with a hand to her chin and squnched up face. Her eyes grazed over the old man, (who had his hands clasped in front of him in a pleading motion), and Olivier (who had folded his arms over his chest, and decided to look away when she looked at him). When he looked back, she was pointing at him.

She pointed at him, then she tapped her finger to her cheek.

Olivier didn’t need an interpreter to understand what that meant.

He recoiled, his voice going low and tense, “I would…prefer another method.”

It’s not like he didn’t know how to kiss a woman, (he’d done a lot more than kiss more than one woman), but this was just—

“Oh it’s just one little kiss, Olivier!” Roland waved his hand. “Do it for Monsieur Butterbeans!” (Monsieur Butterbeans decided to take this opportunity to do the important job of pooping on her shoulder).

Well someone ought to do it.

The mime did the lasso trick again, this time with Olivier. Olivier decidedly did not play along, but she was clearly well-versed in the ways of unparticipatory students, and happy to use the invisible rope to pull herself towards him. (Roland looked delighted with the show).

She got uncomfortably close, put her hands behind her back and presented her cheek.

Olivier looked away, his arms still folded.

Roland still found a way to get in his line of sight, and gave him the thumbs up.

The mimette stood on her tiptoes and blinked her eyelashes repeatedly. She might have been pretty, but who could tell under all that disgusting makeup? ( …Which Olivier did not want on his lips).

“This is ridiculous.” He grunted. “There are other ways to—”

“It’s just one little kiss Olivier!" Roland repeated. "She seems a perfectly nice lady! She deserves it!”

Olivier was not going to humiliate himself for a parakeet, who seemed to rather like this mime anyways.

“Remember, I might just be inclined to work harder tomorrow!”

Olivier sighed, still not looking at her.

“Fine, if you can’t do it, I’ll kiss her!” Roland stepped forward.

“No, no, I’ll do it!” Olivier pinched the bridge of his nose. ”She clearly likes me.” Olivier peeked open an eye to see the mime blinking more profusely, apparently not the least bit offended at his obvious disinterest. (Only more evidence for the normal-people-are-entertainment-fodder-for-the-mimes theory)

“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem like you’re going to do it. It’s really fine if you want me to!”

Olivier took a rather long moment to gather himself, and all the dignity that he knew he was about to lose. He kept his eyes firmly shut…and gave her a peck on the cheek.

…Except, when Olivier opened his eyes, he came to find—(to his absolute horror)—that in the moment he had taken to muster his courage, Roland had decided that Olivier wasn’t going to do it, and went in to kiss her other cheek. The mime recognized this in perfect time, (and in perfect mime fashion), stepped out of the way. So the person who he had kissed was actually….

Olivier jerked away with what almost sounded like a horrified squeak, his hand flying to his mouth. He then turned sharply away, sticking out his tongue, and hacking like a cat who had a hairball.

Roland simply blinked, then began to laugh mirthfully, like he didn’t find the situation the least bit awkward. “Well played, Mademoiselle!” He applauded her.

The mime bowed with a flourish of her hand, and as she lowered herself Monsieur Butterbeans flew off her shoulder and into the hand of her owner, who he then brought up to his own cheek to nuzzle gratefully

“Olivier, your mouth tastes like an ashtray.” Roland remarked as they began to leave—waving his hand and sending an extra thank you towards the mime. “I really hope you don’t smoke before you kiss women. It doesn’t make me want to kiss you again you know.” Roland put his hand on his shoulder.

Olivier flinched violently, snapped equally violently, “Don’t touch me!” and said low, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost I dearly hope it doesn’t.”

Roland just laughed.

“If you even think about mentioning this to anyone—” his glared at him, hoping his eyes were as sharp as he intended them to be.

“I really don’t know what the big fuss is about! It was just a silly prank! And a rather clever one on her part!”

Olivier stuck his tongue out again, feeling like he was going to vomit. “It was a disgusting prank.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll feel insulted! I hope my mouth didn’t taste half as bad as yours did.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Your mouth didn’t taste like anything, because that didn’t happen and we are never talking about it!”

“Well, nothing to complain about is good news I guess!”

“Stop. Talking. About it.”

They had been walking a good way, and the sun was setting over the city, when the old man stopped in front of them, holding Monsieur Butterbeans in front of him, looking down at her lovingly.

“Thank you for helping me find my dear Monsieur Butterbeans,” the old man spoke. (Olivier tried not to shout in surprise at the reveal that he could actually talk). “The Church really does help those in need, doesn’t it? You’re good boys.”—(Olivier would have preferred ‘men’ but)—“I would like to repay you somehow.”

“Oh no, we simply couldn’t accept!” Roland burst out, stepping forward. “A good deed is its own reward! ‘Anything you do for the least of these’ and all! Although, you’re not the least of course! It’s just a verse you know! Well no verse is just a verse, but—”

“I feel I must do something for your…trouble.” (Olivier curled his nose at the slight snicker there was behind the word ‘trouble.’) “At the very least, I have some rather nice vintage wines in my cellar—“

Before Roland could say once again that that-really-wasn’t-necessary, Olivier shot his hand in front of him and said, a little too loudly, “We will gladly accept.”

******

The next day Olivier was leaning back in his chair in front of a rather large stack of paperwork, massaging the crick in his neck when Roland burst in, a little girl hiding behind him.

“OLIVIER!” He panted. “Olivier, this poor girl has lost her favorite doll! We simply must help her!”

Olivier shut his eyes, rubbing his temple, his voice shaking. “You told me you would work harder if I—”

“I will! I will! But this is urgent!”

Olivier sighed. “Astolfo!” He yelled.

After a few moments, a boy with red hair came in.

“You sent for me?”

“Roland has a job for you...(however ridiculous it may be)," he added under his breath. "Will you help find this girl’s doll?” Olivier marched forward, his footsteps ominous on the stone floor, and grabbed Roland’s wrist a little too tight, dragging him into a chair, “Roland here has work to do.”

As Astolfo obliged, Olivier muttered, more to Roland than anyone else, “And he’s not getting out of it this time.”

Roland pouted, plopping down in the chair to properly do his Chasseur work.

...And Olivier couldn’t help but feel like he was having a perfectly satisfactory morning once again.

*

<-Day 6: The Royals

Day 4: Chloé and/or Jean-Jacques->

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter 6)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: language and just plain being miserable

It’s cold and wet and fucking miserable.

Your day so far… wake at the ass crack of dawn to a jerking, sputtering, clearly about to go down helicopter. Get – essentially – tossed from said helicopter into the midst of a bunch coca farmers out in an Andean valley. Become an accomplice in the unwarranted deaths of a few said coca farmers. Mill about the tiny community – wary eyes watching your every movement – as Santiago trades money for those lives… and for a handful of donkeys. Or mules, or whatever the fuck they are. Load up said donkeys with millions of dollars – certainly the type of cargo these poor animals are used to carrying – and head off into the jungle. With a sprained ankle. And a probable concussion. And – you realize just as that familiar ache begins to set into your hip – a shit ton of rain headed your way.

You’d lost track of how far precisely you’d gone, how many miles you’d traversed through this treacherous environment. And you refuse to ask, afraid that it’ll be just a fraction of how far you feel it’s been. By the time the sun descends and everyone hunkers down beneath a cluster of heavily rooted trees – just enough of an overhang to provide a bit of shelter from the once-again assaulting rain – it feels like you’ve all piled four damn marathons one on top of the other. But looking around at the thick foliage around you, noting the relatively small trail tamped down by your group as you climbed and trampled and fought your way up and out of that valley, it’s very clearly been closer to the length of a 5K fun run. Minus the fun. And the free T-shirt.

You let out a ragged, rather dramatic harrumph, the sheer annoyance at your predicament currently outweighing any fear or discomfort. But the discomfort is there none the less, every single nerve ending either on fire or vibrating from the utterly depleting fatigue that this day has caused.

Benny scoots closer to your side, tucking you back behind his shoulder just as you let loose with another full-body tremble. The action pins you even tighter to the wall of roots and mud and bark behind you, and to Frankie, who flanks your right side. “This fucking sucks,” you mutter, the final word coming out in an odd shuddering trill as the chill works its way out of your body.

“Yeah,” Ben breathes out with a soft chuckle before leaning back with an exhausted sigh. “Well, we’re dancing with the devil now.”

“Dancing?” Frankie returns, causing your tired gaze to swivel his way. “We were dancing when we got on the plane to come down here. I’d call this full intercourse.”

You all release a threadbare laugh, little more than a trickle of amused breaths being about all anyone has the energy to emit. Your arms wraps tighter around your core as you tuck yourself a bit deeper into Benny’s side, your eyes still trained on the man to your right. “Let’s just pray this is a one-night stand,” you smart, lips pulling into a sly smile the moment Frankie turns your way.

It takes a moment for his face to falter, the pained set to his features slowly melting into something just a little bit more relaxed as he snorts out an amused breath of his own. He gazes down at you, watches as you lean further back, burrowing even more into Ben’s warmth. He stares deeply, his dark brown eyes cutting through the onslaught of rain that continuously dribbles from the brim of his hat. “How’s your ankle?” he says finally. And the question catches you entirely off-guard. Not because it’s so strange or unwarranted, but because you’re certain that whatever thoughts and questions were just tumbling through his head, that rather benign inquiry wasn’t among of them.

You offer a small shrug. “S’fine,” you lie, biting the corner of your lip as the twisted appendage continues to throb. “Not like I got shot or anything,” you say as you lean forward and peer around Benny, trying to catch a glimpse of Will through the heavy rain and dark surroundings. “How ‘bout you, Ironmaiden? You still with us?”

You hear a short snicker from the man – and from Ben too – just before a deep rumble of, “Not dead yet,” cuts through the impending night. His face remains hidden in the dark, but you’re convinced that a hint of a smile flitted over it at the very least, and that’s enough to make you feel like a good deed’s been done.

But when you look back at Frankie, his shoulders heavily slumped as he leans away from the relative shelter of the trees, out into the pounding rain, you feel that tiniest hit of triumph swiftly uncoil and fade away. “Hey,” you bark out at him, nudging him with your foot as you lean back once more. “You’re gonna freeze out there.”

His lips tug up at the corners, but the small, closed-mouth smile never reaches his eyes. He makes no move to duck back beneath the leafy canopy, instead turning away and letting out a long, deep sigh. You nudge him again, saying nothing, but raising a questioning brow when his gaze connects with yours. “Pretty fucked up,” he mutters blandly before dropping his head again to stare down at the wet earth beneath his boots.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees beside you. “Pretty fucked up.” He uses his shoulder to jostle you a bit, get you to sit up and turn towards him. He holds up a giant, ripe mango, giving a little nod in place of an order to take it.

“Thanks,” you say, plucking it from his grasp. He merely nods again, this time a silent no problem, before shifting to present another to his brother. You look back at Frankie, his broad shoulders still slumped, now thoroughly soaked as well. “Hey,” you begin, the word coming out more as a pained grunt as you reposition yourself and fold the twisted ankle up beneath you.

His eyes fly up, wide and worried at the hurt in your voice. But the last you thing you want is for him to feel even worse than he obviously does right now. So again, you brush off the pain, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at the unasked are you okay? emanating from his stare.

“A little help?” you ask, holding the mango out to him. He reaches for it with a look of confusion. “My hands are so cold, fingers are numb,” you state with a shrug just before leaning forward and capturing his arm. Before he has the chance to even register what you’re doing, you’ve already wrapped yourself around him, tugging him with the only remaining energy that you have back beneath the tree’s canopy.

He lets out a little groan in protest, but appeases you all the same, scooting back until he’s flush with the wall of roots behind you. “You could just bite into it,” he mumbles as he settles back and uses his thumbs to break into the fruit.

“Mmm,” you hum out, no real response at all. His left arm is still held tight in your grasp, your cold – though not actually entirely numb as you had led him to believe – fingers pressing into his bicep, gliding along the soaked-through fabric of his windbreaker. You scoot closer to his side, still feeling Benny at your back, but now craving the heat being put off by the man in your hold instead.

“Here,” he breathes out, handing you a mangled chunk of mango.

The smallest titter of a laugh blows past your lips as you accept it and drop your heavy head down to his shoulder. “Don’t you have a knife?” you ask before shoving the food into your mouth.

He stills in your grasp. “Huh,” coming out of him in a surprised sort of grunt. He moves the mutilated, dripping fruit up to his lips, licking at the juice before tearing into a hunk of orange meat with his teeth. He shakes his left arm free from your clutches and deftly wraps it around you to tug you close, all without ever disturbing your cheek’s perch atop his shoulder. His wide open palm slips down to your hip and presses its warmth right over the dull ache of that damn old injury, and the deep tenor of his voice resounds in your ears as he says simply – mouth still full – “didn’t think of that.”

000

The sun rises somewhere around your second or third hour of hiking. You think. The burner phone you’d brought along had long since gone dead, and it’s been ten years or so since you’ve worn an actual watch. But it certainly felt like two to three hours went by from the time Santi roused you from your shivering near-sleep and the ominous birth of a new day.

Thick mist and fog gathers round, clinging to the ground, the trees, obscuring the way and growing heavier the higher into the mountains you climb. You take to doing rollcall every fifteen minutes or so, each calling in turn to the person behind, making sure that no one’s been lost to the surrounding haze.

You lose all sense of time, not even realizing how long it must’ve taken to get to the terrifying and precarious footpath cut into the side of the mountain until you look up to see that the sun is now high in the sky, closer to its journey down than up. The fog had just begun to abate as you all reached the narrow trail, and while that was very clearly a good thing – because if ever there was a time when you needed to see exactly where your feet were stepping, this was it – a part of you cursed the cloud for lifting and allowing an unobscured visual of all that lay below.

You can’t help it. With every step you take, your eyes veer from the placement of your feet along the narrow, rocky trail over to the steep drop off and then out to the endless acreage of mountainside and jungle below. Every step. Every plodding, breathless, horrifying step. And to make matters worse, to ratchet your heartrate and blood pressure just that much higher, the children in front of you have chosen this time to begin petulantly arguing and hurling accusations.

You roll your eyes and try to tune out the thinly veiled allegations and insults being tossed back and forth, each man’s voice carrying a different shade of I’m tired and hurt and hungry and I need a damn nap.

It was really only a matter of time, you figured, before the grumpiness managed to overflow into conflict. That’s just what happens when people – men in particular – go without rest for this long, carrying the burden of survival on their backs for endless hours of drudgery. Sure, you’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this… if anyone could find their way through unparalleled stressors without cracking, it’d surely be a team of elite special ops guys. But, then again, these men were all retired. They had real lives that they’d left just to get sucked into this shit. They had families and jobs and car payments waiting for them back home. And they’d been under the mistaken impression that they’d be able to get back to them all in just a handful of days. A week, max.

Also, one of them had been shot… and everyone else harbored at least some injury from that helicopter crash that you still hadn’t been able to fully mentally process. So, sure, it makes sense that they’d eventually devolve into juvenile bickering. But did they have to do it on the side of a fucking mountain?

You stop short, a small gasp of surprise shooting from your lungs as you nearly faceplant into a donkey’s ass, Will and Ben both having come to a sudden halt in front of you. “The fuck” you nearly shriek, but neither of the men so much as toss a glance your way. You peer around the animal in front of you and glare at Will, tired eyes burning into the side of his skull. “Fucking move!”

He turns then, shooting you a confused look, taken aback, it seems, by your sudden irritation. As though this moment of impatient annoyance should be reserved for just him and his brother. But before you can say another word, before he’s able to come to the obvious realization – that there are other people in this world! – on his own, his stare veers, eyes blowing wide as they lock onto something behind you.

A crunch of rocks, a shuffling sputter of movement, a terrified scream blossoming from the mouth of the donkey in the rear. By the time you’re able to maneuver yourself around to see to what’s happening, all that’s left is a cloud of cash slowly trailing behind the fallen animal, and a stricken Frankie cemented up against the side of the mountain. You catch his horrified gaze, hold it for a moment before finding the words, “Are you okay?”

He gives a weak nod as he pulls himself upright, slowly making his way behind your – now nervous-as-hell – donkey. Ahead of you, the arguing has intensified, though what’s being said, you can’t quite glean. And you don’t honestly care. Frankie pushes past, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze on his way, and finally makes it to the front of the group where he directs everyone to keep moving… convinces them, somehow to let go of whatever the hell it is that they’re bitching about.

Had to get all the money…

Fucking Lorea…

Just move, damn it!

That’s about all you manage to get from their conversation. It’s all you care to get. Blame, accusations, words in general, none of that matters right now. Frankly, the sudden loss of a donkey and millions of dollars doesn’t matter to you right now. Nothing matters right now except continuing to put one foot in front of the other for however long you have to do it… however long it takes until you reach a place where you can collapse into the exhausted, pained heap of a being that you are and simply sleep.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx @thirsty-flygirl @leannawithacapitala

[soukokuwu]

➤ @fyowyn-writes said: okay clarifying that, s/o’s ability basically makes them immortal, but they can die it would just take several centuries to die from old age so they joined fyodor in order to find a way to get rid of their ability because you know that’s kinda his thing

➤ genre: angst

➤ pairing: fyodor x reader

➤ warning: death

➤ synopsis: fyodor has to choose — loving you or to love you?

➤ word count: 2.1k

➤ a/n: hi i know this came out super late and i’m very sorry ma’am, but i really hope you like this gwynn!! 🥺✨ sorry tumblr deleted your ask djsjds let me know what you guys think hope y’all enjoy this too!

The moment of separation

Forever is a long time.

Fyodor remembers thinking what a sin it is — immortality. You do too, over time. And so you wish you could end it.

But a wish is just that — an expression of desire. Never something that can be guaranteed. Though rumours have it that if there’s one thing that Fyodor can guarantee you, it’s death.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fyodor always had a house; a roof over his head. But never a home. It changed — only because of you.

You are the comfort in his chaos, the still in the waves, the knowing that some thunder might come with rain. It is weird, how Fyodor thinks he always knows what’s to come, but he doesn’t with you. With you he always anticipates, looks forward to the next day. And not for himself, but for you.

Everything has an explanation, but this emotion he feels? The small warmth inside his chest — the one he tries so hard to deny, the one he never expected to feel in this life — it grows every second he spends with you; subtly, slowly, just as the best things do.

The first time he lays eyes on you — he doesn’t bat an eyelash, doesn’t do a double-take. Only when you let your voice escape you, only when you offered to help him with his plans, give him all of your extensive knowledge. Only then did he offer you an ear. You vow to give him all you are in return for one thing, a simple prayer.

Death. Instantaneous, painless. Then cremated and thrown out to sea.

You played right into his wheelhouse — you tell him of your sins, of your ability. You tell him that you wish for him to grace you with the powers of god, to give you the salvation you needed. Fyodor has never had anyone that brave, that... foolish to ask anything like that of him. Which is why he agrees. Not only are you useful, you are an interesting one.

Maybe he will find more use out of you. Maybe.

He does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

People are made up of their own sins, be it greed, lust, envy. Fyodor tries to figure out what you’re made of.

But his own answer frustrates him. When he tries to put a word to it, he remembers you getting up early to brew him coffee. He remembers you putting a blanket over him when he falls asleep in front of his blueprints. He remembers you holding your own when he talks down to you. He remembers you protecting him in missions, even over the littlest things.

Even domestic things. A pill on his pillow when he’s sick and refuses to acknowledge it. A tray of food (healthy ones too, because he’s anemic and you know that) in the microwave when he comes back late from surveying an area. A plan drafted up for the next mission when you know he’s too tired to do it by himself.

Sunshine.

That’s what you’re made up of. Warm, soothing. And he hates his answer. This... affection towards you. He can’t explain it either. He hates it too.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Slowly, but surely.

That is you — fitting into your position in his life. One of great importance, one that pains him to deny to himself. It is bound to end in ruins anyway. And still, Fyodor can’t control it. No, no, he can. Could it be — he doesn’t want to?

The subtlety of inching closer to each other while looking over the details of the next mission. You on his left side, right hand taking refuge on the surface of the table for no purpose whatsoever. He on your right, left hand brushing against your arm, heartbeat drumming in his ears. Pinkies intertwined. But no words about that exchanged. Fyodor notices the goosebumps that form on your skin though, and for a second, he guesses — is this what hope feels like?

Late nights where he used to bug you to go to sleep — he prefers planning by himself after all — he doesn’t anymore. What is he wishing for? He’s puzzled himself. But then you remind him — every time the old grandfather clock against the wall strikes midnight, when your eyes automatically get a little droopy. Every time each minute passes after that, when your voice gets thick with sleepiness and you drawl out your words. And every time you try to stay awake and fail, when your head drops on his shoulder as you drift into sleep. And Fyodor feels... oddly blessed. Is this what he’s wishing for? A simple gesture such as being your shoulder to sleep on? Isn’t this silly? No, says his mind, not if it’s you. And he takes a closer look at you in your slumber.

Since when did you become so beautiful?

Conversations about your ability where he usually shows a distaste for it — he freaks you out when his disdain turns into praises. And the sweet moments in his mind vanish whenever he hears you say anything in relation to your coming death. His voice gets louder, tongue gets sharper, until it drives you away from the room, in tears. And it takes him but a while to find out why he’s acting this way now. He doesn’t want you to go.

Fyodor bangs the table as hard as he can, frustration taking over him, tears falling from his eyes in a silent cry. The last thing he wants is for you to know how deeply he cares. It would just cause more problems for both of you. And you would feel bad for him, won’t you? The guilt would eat you up, wouldn’t it? He doesn’t want you to feel that way. But he’s never felt this way before. He doesn’t know how to do this right.

And in the next room you lean against the door and fall to the floor. You drown your cries in polyester, hearing the bang that is undoubtedly caused by you. You thought everything was going well... were you wrong?

But the days after, when he apologises and gets the courage to call you names? He treasures them. No, not harsh names — but pet names. “Moya dorogaya (my dear),” he’d always call you. And you’d play along with a whisper in his ear, “moy dorogoy (my dear).” He doesn’t tell you, but it consumes him with happiness and relief when he hears you say the words with such tenderness. Fyodor always acts like he’s joking, and you always let him believe you think he is. But you both know the other is hiding something, and yet neither of you press on the matter. Some things are better left unsaid.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Live in the moment, they say.

If that’s the only way to distract him from the horror that would be his future without you, then he figures he may as well take it.

“It’s the first time I’ve been with an older lady,” he jokes.

“Hey, I’m not that—”

Fyodor seals your words with his lips that night. As the alcohol seeps into both your systems, he makes the decision to cross the line. The promised time is soon, and he’d rather know every inch of you rather than spend the rest of his life wondering, guessing what you feel like. And he ignores the logical voices in his mind telling him to stop as his fingers dance across every single surface of your body, as his ears tingle hearing your moans that he is responsible for, as he smells the coconut of your hair, as he tastes the wine lingering in your tongue and the sweetness of your essence.

That night isn’t his first time ever, but he’s never felt passion that can mirror his experience with you. The way he doesn’t want it to ever stop, the way you look as you enjoy his each and every thrust, the way you blush when you realise he’s soaking in every ounce of you; the way you look — he wants it imprinted into his memories.

For a moment, after the deed is done, when you are lying bare against his chest, hearts beating as one — for that moment, he wonders if he’s able to change your mind.

But “thank you, Fyo,” you murmur. “You’ve made these past few months of my life more worthwhile than the previous centuries I’ve lived.”

In your words he hears the answer. And he realises.

The foolish one... is he.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You taught him how to love, but you never taught him how to stop. Death already had you in its grip. But death cannot kill what never dies.

Whatever Fyodor felt — and still feels — for you, he wishes will disappear to the void, along with you and the memories of you. But he’s more rational than that. This will never go away. The warmth he knows he felt, the pain he still feels, and the sorrows that he has yet to felt. None of them will ever vanish.

Never. Unlike the light in your eyes as he presses his palm to your forehead, unlike the gratitude in your voice as you whisper a “thank you” to him before you fall lifeless in his arms.

Fyodor used to pride himself in being the leader of his organisation, in being a god of sorts. And now, with you gone — he doesn’t know who he is anymore. Every little thing that made him him, they’re all tainted with you. From his morning cups of coffee to the additional meticulousness in his planning, each and every part of his life you’ve invaded, and unlike you, they’re here to stay.

“We’re here, lyubimaya (honey),” Fyodor mumbles, holding up the urn.

It’s a beautiful day. The sand under his shoes, the ocean breeze singing past his ears, the sun slowly setting, reminding him of his sunshine. His sunshine who, after all those months, still sought death. And he didn’t want to be the reason you continued to resent life, so he gave in. He gave in to his love for you.

As he looks out at the horizon, he lets his mind wander aimlessly for once — to think irrationally for the first time in so long. Was it possible that you were watching over him? Rationality be damned, he wishes you are. It is lonely once again, without you. He doesn’t want to let you go, he thinks as he uncaps the urn. He doesn’t want the last remains of you to leave his side, he thinks as he tilts the urn sideways over the ocean. But “farewell, radost moya (my joy),” he bids to you as your ashes disperse themselves into the vast sea.

“I love you,” he mumbles, hoping it gets to you wherever you are. The words he’s never said to you, they suddenly come so easy now that you’re gone. He chuckles in self-deprecation. Oh, how human you’ve made him feel.

Fyodor acts as though the tears aren’t real. He doesn’t wipe them away as he watches the last of you slip away from him. He curses the tears for not blurring the vision of you flashing in his mind, for not marring the smile he remembers.

Love leaves memories no one can steal, and this love exists beyond worlds, this feeling won’t be separated from Fyodor no matter how much he begs for it to. And trying to forget you would be trying to forget the only home he’s ever known. It will be impossible, he is sure. And for the first time in his life, yet another first you have cast upon him, he does what he never thought he would.

Fyodor falls on his knees, the now empty urn falling in place right beside him. He doesn’t care for the sand staining his white pants or the water that runs across his legs. Gods aren’t supposed to feel this way, are they? Helpless, pathetic, and yearning for something they can’t have? Or is it normal to be a slave to love?

The tears now blur his vision completely. Not like he can see anything clearly anymore. Everything is murky with you gone. And he lets his sobs out this time. What a capable woman you are, he thinks, in life and even in death, because how amazing must one be, to be able to bring a god down to his knees?

He peers out at the sea, knowing your spirit is free. There is nothing left between the two of you now but an ocean of silence.

Fyodor is drowning in it. Forever.

And forever is a long time.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[vivilove-jonsa]

A Bedding in the Vale

Day 2 Prompt-Tradition @jonsadungeonsanddrabbles​

Thanks @amymel86​ for the pretty poster!

A King Jon comes to the Vale and marries Alayne AU

***

She covertly studies her new husband throughout the feast, wishing to escape the hall’s curious eyes. He glares at most everyone but then she'll catch him looking at her, at her hair.  She'd washed the dye away this morning. What is he thinking?

In private, they’d agreed to marry. Petyr hadn’t been pleased to have his schemes scuttled but said he wasn’t remotely surprised that the King in the North would wish to marry his beloved Alayne.

She’s fully prepared for everything marrying Jon entails though he’s different than the boy she’d known, hard and cold at times like the North that reared him.

Nervously, she takes a gulp of her wine.  Noticing, he leans forward, his hand lightly resting on her forearm. “I won't hurt you. Once we retire, we won’t do anything you do not wish…”

But Baelish is on his feet, quieting the assembled lords and ladies. “I believe it’s time for the bedding!”  He claps his hands and the musicians start to play a bawdy tune.

Just as quickly, they are silenced when Jon’s head whips around.  He stands, an imposing figure in his kingly raiment with Longclaw at his waist and wrath dripping from his tongue. “I’ll take my bride to bed without ceremony, my lord.”

“Oh but the bedding ceremony is a tradition, particularly valued here in the Vale, Your Grace! My Alayne is a maiden but prepared for what's expected. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your new allies, would you?”

It’s only that last point that gives Jon pause, she knows.

The hall is silent as the tomb. Everyone looks between the Lord Paramount of the Vale and the visiting King in the North who’d arrived a moon ago and suddenly declared his intensions to marry Littlefinger’s bastard daughter a sennight ago for reasons none of them can comprehend.

True, he’s a bastard as well. Perhaps that’s why.

But it isn’t.

He knows that Jon knows. He thinks to call our bluff, she realizes. He thinks Jon won’t bed his half-sister for the sake of stealing her away North again.

Except I am not Jon’s sister.

Clever as he is, Littlefinger doesn’t know everything after all.

Jon looks back at her, his expression shrewd but concerned. His purpose in coming here had been to gain the Vale as allies. It is a fragile alliance they’ve brokered. She knows this very well. What’s a little loss of dignity and her maidenhead for the chance to go home? She’d already expected him to bed her eventually anyway.

She gives him a nod and a smile she hopes conveys her agreement.

“Very well,” he says gruffly to her before turning his attention back to the hall. “But if any man offends my wife in word or deed, I'll take his head.”

Not very friendly of him.  None are foolish enough to doubt him either.

She’s escorted to their chambers instead of carried there. Her dress is unlaced but with several ‘beg pardons’ and only enough as to allow her to slip it off more readily.

She slides between the cool sheets wearing only her smallclothes. Every man present looks away…except one. She will not blanch from his hungry eyes though. He will never have her now. She is Jon’s.

Her groom is lacking his shirt and his breeches have been partially unlaced when he enters. She scowls at the giggling pack of ladies attending him. She almost wishes she wore a sword on her hip and had made a similar threat.

Jon seems oblivious to them though. His eyes nearly scorch her with their heat and intensity.

She sees the scars that cover his chest and a sad gasp escapes.

“No, no,” he says softly, ignoring the other occupants. “It’s alright.”

She’s not alone in seeing his scars. The tales will be circulated throughout the Vale about the man who came back from the dead, the King in the North who could not be killed with mere blades.

There are still a handful of intruders waiting for him to join her beneath the furs.

“All of you…get out!”  How they scurry. “Listen at the door if you wish.  I don’t care.  But you will not watch.”

However, before Petyr escapes with the rest, Jon decides he has something to tell him. He whispers in his ear. Sansa watches his face turn pale long before Jon is finished.

Jon comes to bed as the door snaps shut behind them. “Are you alright? Did anyone hurt you?”

She shakes her head, unable to stop blushing. “He looked at me but he didn’t hurt me.”

“I’ll kill him once it can be done without fear of losing the others.”

“I’m not asking you to do that.”

“I will anyway.”

Deciding that she won’t argue (truly, none would argue with him when he’s like this), she turns the current of their conversation. “I’m cold.”

“Then let me warm you.”

She opens her arms, inviting him closer. She kisses his cheek and then his mouth.

“We don’t have to,” he says as the kisses continue.

“But we will.”

“I will make it pleasant for you.”

You may try, she thinks, not believing it possible.

Oh, she is so wrong.

She wonders vaguely if any have lingered to listen. If they have, they are sure to hear the king’s new bride crying out quite often as he loves her, worshiping her with his mouth and fingers before he ever takes her maidenhead. And even that is far more enjoyable for a first time than she would’ve imagined. He is a skilled and patient lover no matter how hard and cold he may appear to others.

“What did you tell him before he left?” she asks, stroking his strong arm when they lay tangled together afterwards.

Jon’s lip twitch into a wry but wintry smile. “I told him he never had your mother and he’d never have you either.”

She should not laugh. And yet, she does.

[sparkkeyper]

My submission for @racketghost's 13 Days of Halloween  Day 6: Costume

***

The first thing Crowley learned from the Fall was that being true to oneself was dangerous. He had only ever done what came naturally to him, and She'd thrown him out. Something about him and the others was so fundamentally incorrect that She'd stripped them of Her love and banished them to a stinking, sulfurous place of desolation.

He'd cried out for help but that had been a mistake. The others were as hurt and betrayed as he was, and it made them furious. They lashed out against weakness, against pain, against anything that reminded them of their own suffering. In the only self-defence he had, Crowley pulled his own disgust and rage around him like armour. He flared ruined wings at those larger than him to imply he would not be thrown around so easily. He brandished fangs at those smaller than him to keep them from getting treacherous ideas. When they hissed and bit, he hissed and bit back. He wore ferocity like a costume, however ill-fitting, and it kept him from worse pain.

What exactly Crowley did to warrant the Garden job he wasn't sure, but he wasn't complaining. Anything to get out of the miserable slog of Hell. He dropped the ferocity and instead wrapped himself in guile and charm, whispering in Eve's ear until she reached out and took what she wasn't supposed to have. The first thing the humans did with their new knowledge was make their own costumes out of leaves in an attempt to hide their perceived inadequacies from God. Crowley couldn't blame them.

The centuries became a masquerade ball, an endless dance of carefully curating other's perception of him to suit his needs. He wove elaborate outfits with his words for Hell, wrapping himself in robes of confidence and distain. He hid behind veils of terrible deeds and manufactured sin. He added a swagger to his walk, a sneer to his lips. Whatever it took to stay one step above the endless grind of damned souls. Whatever it took for them to respect him, fear him, let him stay on Earth.

He drew the guise of humanity about himself when he was among the mortals. He'd learned quickly that letting them know his true nature almost always resulted in attempted murder. So he winched in his wings and drew hoods over his eyes, shrinking to blend into the growing throngs of beings made in Her image. He conjured copies of fine silks and stately jewelry to adorn himself with: the very picture of human wealth and success. He bought expensive villas with miracled money and filled them with fashionable things. The latest clothing trends, the newest hairstyles, he flaunted all of it. Whatever it took to make them think he was a good human. Whatever it took to be part of them, to make them respect him, fear him, let him live amongst them unmolested.

Work was another story. He shed personas like snakeskin depending upon what the temptation called for. He was a smooth-talking merchant, convincing the landowner to undercut his labourers wages. He was a friendly face at a bar, buying rounds for the house and urging the alcoholic to have just one more. He was a winning patron at a gambling den, encouraging people to spend money they didn't have in fits of greed. He was a poor beggar, giving the aristocrat the opportunity to turn a deaf ear to his pleas for coins. He was an attractive prostitute, cementing the lecher's decision to cheat on his wife. He was an imposing authority when the humans who had pledged themselves to his master called on him directly. He was a soldier, a farmer, a false god, an idol.

He was tired.

They weighed on him, the guises. Cloaking himself in malice for Hell was exhausting. His temptation personas were just that: fabric to be put on and taken off at a moment's notice. They were fine in the short term but millennia of wearing them wore away at him, like water eroding rocks on a beach. His rich, fashionable human life was more comfortable, but in the quietest parts of the night, when he was alone and still and unable to shut his brain up, he had to admit to himself that it didn't fit quite right, like clothes that were just one size off. He wasn't human, even if he liked pretending to be. Their eyes slid over his veneer without seeing anything beneath.

But those were his options. He couldn't be inhuman on Earth and he couldn't be undemonic in Hell, so he weaved his disguises and settled the sneer on his lips and hid his eyes behind tinted glass and tried not to think about how much effort it took.

Except for those rare, truly shitty days where it would not be ignored.

Crowley slumped over the counter of the Roman tavern, his current temptation guise sitting heavily on his shoulders like it was trying to crush him into the floor. This whole decade was a mess. Caligula's parties were atrocious and the persona he'd had to create - fancy enough to blend in yet exotic and garish enough to attract and keep the emperor's attention - was even more so. And all for nothing, apparently. Caligula was already destined for Hell six times over and determined to take as many citizens as possible with him. Disgusting creatures, humans.

He felt ridiculous. He looked ridiculous. He growled an order to the bartender, fully intending to drink until he couldn't remember what year it was.

And then the angel came up beside him. The fluffy, fussy one that he'd run into several times now. Crowley snapped at him, a warning: not in the mood for your high-and-mighty crap, fuck off and leave me alone.

But the angel didn't leave. And in that moment, as Crowley slouched in his disgusting getup with a cup of barely-drinkable house wine, he could tell by those blue eyes that the angel saw him.

Aziraphale knew what he was and why he was in Rome. He didn't see the 'garish human' persona Crowley was still wearing. He didn't see the 'wiling tempter' guise Crowley usually made it a point to exude in the presence of the divine.

He saw a grouchy, frustrated demon having a terrible day and feeling like rubbish.

And he still didn't leave. Just offered a little toast and set about awkwardly trying to make small talk.

Crowley hadn't realized the true weight of the disguises he wore until someone finally pulled one off. It was a relief like nothing he had ever felt to have eyes look in his direction and see him, the real him, whoever that was.

And that someone, anyone, could look at him in all his tired, pissed-off demonic glory and not strike back at him for what they saw there...

That Aziraphale was still giving him that stupid smile and trying to make conversation...

Something in Crowley's chest felt like it was unwinding. He engaged with the conversation. I've never eaten an oyster.

And then he was being invited, foul mood and all, to food and company. No costume required.

And for one shining lunch he didn't have to be anyone except Crowley. He was barely even sure who that was anymore.

But, he thought, if he could spend more time around Aziraphale, he was sure to find out.

[phoenix-downer]

See You Soon

~2500 words. Post-Melody of Memory. Contains spoilers. Riku POV, Kairi POV. Introspection and reflection. Implied SoKai. Mostly canon compliant. 

As the wind whistled past Riku’s ears and his Station of Awakening came into view, one thought tumbled over and over through his mind: 

Am I doing the right thing?

He wasn’t sure where that had come from. Saving Sora was the right thing to do, no doubt about it. They’d searched an entire year and finally had a clue. Of course jumping through the portal was the right thing to do. He had to bring Sora back; he owed it to everyone. To Sora himself, of course, but to all their friends as well. Especially Kairi—

Kairi. Try as he might, he couldn’t get her face out of his head. The disappointment in her eyes when he’d told her she should stay behind. 

He touched down on the platform that had his likeness etched in stained glass. Not as he was now, but as he was when he began his journey. The moment his heart awakened to the true nature of reality and of the Keyblade. Purple glass surrounded him, and next to him were the faces of friends and important people he’d met on his journeys. 

Had Kairi gotten to have her awakening yet? Or was she—

“I did the right thing,” he said as he paused to get a feel for his surroundings. “This is what Sora would want. Kairi, safe and sound in the Realm of Light. What would he say if I let anything happen to her, after everything he’s sacrificed for her?” He balled his hand into a fist. “He trusted me to look out for her, after all. And he’d want me to bring him back to her. Right?”

No one answered him; it was dark and silent here in his heart. Not even Ansem Seeker of Darkness lurked around anymore. His image had melted away from the Station after that final battle in the Keyblade Graveyard.

And yet, a small, nagging voice at the back of his mind wouldn’t leave him alone. It pointed out that missing from his reasoning was Kairi herself. What did Kairi want?

“She’s fine with this,” he said as he paced back and forth. “She needs more training, she doesn’t want to be a burden—”

He stopped. His feet were near the image of Mickey’s head, and he sighed deeply.

“I know, I know,” he said, speaking as if his friend was actually here. “It wasn’t my call to make.”

Kairi had quickly masked her true feelings with her usual cheerfulness, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. Being left behind again was hardly what she’d wanted. And yet he’d agreed to leaving her behind because he was in such a rush to save Sora. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a little too late to go back now, huh?” 

The Power of Waking was not something he could use lightly. Sora’s disappearance had really driven that lesson home. Doubling back halfway through a dive could be risky. Best to continue on to his destination.

He summoned his Keyblade. It appeared with its usual burst of light, and its steady weight in his grip helped him focus.

“Kairi, I’m sorry for leaving you behind again. I promise it won’t happen next time.” He glanced up at the endless sea of black above him. “Besides, something tells me your heart might be the key. You brought Sora and I back from the Realm of Darkness. Depending on how this goes, we might need another miracle.” 

While Riku hadn’t hesitated to dive in after Sora, he knew there was no guarantee he’d make it back. This portal probably only went one way, knowing his luck. But if anyone could light the way home, it was Kairi. 

He pointed his Keyblade at his Station of Awakening and unlocked it. As his surroundings faded away and a new path appeared before him, he had one last message for Kairi.

“See you soon. And the next time I do, I swear, Sora will be with me.”

Despite all the odds, he wanted to give her this reassurance at least. He wanted to make up for all the tears and pain, the year of her life she spent sleeping away in the hope she might find a clue about Sora. A clue they needed because he’d failed to keep her and Sora safe. This was all his fault. If he’d protected Kairi from Xehanort—if he’d offered to go after her instead of letting Sora go it alone—then maybe, just maybe, Sora would still be here.  

This was his penance; his way of making it up to them both. The debt would only be repaid when the two of them were reunited. And this time, he’d make sure he was there too. No slinking off into the darkness alone. If his journeys had taught him anything, it was that there was nothing more important than being with his friends.

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

Kairi rested her chin on her hand and gazed out the window of the Gummi Ship. She’d seen this view several times now, but she still found herself staring at the sea of stars twinkling like diamonds in the sky. Wherever Sora was, could he see these stars? Did unreality have stars the way reality did?

“Kairi? Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Mmmm?” She broke out of her reverie and turned to her companion. Goofy was craning his neck to look at her, a concerned expression on his face.

“Do you think there are stars where Sora is?” she asked him.

He scratched his chin. “Gawrsh, that’s a good question. I’d think so, but who knows what that fiction-place is like.” He turned to Donald, who was currently driving their vessel. “Donald? Whaddya think?”

Donald carefully guided them past a lumpy asteroid before responding. “Who knows. Maybe it has stars, maybe it doesn’t. Probably depends on if the unreality has multiple worlds.” 

Kairi fiddled with her necklace. “I suppose it’s a silly question. I just… I wish I knew he was okay. I don’t want him to be somewhere strange and scary that doesn’t even have stars.”

She hadn’t imagined he’d come to her aid in that dream she’d had of Xehanort, right? One moment, she’d been sprawled on the ground, disarmed, as Xehanort prepared to strike her down again, and then the next—Sora’s Keyblade had appeared in her hand, and she’d felt his presence. He’d fought for her, too. But it was just like Xehanort said—he couldn’t speak. Not a single word to her or to anyone.

Why was he without a voice? Who had taken his voice away? And where was his heart? Why would a vanquished Xehanort who had moved on to the afterlife even care about where his heart was? Unless the person she’d met in her dream wasn’t actually Xehanort—

“Kairi?” Goofy said, breaking her out of her thoughts again.

“Sorry, I just… I dreamed about Sora, but he couldn’t speak to me. I wish I knew what he wanted to tell me—if there was anything he wanted to tell me, that is.”

It was a little presumptuous of her to assume so. He’d said what he’d needed to say before he’d disappeared. Wanting anything else—after everything he’d already done—when so many other people missed him and wanted to talk to him too—

Goofy clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Gawrsh, I’m sure he’s got lots he’d like to tell ya.”

“You really think so?” 

Donald cackled as he dodged around a meteor. “Oh, we know so. And boy do we have the stories to back it up.” 

She tilted her head. “Stories?” What did Donald mean? Stories about Sora, or—

“Gawrsh, Donald, maybe we shouldn’t tell Kairi everything, I think Sora would be kinda embarrassed—”

“You shoulda seen his face any time he saw a happy couple! He’d get all blushy and flustered and giggly because he was thinking of a certain special someone.”

Goofy clasped his hands over his mouth and giggled. His eyes were dancing, and Kairi put two and two together.

“Me? He kept thinking of me?”

Donald and Goofy both nodded, like they were two bobbleheads controlled by the same spring.

She leaned against the window and smiled. “If it’s not too much to ask… Could you tell me more? Stories about Sora, I mean. And your journeys as well. I got to talk to him about his journeys before he disappeared, but I’d like to hear your thoughts and experiences, too.”

Ever since Sora and Riku had come home from their first adventure, she’d gathered stories. Losing her memories once was awful, and she never wanted it to happen again. Chronicling her friend’s memories like this reassured her there was some record out there that didn’t rely solely on something as malleable as memory, and she now had pages and pages of notes.

“Sure thing,” Goofy said, so she dug around in her bag for her notebook and favorite gel pen. Once she was settled in, she took notes as Goofy spoke and Donald chimed in. Hearing stories about Sora helped her feel closer to him. Stories of his (mis)adventures and daring deeds, his moments of vulnerability and happiest memories, his corny jokes and hopeless romantic tendencies. And since she couldn’t go after him herself right now, this was the closest she could get to being close to him. 

Later that evening, as she was poring over her notes and reliving Donald and Goofy’s memories in the privacy of her quarters, she chewed on the end of her pen. Was it wrong to be a little upset at Riku? Upset at herself, too, for caving so easily, for not even fighting for the chance to go with him? For giving up so easily on an opportunity to save Sora? Hearing stories about him just made her want to be with him that much more. Waiting wasn’t good enough. Training wasn’t good enough. How could she even stay behind, safe and sound, while Riku was risking his life to save Sora? And after Sora had sacrificed himself for her. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. 

Sora, forgive me, she thought sadly. I wanted to go after you, but after facing off against Xehanort in my dream… Not even being able to handle a dream version of him without your help… I’m scared I’d just let you down again. Or worse, get you hurt or killed for real. And I can’t… I can’t bear to lose you again. So for now, I’ll train with Aqua, okay? That… feels like the right thing to do. I think.

She sighed deeply. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, she was still disappointed she wasn’t searching for Sora with Riku right now. She should be with him. Why did she have to train and train and train when Sora and Riku got to learn by experience? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, and she was sick of being shunted to the sidelines. 

“It’s because you’re weak,” she said with a frown as she drew an angry face in the margins of her notes. “You hold everyone else back. And Sora had to pay the price for your weakness. It’s your fault he’s gone.” 

No.

She gasped and dropped the pen. Scrawled on the page in purple ink next to her angry face was the message. N-o. Short, simple, to the point. 

The handwriting was not her own. 

“Sora?” she asked, resting a hand over her heart. But she heard nothing; felt nothing. “Oh, right. Xehanort, or whoever that really was, said you’re without a voice. I wonder what he meant by that.” 

She fumbled around for her pen, then put it to the paper. “Sora? I don’t know how this is possible, but if there’s anything you really want to tell me, um, I don’t mind if you… take over for a little while?”

That was what had happened, right? He’d taken control of her body to fight for her, and his heart had manifested. Somehow. Was a part of his heart inside her? Or had the paopu fruit really bound them together like the stories said it would? 

“Any time now, I promise I don’t mind,” she said, feeling a little silly for talking out loud like this. But if Sora really could hear her, maybe it wasn’t so silly after all.  

She waited, and waited, and waited. The little cuckoo clock in the corner went off, the little cuckoo bird popping out to announce it was past her bedtime, past her bedtime, past her bedtime. She sighed and started doodling again. Little drawings of Sora’s smile because she missed seeing the real thing. But nothing else happened; if he really was the one who’d left her that message earlier, he was either gone or unavailable now. Or maybe… maybe the connection wasn’t strong enough right now. Maybe it went in and out like her Gummiphone’s reception did when Donald drove through a particularly thick asteroid field. 

Was there a way to strengthen the connection so Sora could communicate with her more easily? She combed her brain for answers. He’d manifested the first time to protect her because she was in danger. Then that message had shown up on her notes when she’d been down on herself. 

She tapped her pen on the paper. “The common connection… The common connection… The first time, I needed help, and the second time, I was being down on myself. Maybe it’s linked to my feelings somehow? My heart?”

She flipped to a new page and jotted her thoughts down. Maybe Aqua could help her sort all of this out. Sure, a part of her still wanted to search for Sora with Riku right now, but maybe Sora wasn’t as far away as they’d thought. 

Maybe the key to finding him rested in her heart. Or at least one of the keys. That was what she and Riku and the star-girl they’d met in the Final World were, right? The girl’s key led to the unreality, Quadratum. Riku was following that clue because his key had been those dreams about Quadratum. But the other key… 

She rested her hand over her heart and smiled. For the first time since suggesting she train with Aqua, she had a clear sense of what to do next. She would train with Aqua all right, but not just in fighting and wielding a Keyblade. Aqua was a skilled mage, and if anyone could help Kairi figure this all out, she could. 

Closing the notebook, Kairi lay back on the bed and smiled. “Hang in there, Sora. Riku’s coming for you, and I’ll make my connection to you stronger, I swear.” 

The Gummi Ship would be arriving on the Land of Departure tomorrow, and then her training would begin in earnest. Someday soon Sora would come home to them, of that she was certain. Then they could finally be together like they’d promised. 

She rolled over and stared up at the stars. Whether the unreality had stars or not, she knew all worlds, all realities, shared the same sky.

“See you soon.”

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

A/N: I finished Melody of Memory yesterday, and the plot bunnies soon took hold 😂I wanted to explore Riku and Kairi’s mental states after the events of the game, plus a few plot speculation/headcanon things that popped into my mind, and this was the result. I have some general thoughts on the game overall that I might put together in a separate post, but for now, this is my initial reaction. Thank you for reading! 

[agent-cupcake]

First prize winner @elmentrysworld wanted a Claude x Yuri x Reader story that takes place after my Claude x Reader oneshot Aletheia. I’m splitting it up because my life has been… A lot these days and I wanted to post SOMETHING

I hope you enjoy it regardless?

Claude x Yuri x Reader - Part 1 of 2

This part is sfw, but the next part will not be

//

News spread throughout the palace like wildfire.  Even when it was meant to be kept quiet. No, especially then. Claude had a visitor. Mysterious, foreign, he came without notice and had been quickly hurried out of sight. It was strange to be sure. He hadn’t called for you, but Claude knew as well as you did that you’d find out and come anyway, no invitation needed. That was just the way of things, both of you were too nosy for your own good. The casual way in which you regarded the lapse of propriety once would have shocked you, but now it felt as natural as breathing.

It was his fault. Honesty, transparency, tearing down all the walls that would divide you.

Thinking about that made your chest ache in a hollow, bitter way. You still weren’t entirely sure where you were with him. Things had been unsteady since that night. Or, perhaps, too steady. He was so eager to get everything back to normal. And it worked. Mostly. When you were together, you could readily believe in everything Claude had told you. You could buy into his vision of what you were meant to be, who you were to him. But alone, well. Things were always harder when you were alone. Sometimes something frightening welled up within you. It was not the fear, or the anger, or the helplessness. It was the doubt create by the memory of those things.

You were almost able to ignore it, to cast aside your fractured memory of that night.

But that word was the kicker. Almost.

After being so flush with conviction, to be caught in uncertainty was agonizing.

It was his fault.

You shook that bitter thought from your head with a nearly violent jerk, taking advantage of the dark halls to cover the spastic movement. There were far more important things to focus on than your own personal melodrama. That was the way of it, of everything, wasn’t it?

A mysterious visitor. That would be a good distraction.

The door to Claude’s sitting room was cracked ever so slightly. A trap probably, left open just for you. Or you were reading too far into things. It didn’t matter much, as there was just enough space for you to pause, breath held and ears straining to listen through the narrow opening. There were voices from within, two of them. Male. Unaccented. You hesitated there, unable to make out any of the words, only aware of when they stopped abruptly.

“You can come in, you know,” Claude called from within, his voice raised enough to reach where you hovered. It caused you to start. A deserved surprise, all things considered. “How long were you hiding there?” Claude asked as you stepped past the threshold, not surprised to see that it was you. A trap, then. Or, more charitably —and Claude was so charitable— an invitation.  

“I wasn’t hiding,” you told him, although there was a certain unintended edge to the words that made them seem deflective. Claude sat in his usual chair, a big, comfortable throne of seat that was plush enough for him to take up any manner of unusual reading postures. In the chair across from him sat the guest, the second voice you’d been hearing.

Yuri Leclerc, apparently, had decided to visit. Instantly, every defense you were in possession of was thrown forward, your instincts recognizing the man as a threat before your mind could catch up. He was watching you with too-keen eyes and an unreadable expression. Yuri was the type of man that was almost always unreadable. Or smirking. Plotting, planning, not too unlike your king. Only, where Claude thrived in the sun dappled world of politics, Yuri was a shadowy figure in the night. The most formidable criminal player in Fódlan. And here he was, watching you approvingly in the familiar comfort of Claude’s sitting room like he belonged there.

A thousand questions jumped to mind, but you stifled them. That would be rude. After all, Yuri was a friend. Or so Claude said. You smiled. “I was merely trying to think of a good enough excuse so that when I interrupted, it wouldn’t seem so suspicious. Then you would so graciously invite me to join you.”

“And how’d that go?” Claude asked, playing into your game without blinking. “Did you think of one?”

”Oh, sure. I came to tell you about a strange visitor that’s come to the castle.” You looked at Yuri, meeting his eyes for as long as you could bear before looking away. Of all of the people Claude knew from Fódlan, he was the most interesting. And the most dangerous. You resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his eyes. “Very strange and mysterious. Probably a foreigner. Possibly dangerous.”

Claude laughed. “Right. Well, I’d hate to compromise on security. Would you like to join us?”

“If you insist,” you said, shutting the door fully behind you and taking in a big breath. “It’s been awhile, Yuri.”

“It seems that all of us have been quite busy,” he responded warmly, standing up to greet you. In all the time that had passed, you had forgotten about how pretty Yuri was. Or perhaps it just wasn’t something that you could remember, his image intangible and vague when you weren’t directly exposed to it, like the lingering tendrils of a dream that caught as fleeting fancy in the waking world. In fact, Yuri did possess a strange, elusive dream-like quality. At a glance, anyone could tell that he was most definitely from the west, what with that paper-white skin and light violet hair, his narrow features and that slim build. Considering his reputation, it was nearly paradoxical that he would be so strikingly feminine. But this, too, was a weapon.

You almost would have preferred he show up with a sword in your face. At least you would know how to react to that, would be able to keep a cool head.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Yuri took your hand, pressing a kiss to its back when he bowed. Although you knew this to be a western tradition of introduction —Claude had taught you all manner of western traditions— Yuri’s method was disarming. Far too charming to be authentic, but not slimy enough to read as deceptive.

“You too,” you said, bowing in turn while doing your best to keep from seeming affected by his demeanor. Yuri, just like Claude, was the type of man who enjoyed playing with people. It was, you supposed, apart of his charm. The type of charm that made your teeth clench.

“Yuri and I were just discussing his trip,” Claude said, seemingly oblivious to Yuri’s flirtatious greeting. Or dismissing it as Yuri’s usual antics. Or, no, Claude’s smirk told you that he was fully aware of your flustered reaction and found it entertaining. You pushed down the impulse to scowl at the man. “Apparently, a group of bandits has been making a nuisance of themselves along Fódlan’s Throat.”

“A group of bandits had been making a nuisance of themselves along Fódlan’s Throat,” Yuri corrected, sitting back down gracefully. You followed suit, albeit with far less poise. You didn’t believe yourself to be an awkward person per se, but he could make anyone look like a lumbering oaf by comparison. “When I heard that there was trouble with a group of Almyran merchants coming into Fódlan, I got permission from Holst to gather a group of my best men and follow a shipment coming out of Fódlan into Almyra.” His lip pulled back slightly, a slight expression of disgust. Just a blink later, it had passed, his face composed back into airy calm. “For all the trouble they caused, they were nothing but a lousy group of thugs without a single shred of sense between them. The only reason they’d done as much damage as they had was because of their terrain advantage.”

“And?” Claude prompted dryly. For all of his personal dramatics, he often lacked the patience to indulge anyone else’s.

Yuri smiled, undeterred. “Let’s just say they won’t be bothering anybody else.”

There was no question as to what that meant with that suggestive grin. You didn’t envy the bandits. Then again, you didn’t pity them, either. As far as you were concerned, men like that deserved what they got. For all of the many ways Claude disagreed with you about acts of violence and death, he obviously felt the same. Or maybe it was just okay when Yuri did it.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a reward for this good deed,” Claude said.

“I couldn’t possibly,” Yuri said with a wave of his hand. “Besides, several merchants have already made their appreciation abundantly clear. Their gratitude is all the reward I need. Besides, it wasn’t entirely unselfish. Bandits hurt my business, too.”

“You have my thanks all the same,” Claude said. “I mean that.”

“Will you be going back to Fódlan soon, then?” you asked. You didn’t meant to sound so eager, but the words came out that way all the same.

“I have business here, actually,” Yuri answered. One of his carefully manicured eyebrows raised. “Why, are you that eager to see me gone?”

Gods, his eyes practically cut through to your soul, twinkling in amusement. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said, trying to remain steady. “But, you know, having a foreigner hanging around during times like this could be inconvenient. There’s quite a bit of unrest already and your line of work is, well, it could cause issues here.” Not to mention the fact that you still didn’t know if you could trust him and were at least mostly certain that him being here could cause upset in your relationship with Claude. That last thought came out of nowhere, hitting you hard and leaving you breathless. You cast a side eye to Claude, jumping slightly when his gaze met yours. Too perceptive. You looked away.

“I promise not to cause any trouble,” Yuri said, putting on an air of sincerity despite the small smirk he still wore. “Besides, it was quite an ordeal to get here, my men and I need some rest before we can make the trip back. You wouldn’t be so cold as to ask me to put myself or my men at risk, now would you?”

Your eyes narrowed, but you shrugged. “That’s my opinion as an advisor, it has nothing to do with me being cold. In any case, it’s not up to me.” You looked at Claude pointedly. His expression was difficult to read, his fingers resting on his chin as he considered it.

“As long as you agree not to cause any trouble, I welcome you to stay as long as you would like,” Claude finally said to Yuri. “And since you seem so concerned about his presence,” he continued, turning to you, “why don’t you keep an eye on him? I’m sure Yuri could use a guide. Assuming that works for you, Yuri.”

“I have no objections,” he responded, flashing you a brilliant grin. “I look forward to getting to know you even better. Who knows, maybe we can even become friends.” Gods, did he have to say everything like it was a proposition? Even the word “friend” was heavy with implications when it came from his mouth. In spite of yourself, you felt your stomach clench, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“Claude,” you bit out between your teeth. “I’m not sure-”

“Great! Then its settled,” Claude said, cutting you off. “Well, it’s getting late and I am just beat. I’m gonna hit the hay.” He stood, stretching and yawning in an exaggerated way that only he could make look like anything less than a farcically bad performance. “Yuri, you’re more than welcome to take a room in the palace if you can find a maid to prepare one for you. They have a thing about outsiders so it might be somewhat of a hunt, but I’m sure she’d be happy to help.”

“Wait a min-”

“Actually,” Yuri cut you off, standing. “I already have a place in town. Wouldn’t want to be too far from my men in case something goes wrong. I suppose that’s my not so subtle cue to leave.” He paused, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you. “I’m staying at the Silkstone Inn, in case you want to come keep an eye on me. I could use a guide to show me around the city.” He smirked. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“That’s not necessary,” you said flatly.

“Heh, nevertheless. Goodnight.” Yuri tipped his head towards you. “Claude, it was a pleasure seeing you again. I hope we can catch up while I’m in town.”

“I’m sure I can find some time to entertain you. I’d love to swap secrets, for old times sake.”

“Now that sounds like fun. Until then.” Yuri didn’t wait for an answer, exiting without asking for Claude’s leave, dramatic cape flaring behind him.

Impudent scoundrel.

You stood. “Can we talk, Claude?”.

“Too tired,” Claude said, the words disfigured by another yawn. This one was far less convincing. Your eyes narrowed.

“You pawned me off to be a… A babysitter,” you said. “I had no idea he was going to be here, I didn’t plan for this at all.” You pulled in a large steadying breath, not that it did much to settle you. “Be honest, Claude, is this your way of punishing me?”

“I’m not punishing you,” Claude said, his facade of fatigue fading away as he read your expression, gaze holding yours. His eyes were too sharp, too astute. It made you uncomfortable, a sense of transparency rippling through you like a shiver. All the doubt you’d been secretly harboring was in your eyes. You knew it, and you knew that he did, too. “Truth be told, I didn’t know that Yuri would be coming, either. But… that’s not what you meant, is it?”

“It is,” you told him sharply, disliking that question intensely.

“No, no, this isn’t about Yuri. There’s something that’s been bothering you. After our little conversation the other night, I would have thought you’d be able to open up and tell me what you’re thinking. I can’t read your mind, you know.” Could have fooled you. He sighed, frowning. “You’re upset about something, I can tell that much. Are you… Angry with me? I hoped that it would get better, but it’s not, is it?”

A question. Yes or no. Simple.

Honesty was sweet and vile. Your hands clenched into tight fists and the taste of sugar was thick on your tongue, heat creeping in on the edges of your mind. It all came up, sugary bile in your throat and in your head. You hated yourself for your answer but he had asked you a question and expected the truth.

“I’m not angry with you,” you told him. “That’s the truth, you don’t even need to drug me to hear it. I’m not angry with you. How could I be? After all, you’re my king. My lover. For me, there is nobody else. And I’m-I’m okay with it, I’m not angry with you.” Words that had brewed as a cutting critique of his treatment, that you had meant to use to hurt Claude, ended up lacking any of the rage you had originally intended. That was the nature of the truth, the unpredictability of emotion. Looking into Claude’s eyes, you melted. The feeling wasn’t sweet, or feverish, or synthetic. Honesty was painful. Honesty was crippling. “How could I be angry with you?”

Claude’s expression fell. It might have been your intention in all the time those words had been brewing in your chest but actually seeing his pain nearly broke your heart.

“I’ve been going about this the wrong way, haven’t I?” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. The silence was long and awkward, your words echoing in your mind, each pass creating a feedback of regret for having spoken in such a way. “Maybe we should take a break from this little scandal of ours. I’ve got the feeling you need some time to think.”

“Think about what?” you asked.

“What you want,” Claude said. At your scandalized expression, he was quick to continue, “I don’t mean give up your position, at least not for now, but we can’t continue on with this hanging over us. I’m asking you to help out a friend while he visits because I don’t trust anyone else to do it. That’s all there is to this.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “As to everything else… Please, just think about what it is that you really want. Whatever it is you choose,” he shrugged, “I suppose we’ll go from there.”

“After everything you’ve done,” you said, a block of ice in your stomach, “that’s it?”

“What? Not at all,” Claude said, seemingly surprised by your accusation. “But I can’t force you to feel something if you don’t. The heart wants what it wants, right? Right.” He yawned again, this one far more authentic. He really did look tired. You hadn’t noticed that before. “And right now, my heart wants a good night’s sleep. You should think about getting some, too. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”  

You winced.

“Don’t make that face, everything is gonna work out just fine.” Whether he was talking about Yuri or you or your relationship, you weren’t sure. Maybe all of it, maybe none. Claude kissed your cheek in a shockingly chaste way and didn’t invite you to his bed, even though you were half certain you’d have agreed despite everything. He bid you goodnight.

The wind teased you that night, billowing in your curtains and kissing chills onto your skin as you thrashed around in your bed in the search of a comfortable position. You thought about doubt, and choices, but did finally get to sleep. Small mercies.

[aer-in-wanderland]

구미호뎐 | Tale of the Nine Tailed - Ji Ah’s Fate & the Korean Mythology Surrounding It (requested by @kestrel-of-herran)

Ask: One of the most fascinating things for me is the prophecy the fortune teller told Ji Ah when she gave him the fox bead. I feel like that's important foreshadowing for the drama's ending. How would you translate and interpret that?

Note: words/terms left in Korean require context and will be discussed below.

EP06 The Four Pillars of Fate - Ji Ah Trades the Fox Bead

Ji Ah: I’ll repay this eunhye no matter what, please? 

Fortune Teller: Okay, okay! You were a princess in your past life, do you think you’re a princess now? You think if you whine enough you can have anything. Ei! Your hand. Give me thine hand. (Ji Ah extends her right hand). Left hand!

Ji Ah: (changing hands) Left hand. 

Fortune Teller: You were born with a very special saju weren’t you! Water and fire vie on par, earth is clouded, but metal will subdue it, so though darkness should surround you (literally: all four directions, heaven, and earth), a moon rises in your sky. 

Ji Ah: I’m not sure what you mean...?

Fortune Teller: You have the fox bead! For that is your moon.

Ji Ah: Excuse me?

Fortune Teller: Give to me the fox bead. Even without a moon, your saju is overflowing enough. Therefore...!

Ji Ah: I’ll give it to you! I don’t believe in such things as palja. 

Fortune Teller: The deal...has been accepted. 

Ji Ah: Pardon? Already?

Fortune Teller: Your palm lines. Your palm lines have changed. 

(Note: I translated this working from the raw, so I haven’t seen the subs to be able to comment on them). 

Eunhye (은혜)

Commonly translated as a ‘favor’ or ‘debt,’ ‘eunhye’ is distinct from both of these both linguistically and conceptually. When Yeon says that foxes are obligated to repay ‘debts,’ he’s actually talking about eunhye. ‘Debt’ is another word entirely (빚) and it does appear occasionally. The two are distinct. The glowing ring bonds formed between Yeon and Ah Eum, and Rang and Sajang are both manifestations of eunhye. 

One Korean folktale in which eunhye features famously is the tale of the Grateful Magpies (은혜갚은 까치, literally: ‘the magpies who repaid their eunhye’). Shin Joo refers to this in EP02 when Yeon tells him about returning Ji Ah’s eyesight to her even after she tranquilized him:

Shin Joo: And you’re saying you just let her go? And returned her sight, too? 

Yeon: Since rules are rules.

Shin Joo: It’s not as if we’re magpies meticulously repaying our eunhye! Geez, how long do we have to be bound by that sort of premodern contractual relationship?

Eunhye is difficult to translate but can be approximated as ‘help or favor (as in ‘to favor someone’) given willingly.’ In my mind, rather than a debt which is a negative concept, eunhye is more of a positive concept. There’s a voluntary, good faith/good will element to it. So you’re ‘indebted’ as the result of a good deed done for you. Except it’s not so voluntary if you’re a gumiho, apparently. 

In contrast, when Yeon tells Eodukshini, ‘I’ll repay this debt shortly,’ in EP08 (could also be translated sarcastically as ‘I’ll return the favor shortly’), he uses the actual word for debt (빚) - no good will to be had here on either side. 

Saju Palja (사주팔자）

Literally ‘four pillars eight characters’ (四柱八字), commonly translated as the ‘four pillars of destiny/fate.’ The concept comes from the Chinese astrological concept that a person’s destiny or fate can be divined by the two sexagenary cycle characters assigned to their birth year, month, day, and hour. For more on that, I’ll refer you to Wikipedia. ;) 

In EP02, when Yeon asks Taluipa to look into whether Ji Ah’s parents are alive or dead, he has Ji Ah text him their saju (birth dates and times). 

I’m not sure how palmistry fits in with the concept, and am no expert in astrology, western or eastern, so I can’t offer any interpretation of the fortune teller’s prophecy, but if anyone wants to try looking into it I’d be intrigued to hear what you find. Apparently, the writer spent 2.5 years on the script, so I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that there’s actual meaning behind it. 

The Fox Bead (여우 구슬)

Fox beads are a common earmark of gumiho lore in both Korea and Japan (and probably China, too, but I don’t know enough Chinese to speak to that). In most tellings I’ve encountered, a fox can’t live without their bead, but that doesn’t appear to be the case for Yeon. I was also intrigued by the following exchange he has with the Magistrate in EP06:

Yeon: That’s the Mirror of the Moon. Do you mean to harm (literally: catch) a human with one of the four great mountain gods’ four great treasures meant to protect all creation? 

Magistrate: And so, did your fox bead protect all of creation? Or did it protect one person?

To my thinking, this implies that Yeon’s fox bead is being attributed to his status as a mountain god as much as it is to his being a fox. None of our other foxes seem to have one, but none of them are gumiho (gu = nine, ie. the number of tails), much less cheonho (heavenly foxes) like Yeon. 

I’m actually a little unclear on this front as well. According to the excerpt from the Hyeonjoong’gi (玄中記) at the start of the first episode, foxes that live to be a hundred can take human form and foxes that live to be a thousand become cheonho. Shin Joo is obviously at least 600 years old but he doesn’t appear to be anywhere near Yeon’s caliber (or even Rang’s who is half human), something he says himself, and in the spin-off he only had one tail. Yoo Ri is younger still. It’s unclear to me whether they will ‘level up' if they live long enough, or if they will never be as powerful as Yeon, regardless of how long they live. I get the sense it’s the latter. Both Yeon and Shin Joo have said that Yeon was of a different caliber from the very beginning (in EP02 and EP03, respectively). 

Finally, we haven’t been told much about the fox bead’s powers other than emitting an aura only Yeon can see (sometimes) and suppressing Imoogi inside of Ji Ah. I’m hoping we see it again before the series wraps, but not convinced they’ll have time to recover it given everything else that needs to happen.

On another note, based on the preview for EP15, it appears that the Magistrate’s Mirror of the Moon will be coming back into play. My guess is that Imoogi is going to steal it from the Magistrate and use it on Taluipa. She was shown turned to stone in the background while Yeon and Terry-Imoogi fight. That’s originally her power, so I think Imoogi may use the mirror against her similarly to how the Magistrate ‘absorbed’ the sword Yeon sent flying at him and re-directed it at Ji Ah. 

The Jeo Seung Shi Wang (저승 시왕)

The Ten Kings of the Afterlife (jeo-seung-shi-wang) [저승 시왕], as they’re known in the drama, are more commonly called the Ten Kings of the Underworld (myeong-bu-shi-wang) [명부 시왕・冥府十王]. In the subs they appear as the Afterlife Judges, which is accurate in that this is one of the key roles that they perform. As we're told in EP13, the fortune teller is actually one of them. 

Yeon: What’s the word? That fortune teller, did you find out about him?

Snail Bride: I’ve been asking around via our patrons. 

Yeon: He didn’t seem to be just another low-level native (Korean) god. What’s the geezer’s deal?

Snail Bride: This seems like just a baseless rumour, but there was talk that one of the Ten Kings of the Afterlife who rule over hell leaves his position without notice at odd times.

Yeon: Heh...Interesting. In any case, relay any news you hear about that geezer to me as soon as you hear it. 

While the Snail Bride seems to doubt the validity of the rumour, Yeon appears confident it’s true. He later relays this to Team Fox at their strategy meeting:

Yeon: Do you remember the fortune teller we met at the Korean Folk Village?

Ji Ah: Of course I remember! (Shooting Rang a dirty look) Because of someone [your] fox bead was stolen from us.

Rang: I heard rumour he’s a major big shot. Is it true?

Yeon: He’s one of the Ten Kings of Hell. 

Rang: What?!

Yeon: They say he’s also in possession of the Uiryeong’geom (geom = sword). 

Rang: No way~

Jae Hwan: What’s the Uiryeong’geom?

Shin Joo: It’s a sword that cuts evil (literally: sins). 

Jae Hwan: Cuts...evil, you said?

Shin Joo: It’s sword they say was made in ancient days by King Yeomra himself from a branch he broke off of the Uiryeongsu (su = tree) that weighs sins. But, didn’t that disappear from the world several thousand years ago? 

Yeon: (Shaking his head) Uh-uh. The Snail Bride just picked it up.

As you may recall, the Ten Kings are the ones who put a celestial hit on Rang which led Yeon to track him down and pretend to kill him (thanks for the angst), and they’re the ones who passed judgement on Yeon after he killed the mudang (shamanness) and sentenced him to time in the Snow Mountain Prison. 

It appears that there was some confusion going around that the fortune teller is King Yeomra. Given the above dialogue, I can see where people may have understood his possession of the sword to indicate that, and, in truth, we don’t know which of the Ten Kings he is. That being said, I think if King Yeomra was frequently vacating his post without notice, someone would have said something. I also think Yeomra is a big enough name that if it were him they would’ve just come out and said so. Yeomra is also Taluipa’s brother so she, at least, would know. My assumption was that he was one of the other, less well known kings. 

To conclude, this has all been a long way of saying that I have no idea what Ji Ah’s palja will mean for her fate. What I can provide is a little context. I’m not familiar with the sword, and it doesn’t turn up when I google it, so I suspect it was invented for the purpose of the show. Whether it remains a red herring until the end or shows up in the final hour remains to be seen. 

[majesty-madness]

Warm Water (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

https://tenor.com/view/arthur-morgan-red-dead-redemption2-gif-12884898

Summary: While their relationship isn’t very new, Y/N realizes the lack of intimacy between her and Arthur. She feels like Arthur is hesitating so she makes the decision to try to show him exactly how she feels. 

Word count: 4800+

Warning: Cursing, fluff, nudity, light sexual themes

It was an incredibly slow day. The sun that seemed to rise then immediately set was prolonging it’s stay in the great blue sky.

It didn’t help that there was nothing to do around camp. The laundry was already cleaned and hanging up, dishes were piled neatly onto a table saved for later, Pearson was not currently preparing any meals for the day, and most of the men had gone out to hunt or collect more money.

Camp was silent. All except for the crackling coming from the nearby fire pit.

Y/N sat quietly by that fire with a book propped in her lap. The novel was opened but not being read, Y/N had gotten bored and opted for staring at the orange-yellow flames of the fire.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, a brunette had noticed her intense fascination with the fire and tapped her shoulder.

The contact caused Y/N to jump and Abigail pulled her hand away. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“No it’s okay, I was miles away.” Y/N replied, finally closing the book that had remained open without being touched for who knows how long.

Abigail scoffed as she sat down next to her. “I could tell.” The y/h/c picked up on the scoff.

“I’m just so bored! The day just seems to be going on forever.” She exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air.

“I know what you mean.” Abigail chuckled, deciding to also stare into the flames.

There was a moment of silence between the two women as they sat near the fire pit, admiring the warmth while simultaneously being repulsed by its close proximity.

“So, how have things been between you and Arthur?” Abigail suddenly asked, interrupting the silence.

Y/N sighed and looked to the ground. Abigail turned her gaze, a knowing expression on her face. “That bad?”

“No.” Y/N quickly defended. “It’s just-” she paused.

“Just what?” Abigail inquired.

“It’s just… it’s been seven months, and there still seems to be this wall between us.”

Abigail bobbed her head up and down in a slight nod and leaned back away from her lap. “I see.”

“I mean it’s not like he won’t talk to me or that he’s avoiding me or anything like that, but when I try to be more physically affectionate he-... Well, I feel like I make him uncomfortable and it breaks my heart.”

Abigail smiled. “I really don’t think that’s the case.”

Y/N scoffed this time. “What makes you say that?”

Abigail explained. “Arthur’s been through a lot, I’m sure you know that. He’s opened his heart up to people, and was shot down by the ways of the world we live in.”

Y/N knew what Abigail was talking about. She knew Mary had broken his heart and he continued to put up this metaphorical wall to keep anyone from getting too close. Who could blame him really. Though Mary wasn’t the only one who hurt Arthur. Two other names came to mind.

Eliza. Issac.

The mere thought of their names brought tears to her eyes.

It wasn’t their fault though. They were ripped away from Arthur by the barrel of a gun. It was their deaths that made Arthur realize the real cruelty of reality.

Not many people in the gang knew about Eliza and Issac and the fact that Y/N knew meant that he trusted her despite the lack of intimacy in their relationship.

“But you don’t make Arthur uncomfortable. I see that everytime he looks at you.”

This caused Y/N to look back up to the mother sitting next to her.

Abigail continued. “I’ve known Arthur a long time, and I have never seen him as happy as he looks when he’s with you.”

Y/N smiled.

“I know it’s hard for him to be close to someone, but it’s because he cares for you that he doesn’t want to make a mistake.” Just then there was the sound of horses and chatter approaching the camp.

Abigail and Y/N turned to see that most of the men had come back. Arthur had come back.

The brunette stood up from her spot and started to walk away but before she got far, she turned her head to look at Y/N. “I think you should tell him how you feel and maybe...maybe he’ll open up a bit more.” And just like that she walked away.

Y/N sat and thought for a minute then looked up. Her eyes shifted to admire Arthur’s tall, stocky frame, he was currently talking with Pearson.

She watched the way Arthur carried himself, one knee bent as he stood to show he was comfortable being casual at camp. The way he scratched at the stubble growing on his face from where a beard used to be. The way his lips curled up into a smile as he made a joke about Pearson. The way his laugh reverberated from his throat into the open air. The way he did anything really.

Oh, she was so hopelessly in love with him.

A smile had found a home on Y/N’s features as she sat there staring at the man she loved. Abigail was right, she should tell him how she felt. At least that would get things out in the open and they could discuss where to go from there in their relationship.

The y/h/c hopped up from her spot trying to look casual as she walked over to Arthur who was still talking to Pearson.

“Come on, Arthur.”

“I just got back and now you want me to head back into town for food?” Arthur rhetorically asked, the annoyance palpable in his tone.

“We’re running low on supplies.” Pearson added.

“So go get it yourself.” Arthur retorted. Y/N giggled at his snarky remark.

Arthur whipped his head over to see his girlfriend standing there with a smile on her face. He hoped she couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks.

“Please Arthur? You’re the only one who’ll actually get what I asked for. All these other fools waste money on things we don’t need. Besides, it won’t take long. Ten minutes tops.” Pearson continued to beg.

“I don’t-.” Arthur started but was interrupted by his significant other.

“Why don’t we both go?”

Her suggestion surprised Arthur. Usually, he was the one to ask if she wanted to go into town with him for supplies. Not the other way around.

“You wanna go into town?” Arthur questioned, continuing to hold his unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Why not? I mean it’s not like I hate going into town.” Y/N paused before adding. “And I’m bored.”

Y/N nearly fainted when Arthur chuckled at her response.

He stood there silently for a few seconds as he thought it over, though Y/N knew she had already roped him in. She knew him too well.

“Arlight, fine.” Arthur huffed then threw his cigarette to the dirt ground.

“Great! Let me go put this away then we can go.” Y/N grinned running off to toss her book back into her tent.

Though Arthur tried to be annoyed, he was secretly glad that Y/N had suggested the idea.

Spending time with her made him forget what he was, what he had done in the past, and that he was an outlaw through and through.

That’s what scared him.

He would fall so deep into every moment he spent with the woman he loved that the dangers that constantly followed him around drifted from his mind, but the world did not forget.

The world always remembered and would remind Arthur of his past deeds by throwing obstacles right back at him.

Damn, the world Arthur often thought to himself.

One part of him wanted to get away. To live a peaceful life with Y/N by his side, hopefully with a ring around her finger and a cabin all to themselves on a plot of land that they’d own. However another part of him understood that he was an outlaw who’d committed many crimes and killed many people so he accepted the fact that he would never truly get away from ‘the life’. He mentally scolded himself for thinking such things when he knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve her.

Arthur was pulled back to reality when Y/N came rushing back over to him, a giddy smile still formed on her lips.

“Ya ready?” Arthur asked with a slightly sarcastic undertone.

Y/N nodded dramatically. “Yes sir, Mr. Morgan.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” The outlaw said gesturing to the wagon that sat off to the side of camp.

“Thank you. Both of you. Make sure to bring back what we need.” Pearson called out as the couple made their way toward the wagon.

Arthur grunted as his response to Pearson’s demand about the supplies. If he didn’t love Y/N so much, he wouldn’t be going back out.

“Don’t worry, we will!” Y/N called back amused by Arthur’s lack of interest.

The stocky cowboy stepped up onto the wagon first then extended his hands out for Y/N to grab. She took them firmly in her own and helped Arthur to pull her up onto the wagon as well then on their way they went.

The couple spent the first several minutes basking in silence. It was a bit awkward only because they didn’t know what to say to each other.

Arthur loved spending time with Y/N however, lately he felt as if he were avoiding her in a sense and he wasn’t sure if he was capable of discussing the reason why.

Y/N was glad that they were alone, but she needed to talk to him, tell him how she felt so that way they could get everything out in the open.

Despite her and Abigail’s talk earlier, she was hesitant.

“Beautiful today, isn’t it?” Y/N stated in an attempt to spark a conversation.

The outlaw nodded. “Yeah. Real nice.”

Silence again.

‘Beautiful today? Damn you, Y/N! Talking about the weather.’ Y/N mentally scolded herself.

Why did she have to be as awkward as Arthur when it came to starting a genuine chat?

Something else. She had to talk about something else, something that she could eventually steer in the direction of how she felt.

“Find anything in town? Any solid leads?” She opted for asking about what Arthur had been doing earlier.

Arthur spared her a glance then turned back to the dirt road. “Yeah uh...turns out there’s a train that’s gonna pass through town tomorrow then head into a bit of deserted country. Me, Charles, and John thought about hittin’ it.”

“Hope it’ll be worth it. There’s nothing worse than going through all that trouble only to get a small take from it.” Y/N said with a small chuckle of amusement following as if she were trying to make a joke.  

Arthur scoffed in response. “From what I hear, trains full of rich bastards taking a trip somewhere so it should be a decent score.” He turned the wagon into another dirt road that led into town.

“I’m glad.”

“Glad?” Arthur asked, confusion lacing his voice.

She then realized how odd that must have sounded and was quick to add. “I mean glad in the sense that we’ll have some more money and are that much closer to finally moving on from this place.” Her cheeks were now flushed red.

“You’re glad about us robbing trains and rich folk?” Arthur inquired his lips curling to form a smirk.

Y/N giggled. “No! I just- Oh you know what I meant, Arthur Morgan!”

Arthur laughed along with his girlfriend, admiring the sound of her embarrassed giggling.

The sight made his heart skip a beat like nothing ever had, not even back when he was with Mary.

Yes he had plenty of good times with her, but with Y/N it was by far the best experience he’d ever had.

Soon their laughter settled down and Y/N took a deep breath, plopping her hands in her lap.

For a moment Y/N had forgotten all about her troubles, but with the silence closing in on them again, she suddenly remembered the ache in her heart.

Abigail’s words echoed in her head.

I think you should tell him how you feel.

Should she do it now? Was it too soon?

Her heart willed her to say something while her mind held her back. However, the ache in her chest was growing, pushing her to be honest with him.

Y/N looked up to Arthur, admiring his features. She could tell he was lost in his own thoughts as he directed them toward the store.

The way that the sun was hitting him caused her heart to pound away. It was a sensation that reminded her of when he’d lean in for a kiss. She was overwhelmed with love and admiration for him. It wasn’t like anything she’d known.

She needed to do it now.

Do it. Now.

Y/N opened her mouth. “Arth-”

“Let’s head in and get what we need.” Arthur said as he climbed off the wagon.

Y/N stared at him surprised, mouth still hanging open. She had not realized how close they were to the market. She didn’t even feel the wagon come to a halt.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, seeing as how Y/N was continuing to sit up on the wagon in a daze.

She was snapped back from her thoughts, shaking her head. “O-oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay. Let’s head in then.” Arthur suggested, walking off toward the store.

Y/N climbed down from the wagon and followed close behind Arthur.

As they shopped for all the materials and ingredients Pearson had asked for, Y/N kept getting distracted.

She kept thinking about what happened outside the store. As soon as his name was leaving her lips, Arthur was quick to intervene, suggesting they head in and start gathering supplies.

Did he know what she wanted to say? Was he aware that she wanted to talk and was trying to avoid it?

She really wasn’t sure. But she did know, now was not the time to talk about it apparently.

Besides, trying to discuss honest feelings inside a food market was not very intimate anyway.

It took a little while but Y/N and Arthur were eventually done buying the supplies. Arthur loaded them into the back of the wagon and was quick to climb up onto the seat.

Y/N walked over to the side of the wagon, where Arthur was sitting and once again helped him to lift her up.

Arthur snapped the reins, pushing the horses to go, and rode down the town’s path back toward the woods.

Just like on the way to the town, Y/N and Arthur didn’t say much. Instead of the teasing banter from earlier though, nothing was being said.

Each individual thinking miles away.

Y/N felt an obsessive need to somehow discuss her inner feelings to him while trying to be considerate to his feelings as well.

Arthur, on the other hand, was occupied with what happened back at town. Y/N had said his name, and yet he had interrupted her. She said she was okay but she seemed really distracted while they were shopping.

Was she about to say something? And if so, what was it?

As they rode further down the dirt path, Y/N caught a glimpse of another diverging path on her right.

She got an idea.

“Hey Arthur, turn up this path.” Y/N said, pointing to the dirt road they were getting ever nearer to.

“Why? Going that way takes longer to get back to camp.” Arthur stated.

Y/N turned to look Arthur right in the eyes.

“Please Arthur. There’s something I want to show you.” She pleaded, her voice soft and gentle almost like a whisper.

Hearing her voice that way, so quiet and fragile, made his heart skip a beat.

When she asked him for anything in that tone, he gladly did it. If she had asked him to burn down the entire world using that voice, he’d do it.

No problem.

Arthur’s gaze softened, silently turning onto the dirt path.

“I know this path is longer, but it’s more romantic.” Y/N stated a smile spreading across her face.

“Romantic? You tryin’ to butter me up?” The cowboy asked a slight tone of sarcasm.

Y/N laughed. “No, well maybe. I’m just trying to set the mood.”

Arthur smirked which made Y/N turn to him. “Why would you want to set the mood just for me?”

Y/N jabbed his arm with her elbow. “Don’t be like that. Is it so hard for you to believe that I’d want to do something special for you?”

He shook his head, a smile teasing his lips. “I guess I never thought I deserved it.”

“Well it’s not true.” Y/N added shortly pausing before speaking again. “Actually there’s something I really need to talk to you about, but I wanted to wait until we got there.”

Confused, Arthur looked over to his girlfriend, his half smile dying down. “What do you mean?”

She rested one hand on his back and used her other hand to hold Arthur’s arm. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

He chuckled. “I suppose so.”

It was a few minutes when Y/N suddenly patted Arthur’s arm, telling him to stop. He pulled hard on the reins until the horses came to a stop.

Arthur could immediately see the pep in Y/N’s step after she hopped off the wagon and treaded down a small hill, trying her best to avoid rocks and loose dirt.

“This way Arthur!” Y/N said absentmindedly, her eyes fixated on whatever was in front of her. Then her figure disappeared behind the edge of a small cliff.

“Hang on a sec…” Arthur blurted out as he made his way down the steep slope.

When he reached the bottom he was met with a medium sized pond surrounded by tall trees, patches of grass and flowers while a modest waterfall continuously flowed from some unseen river.

The cowboy stared at the beautiful environment as he stepped up beside Y/N who was also admiring the view, standing just an inch away from the water line.

“Isn’t it pretty?” She beamed, her eyes never leaving the shining surface of the water.

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Real pretty.”

The couple took a moment to admire the scene in front of them. Both set of eyes wandering along each strand of grass, every flower, ever ripple in the water, trying to memorize every little detail as if they would never see it again.

And it was entirely possible.

The next day they could very well run into trouble, either from the O'driscolls or the Pinkertons or whatever bastards wanted to mess with them. They’d have to pack up and move again.

That was the harsh reality of the life Arthur and Y/N were a part of. Which is what gave moments like this more meaning, made them more special.

They might never see it again, but if they could remember it, they could dream about it.

Y/N’s eyes ran along the waterline eventually meeting back to Arthurs figure. Her gaze crawling up from the ground to finally land on his features.

His blue eyes, brown hair, his growing stubble, the scar on his chin. As much time as she had spent observing his features, her memory could never compare to the real thing.

“Hey Arthur?”

“Yeah?” He replied, his gaze not moving away from the pond.

“Let’s go swimming.”

That seemed to grab his attention as Y/N watched his head snap over in her direction.

“Swimming?” He asked in a near whisper, not sure he heard her right.

She smiled. “Yeah. Swimming.”

Y/N could see a redness rise from his neck up to his cheeks.

Arthur lifted up his hand to massage the back on his neck, like he was attempting to wipe away the blush. “I -I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. We’ve been gone long enough, I think it’s better to just head back.”

This time Y/N turned her whole body to face the man she loved. “Please, Arthur? Just this once.”

That damned voice. So soft, so gentle. God, she had him wrapped around her little finger.

He let out a sigh before saying, “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

With a light squeeze on his arm, Y/N stood up on her tippy toes and kissed Arthur’s cheek. “Thank you.” 

Arthur let out a small nervous chuckle as he tried to think of something to say. Unfortunately, he came up blank.

“I’ll head in first then you can follow me in, that okay?” Y/N asked, still pressed into his side.

He hesitantly nodded. “Y-yeah. That...that sounds good.”

He could feel the moment that Y/N stepped away and when he finally looked up, he could already see his girlfriend starting to undress herself.

The cowboy was quick to turn his back once he witnessed Y/N unbuttoning her shirt.

Even though she was the one to suggest the idea, Y/N could feel her own hesitation beginning to rise within her. Her heart started hammering in her chest, her face became hot, and short breaths puffed out of her mouth as she tried to control her breathing.

Why was she so nervous now?

She knew the answer because behind the confidence she had just displayed, she had never exposed herself in front of a man before, let alone the man she loved.

This was just as new for her as it was for him.

Y/N shook her head from those thoughts and proceeded to take her clothes off. She had already come this far, there was no need to feel so hesitant now. She loved Arthur with all her heart, and now she needed to show him that.

Once her undergarments were off, the woman stepped toward the pond, slowly sinking further and further into the water. 

She felt delighted when her skin came into contact with the shining liquid. “Wow, the water is warmer than I thought it’d be!” She called back to Arthur who was standing as stiff as a statue.

The sound of her voice caused Arthur to look over his shoulder to see Y/N’s clothes lying on the grass.

He closed his eyes for a second mumbling to himself. “Shit…”

The cowboy reached up to grab his hat then tossed it to the ground. Slowly but surely, he began taking off his clothes, one piece at a time.

Once he was completely naked, his anxiety was screaming at him. He had never felt so exposed in his life and he knew it wasn’t just because he was wearing nothing out in the open.

He turned to face the direction of the pond, quickly realizing that Y/N had her back turned to him. He also took note of how she was nearly completely submerged in the water, only the top of shoulders and up were visible.

When he stepped into the water, he was surprised.

She was right, the water was warm. It was probably thanks to the scorching hot days they had to deal with.

It took a couple of more seconds as his body was covered more and more by the murky water.

Based on the sounds coming from behind her, Y/N sensed that Arthur had already entered the water and was approaching.

She turned around meeting face to face with her boyfriend, who had stopped just a few inches away. While she’s not surprised it does distract her for a minute as she eyes his muscular chest. It was no secret that Arthur Morgan was built like an ox but seeing it up close like this was quite intriguing.

Arthur noticed Y/N’s eyes looking him up and down, but he made no indication that he wanted her to stop. He simply let her look.

Though his breath hitched in his throat when Y/N inched her way over to him, stopping just a few inches away, their bodies almost touching.

“Arthur, you know that I care about you right? And that I trust you with my life?”

Not being able to come up with a coherent thought, he nodded.

She continued. “Recently, I’ve noticed that when I...try to be more intimate with you, you seem….” she paused, not knowing the right words to use.

“You always seem so...uncomfortable. Like you don’t want that.”

Arthur’s eyes drooped to the water in deep thought before Y/N spoke again.

“I know you’ve been through a lot of pain in your life, and you opened your heart to people who ended up breaking it.”

He knew who she was talking about.

“So I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do. I love you, and the last I’d ever want is to make you uncomfortable or… make you feel you’re obligated to do things for me.” She raised her hand to cup his cheek.

Feeling him flinch made her want to retreat her hand almost immediately.

“Because you’re not. I just…” She paused again, wondering if she really should say more. She decided yes.

“I just wish you’d talk to me about how you feel and…..and what you want.” She finished, taking in his pensive expressive a clear indicator that he was taking her words to heart.

He didn’t say anything for several seconds. Fairly deep in his own mind.

Y/N let out a nervous, airy chuckle as if she were trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere. “I hope that I’m making sense and not rambling.”

He nodded again. Not saying anything still.

His silence was starting to make Y/N feel insecure, and made her think that maybe doing this was a bad idea.

She pulled her hand away from his face. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should go back.”

Y/N started to walk away when a hand grabbed her arm. She whipped her head back to the cowboy in utter shock.

Arthur stood frozen, his hand tightly gripping Y/N’s arm as he contemplated what he wanted to do right now. It was obvious he was in inner turmoil, trying desperately to come to terms with his own anxiety and hesitations.

However, when he heard Y/N whisper his name quiet enough that he just barely heard it, his resolve became crystal clear.

He yanked Y/N closer to him, pressing her body snugly against his as he lifted her up. He slid one hand under her leg, keeping it wrapped around his waist and used the other to wrap around her back.

The gasp that left Y/N’s mouth caused him to groan as he shortly pressed his lips to hers in a passionate infused kiss.

Y/N could only describe it as absolutely intoxicating. She felt drunk off his love.

In all the time that they had been together, Arthur had never kissed her like this. A perfect mixture of rough and tenderness.

Where had this been all her life?

Unfortunately breathing was becoming a factor so the couple pulled away from each other, panting for air.

“I’m...sorry, Y/N.” Arthur suddenly apologized.

The love of her life had just given her the most amazing kiss she had only ever dreamt of until now and he was apologizing?

How did she deserve him?

She grinned. “Sorry for what?”

“For how I’ve been the last couple of months. I should’ve talked to you sooner.” Arthur explained.

Y/N shook her head. “That’s nothing to be sorry for. You had your reasons.”

“That’s still no excuse.” He paused then added, “I knew I liked you from the beginning but the longer we were together, the more I realized how much I loved you. And it scared me because I thought that by me loving you, I might lose you like ....” He stopped himself, not being able to finish that sentence.

Y/N caressed his cheek again. “It’s okay. I know how much you’ve been through which is why I didn’t push it. I just wanted you to know that you can talk to me, be open with me.”

Arthur nodded his head. “I know I can. I trust you. It’s just most of the time I think of all the bad things I’ve done and can't help but worry about what could happen to you.”

“We’ve all done bad things, but what’s important is how we try to make up for those mistakes, and try to live a good life.” Y/N reassured, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She heard Arthur chuckle. “I’d be willing to try livin’ that good life as long as you’ll live it with me.”

Y/N smirked though a smile soon broke out after it. “Always.”

Arthur smiled back before he leaned in and captured Y/N’s lips once again.

This time, the kiss was much softer than the previous showing that this wasn’t based on lust, but rather originated from an unyielding love.

They pulled away to catch their breath.

“I love you, Y/N.” Arthur whispered as he locked eyes with his girlfriend. The woman he thought he didn’t deserve, but would try with every fiber of his being to do right by her.

Because second chances didn’t come by often, and if she was his, he’d do anything within his power to be a man she could be proud of.

Little did he know, she already was.

Her smile turned into a grin. “I love you too and I always will.”

______

Series Masterlist

[catboymingi]

the evil queen’s revenge - veninder chap. 7

navi/masterlist

story masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: angst, fluff; eventual (soon!) best friends to lovers

word count: 7.2k

warnings: attempted assault, low self-esteem related to that

a/n: this chapter is sponsored by a random european bops youtube playlist and my spotify emo playlist and maybe you can tell, it’s a rollercoaster of emotions right here

louise har truet mig / lige siden jeg forlod dig - louise has been threatening me / right since i left you

the more time you spent with the boys (mainly mingi, still), the more you seemed to thrive. they noticed, and they were incredibly glad about it. the tall redhead had managed to catch up enough by the second tuesday of knowing you that he managed to convince your professor to let him join the class, taking some sort of unofficial entrance test and doing great. maybe it was partly because you were a teacher’s favourite, too, that the professor hadn’t seemed like he minded at all - any student you brought would be a good one, he was sure, and when the boy informed him that he’d spent the past week studying with you it seemed like the test was only a formality so people wouldn’t be able to say he was being unfair or picking favourites.

you still got lunch with them daily, stayed the night sometimes, sometimes mingi stayed at your place, and by the second pyjama party with them, a week after the first, you weren’t even hesitant about sharing the bed with your best friend, a fact mingi still rubbed into the boys’ faces, liking how warm and cuddly he was and how he’d sometimes tell you a bedtime story. the second pyjama party had been even more fun than the first, owed to the fact that there had been no unpleasant spooky surprises, and you’d convinced the boys to let you put on a random ‘european bops’ youtube playlist, which they ended up enjoying more than they’d admit. you’d even forced them to learn the macarena, the highlight of the entire night, in your opinion. they were fun, and though they did complain a little you knew it was all in good fun - they complained the same way that you’d complain about losing their games.

your old friends seemed to still be plotting - another two weeks after the first pyjama party the most that had happened was insults and trying to get you to trip over their legs, but compared to the laptop thing it was incredibly harmless. that you still had to solve somehow, but you tried to not think about it right now, tried to ignore the worry that was present near-constantly when you weren’t with the boys, instead focusing on how much better you felt now even with having to worry like that. and because you felt so safe and good around them you agreed when mingi told you that they wanted to go to a party that weekend; one of wooyoung’s friends was hosting and had invited them, and because you were a part of their friend group now they wanted you to join. there was a chance your old friends would be there, but in that moment you honestly forgot about that because you were excited to spend more time with your new ones.

the night of the party you did get a bad case of nerves though, texting mingi to come over because you didn’t know what to wear. boys had it so easy - they could just wear near whatever and it wasn’t a big deal. maybe not sandals and socks, but even that would probably be looked over in favour of a girl that hadn’t done her hair decently. you, however, were very aware of needing to look good, and the redhead had become your fashion advisor.

“which one’s better?”, you asked him, holding out two dresses that, in his humble opinion, would both look absolutely amazing on you. he chose to be a simp, however, telling you to wear the red one because he said it would contrast well with your black hair. secretly he just wanted to match with you, because he was wearing all black with bright red hair, and you’d be wearing a bright red dress with black hair. though he was convinced his excuse was good you’d noticed the matching part of his choice as well, and maybe you would have teased him about it, but after having spent several weeks with him you’d joined the ‘being completely whipped’ squad and were glad to have an excuse to match with him. plus, though you weren’t conceited, you knew you looked great in bright colours. it was a good choice.

that was confirmed when you came out from your bathroom and mingi’s jaw all but dropped to the floor. sure, you’d been dressed up when he first met you, but you’d also been soaking wet, so your hair and makeup weren’t exactly doing great, and you’d been covered in jackets and sweatshirts the boys had generously spared to keep you from catching pneumonia. now, however, your hair was put up in a way that left him wondering how on earth you’d managed to do that without ruining your curls, and your lips were painted black (a small residual style choice from your alternative days), contrasting amazingly with your red eyeshadow. the dress complimented your body, and you’d shown him the shoes you’d picked earlier already, black chunky combat boots because you didn’t want to have to walk home wearing heels and didn’t feel pressured to wear them anymore. he knew you were pretty, of course he knew, but now you looked breathtaking. he felt a little underdressed, in comparison.

“this looks fine?”

he just nodded, not exactly trusting himself to not let out a bunch of embarrassing compliments if he were to speak, and you smiled. his expression told you that it most definitely did look fine, so you weren’t too worried, instead opting to ruffle his hair a little because it, in your opinion, was too tame.

“better”, you informed him once the deed was done, “now you’re bad boy-passing.”

maybe the outwardly quite intimidating redhead would have told you that he was a bad boy, but considering how you’d chosen to call him teddy bear instead of his name he didn’t think that one would hold up, not with you, not when he frequently found himself cuddling into you and generally reinforcing his friends’ belief that he was a simp.

“let’s go?”

mingi nodded again, grabbing your hand (during another neglected spin the bottle game he’d found out you liked holding hands but were shy to be the one to grab someone else’s hand, and he gladly took the role of the grabber) and went to the door with you, stopping only to put your shoes on.

“we’ll meet the others at the party”, he then informed you, and now it was you who nodded. you left your apartment (and because you were excited and anxious about the party you’d forgotten to bring a jacket), walking towards the train station looking like a couple to anyone who looked because mingi very much was holding your hand again with the excuse that you’d be cold otherwise. it was the weird half-season between spring and summer, so you would actually have been a little cold and his excuse held up, but you wouldn’t have complained either way.

on the train you used your very first monthly pass, a gift from mingi who had insisted on getting it for you because it would be cheaper than paying for single trips all the time, and you knew he wouldn’t let you pay yourself because, as he explained, it was only because of him you even needed to take the train so often. in return you’d secretly snooped around and managed to figure out that mingi loved ramen, and bought him a massive supply that he couldn’t tell you to keep because it was meat flavoured. when you grinned at him as you informed him of your inability to eat it he looked like he was about to fight you, but instead he just told you he’d get back at you for this. you knew he would, but you weren’t too worried - he wasn’t one for extravagant gifts, he just seemed to like getting people small things that they could get a use out of.

now you were on the train with him, his head on your shoulder because you knew that if you put yours on his he’d either be stabbed or tickled by your curls, and he seemed to have realised that as well. his hands were playing with your fingers because it seemed like a small part of him had to be moving whenever, though it didn’t bother you. he was able to sit still, and it wasn’t anything you’d ever be distracted by if he kneaded his own hands while sitting next to you.

“you know when we need to get off, right?”, you asked him after a few minutes, and he hummed in affirmation.

“two more stops.”

“then maybe you shouldn’t be falling asleep.” his movements had slowed down, a sure sign that he was getting either incredibly comfortable or incredibly tired or both, and you didn’t want to have to drag a half-asleep mingi to the party. even less than that did you want to be at the party with a half-asleep mingi.

“i’m not falling asleep”, the redhead protested and sat up straight, as if to prove it.

“i know, i’m just teasing you”, and he smiled at you.

“i know. but i’m still not falling asleep. one hundred percent ready to party.”

sillyhead. but he managed to make you laugh with that, and his smile got bigger because he loved it when he was the reason you were laughing.

your best friend’s hand was still forcibly attached to yours when you got off the train, using it to drag you to wherever the party was with little consideration of your shorter legs until you pulled his arm, trying to get his attention to the fact that it was hard to keep up.

“sorry”, with his signature sheepish grin, and you couldn’t be annoyed when he was cute like that. though you’d still deny it if someone brought it up - mainly because you knew he didn’t feel the same and it’d only been three weeks since you’d met him - you were completely whipped, but how could you not be when he might just have the softest personality you’d ever gotten to meet?

the last few minutes of the way were spent walking at a more comfortable pace, and it was easy to tell which house the party was in, given the loud music and bright lights. it was a familiar environment, though you felt better about it with mingi there and the boys waiting than you would’ve with your old group of friends.

and as if on cue, you both got a message in hyung hate club, the group chat whose name no one had ever bothered to change.

[wooyoung]: are u there?? were inside already

though inside proved itself to be quite a wide area, as you noticed when you did go inside. it was hard to find anyone in the crowd of people, and because a certain someone had neglected to use the toilet at your place he told you he had some big girl business to do before he kept looking, instead searching for the toilet with you. he did find it, much to his delight, and told you to wait for a moment while he did what his body desperately begged him to do.

while he was on the toilet you were waiting for him near the bathroom door, your eyes wandering across the room as you did so. you were currently looking at a particularly flashy light, slightly distracted by the way it changed colours, so you didn’t notice that some guy had come up to you until you found yourself cornered against the wall.

“hey pretty”, he cooed, his voice disgusting and slick and you knew you didn’t like this situation.

“your friends told me you need a boyfriend, hm?” and as soon as he mentioned these friends that you knew most definitely were not your friends any longer you knew you were in deep trouble, breath starting to speed up as you started to fear whatever was about to happen now. you turned your head away from him, a desperate attempt to get him to back off, but he grabbed your chin and made you look back at him.

“not even gonna give me a kiss?” you tried to turn your head away again, but his grip was too strong, so instead you opted to cover your mouth with your hands, desperate to not let him kiss you, not have him take this first away from you. he tsked at this action, trying to pry your hands from your face, and he had almost succeeded when…

“get your fucking hands off.” he was harshly grabbed by the shoulder, and then a man who you now saw to be san hit him square in the face, causing him to stumble backwards and leave, cursing.

“where’s mingi?”, your friend asked, turning towards your distressed figure.

“toilet”, you told him, and then, near begging: “can we please go home?” he immediately nodded at the desperation in your voice, gently grabbing your hand and pulling you towards where the other boys were sitting, telling them that you were going home now and to tell mingi once he found them, and that he’d let them know what happened later. they didn’t question him, seeing clearly that you weren’t okay in the slightest, and he took you to their place.

that night was spent in san’s bed, in san’s arms, crying against his chest without explaining just why exactly you were so upset. it didn’t matter much to him either, he didn’t need the full context, knowing that some creep had tried to assault you was enough to make him fume even without the knowledge of you being so desperate to save all your firsts that you’d never gone on a date or had a partner or kissed anyone yet in your almost 21 years of life, because you didn’t want it to be with someone that didn’t mean it, and your past friends knew this about you and that was exactly why they’d sent this dude after you. he just let you cry, stroking your hair until you fell asleep, and then grabbing his phone and quickly explaining just what situation you’d been in when he found you.

when mingi heard what happened he couldn’t stand himself, couldn’t stand to face you, because he was convinced it was all his fault for having left you alone rather than dropping you off with his friends before going to the toilet. it wouldn’t have been a big deal, it hadn’t been that urgent, and it would’ve saved you so much pain, and he was convinced you felt the same way, that you’d chosen to spend the night in san’s arms because you never wanted to have to deal with him again.

and rather than talking about it with you he started ignoring you. you came over daily now, just wanting to be distracted (the girls had resumed making your life a living hell the best they could, barely giving you a break) and wanting to have someone there, but as soon as mingi heard the doorbell he’d take off to his room and not leave until he knew you’d gone to bed or back home. it hurt you to see him act like this because you didn’t have any explanation for his behaviour, and neither did the boys, because he refused to talk to them about anything related to you. so you spent your nights in san’s arms instead of your best friend’s, crying into his chest on the daily because you felt wrong and bad and you were convinced mingi hated you. you asked san more than once what you’d done wrong for mingi to ignore your texts, your calls, everything, not sitting with the group during lunch, plain refusing to acknowledge you existed, for mingi to not even open your messages anymore starting day 3 after the horrible party. and san wished he could tell you, but he didn’t know. he just hoped his friend would get over himself soon.

when eight days after the party you still hadn’t exchanged a single word with mingi you found yourself crying in san’s arms again, late at night, scared that you’d lost the comforting giant forever.

“i just don’t know why he hates me”, you sobbed. “am i that disgusting? is that it? that he can’t stand to look at me anymore now that that creep’s had his hands on me and tried that shit. that he knows how fucking dirty i am now, how worthless and wrong and filthy. that he finally realised that i’m not worth it and that i never was and that he just can’t stand to be near me because he’s scared i’m gonna taint him, too, i’m gonna make him dirty and bad and unwantable and i’m gonna- i’m gonna-” you couldn’t finish, violent sobs taking over, and san was fuming. up until now he hadn’t known just what kind of thoughts his supposed friend’s behaviour was putting in your head, and he was ready to deliver an ass-kicking now that he knew. but right now you needed him more, so the confrontation would have to wait.

you left early the next morning, and while it was obvious that you weren’t okay the boy that had been your anchor this past week didn’t try to stop you because he really had some business to sort with mingi. the boys quickly noticed that something was up, the expression on their friend’s face one that made them feel sorry for his victim. but when he informed them just how much of an ignorant ass the red-haired idiot had been they quickly were just as ready to commit something that would most definitely send them to jail.

“mingi!”, wooyoung screamed when the one in question still hadn’t left his room, even an hour after you’d left. when he got no reaction, san and jongho took off to his room, opening the door with more force than necessary, considering it wasn’t even locked, but they were pissed, and they wanted to let mingi know that he was in trouble.

“what?”, came an annoyed question from his bed, but they didn’t care to answer, instead dragging him to the living room with them.

“what the fuck is your issue?”, he snapped, entirely unaware of the fact that right now it was him who had an issue.

“the better question is what the fuck your issue is”, san hissed out. “the fuck are you thinking, ignoring y/n like that?”

“i’m not-”

“cut the bullshit. what the fuck’s wrong with you? you know what happened and you got nothing better to do than to act like you hate her guts.” these words were surprisingly harsh for yunho, but like all the others he’d felt protective over you ever since that night he’d seen you in mingi’s bed, wrapped up in him. and unlike his idiot of a friend, he knew that you were deeply in love with the dumbass, and that his current behaviour was breaking your heart.

“i don’t hate her”, he stated, calmer now that he knew they were worrying about you. he was worrying about you, too, so he couldn’t blame them for how they were acting.

“for that you sure do act like it.”

“don’t act like she cares. she seems more than happy to be sleeping in san’s bed instead”, mingi spat out bitterly and it took a lot of self restraint for san to not punch him square like he’d punched the guy at the party.

“she’s been sleeping there because you wouldn’t fucking talk to her, you complete moron. do you even know how often she’s cried herself to sleep because of that? because she didn’t know what she did? and i couldn’t even comfort her because i didn’t know either, because you refuse to stop acting like a pissbaby and tell us what’s up, at least. you know what she thinks the issue is?”

“i-” but he didn’t even let him finish.

“she thinks you’re disgusted with her. that you got some weird purity issue and now that that asshole tried to feel her up she’s no longer good enough for you and you can’t stand to look at her without puking your guts out. she feels so fucking dirty because of what happened and you won’t even try to comfort her because you got some weird thing going on when she needs you. you’re supposed to make her feel better but you just make her feel worse.” his hands were clenched into fists, his entire body tense, knowing that if he didn’t put all his focus into firing out words like bullets he’d be firing out punches.

“she… what?” the tall boy was completely taken aback, staring at his friend wide-eyed as he realised just what had been going on with you while he’d been isolating himself like a selfish asshole.

“she needs you, mingi”, seonghwa said, and while he was still fuming as well his voice was a lot calmer than san’s.

“but it’s my fault she’s even feeling like this!” finally his worries, his fears, his issue had made it from something he kept overthinking about whenever you were there and didn’t even try to come into his room to something he said out loud. “if i hadn’t left her alone none of this would’ve happened. she probably hates me for that. i hate me for that.”

his friends’ expressions softened at his outburst, starting to understand just what had gone on, the misunderstanding that had kept both of you from doing what you really wanted to.

“she doesn’t hate you. she’s told me every single night that she wished you’d just fucking reply to her, dumbass.” and maybe it was the fact that san had, in fact, spent the past week with you in his arms on the daily that made mingi think that he might be right. he was still anxious, though, scared that if you weren’t angry at him for leaving you alone at the party now you were certainly angry at him for ignoring you all week.

“just message her”, hongjoong said, as if he could read his thoughts. the redhead nodded, getting out his phone right away and sending you a text.

//

[10/10 halattava]: wanna watch a movie tonight

you couldn’t believe your eyes. you hadn’t heard from him in so many days, your pleas for an explanation or just anything falling on deaf ears, and now here he was, asking you to watch a movie.

[y/n]: you actually mean that

you were doubtful, and really he couldn’t blame you. but he was serious.

[10/10 halattava]: can i come over later

[y/n]: whenever you want to

maybe you should have declined, maybe you should have made him suffer the way he’d made you suffer, but you weren’t the type for that. you missed him, and you just wanted things to be okay again. you wanted an explanation too, of course, but you mainly just wanted him there, holding you like he used to, making you feel safe like he used to.

[10/10 halattava]: be there soon

you knew that meant that he’d left right away, and even though part of you was angry at him the bigger part of you wanted to make sure things were nice, so you started cleaning up a little, something that had been awfully neglected lately.

before long he was in front of your door, ringing several times, impatient to finally get to see you and hold you and apologise and tell you that he was so stupid and so sorry and that you were so beautiful and that you never had to worry about him thinking that you were anything short of perfect.

when you opened he immediately flung himself into your arms, making you stumble from the sheer force, but he was holding on to you, he was there and he wouldn’t let you fall, wouldn’t let you get hurt.

“im so fucking stupid”, he told you, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that it felt like you were the only thing keeping him standing right now. he didn’t want to let go, and he didn’t, loosening his embrace so you could move to close the door but keeping his arms around you. and the way he seemed so desperate made all the angry words you’d intended to throw at him vanish, instead a small sob escaped your lips.

“i missed you”, you said, and his grip around you tightened.

“i missed you, too. so much.” you were glad to hear it, but you were also incredibly confused.

“then why didn’t you talk to me? ignore all my texts, my calls, everything?” you sounded so weak and so hurt, the way you were sobbing into his chest, that he in all honesty felt inclined to text san and tell him to punch him as hard as he could once he got back home.

“because i’m an idiot. i was scared you hated me because i left you alone at that fucking party, and i didn’t want to hear you say it, so i just hid. i’m so sorry.” his cheek was pressed against your hair, taking in how soft it was and how you smelled and you. he’d missed you so fucking much.

“you are an idiot”, you informed him, but you moved away a little to smile up at him through your tears, “i’d never hate you. promise.”

“and i’d never ever ever think less of you because some imbecile fuckface couldn’t control his hormones. ever.” you nodded silently, but something about the way you avoided his gaze again now told him that there was still something on your mind.

“really, i mean it”, he reassured you, but that wasn’t the issue.

“it’s not some hormone issue”, you said quietly, and he looked at you surprised. what else should it be?

“my… the girls. they sent him, he told me. because they knew it’d fuck me up and over, because they know so much about me.” you tried to keep your breath steady, taking a small moment before you resumed. “they know how much that means to me. first kiss and everything. and it’s so stupid to be so upset about that, but in that moment i was really really scared that he’d just be my first kiss and i’d never be able to get it back, and that just… really messed with me. it’s some stupid hopeless romantic shit but it’s just important to me. something that actually means something.”

you couldn’t interpret his expression, and you were scared he was going to make fun of you, but instead he pulled you into his chest again, holding you so tightly that it got a little hard to breathe, but you didn’t care because it was comforting to be so close to him.

“if they ever try to pull that shit again they better run”, he said more as a statement than directed towards you, and his voice sounded so incredibly threatening that you’d be scared if it wasn’t mingi, if it wasn’t the one that you knew would do all he could to protect you.

“i just… they really hate me, y’know?”, you mumbled into his chest. “they use everything they know means something to me to hurt me.”

“i won’t let them.” and the way he said it almost made you believe him, almost made you believe that he could actually stop them from ever hurting you again. you smiled up at him again, so grateful, so beautiful, his heart was beating so hard he was scared it’d jump out of his chest, and even though he knew it was stupid and even though he knew right now was horrible timing and even though he knew he really really shouldn’t ask you this now, or maybe ever, the words slipped past his lips before he could stop himself.

"can i kiss you?" he was so close. so close that you could see the way his eyes sparkled, you could see that they weren't as pitch black as they tended to look, instead they were a really warm dark brown with the pupil being just a few shades darker than the rest. and you wanted to say yes. you did, but…

"no." he was surprised, but backed away immediately.

"i'm sorry. i should’ve known, right now’s the worst time to ask. i didn't want to make you uncomfortable." you sighed.

"it's not that, it's… you're all i have, you and the boys, and i… i don't want to lose that. and i know that if i let you kiss me and then you figure out you don't actually like me that way when i like you that way, i would lose you. i wouldn't be able to just be your friend after that, and i wouldn't be able to see the boys anymore either, because i can't make them choose but seeing you would hurt too much, and i don't want to risk that. i can't risk that, not after everything that happened when i risked something for you the first time. it turned out okay then!", you quickly said as you noticed his expression, as you noticed that he seemed to think you regretted ever becoming their friend in the first place, "because i had you there. but… but if this happens and i'm alone, i know i couldn't handle it. i couldn't handle losing you, not after everything that happened, and… if they found out that you kissed me, even if we're no longer talking, hell would break loose all over again. and this time i wouldn't have anyone. and it would be so much harder because i wouldn't just be dealing with them, i'd also be dealing with the heartbreak and i… i just know that'd be too much. that'd kill me, mingi."

he nodded slowly, and you first noticed that tears had started falling from your eyes again when he gently wiped them away with his thumb. he could understand you, understand your fears, and even though he knew it wasn't like that for him, it wasn't something he would change his mind on later, he was very aware that you couldn't know that, that you weren't able to look into his head and heart. in a way maybe he felt the same way about you, scared that you didn't and would never like him this way even though you had just clearly told him that the problem was that you did like him this way and wouldn't be able to handle the rejection if it was him who didn't reciprocate. he got it. but he wanted to prove to you that he meant it.

"what do i do, then?", he asked you while looking at you with soft but curious eyes.

"what do you mean?"

"do i take you out? do i throw stones at your window every night and beg for you to please give me a chance? do i write love letters? you know i'm really not that good with words, but if that convinces you i swear i'll try, i'll write you a letter every day until you send jongho to kill me because i'm embarrassing. just… just tell me what to do and i'll do it, okay?"

now it was your turn to be surprised. you'd have thought that this was a regular mingi joke if he didn't look at you all serious, if his expression didn't tell you that he one hundred percent meant it.

"i don't know", you replied honestly. "i don't want to tell you what to do, i… i want you to surprise me. show me the way you would if it was just about winning my heart, not about convincing me. the way you would if you didn't know yet that i like you."

you were embarrassed to say this, felt like you were too much of a hopeless romantic and making it harder for him than it had to be. but you didn't want the way he made advances to be planned, to be something you told him how to do so he'd for sure win your heart. you wanted it to be genuine, to be him. you wanted to see the way mingi tried to make someone fall in love, not the way mingi tried to follow the instructions you set out for him. and even though you felt like you were making things harder than they needed to be the redhead didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“okay. but i’m embarrassing.”

finally you smiled again, and if he had to embarrass himself nonstop just to keep you smiling then he would. right now, however, he just wanted to hold you some more. make sure that things were okay between you again.

“do you still want to watch a movie?”

“of course.” as if there’d ever be any time where you didn’t want to watch a movie with him. and as if that time, if it existed at all, would be now when you’d been missing his arms around you for the past week.

you waddled to the bed together, his arms still around you because he plain refused to let go of you, but then he noticed how messy and shiny your hair was and he got an idea.

“can i brush your hair while we watch it?”

even though you knew curls should technically only be brushed when wet you just couldn’t say no, not to him, and in all fairness you frequently ignored the brush while wet-rule as well, so one time more or less wouldn’t matter.

“i’ll get the brush”, you told him, starting to walk towards the bathroom, but he still wouldn’t let go of you.

“we’ll get the brush”, and it seemed like this was your fate for the day. not that you were complaining - you were glad to have him back and wanted to make up for the week where he hadn’t been there to hold you. so you waddled to the bathroom together as well, then back to the bed, and he only let go of you briefly when you had to get your laptop because without a laptop there’d be no movie. but as soon as the laptop was out of the risk zone (so, in the middle of the bed) his arms were back around you, pulling you into his chest.

“i’m sorry i ignored you”, he told you again, and you just nodded because you didn’t exactly know what to say. it had really hurt, but you didn’t want to think too much about it when he was here now. you just wanted to be held and you wanted to feel like maybe you were still okay.

“i won’t do it again. promise.” despite how much he wanted to keep holding you tight with both his arms he removed one arm from around you, instead sticking out his pinky in front of you so he could pinky promise you. this made you smile, this reassured you, even though it was childish. or maybe because it was childish - you felt like he wouldn’t pinky promise if he didn’t really mean it. so you linked your pinky with his, in a way also showing him that you accepted his apology.

“can you hand me the brush now?”

you did as asked, handing it over to him, and he carefully pushed your head forward a little. he wasn’t able to hold you anymore now that his hands were busy, but he wrapped his legs around your waist instead, not wanting to miss out on the physical contact.

“any movie suggestions?”

“moomins.” he didn’t even have to think about it - that had been your very first movie night, and the tall idiot wanted to feel that way again, comfortable and cosy and maybe with you falling asleep against him again as well.

you clicked a little and then the familiar melody filled the room. it felt homely, sitting here with your best friend, and when mingi started stroking your head a little before getting to work you thought that this moment here was actually perfect, or as close to it as could be.

that was, until he started brushing, clearly not having anticipated the way the brush would get caught in your curls so easily.

“auh!”

his movements immediately halted and he started apologising profusely, but you told him that it wasn’t that bad.

“it always hurts, i just need to get used to it a little. but it hurts less if you hold the hair near the root, so that you can prevent it from pulling too much.”

he grabbed a bit of your hair at your explanation, carefully attempting to brush again.

“like this?”

“yes, that’s better.”

so he continued, careful, gentle, and only stopped when he’d brushed about a third of your hair and noticed that it gained a lot of volume after it was brushed.

“is it supposed to do this or did i mess up?”

“do what?” you didn’t even know what your hair could be doing that would make him think he messed up - you were used to the ‘hermione granger in the first harry potter movie’ kind of look whenever you brushed your hair, but it seemed like this was the first time that the redhead dealt with curls like this.

“get so big and weird. it doesn’t look curly anymore. did i break it?”

and though you maybe shouldn’t laugh at him you couldn’t help it because he just sounded so helpless, sounded genuinely scared that he’d broken your hair.

“it’s supposed to do that”, reassuring, and you were convinced you heard him let out a relieved sigh, “you can just continue.”

he did, still gentle, trying so hard to not hurt you again, and even though he couldn’t even tell whether or not you were in pain if you didn’t let him know with your words he managed to hurt you less than you hurt yourself whenever you brushed your hair. then, when he was done, he ran his fingers through it (and it was only because he had just thoroughly brushed it that he was able to do that so easily and without getting stuck), telling you that your hair was really soft.

“i love your hair”, he informed you, still playing with it, “i think your curls are really nice.”

“that’s because they’re not on your head”, you countered, because while they did look nice they were a pain to take care of.

“maybe”, and you could hear the grin in his voice, “but i still like them.”

“fine”, you accepted, because it was a subjective opinion and he had a right to his own opinions, “i guess that’s fair.”

he continued toying with your hair, though now you’d leaned back into his chest, probably covering half his field of vision with your mane if you hadn’t, enjoying his warmth and how nice he was being. you really enjoyed this, the small acts of affection and the moomins being background noise - and they were, because you were talking instead of watching the movie, but you didn’t mind.

“is this your natural hair colour?”

the red-haired teddy bear seemed really intrigued by your hair, something you found kind of cute, to be honest. you were happy to answer, too.

“not exactly. it’s more dark brown, not this bluish black, but i like this one better. i think my natural one is kind of boring. though i’ve been considering dyeing it again, changing it up a little.”

now you most definitely had his attention.

“bright? or something natural?”

“bright”, and if you’d been able to see his face right now you’d see a happy grin on his face, because he was a firm supporter of the ‘y/n would look great with brightly coloured hair’ agenda.

“i used to have a lot of different hair colours when i was younger. kind of a way to get back at my shitty parents, but i also just liked how it looks. i used to be kind of alternative, actually.”

you grinned at the memory, but he was curious.

“like, chunky boots and all black? really dark makeup? spikes and chains and everything? that’s alternative, right?”

you nodded against him, then leaned forward a little and pulled some hair to the side to show one of your ears.

“facial piercings were a hard no, but i got so many holes punched in my ears that the local piercer knew me on a first name basis. i also have a silly secret stick and poke, on my hip bone. probably wouldn’t do it again, but i don’t regret it. i kind of miss that style, actually.”

from the corner of your eye you could see mingi look at your ear curiously, seemingly first now noticing the array of little studs in there. then, he moved to look at you, satisfied with his examination of your piercings. now he knew to get you some pretty earrings.

“why don’t you go back? to being alternative, i mean. big and scary, chunky boots.”

he was being silly, you could tell, but he was right. you’d only changed up your style because it hadn’t been appropriate for your old friends, but you didn’t have to care about that anymore.

“you can help me, if you want? help me pick out a new hair colour, i should probably start there.”

“you’d let me help you pick?”

his eyes were big and excited when you turned to look at him; he was adorable.

“i’d even let you dye my hair, if you want”, and if you hadn’t been in his lap he probably would’ve bounced with excitement.

“i want! but what colour? any ideas?”

you didn’t have even the slightest clue, so you told him that, asking if he had an idea. you could see that he did have one, but you could also tell that he was a little hesitant to tell you.

“what’re you thinking?”

“i was wondering if you’d like to go red, too. match with me?”, though he was avoiding to look at you in case you thought it was a bad idea.

“that’s emo, i like it”, a joke to hide how giddy the idea made you.

“are you saying i’m emo?”

his exasperated tone made you laugh, caused you to tease him some more.

“maybe i am, who knows?” then, change of topic. “would you want to dye my hair somewhen this week?”

“yes! which day’s best?”

“maybe after class on tuesday? if you’re coming again.”

he hadn’t come last week, but that was most likely because he hadn’t come near you at all last week.

“of course i’m coming again. i pinky promised”, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder to show you that he was here now.

“let’s do tuesday. here? or my place?”

“maybe here so we won’t block your bathroom.”

he nodded against your shoulder, happy and excited and content.

“tuesday after class, here. i’ll get the dye, so we’ll actually really match. also some bleach.”

you smiled, leaning back against him, placing your hands on his that were intertwined in front of your stomach.

“it’s a date, then.”

and he was glad that you weren’t looking at his face right now, because he had the world’s most whipped expression on his face. he had a date with you.

[siennahrobek]

Future Past

4/5 BBY

Ben stared at Cody, his face scrunched up in something of pain and the ever-aching sting of betrayal. This…was something he had never understood, why the clones had betrayed them, the jedi, him. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he did understand something, to some extent. He had led those boys to war, to their deaths. It may have not been the Jedi way, but he knew others could want their pound of flesh. He just didn’t think the younglings and babies deserved that same fate. He shuddered just thinking about it.

“Cody…” he murmured, aggrieved.

The former commander did not even twitch at the sound of his name, if he even recognized it all. There was practically nothing in his eyes, just dark circles underlying them like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Ben didn’t really know what possessed him to do anything, but he reached out with the Force towards his mind…

Only to find nothing there.

It had been near fourteen years since Ben had last seen Cody, of course, but he still knew what he felt like. But where his determined and steadfast orange-yellow-gold shine used to be, was replaced with oily and slimy darkness; an abyss of nothing.

That was impossible. Unless….

Ben’s thoughts were interrupted by a fist to his face.

He fell back to the floor, surprised as Cody struck at him again in near the same spot. “Use of the Force is prohibited and punishable,” his monotonous voice announced. Ben tried to scramble away, but Cody pinned him down with another blow, there was a brief crack to his ribs.

There was another blow.

And another.

And another.

Ben lashed out, desperately, both physically and with the Force which threw Cody back into the door. It wasn’t hard, it was easy to stand back up and stand the former commander did, but Ben rushed towards him, flipping over his shoulder and holding him to the ground. “Strop struggling,” Ben hissed as he tightened his grip.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” was the reply.

Ben just sighed. “I’m sorry,” he stretched out his hand, nearly getting thrown off in the process and whispered “sleep.”

Cody flopped over, unconscious.

Ben sighed and sat down on the floor, his back hitting the wall behind him. He let out a large breath and closed his eyes, running a hand through his thinning hair. This…what was this? What possessed him to do this, to reach for Cody’s previously familiar presence. Sure, there was nothing there at first glance but surely, he had to be mistaken. After he recollected himself, Ben leaned forward and reached out with his hand and the Force.

He reached.

And reached.

And reached.

He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or horrified that he couldn’t find anything in Cody’s presence, or his mind. Perhaps it was both.

How could there be nothing there? Droids and machines were really the only things that could move and speak without having anything in their minds, being completely immune to any force suggestions or anything of the sort. And he knew that his old commander was certainly not a droid.

He had seen and felt his commander bleed too many times for that.

It had to be something else.

***

Luke and Boil had deviated from Ahsoka – she insisted to called Fulcrum no matter what – as she left to go distract Darth Vader. Neither one knew exactly what she did, but by the time they had gotten to the prison area, the dark cyborg was storming away, a dark cloud following him.

They took down the guards through a lot of the prison ward, pushing them in cells and locking them inside, whether they ended up dead or unconscious. It was quick work and although Boil rarely hesitated to shoot his fellow stormtroopers, Luke worked more with hand-to-hand combat, knocking them unconscious instead. It was something Ben could teach him on the ship, as they barely had enough room, but it was something useful. Luke had only wished they did more lightsaber sparring, but that was impossible in the space provided. The two of them eventually found the cell that held Ben – it was fairly evident due to the number of guards at the door.

It didn’t slow them down.

Boil certainly knew how to fight alongside a jedi.

It took a few moments to figure out how to open the cell door but when they did, they found Ben kneeling on the side of a purge trooper. He looked up at the movement of the door, his eyes widening as he saw who was there.

“Luke!”

“BEN!” Luke cried and threw himself forward.

“Behind you!”

Boil quickly tore off his helmet. “Sir, General! It’s me. It’s Boil! I’m okay-.”

General Kenobi – Ben relaxed immediately, and Luke threw himself into the older man’s arms, already crying rather loudly. He took to him and wrapped his arms around the boy. Ben tucked Luke under him as much as he could, holding him close.

“I’m so sorry, Ben, I’m so sorry,” Luke was all tears and snot by this point, apologizing every second as if that would undo everything that had been done at this point.

“It is alright, dear one,” Ben whispered, running a hand through Luke’s blonde locks.

“I never should have doubted you, you told me not to trust anyone and I….I broke all of your rules, I’m so sorry!”

“Luke, what you did was against my rules, yes, but we are alive, and you have even found some friends. We are currently uninjured. What happened has happened and we cannot change it so let us move on and do what we can, alright?” Ben explained, his voice kind and soft, full of such understanding and patience that made Boil miss back when he and his brothers were at General Kenobi’s side. Luke was different than General Skywalker in a lot of ways but their impulsivity tended to shine in both boys.

Boil stepped forward, just enough that he wasn’t in the hall. “Sir, General. There is something you should know,” he tried, uncharacteristically uneasy and stuttering. He looked around, ashamed and his hands gripping the helmet so hard he thought it would break. “We never would have shot you down. We-.”

“Were forced,” Ben finished with a nod, sympathetic and sorrowful. “I realized that when I reached for Cody’s presence here and found nothing in his mind.”

“Luke slammed me into a wall.” Boil suggested with a small but amused smile. It was partially amused. His head hurt, sure, but it got him out from that control and therefore, Boil would carry that pain with honor and without complaint. There wasn’t a complaint to be had; he had his mind again.

Ben smirked faintly at the attempt of humor; it was appreciated. “So, it is probably something in the brain, a chip of some kind. That seems to be the most likely scenario,” he turned to the boy and ran a hand through his hair once more. “Luke, I need you to reach for Cody, his presence. Focus on him with all your might and concentration. We may be able to find the offending device and disable it.”

“A-Are you sure, Ben?”

“Yes, I’m not powerful enough to do this by myself and you lack the precision. Together.”

The two of them kneeled next to the former commander, their hands outstretched. Boil had no idea what they were doing but he could feel some kind of pressure in the air. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Ben mumbled, concentrating hard.

“I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” Ben repeated, Luke speaking in unison with him. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.”

They repeated the mantra several more times. Boil stepped out of the cell and looked around, standing guard while they worked so they couldn’t be surprised with anyone who came around and too curious. Hopefully they would be successful, Boil knew they would need to move, and he would much rather not leave a brother behind. Especially not one of those closest to him.

He glanced inside, his brows scrunching. He had been on this ship for quite some time. Of course, he didn’t really have a train of thought to follow, as his will was not his own, but he hadn’t realized that Cody had been here. A purge trooper no doubt. Why Cody as a purge trooper? Boil couldn’t imagine what the higher ups were thinking; rarely were clones applied to such a position. Cody was good, of course, but…

The realization hit him harder than he had expected.

What a purge trooper was.

A purge trooper hunted jedi.

His heart sank. Boil swallowed heavily and glanced back, briefly. Even if they freed Cody from his prison… how would he react? Boil hadn’t personally killed any of the jedi, he hadn’t even known about General Kenobi being shot down until long after the deed had been done. How would Cody feel, knowing he was trained and sent out to murder the jedi?

Boil felt sick.

Luke was suddenly right next to him. “We think we did it,” he confessed rather quietly. “But we won’t know if it worked until he woke up.”

“Will that take much time?” Boil croaked.

“A few minutes, max,” he answered, just as quiet.

Cody came to just a moment later, muttered to himself, tears already running down silently as he awoke. He knew what was happening and the years of suffering and heartache were coming back to a place where he could act and react, to where he could express. He couldn’t stop the tears. Boil knew how that felt. Upon opening his eyes and seeing Ben, his tears turned into quite sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry sir. I’m so sorry.”

“You are forgiven, for what it is worth, old friend,” Ben assured, quietly, kneeling next to him. “I didn’t blame you.”

“Please don’t haunt me sir. I don’t think I could take it.”

Ben frowned. “Cody. I am no hallucination nor a ghost. I am alive. I survived.”

Cody’s face scrunched up, disbelieving, as he shook his head.

“I swear, my dear,” Ben swore, taking his hand. Cody just stared at it, wide eyed and shocked. His own hands were shaking.

“Impossible.”

“I mean, its General Kenobi, commander. It shouldn’t be that surprisingly,” Boil snickered as he walked in, leaning against the doorway. He glanced back into the hallway, but his attention was on his former commander.

“Boil?” Cody blinked blankly.

“In the flesh, sir,” Boil saluted, a bit messily.

“This is real,” Cody noted, blinking rapidly, as if it would change in an instant.

“That it is,” Ben nodded and got to his feet, helping Cody and pulling him up to his feet and keeping him balanced. “But we must be moving if we are to escape the ship.”

“The ship…” Cody muttered, his gaze flitting around the floor before his eyes flew up to Ben’s in a realization the other soldier and boy didn’t understand. “Vader! Sir-!”

“I know,” Ben interrupted, flat but quiet. “I know, Cody.”

“Well, I don’t,” Boil pointed out with a small snort. “What about Vader?”

“…stay as far as you can from him,” Cody confirmed, staring straight at Ben. Whatever passed between them, Boil didn’t know, and they weren’t telling. Surely what Cody was saying was obvious and not what he had meant initially. It was something between him and the general and Boil didn’t mind, not as long as it didn’t hurt their chances of getting off the force-forsaken destroyer. “Chances are if we get into a confrontation with him, we die.”

The four of them got out of the prison ward as quickly as they could. Cody and Boil were certainly an asset, knowing the layout of the ship. They dodged soldiers the best they could but fought as soundlessly as they could when they had to. Luke was in between staying close to Ben and trying to get close to Cody, with his eyes shining. He couldn’t help but try to ask questions in the quiet and slow moments of their escape.

“How do you know me anyways?” Cody asked, hefting the weapon at one point. He had a lightsaber, something they all noticed looked vaguely familiar in design, but he took a blaster from a fallen soldier and didn’t touch the thing.

“Oh! Ben has told me loads of stories,” Luke replied with a bright smile as they hid temporarily in a closet. Ben and Boil were across the hall, waiting for the guards to pass through. “Of all of your adventures! You’re amazing!”

They got out of the room by that point, as Boil gave them a signal. Although his feet kept moving at their pace, everything else kind of paused, stunned until he met Ben’s gaze briefly. Whatever passed between them, it couldn’t be translated but it was nothing but kind and proud. Boil couldn’t be completely annoyed with this silent communication they seemed to still have, after all, Cody had been General Kenobi’s second in command at one time. They knew each other well.

They had eventually got close to the hanger bay where the ship was parked. Although it wasn’t actually in the dock, it was very close. Luke hadn’t exactly told them about the person that brought him here except that Bail Organa had sent them and they went by the name Fulcrum. He would glance at Ben once in a while when her name came up, but he didn’t give her up.

They were so close.

They thought they would make it.

Luke was first, moving towards the entrance to the ship, with Ben right behind him, Boil bringing up the flank. Vader approached and the entrance to the ship closed tightly as he held out his hand, using the Force to prevent their escape.

Ben put his hand on his saber, ready to use it. Luke had found it near the guard station, where Vader had temporarily put it due to his immediate attention bringing drawn elsewhere. The master hadn’t used it during their escape. Cody couldn’t imagine why.

“Of course,” Vader hissed through his vocoder.

Cody glanced at the ship and then at Vader. Again. Again. He…he knew what he had to do.

In a dead sprint, he bolted in the opposite direction, away from the ship and away from his general and brother.

“Cody!” Luke shouted.

“Cody?” Ben’s voice rose. A second later, “Cody! No!”

Instead, the former commander shot a few rounds at Vader before throwing the gun away. He needed to distract Vader as long as he could. The beast battled the bolts away easily but his grip on the entrance had wavered. Close. Not quite enough.

Cody wanted to say he hated the feel of this saber; the one he had been using as a Purge Trooper, one that had trained amongst Inquisitors. There were few purge troopers that trained with the darksiders, as they generally used double ended electrostaffs but for some reason, Cody had been singled out by Vader. He kept the former commander close, got him trained with a saber. It was easy, he supposed, since he had already had some of the basics down from his time working with General Kenobi, going through katas and even sparring with him on occasion. Cody had never been entirely sure why Vader had chosen him. He knew who the Sith was, to him it was apparent. Vader always came across as obsessive and he wanted people to hurt. Cody just wasn’t sure who he was trying to hurt. Cody, General Kenobi, or Vader himself.

But he couldn’t completely hate the hilt of the saber, because the design was reminiscent of General Kenobi’s and that was a saber he was used to holding. It was so natural in his hand; nearly a comfort.

He held it in his hand and ignited the red blade, moving into an opening stance that he had been using during his training. Then he threw himself at Vader, swinging the saber as hard as he could.

Vader was much too strong. Cody’s own strength would never hold, as well built and solid as he was, and he knew it. He had blocked a few blows, but the monster of a man was pushing him hard. It took everything the older commander had not to be tossed away like a ragdoll, but he was being pushed back.

“Commander!” Boil yelled. “Get out of there now!”

“Go, Boil, get them out of here!” Cody shouted, gritting his teeth as he slashed against Vader, only to be blocked too easily.

“Not without you, sir!” Boil hollered back.

“That’s an order!” Cody replied, in something of a growl and a yell.

Boil’s heart was breaking, and everyone knew it. But he turned into the ship, shoving the boys inside.

The last thing Cody saw was Ben and Luke’s horrified expressions…

Before Vader slashed down with his saber through Cody’s shoulder, taking his head.

***

Boil flew the ship. It felt like he had lost the last of his brothers. He was numb. They all were.

Ben and Luke had crumpled to the floor from where Boil had pushed them inside and hadn’t moved since. It took hours to get back to the planet that they had come from, to retrieve their own ship. They had left ‘Fulcrum’s’ where Luke had first entered, not too far from the pirate base. Ben hadn’t even asked Luke what had happened between passing out and awaking in front of Vader.

There was nothing really to bury aside from a black helmet, but Luke insisted on creating a grave anyways. They found a little, mostly uninhabited planet where Ben, Boil and Luke had created a little marker near a tree in the middle of nowhere. They had set the helmet on the site, but Boil through Cody would have preferred to burn the damn thing. It was a terrible reminder. He voiced this but no one moved. Not even him.

Only a few hours were spent there before they all returned to Ben’s ship and took off. There was no real destination in mind, just to keep away from the Empire, to keep away from Vader. They had somehow lost him, between Fulcrum’s dismantling of their hyperdrive and the other chaos she had caused afterwards. The distraction and work had been appreciated.

There was little talk at first before Luke started carving into a little wooden block. There was a few around the ship, used as props generally, or just stacked in his room. The carves were slow and precise and he would watch Luke’s tongue slip out of his mouth a little when he was concentrating. It was almost an amusing sight. Boil didn’t know what the boy was making, and Luke wasn’t telling.

So, he didn’t ask.

Ben’s ship was tiny to the point that having three people inhabit it was a bit of a stretch and more than just a little squished. More of than not, Boil had to cuddle up with Luke during the night hours, as there wasn’t much room in the way of sleeping areas. Boil himself was used to it, as his brothers used to love large piles when sleeping, so it didn’t bother him. Luke didn’t seem to mind much either, rather taking to the new arrangement with some zeal.

True to his nature, Kenobi spent most designated sleeping hours awake instead.

It turned out Boil could not say no to Luke. When the boy had asked about his stories, whether it be about Ben or Cody or any of his brothers, Boil had barely hesitated. They were all gone now but at least he could pass on memories. That was really all a clone could do. He told him about all the good stories, snippets of friendship and loyalty, victory and glory. He told Luke about his best friend and batchmate, Waxer, and how they seemed to be the top General Kenobi retrieval specialist while Cody had been a lightsaber retrieval specialist. Where Cody always seemed to end up finding Ben’s lightsaber when he dropped it, he and Waxer had a tendency to find General Kenobi himself when it was needed.

Luke loved that. Even Ben had cracked a smile.

He told the boy about Ryloth and the little twi’lek girl they had befriended. About how she had mistrusted them at first because she was scared and starving but then she led them around and helped them in the battle that would free her village, used as human shields. He told him about how General Kenobi would carry her and how she ran to him when he had nearly died. How, when everything was said and done, when the village was free and they had to move on to the next village to help, she had waved and shouted back at them. How she called both of them brother.

The stories went through most of the vaguely better times of the war. Pranks that people used to play on one another, dares and bets and time travelled between planets. He told Luke about the one time he had been able to walk in the Jedi Temple and tried to capture how amazing it was and how Waxer had hugged a little jedi child because they loved them, and the child practically threw himself at the clone.

Luke eventually asked what happened to Waxer, once the stories ceased to include him. Boil had just kept on talking. There hadn’t been nearly as many good times when Waxer stopped being involved in them.

They used to always include him.

Ben, piloting at the time, had stiffened, but didn’t say anything.

Boil nearly started crying when he told a short tale of Umbara, the terrible dark planet, a traitor and the act of friendly fire. He didn’t give many details, he couldn’t. His voice had wavered and his hands, although set under his legs, wouldn’t stop shaking. It was one of the deaths that had hurt him the most, losing Waxer. All the clones had been Boil’s brothers, but he and Waxer were somewhat of inseparable. At least, he had thought that once.

Luke had plastered himself to Boil’s side by the time he was done, half hugging him and cuddling up to his side as if that would take all of the horrible feelings and grief away. It didn’t, of course, but a Jedi had a way of making one feel like everything was going to be alright, that in the end, you would be with loved ones again.

There had been a long time of silence for the next set of sleeping hours. Ben would try to catch Boil’s gaze to say something, but it often came out in silence. Rather, he often ended up putting his hand on the clone’s shoulder. Boil had appreciated the silence, actually, as there was little to say on the matter. He didn’t need apologies; it was a fact of war. It had been a long time ago and he had heard enough words from Luke.

Boil, for all that had happened, had not expected General Kenobi to send him away.

He had not seen another clone aside from Cody in years, nearly ten. He knew most of them were probably gone, dead on backwater planets, used as cannon fodder for the Empire. Boil didn’t know what was going to happen moving forward but staying with Luke and Ben seemed like a pretty good and solid bet.

Until it wasn’t.

***

Boil had fought General Kenobi until nothing was left. He didn’t want to go. There was not a thing or person out there he knew for him except General Kenobi and his kid. Boil loved Luke. Waxer would have practically adored him; he knew for a fact. It wasn’t just that Luke was a youngster, and Waxer had a soft spot for those. It was more of the idea of how Luke was. With his curiosity and kindness, his determination and loyalty. Waxer always wanted to have more the mind of a child, where one could be open to all sorts of thoughts and ideas and magic.

He finally understood what Waxer had meant. They had talked about it a few times and before, he never really got it. Not until now. Luke had matured plenty, probably more than most, due to his status of being on the run, of being hunted. But he still had that kindness and curiosity, and he gave everything. All of his things, his heart and his soul to those he loved.

Boil had been so honored when Luke had told him that he loved him. They had been travelling for near weeks together, squished together in the ship, travelling through hyperspace and Boil never really could recall how the conversation came up.

“I love you,” Luke had said with a lopsided grin.

Boil had stared. Ben’s eyes softened into something sympathetic and sad. That should have been Boil’s first clue, looking back on it.

He didn’t think Luke had expected anything back, which made his expression all the more enjoyable when Boil had said it back. “Love ya too, kid,” he added, and near violently toiled with the boy’s blonde hair. Luke had laughed so freely and so loud, it gave them all grins and it all ended up in a little tumble around the kitchenette area.

They had ended up breaking a cup, but Ben wasn’t even mad.

It was less than a week later when Ben pulled Boil aside on a stopover planet and tried to explain what had to happen next; give Boil suggestions on where to go next. What he could do. He never seemed to give Boil the option of staying. Boil had never really entertained the idea. The ship was grey, Boil loved Ben and Luke, and he would stay. He thought that was how things were now.

“I won’t slow you down.” Boil tried as the two of them were being chased through the city by stormtroopers. Boil’s aim had never been in question and his mark hit more often than not. The stormtroopers on the other hand, it was amazing they could hit the broad side of a barn. Ben rarely pulled out his saber unless it was against another saber or training Luke and his aim wasn’t awful either.

Boil supposed he had gone undercover as a sniper once.

He matched Ben’s stride and even kept up fairly well even when the clone knew the former jedi was using the force to go faster. It was a little exhausting, but he would keep up, if only to convince the general that he could. That he wouldn’t slow them down if he just allowed Boil to stay.

“I’m used to – even comfortable with – close quarters. It doesn’t bother me.”

The ship they were travelling in was tiny. Ben often slept on the pullout couch near the kitchenette while Luke had his own little room. It wasn’t much, there was actually barely any space but Boil never, never complained. A slept in a few places a couple of times, including the pilot or co-pilot seat in the cockpit, on a chair in the kitchenette or even, just as easily, the floor wherever there was room.

It hadn’t been long until Luke dragged him into his room to share his makeshift bed. Luke had even talked about getting a hammock for him and spent plenty of time trying to figure out how it would fit. Boil didn’t sleep a whole lot anyway.

“I can be of use.”

Boil didn’t know how to do a lot of things except war. He was a soldier, through and through. But in this new galaxy, this new reality, he knew he would have to learn something else, anything else, to help and keep up. He did whatever research he could, read all of Luke’s books and Luke himself had even taught him a few skills.

The former trooper had even gotten them out of a pretty sticky situation with a whole star destroyer, getting them all away with little fanfare and no shots fired. The Empire had been none the wiser.

“I won’t slow you down, I swear. I may look old, but I’m fit, I can move.”

He was in shape, even with his rapidly greying hairs and prominent wrinkles. And Boil kept himself that way, always finding time and space to better himself physically, to work out, just to keep up and make sure he did. Luke helped him a little too, teaching Boil some of the things the Jedi used to help their own condition.

Silently he would whisper when no one else was around to hear him plead, “please, please don’t make me go.”

Boil could have sworn he had worn General Kenobi down to tears, or, at least, near there. Every time the subject was brought up, his expression had been something of remorse and sympathy, as if this was something he did regret.

“It is too dangerous,” the general had repeated for the countless time. It was often his go to when it came to rebukes of Boil’s reasons to stay. He rarely disagreed with Boil on why, he never told the clone that he didn’t think he could keep up, he never told him he wasn’t of use. It was just variations of the same answer, over and over again. “We have Vader’s attention, especially now.”

“You can use my help,” Boil insisted.

“Boil, please,” General Kenobi implored, setting job jaw with the expression of his brows and eyes near pleading. Saying no to General Kenobi was near impossible, he had realized, but he had done a pretty good job as of late.

Please don’t make me go.

I’d rather die for you or Luke than alone for nothing.

The eventual goodbye felt overwhelmingly bitter with too little of the sweet. He wanted to stay. Where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do?

General Kenobi would never let him.

“I value you too much to condemn you to this life I have, needlessly.”

I’m condemning myself, Boil had thought and wanted to scream. This wasn’t right, he was supposed to stay. There wasn’t anyone else out there for him. His brothers were long gone, his lifespan wouldn’t last that much longer. I want to stay with the person I have left. You could use me around. I’m useful, I swear.

“If you really want to fight the Empire,” Kenobi had tried as they waited. “Bail Organa’s rebels could use your expertise,” he offered in a desperate attempt for the former trooper to agree. “I heard Ryloth is fighting back as well. Perhaps we could contact General Syndulla to see if we can find Numa.”

It was a low blow.

Ben wouldn’t let Luke come to them for the final departure. They didn’t know the people they were meeting and so Luke would stay with the ship. The boy, obviously, did not care for this idea. But they ended up saying their goodbyes there.

Luke tried to give Boil a box of band aids, each, although dusty and old, had once been painted with a tiny twi’lek child on the front. He recognized it and nearly started to cry. He pushed the box back towards Luke.

“You’re gonna need those a lot more than I will,” he tried to joke. “Especially with your training.”

In the end, Luke had kept them but unwrapped one and curled it around Boil’s finger. Then he set a small wooden figurine in his hand. It was a tiny starfighter, one that used to be used back in the Clone Wars. There were few words that had been said but there were enough tears that had been shed in turn.

Organa ended up having them rendezvous with a small crew – The Ghost.

They were an odd sort. A twi’lek female (the pilot and brains of the crew, Boil was sure), a large cat-like beast, the most colorful Mandalorian anyone had ever even heard of, a murderous droid and a pair of….jedi?

Boil had not expected to see a jedi, much less two. Apparently, neither did anyone else.

The older one, upon seeing General Kenobi had looked shocked, his eyes wide and nearly in tears. He wasn’t dressed like a jedi, but Boil could see the parts of a lightsaber hanging from his belt. It was a little odd thing, separated from one another but it was a good cover, he supposed. His hair was fairly dark, pulled back into a little ponytail and his dark blue eyes were piercing in a way that Boil wasn’t sure he could understand.

“M-Master Obi-Wan?” the elder choked out.

“Hello, Caleb,” General Kenobi greeted warmly, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “It is very good to see you alive, well and amongst friends.”

The padawan beside the older – Caleb – looked nearly as surprised. He was rather short with a mess of blue black hair and…was that lightsaber a saber or a blaster? Boil couldn’t tell. The padawan looked up at Ben, a bit taken back. “Wait he’s…whoa.”

“I have so many questions,” Caleb confessed, his voice full of confusion.

“Unfortunately, I cannot stay long.”

“Why not?” Caleb asked, clearly disappointed and probably a bit hurt.

“We have much of Vader’s attention. It is not safe for us to be in one place long.”

It was the reasoning he had continued to give Boil over and over again; the reasoning the old clone couldn’t stay with his general and the kid. He had started to hate hearing it.

“Oh,” Caleb sighed, shoulder’s slumping as he glanced away.

“I see you have a padawan.”

“Uh…oh yeah,” the man shrugged, a bit sheepishly. He had been so caught up in seeing the older master, someone he knew, he had forgotten of other things. “This is Ezra Bridger. Ezra, this is…”

“Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the boy replied in a bit of awe.

“I go by Ben these days,” he chuckled but Boil had found little humor in it. “It is good to meet you, young Ezra. I have no doubt that Caleb is an excellent teacher.”

“He goes by Kanan these days,” Ezra replied with a grin. “And yes, he is an excellent teacher.” Caleb – or Kanan, Boil supposed – looked down and away, apparently unsure of the statement.

“Caleb, you should know,” Ben started, catching Caleb/Kanan’s eye and setting a hand on his shoulder. “Depa would be so proud of you. For surviving, coming back and helping those who need it.”

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me,” Ben insisted. “She was my friend, and I knew her quite well. Do not doubt her pride and love for you.”

Boil had no idea where he had come from, the newest presence. He had barely recognized him specifically. After not seeing another clone brother for so long, they were all too familiar and completely strange to him all at the same time.

“Goodness – Rex is that you?”

Past Present

Commander Cody’s expression turned professional and calm in an instant as he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. He clipped his helmet to his belt, keeping it off and moved towards Luke, who standing in front of Ben as straight as he could. Shoulders back, feet width apart, Luke reminded himself. He couldn’t help it; Cody had that type of presence.

As the Commander got closer, he stopped and looked at Luke up and down. “I know who you are.”

Luke blinked blankly. That could have meant any number of things. It partially made Luke a bit uneasy but then he reminded himself that this was commander Cody. It would be fine. “I…I’m sorry? Did you…did you travel here too?”

Cody shook his head, and it was followed by a shallow shrug. “You look just like Skywalker when he was young.”

Luke had not expected that. Had the first time Luke met Cody; had he known right off the bat? If anyone had guessed who his father was, no one had ever made it known to him. No one had told him that they knew. He didn’t realize it was so apparent. “H-How?”

“General Kenobi showed some holos a few years ago,” he added, calmly. “Can’t say I’m entirely surprised. He and Senator Amidala aren’t exactly the subtle type. What I am surprised at is that you don’t want to talk with your father more. Rex has told me how you and General Skywalker have interacted. It’s more suspicion with some curiosity. One would think it would be the other way around.”

“Don’t…” Luke grimaced. “Let’s not call him that, okay? No one besides you and me know and I think it would bring a whole lot more problems than it would solve at the moment. Definitely bring a lot more questions and accusations.”

“Alright. I can understand that,” Commander Cody nodded.

“The future…isn’t great,” Luke started uneasily.

“I gathered that as well.”

“But…I have an idea of a plan.”

“The Skywalker I know tends not to think or plan and although many times success is stumbled into, many tend to get killed,” Cody replied, calmly, raising an eyebrow.

“I was raised by a Kenobi,” Luke started but nearly took it back. His father had also been raised by Ben. “I know you don’t trust me,” he admitted begrudgingly. “And I get that. But…this… this is so much bigger than you, than me, than anything. And if I am going to succeed on saving the jedi, the troopers, the galaxy, Ben,” he emphasized. “I need help. I can’t do it alone. And Ben trusts you so much. Please help me, Commander Cody, you might just be my only hope.”

Cody straightened and his gaze softened. He had definitely been won over. “And I suppose you have it, kid. What do you need from me?”

Luke’s smile was practically blinding, it was so bright. It was a great distraction that Luke had learned to use many years ago.

The needle slid in carefully into his arm and Commander Cody clearly hadn’t seen it coming, especially considering the stiffening of his body and the turn to stare at the teenager, surprised and betrayed.

He would have to understand. Later.

“Sorry, Cody,” Luke apologized as the commander quickly turned drowsy. “I don’t have a perfect handle on sleep suggestions yet. This should take but a moment.”

As the commander collapsed, Luke did his best to catch him, although Cody’s bulk weight really just brought Luke down with him. It took plenty of struggle, but Luke finally managed to drag the body over to the medical scanner. “Alright,” he huffed, leaning against the equipment. “Can you do a continuous deep scan? Something is going to pop up and I need you to remove it,” he told the nearby stationed medical droid.

“Of course sir,” came the monotonous reply.

Luke leaned forward, stretching a hand forth towards the commander and reached.

Please, help me.

He reached and reached and reached.

He knew he couldn’t disable it by himself, only with Ben’s precision and Luke’s power had the two been able to disable the chip the first time without actual surgery. And Ben wasn’t exactly in a position to help this time around.

Trust in the Force, Luke.

It will guide your hand.

Luke took a deep breath and placed a hand on Cody’s head, cautiously and delicately, barely touching skin. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” he whispered as he reached out into the clone’s presence and form. He reached and reached.

He repeated the mantra and this time, Cody muttered alongside and in unison with him as Luke continued to reach within the Force. He could do this. Just reach. “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.”

It was a few, rather long moments until anything happened. Luke repeated himself, with Cody’s voice with him in time. “Anomaly detected,” the medical droid announced.

Luke could only sigh in relief as his grip pulled away. It worked.

“Permission to remove?”

“Yes, yes please remove it,” he murmured, giving into a small yawn.

The surgery had taken a lot less time than Luke had anticipated. Of course, most surgeries he had seen or knew about were very old fashioned without good and modern tools. He nearly collapsed in the chair when the droid announced the success of the surgery. He had an ally now. Arfour was mostly a backup, although he enjoyed her candor and investigative prowess that would aid him, but it was nice to know he had a flesh and bone being with him as well. One who could now no longer be brainwashed into trying to kill the jedi, including Ben, given the order.

The recovery time was short too, although to Luke it had felt a bit like forever. Some of it was because of the sedative, although he didn’t use much. Soon enough, Commander Cody began to awaken, groaning with no doubt a bit of a pounding headache. He tried to sit up and Luke got to his side to assist. “What did you do to me, kid?”

“I’m sorry,” Luke apologized, genuine as he met commander Cody’s eyes. “I didn’t know if the Sith could tell if I told you about them. I had to remove it first.”

“Remove what?” The confusion was authentic.

“A chip in your brain that brainwashes you and overrides any sense of self, loyalty or choice,” he replied bluntly, his gaze rather sympathetic.

Cody’s expression was priceless. If it hadn’t been for the situation, Luke probably would have laughed. After meeting him the first time and all of Ben’s stories, it didn’t seem like it could have been possible, this coming from him. “What?” Cody muttered.

“I have a lot to tell you,” Luke admitted as he stood back. Cody sat up further and brought his legs back over to the side of the cot. “Well, sort of. Ben was a bit tight lipped about the downfall of the Republic, the Jedi and the clone troopers but I will tell you what I do know.”

“The downfall…of the jedi?”

Luke nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure how much Cody would believe him, but Ben had always said he trusted Cody, that he was good, honest and reliable. Luke would trust him too. He just hoped that Cody would believe what he had to say. That would make things a lot easier. “But we need allies. Do you have a short list of troopers you can absolutely trust?”

“Of course,” Cody nearly snorted, as if that were obvious. There is Rex-.”

“No.”

The sudden and short reply had both surprised him and Cody. They stared at each other for a moment, a little unsure on how to proceed.

“What?”

“Not Rex.”

“Why not?” Cody looked rather offended on his brother’s behalf. Luke could understand, there were plenty of times he had gotten offended on Ben’s. But this…this was a delicate and highly secretive situation. They couldn’t take that kind of risk. “Rex is an extremely loyal, trustworthy and intelligent trooper.”

“I agree,” Luke replied with a nod. “But he spends too much time with Skywalker.”

“Your father?” Cody questioned, his brows furrowing. “Why would that matter?”

Luke grimaced.

“Luke,” Cody warned, slowly. It reminded Luke of the times Ben had said his name when something was wrong, and he knew Luke had been in the middle of it. “Is Skywalker a danger to my brothers?”

“Not anymore than he is currently, leading troops into battle,” Luke assured. It wasn’t exactly the best answer, he would admit, but he didn’t want Cody to know anything that would hinder their plans too much. “Look Commander. Trusting Rex is not the issue but if he knows, Skywalker may notice,” he tried to reason. “And there are others we cannot trust that Skywalker might.”

Cody’s expression was highly suspicious, and Luke started to sweat a little. If Cody didn’t accept his reasoning, if he asked too many questions on identity…well, Luke wasn’t sure if he could give the commander the responses and answers he wanted. “Alright,” Cody conceded. Luke let out a silent breath of air. “I don’t like this but alright. For now. How many troopers are you thinking?”

“Just a handful. Close knit, whoever you can trust the most. I’d prefer the 212th I think,” he admitted although he doubted Cody was going to choose any of the men that weren’t his battalion. Luke knew he was a marshal commander and had a lot of say with many groups of troopers but the 212th were his battalion, his go to men, his closest brothers. Aside from Rex of course. “I…this is going to be hard without Ben. And I’m not the leader type, he is.”

“Alright, I’ll gather some troopers and you figure out how to explain…whatever it is,” Cody said, uneasily as he stood up. He grabbed his helmet but paused before putting it on.

“The downfall of the galaxy?” Luke suggested.

Cody just sighed, shooting him a tired look as he put his helmet back on. “Yeah. That.”

After Cody left, Luke found a pad of paper and a pen to write with, trying to figure out how to explain what he knew. Once he had a bullet point list of all that he did know….he felt as if it was a little lacking. He sat next to Ben’s cot while thinking. Glancing over at his guardian, he shook his head. “I really don’t know what I’m doing Ben. I wish you would wake up so you could help me. I really don’t know what I’m doing. And I don’t have all the answers that you do, that the troops are going to want.”

Any movement Ben’s body made was miniscule and only apparent to those who were studying closely. Luke sighed and hoisted himself up on the side of the cot.

“If you could, I’d really appreciate if you woke up,” he pointed out. “Or at least give me some ideas on how to keep going with this.”

As predicted, there was silence. Not even a movement.

“Yeah, I know,” Luke crossed his arms. “I gotta figure this out for myself.”

***

Luke nearly started crying when he saw the troopers Cody had brought back with him. They all had their helmets off, with an assortment of tattoos and haircuts. He looked around them. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting or what he wanted to see because of course he didn’t recognize any of them except….

“BOIL!” Luke couldn’t help his cheer as he realized he did recognize one of them. Sure, he was a lot younger now, with no grey or white hair or the number of wrinkles when Luke knew him before, but Luke definitely could recognize that stupid mustache. Before anyone could stop him or even he realized what he was doing, Luke barreled across the room, hopping over an empty cot and leapt…

And the soldier in question barely had time to drop his bucket to catch him, completely shocked. Massive confusion permeated the Force, swirling all around him and nearly making the boy’s head hurt, but one voice burst out into uncontrollable laughter. “

I knew we would see each other again,” Luke announced proudly, giddy.

The trooper was too shocked to do anything but barely keep a hold on the boy, so he didn’t fall. “Do we know you, kiddo?”

It wasn’t Boil speaking, but Luke looked over before jumping down from Boil’s arms. His eyes were sparkling, he couldn’t help it. There weren’t many soldiers here, less than a dozen, including Helix who had come in late, but it was still so many. He was going to meet several of the 212th, of the people Ben led and loved. His mind was bursting with questions, especially on who was who.

Boil glanced over at the clone, concerned and confused. Could it…

“Are you Waxer?”

Everyone blinked, the surprise continuing.

Waxer just smiled though. “Yeah! That’s me!”

Luke thought his heart would just burst right then and there. Boil had spent quite some time with him and Ben in the past…future…. whatever, and a lot of the stories he told had Waxer in them. Just another person Luke always wanted to meet and thought he would never get the chance.

The boy nearly curled on himself. “Yes,” he whispered.

Before they could ask any more questions, Commander Cody took command of the group and directed them to sit down, although it mostly, as it happened, to be on the floor with a lack of chairs. Luke kind of preferred it that way; it was something he was used to more. This was going to be a bit of a long conversation. Cody started with introductions.

“Alright. Everyone, this is…Luke,” Cody said carefully, gesturing to the blonde. Luke waved, cheerily. He appreciated Cody’s discretion with his heritage. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust these boys to keep it to themselves, but Luke thought the less they knew, the safer everyone would be.

Although from the glances they were giving him, it seemed they had some kind of suspicion.

“Luke,” Cody continued. “These are some of my best. You obviously know Boil and next to him, Waxer. And Helix, of course, our commanding Medic. You got Trapper, Crys, Wooley, Longshot, Gearshift, Barlex and Threepwood.”

Luke waved again, “Hi. It is…it is really amazing to meet you all. Ben has told me…loads.”

They all looked at one another, curiously. “Good things I hope?”

He laughed. “Of course!”

With a wave of his hand, the group that had started chatting died down and carefully, Cody briefed the group on what he knew so far, what was happening.

That Luke was a time traveler and more than likely, Ben – General Kenobi – had as well. It was an odd explanation for Ben’s weird coma, and it made all of them uneasy, but Luke found it rather hilarious that they seemed to accept the concept of time travel with relative ease, with few questions on how it happened itself.

Luke had made a brief conversation about the events that had happened prior to moving through time. Although he could tell they were anxious with questions, especially where they were while Ben was in danger and who this new, dangerous sith enemy was, they did an admirable job refraining from asking too many queries.

Cody continued his brief about how General Kenobi and Luke were found and how his coma was probably force-related. They all groaned at that notion. It had made Luke grin; it appeared they were fairly familiar with all sorts of shenanigans when it came to the force and Ben as well.

As they continued, things got serious as Cody said they would require surgery to continue with the briefing. They were given little explanation, but Cody had said he went through it, and it was for both General Kenobi and Luke’s safety, as well as being essential to the better future they wanted to try and create. There was a bit more knowledge gone out as Luke helped Cody explained what would happen during it.

“This is…” Luke struggled to explain. “I’m asking you to trust me”

To his infinite relief, they did.

The surgeries moved fairly quickly, as Luke poured as much as he could into them, but it was exhausting. By the time they had gotten through everyone, Luke felt nearly dead on his feet, even swaying into Trapper’s side. He had been the first and had already been up and on his own feet, so he easily caught him.

“Oh wow,” he murmured as Trapper held him up. The last one to have gone through the surgery, Threepwood, was already waking up from his. “That…that was a lot.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Cody frowned, moving around towards him. “You can sleep after we talk, okay?”

“Yes sir, commander sir,” Luke giggled, a bit drowsily. His head was full, his thoughts, although straight forward, were sluggish.

Everyone’s eyes softened with amusement and sympathy.

“Can I…can I sit down though?”

“Of course,” Barlex said before Cody could even respond. Luke didn’t bother to crawl up onto a cot, as there were plenty in the medical bay. Instead, he just dropped to the floor, taking Trapper down with him. There was a light laugh throughout the ranks and they all circled around on the floor near Ben’s cot.

It took a moment before Luke and the others got settled but once they did, he threw himself into what he knew. “What was taken out of your heads were chips,” Luke explained with a yawn. “Or at least, I’m pretty sure they are. The first time Ben and I had experience with them, we weren’t able to take them out, just disable them. With Boil, I threw him into a wall – long story – and with Cody, Ben and I disabled it with the Force. I’m not precise enough to do it by myself. I don’t know how they work, but they are the reason the clones massacred all the jedi.” It felt like it took him forever to get through that speech, as Luke did his best to focus himself so he wouldn’t drop off and lose his place.

There was absolute silence.

For the longest moment, no one would say a word. Luke didn’t look at any of them.

“A-All the Jedi?” Crys nearly squeaked. It sounded weird coming from a clone. Luke nodded.

“Even…. even the babies?” Waxer’s face paled drastically.

Luke nodded again. “Led brainwashed to march on the Temple,” he answered. “Ben wasn’t there when it happened, but I’m pretty sure he saw the immediate aftermath. He… he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

Waxer bolted upright and to his feet to throw up in one of the sinks. Boil got up and followed, patting his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Everyone looked rather green and sick. Luke couldn’t blame them. To be violated and used in such a way, to attack and massacre the people you cared about and cared about you, he couldn’t imagine.

It was a few minutes before Waxer and Boil came back to the group and sat down. They all just waited patiently.

“The Republic was made into the Galactic Empire,” Luke continued, although a bit vaguely “…by the Sith. My mother died giving birth to me a couple days after.”

“Your father?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned it but somehow, he just seemed led to. “That… is complicated. I don’t know exactly what happened and it’s really Ben’s story to tell.”

The others looked a bit confused and exchanged glances. A few of them studied Luke closely, even glancing at Cody for confirmation on their thoughts. To his credit, the commander’s face gave nothing away.

“But General Kenobi survived,” Wooley suggested, near eagerly. They all leaned forward, so full of hope that their general was alive, had survived. That they hadn’t killed him.

“Yes,” Luke answered. “He brought me to my aunt and uncle who raised me until I was about 8-ish,” he waved his hand flat and horizontal to give the time a little leeway. He didn’t remember a whole ton from that time, even now. “And then Ben took me away.”

“Jedi don’t take children from their families,” Waxer defended. It certainly wasn’t something he was intending to say, as Luke could see he appeared a bit rather taken back and regretful of his words.

“They were murdered,” Luke countered with a heavy swallow. “And I am force sensitive. The Empire kills or tortures those who are. No matter your age or anything. Even if you have nothing to do with the Jedi. Even if you have never heard of the jedi, the empire will kill you. Or torture you until you join them. Besides, Ben is the closest family I have, even before he took me with him.”

Thankfully, the troopers seemed to leave it alone.

“Do you know what happened to us?”

“The troopers in general?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head. “Ben didn’t talk about you guys…after the Empire rose to power. I’m not sure if he even knew what happened to you afterwards. Perhaps you became part of the Empire’s storm troopers. Your armor looked kind of like theirs. It is where we found Cody and Boil.”

None of the clones seemed to like that notion.

“You recognized Boil and was friendly,” Waxer pointed out, curiously. “Anyone else you came across in the future?”

Luke hummed as he thought about it for a moment. “We found Kix in a statis pod on a Separatist ship. I was pretty young then and Ben quickly sent him off to Senator Organa to start a new life. I met you, commander, but it was…brief.”

The implication was rather clear, and no one wanted to speak of it.

“And then Boil if course. I found him by accident around the same time we found Cody. Accidently broke his chip by throwing him into the wall with the force,” he glanced at the trooper, apologetically. Waxer just grinned and punched Boil lightly in the shoulder while a few others chuckled. “He was with us for a bit, but he couldn’t stay because we attracted too much attention from Vader. It was dangerous.”

“Where did you send me?” Boil asked.

“Bail Organa again, I think,” Luke shrugged. It seemed that was the one person Ben seemed to really trust, even though he was involved with the government of the Empire. Luke later figured it was because not only of their previous friendship while Ben was in the Jedi Order but also the fact that Organa had created a rebellion to fight against the Empire near immediately after its construction. “Either to start a new life or join his rebellion. I don’t know what you chose.”

Boil growled, a scowl clear, on his face. “I do.”

Luke yawned again, leaning against a reclining Trapper. “I’m sorry I don’t know a lot. But I needed some help. Ben…Ben will need some allies to prevent all…all the horrible things from happening. And if he doesn’t wake up…I’m gonna need a lot of help if I want to do…to do what I can,” Luke murmured.

“How about you take a nap?” Commander Cody suggested.

Luke hummed again but his body seemed not to care what he wanted. “I shouldn’t really. Need…need to protect Ben…like he does…”

“We will protect him,” Cody promised.

“Promise?” Luke hated how he sounded like a child. Cody’s eyes just softened.

“We promise.”

“He…all I got.”

***

No one fell asleep as fast as Luke. As he snuggled into Trapper’s side with his other side flanked by Gearshift, they all glanced at one another, unsure of what to say next. How to proceed.

“I know he didn’t give us a lot but that…”

“It was enough for now,” Cody confirmed, glancing down at his hands, trying to think. “We keep this quiet for now until we either get to the Temple and can speak with Jedi council or General Kenobi wakes up with new orders.”

They all agreed silently.

“What about…Cody, the entire GAR is chipped,” Barlex said with the shake of his head, near disbelievingly. “What do we do with that?”

Cody glanced at Luke, the boy already snoring against the troopers, near completely at ease with the company. “I’ll contact some other commanders,” he decided. “To warn them. If anything, they can discreetly get their own chips removed. It may be easier to keel the generals alive if their commanders aren’t forced to try to kill them. But I will tell them it stays quiet until we come up with a real plan.”

“At least the surgery isn’t too bad,” Threepwood shrugged.

“The scanners didn’t pick it up, we need a jedi for that,” Longshot frowned.

“Our scanners only go up to atomic level four. A level five is more likely to pick something like this up,” Helix explained. “We have several specimens of this chip; I will work on examining them and figuring out how they work. Threepwood, would you mind giving me an assist?”

“Of course.”

“No one tells the Jedi unless General Kenobi gives permission or we get in front of the Council,” Cody commanded, his eyes sweeping over the lot of them, his gaze hard and determined. “And that means, Skywalker. Especially Skywalker.”

“Why?” He wasn’t entirely sure where the question came from. Cody answered easily.

“One, he’s terrible with secrets. The boy still thinks he is subtle, which he is very much not,” Cody pointed out, pulling up his hands to number on his fingers. “Two, he’s buddy-buddy with the Chancellor and it’s pretty apparent that the Jedi don’t particularly completely trust him.”

“If I remember correctly, he is constantly overriding their suggestions,” Wooley added. “General Kenobi doesn’t complain about it out loud but any one of us could see how difficult it is to go through briefings with him.”

“Also, there was no war in the Republic that made it into an Empire,” Cody added.

Crys’s eyes narrowed and frowned. “That means the Chancellor cannot be trusted at all.”

“Luke said the Sith took over, could he… be it?” Longshot suggested quietly. It seemed like treason, even suggesting such a notion. It was, Cody knew. Their duty was to the Republic. If even the Chancellor, the leader of said Republic, was a threat to its existence, Cody and his boys would do their duty to protect it. Protection of the Jedi was unsaid.

“Wouldn’t the Jedi know?” Waxer asked, uncertain. His faith and appreciation for the jedi and their abilities was well known throughout the ranks, as he was often found in conversation with General Kenobi or visiting Jedi, asking questions about anything and everything. Boil was often there as well, as he tended to stick to Waxer’s side, and although he acted as if he was bored and annoyed, everyone knew that he was listening closely and attentively.

“I don’t know,” Cody confessed, shaking his head. It seemed likely that the Jedi would know such things but then again, he was sure there would be plenty of ways for Sith to hide themselves. There was for the Jedi, as General Kenobi had once explained. Besides, there were plenty of darksiders running around too. Cody didn’t know if that changed anything. “Stay here with Luke. No one gets too close to General Kenobi. We don’t break promises. I… I have a few calls to make,” he ordered. The entire group nodded.

***

Cody was uneasy when he was summoned back to the bridge, not after his group call with several of his batchmates, nearly all of which were commanders. Some of them had not taken the information well and he had to spend plenty of time trying to calm them down and convince all of them not to tell their jedi. Or anyone for that matter.

They decided to wait and attempt to plan. He coordinated with Commander Colt and Alpha-17 on Kamino, asking them to investigate these chips and any other way to take them out without anyone knowing the wiser. He could still feel Commander Colt’s blank stare through the blue holocall and he could still see Alpha-17’s shoulders and muscles coil into something so tense, Cody thought they would snap.

His messages with Commander Fox was shrouded in encryption and code. They didn’t often use it, with the fear of anyone they didn’t want to know, finding their messages and it would take some time for them get complete missives across. He would have to call him later.

He ended his calls, calm and collected, a bit relieved. They were starting to plan. People knew some things; it was a start. Whatever happened in Luke’s past, with the downfall of the Republic, the Jedi and their brothers, that would not happen this time. Not if Cody and his brothers could help it.

Cody had been quickly summoned back to the bridge, as contact with General Windu had been reestablished. He stalked down the halls, calming himself and wrapping himself in as much shields as he could muster, just like General Kenobi had taught him and some of the other curious troopers.

Upon coming to the bridge, a trooper announced his presence. The holocall from the middle table flared to life. Around him was General Skywalker, Commander Tano and Captain Rex from the Resolute at one side and General Windu with Commander Ponds and another officer on the other.

Cody’s gaze just passed over Commander Ponds and their eyes met, briefly. They had spoken only minutes before. His dark eyes went back to General Windu. “Is everything alright, sir?” Cody asked.

“No,” General Windu suppressed a sigh. He kept himself the picture of professionalism the best he could. He just seemed tired to Cody. The Commander feared what would happen this time around. Last time, they were all murdered. Would the outcome be better this time? General Windu took a breath. “Please note I am highly against this.”

“Uh-oh,” Ahsoka muttered under her breath, but it was caught through the call.

“What’s going on Master?” Skywalker asked, trying to cover for his padawan. He straightened himself and glanced at Cody, but the commander avoided his eyes and kept them on the higher ranking General.

“General Tiin is finishing his campaign on Umbara alongside General Krell,” General Windu explained, gravely, pressing his hands against his vambraces across one another. “They are doing quite well, but the population has resurged, and the fleet needs some reinforcements to achieve victory.”

“Oh no,” someone groaned.

“Kenobi’s fleet is the only one close enough,” General Windu added, with a near bitter snarl. It was the most feeling he had seen from the general in quite some time. He must be really tired and really irritated from him to let it show through a holocall, especially one with General Skywalker. “We are hoping that your reinforcements will help…persuade them to retreat.”

“I don’t like this,” Skywalker muttered, looking down at the table map.

“I don’t either,” General Windu emphasized. Cody’s mind buzzed; he had rarely seen General Windu agree so much with General Skywalker. Either he was just too tired to argue, or General Skywalker was actually being willing enough to be agreed with. “To make matters worse, the Chancellor has requested your accompaniment to a festival for protection detail,” he added, pointedly staring at them.

“I…I can’t leave Obi-Wan,” Skywalker curled his fist and looked away.

“I agree.”

General Skywalker’s head whipped back up to meet General Windu’s stony stare, certainly surprised. Cody, of course, agreed, but was surprised that it was a general consensus, only because the two of them rarely seemed to agree on anything. General Skywalker often argued with all of his superiors, although it didn’t always seem as apparent with General Kenobi as it was with others.

“Not only do we need you on the front at this time, especially with Kenobi indisposed,” General Windu explained, prudently. “But nearly all Force-related coma cases have significant better recovery when surrounded by familiar presences. None are more familiar to him than yours. Which is why I had to deny the request. He…was not pleased.” General Windu’s gaze, if possible, had darkened further at the mention.

“Perhaps I should talk to him,” General Skywalker started, almost in a rush to get the words out of his mouth. “Surely if I explained...”

“What Skywalker?” One could certainly hear General Windu trying to hold back a snap. It wasn’t his patience breaking but it was certainly being tested. Cody wondered what was happening over on Coruscant that was making him so on edge. “Explain to him that one of our top Generals is not available and we don’t know why? In an unexplainable coma?”

“Perhaps he could help,” General Skywalker tried. “Obviously not with the coma stuff but with the GAR-.”

“The one person currently available and qualified to lead such a force is standing next to you,” General Windu pressed flatly. Cody looked away, trying not to let the heat on his face show through the call. “Anyone else would be non-jedi and non-clone. You barely listen to Kenobi; would you really listen to someone else? Not to mention most of military generals don’t particular work well with Jedi and their tactics…. we don’t agree with.” He stopped and sighed, shaking his head. “Look… Anakin,” he stressed, surprising everyone by using his first name. That’s when you knew he was trying, and he was serious. “This is very temporary until we can get a look at Kenobi. Who knows, maybe this is just exhaustion, and he will wake up tomorrow. We just do not have the time right now to explain everything and no time to do anything else or change plans.”

There was a long silence through the bridge, with the only sounds being the officers working at their own stations, away from the table as everyone in the call finally let that sink in. General Windu took a deep breath to continue.

“Now,” General Windu said. “General Krell will take the 501st…”

“Shouldn’t I be with my men?”

Cody just wished General Skywalker would stop questioning everything his superior said. Questioning superiors when it was warranted was one thing, but nothing General Windu had said was abnormal or unreasonable.

“You are one of the best pilots we have,” General Windu started off with a compliment, probably hoping to lessen the blow of taking General Skywalker from his direct troops. “General Tiin needs your piloting skills. And if something does happen, would it not be better to be closer to Kenobi?”

General Windu is completely manipulating him, any of the troopers can see it. Cody was pretty sure Skywalker didn’t, but it works anyways.

He accepts.

The rest of the briefing goes a lot more smoothly now that positions were out of the way. General Skywalker would help General Tiin with the piloting. Cody, alongside the upcoming Jedi that was near coming was to direct the space battle. It was nice to understand and know that the high Generals had faith in his ability to lead, even outside of General Kenobi. General Krell would lead the 501st fairly directly on the ground, with the 212th under Sergeant Waxer to box the opposing forces in.

As the planning came to an end, General Windu ended it with a near plea, surely hoping to keep General Skywalker out of as much trouble as he could. “General Skywalker, let Commander Cody do the tactical plans. He is trained with this and knows how to move large amounts of people. He can work at a bigger scale.”

General Skywalker doesn’t particularly care for this but nods and then stalks away. Cody meets General Windu’s eyes and stares, holding it fiercely. He cannot interpret this any other way than to wait. The others finally depart until it is mostly just him and the General. There are others still around, but they are not paying attention.

“Sir,” Cody greeted, slowly.

General Windu hesitated and looked at him, expectantly. “Yes, commander?”

Cody looked around, a bit paranoid. He couldn’t do this now, not with so many around and able to hear anything. He needed some privacy, but he wasn’t entirely sure how he could ask for it. Or, either, if he could. Was that disrespectful? Wrong? General Windu came with high regard from General Kenobi, Cody’s general certainly had a lot of good things to say about him. Ponds certainly seemed to like and respect him. And although Cody never saw anything but respect from the High General, that didn’t mean he was easy to talk with alone.

“I…uh…how long does…this type of exhaustion typically last?”

The general narrowed his eyes, searching him for answers. His reply was slow and deliberate. “Twenty-four hours to three days, usually.” He barely paused. “I must depart, commander.”

Cody’s chest sunk. “Of course, general. Thank you.”

The call ended and he just stood there frozen. He tried not scream. His comm beeped with a message. Office.

Oh, so he did notice.

Thank the Force.

Although he tried not make it apparent that he was running away, Cody moved with quick certainty that made everyone around him know not to ask questions about it. He got into his office and closed everything. There was a situational jammer and the door locked thrice. Her certainly had to put multiple locks on his door because yikes, some of his troopers were trouble.

General Windu’s visage popped up on the desk, much smaller and not life sized as he was on the bridge. He looked as if he didn’t move at all. “Do you have something else, commander?”

“I’ve learned some things from Luke, the time traveler,” Cody started, straightening himself. “I believe I can trust you with.”

This certainly got his attention. An eyebrow rose as General Windu leaned a little forward, certainly interested in what Cody had to say. “Yes?”

“The Sith Lord…” he started, cautiously.

General Windu’s eyes narrowed, and his entire body stiffened. “Do you know who it is?” he near demanded. He bit back anything else he was about to say, allowing Cody time to speak.

“Not for certain, sir,” Cody shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure if Luke knows either. He said the Republic was made into a Galactic Empire at the end of the war and it wasn’t the Separatists who did it.”

“We did believe the Sith was manipulating both sides,” General Windu pondered with a frown. He was probably contemplating with himself but apparently was comfortable enough with doing it in front of Cody to hear. “Our investigation has been a bit slow; the war and other duties have taken a lot of our time.”

Cody knew this. What was to come next would put more on their plate, he understood but if it was to help the jedi and his brothers survive, Cody would do all he could.  “It’s not just that sir,” he continued. “He made it sound like it had been easy. I think the Sith you are looking for is powerful and a leader in the Republic, one that could easily take over the government completely.”

He seemed to understand Cody’s meaning. His eyes had widened a fraction as the realization came about and he stared at him. “You don’t think…”

“I think it is a distinct possibility,” Cody confessed. It seemed like a logical leap. It may have been treasonous but whatever helped the Republic, jedi and troopers survive. “Either that or someone is pulling his strings directly.”

The general’s face hardened into that of stone. “Thank you for this information, commander. You have done the Jedi and the Republic a great service.”

Cody hesitated but plowed through. “And sir?”

“Yes?”

He had to know. They had to know. Just in case something went wrong; Cody had to make sure that the jedi, at least to some extent, knew. “Just so you know… whatever happens, believe the troopers are on your side; on the side of the jedi.”

General Windu stared at him intently, trying to decipher his meaning.

“I…will keep that in mind, commander.”

***

When Cody finally returned to the medical bay, his group of 212th boys were snoozing, piled up around Luke in something of a cuddled up heap. His eyes softened as he picked through them. Luke was practically hugging Boil, leaned up against Trapper on one side and Longshot on the other.

As he got to the other side, he found Helix being the only one awake, next to General Kenobi’s bed side. “They’ve been asleep for about a forty-five minutes,” Helix reported, easily. “I couldn’t. Threepwood helped me a little with the chips but…”

Cody smirked and shook his head. “Commander Colt and Alpha-17 are looking into it, discreetly. It’s alright. This whole thing with General Kenobi had put everyone on edge. And Luke could use the sleep. I don’t think he has slept in a while.”

“I would believe you,” Helix nodded. “And for what I’m sure is to come, he’ll need the sleep.”

“How is General Kenobi doing?” Cody asked instead.

“Not much change. A few twitches once in a while. More so than before. Whatever is happening, at this pace, I don’t think whatever is happening will last long,” Helix explained, although it was rather vague for both their tastes.

“Let’s hope he awakens soon,” Cody mused. “We are being redirected.”

“What?” Helix hissed. “How could we possibly do that? With our general like this?! Who ordered this?”

Cody shot him a glare. “We don’t have a lot of time or choices. We are the closest and the only one who can assist General Tiin and General Krell on Umbara. It wasn’t as if we have much of a choice. I just wish General Kenobi would awaken beforehand. He’s lived this before; he could give some insight on the battle.”

Helix shook his head. “This is not a good idea. We can’t possibly rely on General Skywalker to lead such a group of men. He’s…fine with the 501st but with all of us?”

“General Windu is sending us another jedi to help out, he’s close. But I…. I am in charge as of currently,” he said quietly. Helix glanced at him, a little surprised.

“That’s good, you would be better at it than most. Between you and General Kenobi, you two had good campaigns,” Helix replied. “Who is this other Jedi?”

“Just someone to help out, apparently not so much to lead overall,” Cody shrugged. “He was coming before we were redirected to Umbara. He’s one of General Kenobi’s friends. He’s mentioned him before; Quinlan Vos.”

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 2: A Jail

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Sheriff Graham deals with the Golds 

Read on AO3

Graham Humbert did not get paid enough for this.

For the most part, being the sheriff of Storybrooke was easy. This was a quiet, law-abiding community. There were no drugs, no gang turf wars, no serial killers lurking in dark alleys. People kept to themselves and stayed on the right side of law and order. Usually, Graham could manage the whole town by himself. He had never even needed a deputy, though the position had been open for as long as he could remember.   

Of course, bad things did happen in Storybrooke. Graham worked closely with the Mayor, and he knew more than he wanted to about the true nature of evil. But the worst crimes in this town were the things that didn’t get reported to the police department. If whole paychecks were spent at the Rabbit Hole and kids went to bed hungry and property was not stolen, but had been pawned off for much less than it was worth--that wasn’t anything that people called 911 about.

He tried his best, but he couldn’t protect everybody. He was only one man, after all. And Mayor Mills had made his duty very clear: He was paid to make sure Storybrooke looked good. Graham wasn’t there to root out secret crimes. He was there to keep the peace and make sure would-be troublemakers behaved themselves. Most of the time, that job was easy. Most residents of Storybrooke wanted the place to look good too. So they stayed in line and didn’t rock the boat.

With a few notable exceptions. 

It was Saturday night, the day before rent day. Unlike any other Saturday in a given month, the day before rent day was especially quiet. Everyone who owed money to Mr. Gold suddenly realized that they actually couldn’t head out to a bar or enjoy a meal at a restaurant. They stayed home and counted their pennies.

Except for the one person in town who never paid Mr. Gold in cash.

Graham pulled the squad car into the free spot on the road by Birdhouse Corner Park. It was called a park, but it was really a fenced-in lot with a few trees and benches. Every fall Miss Blanchard’s class at the elementary school made birdhouses that hung from the tree branches and gave the park its name. Few birds ever actually took up residence in the bird houses, but it was still a pretty spot to sit outside if you were downtown.

Assuming that no one else had gotten to the benches before you had. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Gold,” he said as he got out of the car. He hadn’t turned the flashing lights on; there was no need to draw attention to the situation. 

He’d taken care of Mrs. Gold often enough to know that attention was exactly what she wanted. 

“Hi, Sheriff!” Mrs. Gold waved with one hand. She was perched on the back of a bench facing the street. Her pale legs glowed orange in the streetlights and they were spread very far apart. Her other hand was plunged down the waistband of her shiny skirt. 

She smiled, like she’d been expecting him. 

At this time of night, all of the businesses in this part of town were closed, and there wasn’t much foot traffic. It was unlikely that anyone driving along Main Street would see the woman hidden in the shadows of a public park. Unlikely, but not impossible. After all, Graham had seen her while doing nothing more than a casual patrol, and what he had seen had been enough to make him stop his car. Maybe he would have done better to just look the other way. 

He did not get paid enough for this. 

He considered his next move carefully. Mrs. Gold was loitering, breaking a few decency laws, and putting herself in no small amount of danger. But she was also his landlord’s wife and one wrong word from her would land him in several different worlds of trouble.

“Bit chilly, isn’t it?” He crossed his arms over his chest to demonstrate that he was wearing a jacket. He tried to keep his eyes above her waist. Mrs. Gold, in addition to her short skirt, was wearing a white blouse and a dark-colored wrap that was so thin he could see her skin through the sleeves. 

“I’m hot,” she declared, leaning back to expose her neck. Her thick necklace plunged past her collarbone and into her cleavage.  “I’m always hot when there’s a sexy man around.”

Graham tried to stand so his stance was more authoritative than sexy. “You were alone before I got here.”

“Was I?” she giggled. “Are you sure?”

His stance collapsed. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried small talk.

“Mrs. Gold, why don’t you go on home? The streets can be dangerous for a woman out at night.”

“Aren’t you going to keep me safe, Sheriff?” Her one hand was still in her skirt and her elbow jerked with quick, repetitive motions. This woman was clearly masturbating, in a public park, in the middle of a conversation with a uniformed law officer. “Besides, what do you think Mr. Gold will do to anyone who touches me?”

Graham ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “So is that why you’re…” he gave up, “... touching yourself?”

She beamed and rocked from side to side on the back of the bench. “Mr. Gold likes me to be ready all the time.”

Against his better judgement, Graham took a step closer to Mrs. Gold. “Are you being coerced? Did your husband tell you to expose yourself in public?”

“Sheriff!” she giggled again. “You should know that I don’t do anything unless Mr. Gold tells me to. And I love doing it!”

Graham rubbed his hand over his face. Suddenly very tired, he pinched the brim of his nose and kept his eyes closed for a minute. “Mrs. Gold, if I tell you to go back home without making a fuss, will that do any good?”

“Nope!” 

When Graham opened his eyes, he could see her smile in the patchy darkness. Jesus Christ, she was still fucking playing with herself!

 “Sorry, Sheriff, but I don’t take orders from you.”

He snapped. “I am an officer of the law, you know! Do you think the law doesn’t apply to you?”

“No-o-o,” she cooed. “I think the law doesn’t apply to Mr. Gold.”

Unfortunately, there was no arguing with that. So Graham did what his training told him was the next step, and what she had probably wanted the whole time. 

He reached for his handcuffs.

“Mrs. Gold, please put both hands where I can see them.”

Still smiling, she put her hands in the air. “You know Mr. Gold owns this park, right?  Sure, the city leases it from him, but it’s technically private property.”

“Mrs. Gold, I just want to take you in out of the cold. I’ll give you a cup of coffee at the station and maybe we’ll have a talk. Will you come with me if I don’t use the handcuffs?”

 She held out her hands toward him, wrists pressed together, begging to be restrained. “I’ll come in all kinds of ways, but handcuffs always make it more fun.”

This was no victory, but what else was he supposed to do? At least he could get her out of public view for the night. Graham closed the silver handcuffs over Mrs. Gold’s wrists. She shivered and made an obscene noise.

He rolled his eyes.

“Wait here,” he said. He left her on the park bench and opened the passenger door to the squad car.

“Yes, sir!” Mrs. Gold pushed her eyebrows together and made a face that matched her voice--mock-military serious, playing that he was in charge of this situation. Hands bound together, she hopped off the bench and stood beside it in her ridiculous heels.

Graham came back with a wet wipe he’d grabbed from the glove box, a souvenir from his last box of wings from Chicken Little’s. He took the wipe out of the wrapper and held it out to Mrs. Gold. 

“Please clean off your hands before you get in my car.”

“Are you going to frisk me, Sheriff?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww!” she mocked him. “What a gentleman! I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Gold you were so nice to me.” 

He didn’t let himself react until she was in the back seat and he was shutting the door behind her. Even then, all Graham could do was run his hand through his hair and clench his teeth around a curse.   

****

   The Storybrooke Sheriff Station was a small building. Most of the square footage was used to store archives of case files and other paperwork. The only two cells were in the back of the Sheriff’s Office. Most of the time they were just a place to store belligerent drunks until they dried out. 

But Mrs. Gold was not drunk and she had an odd way of showing her belligerence.  

“Mr. Gold holds the deed to this building too, you know.” A good enough reason for her prance around like she owned the place. The handcuffs didn’t dampen her spirits at all.

Graham walked in behind her, a prisoner even though he held the keys. This time of night, there was no one else at the station. Even the dispatch officer, Mariah Moder, had taken the evening off when she heard that her sister Dotty had had something break in her house again. That was why the red light was flashing on his desk phone. Someone had left him a message, or possibly several.

“Aren’t you gonna take my picture?” Mrs. Gold had wandered over to the mugshot camera. She was posing like a model, pouting and winking at a photographer that wasn’t there.

Graham took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “You’re not under arrest, Mrs. Gold. That’s why I didn’t read you your rights. In fact, if you cooperate with me, I won’t even bother writing up a report and you can be home in half an hour.”

She gave him a skeptical look and held up her cuffed arms. “Then what was the point of these?”

“You said yourself that you wouldn’t come quietly unless I restrained you.”  

“Well, I never come quietly unless I’ve got something stuffed in my mouth.”

Refusing to rise to her bait--or sink to her level--Graham cleared his throat. “Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured to the couch that sat against one wall, perpendicular to the jail cells. 

“What if I lie down instead?” Mrs. Gold was already moving into position, stretching out on the pilly blue fabric. She leaned her head on the armrest, so her red-soled shoes were pointed in Graham’s direction. The position made her skirt bunch up around her thighs but didn’t reveal her underwear--if she was wearing any. 

Graham shook his head and sat down at the desk by her feet. “Just keep your hands where I can see them, please.”

“Well, since you said please,” Mrs. Gold shrugged and stuck her arms in the air. He watched her tilt the handcuffs this way and that. She hummed and admired her reflection. The girl had been picked up by the cops and she didn’t have a care in the world.

Was she even aware of where she was right now? Could she be held responsible for her actions? Should he have her tested for mental competency? Who would he even call to administer a test like that? Dr. Hopper? Or the psych ward at the hospital? Or did he need a judge to give a court order first?

“One thing at a time,” Graham sighed. He pulled out the office rolodex to look up Mr. Gold’s contact information. “Do you think your husband is at home or at his shop?”

“He won’t answer for you,” she said with matter-of-fact smugness. “And this time of night, he’ll only answer his cell phone.”

Graham looked at the front of the index card. Then the back. “I don’t have his mobile number.”

Mrs. Gold giggled. “Of course you don’t!”

He didn’t answer that, and he didn’t think about the flashing red light on the phone. He just turned the rotary dial and waited for Mr. Gold to pick up. Even if Graham wasn’t allowed to charge Mrs. Gold with illegal activity, he could still impress upon her husband that she was a public nuisance and needed to be better managed. 

This was so stupid. He felt like a principal calling a kid’s parents because they had been disruptive during study time. Mrs. Gold should respect the law on principle. She should at least have enough self-preservation not to flirt with danger and enough decency not to do it in public. But she would only listen to one person and that was who Graham was trying to get a hold of. 

On the other end of the line, the phone rang. And rang. And rang. It kept ringing until Graham hung up.

“Well, he isn’t at the shop.”

“Nope,” Mrs. Gold agreed. She was swinging her hands back and forth over her head, testing her range of motion in the handcuffs. 

When Graham tried Mr. Gold’s home number, the phone picked up on the second ring. And promptly cut out. 

“What the hell?” Graham muttered. He dialed again. As soon as his finger had turned the last circle, the other office phone started to ring. He ignored it. Let that call go to voicemail with the others. He needed to get Mrs. Gold out of his hair.

This time, the phone at Mr. Gold’s house hung up on the first ring. When Graham called a third time, there was a busy signal. 

“What the hell?” he said again. He looked at Mrs. Gold. “Do you think your husband would take his phone off the hook when he knows people are trying to get in contact with him?”

“On the day before rent day? Yep!” She had finally put her arms down, and now they were slung over the couch armrest, one on either side of her head.

Graham put his elbows on the desk and ran both hands through his hair. Two hands, for double exasperation. 

The phone rang and Graham picked up the receiver before it had finished the first ring. “Mr. Gold?” he asked hopefully.

“What?” The voice on the other end was female and very angry. Graham recognized it at once. 

“Madame Mayor! I’m sorry about that. Is everything all right?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve been calling the station for hours! Where the hell have you been? Where’s dispatch?”

“Mrs. Moder had an emergency with her sister so she--”

“I don’t care about your excuses, Sheriff. There’s a real emergency happening right now and I need you.” 

“What’s going--”

“Henry’s missing.” For the first time, there was a break in the Mayor’s anger, a deadly serious sliver of fear.

Graham leaned forward in his chair. Henry Mills was the Mayor’s son. He was a good kid--quiet, maybe a little lonely. That was understandable. If Regina Mills was a person in your life, that didn’t leave a lot of room for anyone else. But the lad wasn’t normally the type to cause trouble.

“It’s gonna be alright.” Graham said the cliche with sincerity. “I’m gonna do everything I can to find him.”

“You had better!” Regina snapped. “I haven’t seen him since after lunch. He could be anywhere by now. Something could have happened to him!”

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll be over at your place as soon as--” Graham looked over at Mrs. Gold, tried to calculate how much longer he’d be playing phone tag. “--as soon as I can.”

“Get here now!” the Mayor barked into the phone. Then the line went dead. 

Leaning back, Graham let out a long whistle. Many of his conversations with Regina were more intense than necessary, but this time she was right to be demanding. Her son was missing. The only person she even came close to loving. 

“Trouble with the boss?” Mrs. Gold was sitting up on the couch now with her feet on the floor and her hands placed primly in her lap.

Graham looked at her through bleary eyes. Maybe he was seeing things, but she actually looked sympathetic.

“Henry’s missing,” he said simply. “The Mayor is upset. She wants me on the case. But I’m stuck here with you, trying to get your husband to pick up his phone.”

Mrs. Gold looked at the ground. When she spoke, she sounded like a human being, not just an inflatable sex doll come to life. “Henry Mills, you said? The Mayor’s kid?”

“Yeah,” Graham said. Dull eyed, he looked at the floor between his desk and her heels. He felt like he should be angry, but he was just so tired. “You didn’t see him, did you? Ten years old, caucasian male with brown hair and brown eyes. Was he walking by while you were playing with yourself in the park?” 

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Mrs. Gold looked embarrassed. Good. Maybe bringing up kids would make her aware of what planet she was living on. A kid could have seen her out there, indecently exposing herself. Anybody could have seen her. There were consequences to her actions--even the actions Mr. Gold told her to take.  

“I didn’t see anybody,” she said quietly. “Mr. Gold always tells me to stay away from kids.”

Graham looked at her. “Why?”

Mrs. Gold shrugged. “Cuz I’m a bad influence.”

“No argument there.”

She looked stung, as if she had expected him to disagree with her. What did she think he was gonna say? No, of course a woman like her would be great with kids! She was Mom of the Year material, sitting in a police station with her skirt hitched up to her panties. 

Not like Graham thought that he was any better. As well as he knew Regina, he had never spent much time around Henry. There was a reason for that. He wasn’t any better than Mrs. Gold. He was just better at keeping quiet about it. 

“Alright,” he said as he stood up. “I’m done with the games. I need to take you home.”

“No!” Mrs. Gold leapt to her feet. There was a real emotion in her eyes. Fear? “I have to stay out until Mr. Gold calls me and tells me I’m allowed in the house.

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Allowed in the house? Did he kick you out or something? Were you fighting?”

“I don’t fight with him.” She looked down at her hands in the silver cuffs. She had a few rings on either hand, but it was a simple golden band that held her attention now. “It’s just… one of the rules.”

Torn between wanting to know what the other ‘rules’ were and simultaneously desperately hoping Mrs. Gold would not tell him more details of her peculiar marriage, Graham didn’t speak until the phone rang again.

He picked up. “Storybrooke Sheriff Station, this is Graham.”

“Where the hell are you?” The voice on the other end was so loud that Graham moved the receiver away from his ear until it was safe.

“Hi, Regina. I really am on my way.”

“You should have already been here hours ago when I first started calling you, you worthless excuse for a man!” 

Her standard flame of anger had blazed into a white-hot rage. Graham realized what he had done. He had called Mayor Mills by her first name. He wasn’t allowed to do that in public. That was one of their rules.

“Madame Mayor, I am so sorry.” He tried to grovel without letting Mrs. Gold know that he was doing it. “Please let me make it up to you. Please trust me to help you find Henry. I-I want to--” his instinct was to say please you, but he couldn’t say that while Mrs. Gold was watching him. “We can resolve this together, Madame Mayor, I promise. Please just allow me to take care of some official business first.”

“Graham, if you come to my house stinking like some townie slut--”

“I have Mrs. Gold in custody!” he shouted before Regina’s voice could carry any further. When she didn’t answer, he went on. “I caught her… loitering, and I’m going to drop her off at her house whether she likes it or not.”

In the silence that followed. Graham tried to imagine the expression Regina was making. Was she angry that such a stupid problem was delaying the search for her son? Could she possibly have sympathy for him? Would she understand that he did want to be helping her right now? Or would she get a thrill from knowing that Graham was using his authority to make a pretty girl’s life as miserable as he could?

Regina wasn’t really a bad person, but she did have a strong sense of schadenfreude.

“Fine,” she said at last. “If that’s the townie slut you’re busy with, just get rid of her so you can get to work finding my son!”

She hung up before Graham could promise her that he would. When he looked up, Mrs. Gold appeared to be dislocating her shoulder trying to reach her cuffed hands into her blouse.

“Do not--”

“Shut up,” she cut him off. “You’re lucky you’ve got those puppy dog eyes to make me feel sorry for you. I might get in trouble for this.”

If Graham thought of himself as any animal, it was as a wolf--loyal, family-oriented, and cautious. But when it came to Regina, “puppy dog” was the right image. What was a dog if not a wolf that was weak and stupid enough to be put in a cage? 

But it had gotten Mrs. Gold to take pity on him. Even though she might get in trouble. The woman was practically in jail and she was only worried about getting in trouble with her husband. 

Graham sighed. “What are you--”

“A-ha!” From the depths of her decolletage, Mrs. Gold produced a small silver mobile phone. She flipped it open and pressed some buttons on the menu. 

“Give me that!” When he swiped the phone from her hands, it was still warm from being in her bra.    

Gross.

But Graham didn’t have time to think about it. The tiny screen was already lit up with blocky letters that said ‘Mr. Gold’ and the phone was ringing. He put it to his ear just in time to hear a raspy growl on the other end:

“Are you in trouble already, pretty whore?”

“Mr. Gold!” Graham shouted quickly to keep him from going on. “This is Sheriff Graham with the Storybrooke P.D.. I’ve been trying to reach you for a while now.”

The phone was quiet, but not dead, so Graham went on. 

“I’ve got your wife here at the station and I was wondering if I might bring her back to your house?” God, he sounded so weak! When it came to these people, Graham really was a worthless excuse for a cop.

On the other end of the line, Mr. Gold chuckled. “Oh really? Is the pretty whore in trouble already?”

Was there really no difference between how Mr. Gold spoke to his wife privately and how he referred to her when talking to a near-stranger? For her part, Mrs. Gold sat up straight on the couch, one bare leg crossed over the other, staring straight ahead at nothing.

Graham swallowed before answering. “She hasn’t done anything illegal,” he lied. Then he amended: “At least, she’s not under arrest for anything. She was out in the cold and I brought her by the station to warm up. I want to make sure she gets home safely.”

“I’m sure that’s more kindness than that slut has treated you with tonight.”

“Uh…” What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “So there won’t be any problems if I drop Mrs. Gold off at your house?”

“No of course not, Sheriff.” Mr. Gold’s voice was slick and businesslike. “I apologize that the stupid cunt wasted your time. Time is money, as you know.”

Had he really just heard that? “...Yeah,” he said. “I’ll… drive her over to your house.”

“I appreciate the courtesy. And please don’t worry about something like this happening again. I’ll be sure to give that cheap tart a sharp lesson in respect.”

“Uh…” Graham said again. Was that a threat of violence? Did he have to consider that actionable talk? Was bringing Mrs. Gold back to that man really in her best interest?

But then the office phone rang again and he knew he didn’t have time to do that kind of digging. That was Regina. Henry was missing.

He couldn’t protect everybody. 

“Thanks for arranging to bring her back, dearie,” Mr. Gold said. 

And then he hung up.   

Graham snapped the mobile shut and placed it on the desk in front of Mrs. Gold. She picked it up and held it between her hands. Time was of the essence, but he still needed a minute to recover from that conversation.

“So… you might still be in trouble,” he said. 

Mrs. Gold gave a knowing half-smile. It was nice to get a glimpse of a real person out of her. “Did he say he’d give me a sharp lesson or a hard lesson?”

“Sharp.” 

“Oh, that’ll be fine.” She waved her hand as she stood up--or, waved it as best she could with the handcuffs on.

“Can I take those off now?”

She held out her arms. “Yeah, they did their job.” 

Once Graham was done, Mrs. Gold rubbed her wrists and flexed her fingers. She did it automatically, massaging her joints with skill that clearly came from lots of practice.

“So, it’s a ‘hard lesson’ that’s bad news for you?”

“Why, Sheriff!” The fake smile was back, as was the bubbly-bright sex toy voice. “It’s always good when men are hard!” 

“Right.”

He grabbed his coat and they walked out of the station.

****

He let Mrs. Gold sit in the front seat of the squad car, but he didn’t try to talk to her again. He wasn’t trying to be friends with this woman. He didn’t want to get roped into whatever sick games she and her husband played with people in this town. He didn’t want to get to know her. He didn’t want to worry about her.

He didn’t want to think about all the things they had in common.  

But he did turn up the heat when he noticed the goosebumps on her bare legs. And he did put the car in park once he pulled up in front of Mr. Gold’s old-fashioned pink mansion. He wanted to wait and make sure that the door would open, that she got inside. He could make sure she was safe at least until then. 

The lights were on inside the house. When the squad car pulled up, the front door opened. 

Mr. Gold stood, silhouetted in the door frame, leaning on his cane. The lights were behind him, so his face was obscured by the darkness. There was just a small figure with a long, black shadow. 

When she saw her husband, Mrs. Gold let out a gasp of delight. It was dark in the car, but her smile--her real smile--lit her up like a firework.

Graham half-expected her to run up the front steps and leap into his arms. But aside from her smile and some extra-happy humming, she acted just the same as she had been before. She let herself out of the squad car like she was a movie star getting out of a limo--one high heel at a time. 

Then she bent at the waist and braced her arms against the open car door. She had angled herself so that Mr. Gold was getting a very nice view of her butt. 

“I owe you a ride!” Mrs. Gold said, loudly enough that not only her husband, but the whole neighborhood could hear. “You can come anywhere with us!”

Graham sighed. “Take care of yourself, Mrs. Gold.”

She blew him a kiss and then practically danced up the stairs to where Mr. Gold was waiting.

He didn’t want to see what happened once those two were within five feet of each other on the day before rent day. He turned the key and had just put the car in gear when Mrs. Gold came bouncing down from the house, waving to him.

Graham reached over to roll down the passenger window. “Is everything alright?”

She stuck her arm inside the window. There was a crisp fifty-dollar bill in her hand. 

“Mr. Gold told me to thank you for taking such good care of his stupid cockslut. He said he knows what a handful that whore can be and you deserve to be rewarded.”

Mouth open, Graham stared at Mrs. Gold’s face. Then he stared at her hand. Then he stared at the money. This was a bribe. He had to refuse this. He had to report this.

“Mrs. Gold, I can’t--”

“Yes you can.” She dropped the bill on the passenger’s seat and stepped away from the squad car with her hands behind her back. “Your rent is due tomorrow.”

“I’ve got enough for my rent.”

“Then buy a box of donuts.”

Without another word, Mrs. Gold turned on her heel and went back to the house. Mr. Gold was still waiting in the doorway. When she got back inside, he let her in and shut the door behind them.

For a solid minute, Graham sat alone in the darkness. There were a million things he should do right now. But all of them involved being a better man than he actually was. With a heavy sigh, he took the fifty off the seat and put it in his front pocket. He could still report it as a bribe. Or he could give it to charity. 

Or he could buy a box of donuts. 

Graham shook his head and drove toward Mifflin Street and Regina. Priorities. Henry could be halfway to Boston by now and who knew what kind of trouble he might find there?