#the number of times I’ve asked them to leave my food at ‘the port of the building’

[curiosity-killed]

Pro: I get to practice Spanish pretty frequently with DoorDash delivery folks

Con: there is evidently no force on earth that can make my brain remember what gender ‘door’ is

[tomorrowxtogether]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER: How K-Pop’s Lost Boys Found Themselves — And Global Stardom

The Umeda neighborhood of Osaka, Japan is a trendy place. In recent years, the entertainment district has become home to a number of top restaurants and luxury stores surrounding the already legendary jazz clubs for which the port city is known. With its wanderable alleys lined with abundant food marts and vintage shops, Umeda is on the forefront of culture – making it the perfect place to meet up with one of the most voguish musical acts currently working.

The members of South Korean pop group TOMORROW X TOGETHER are in Japan smack in the middle of their 2023 “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE” world tour. It’s mid-morning the day before the show when the group rolls into a cozy hotel suite one by one, picking from the mountain of snacks and juices in the corner and bowing politely as they sit.

There’s Soobin, the soft-spoken, painfully endearing leader of the group, who reaches for a small bag of candy upon entering; Yeonjun, who can deliver a wink or a wave with professional precision; Beomgyu, the contagiously cheerful baritone; Taehyun, strikingly smart, with wide eyes constantly monitoring his bandmates; and Hueningkai, the sweet-voiced, hardworking youngest.

During our two hours of individual and group interviews, the members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER (often referred to as TXT) are markedly unguarded — it’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen a K-pop group. Soobin’s hair is still tousled from sleep; Yeonjun is lounging on the couch in a loose-fitting black tank top. More than one member appears to have slid into the hotel slippers in lieu of footwear, and all are bare-faced. It’s a rare level of vulnerability and trust in an industry that values highly intentional aesthetics for its stars. The members appear not as the coiffed performers they can also become, but simply as five young men who just woke up, chatting about a particularly thrilling chapter of their story.

The group’s most recent mini-album, January’s The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION, finds them stepping into new adventures. The album’s closing song, “Farewell, Neverland,” ties together the effort’s concept and styling, inspired heavily by the story of Neverland’s very own Lost Boys. The Lost Boys, notably, are not Peter Pan, a figure alluded to in the song “Devil by the Window” — “Temptation touched my tongue, spread the wings of desire/ He's whispering, ‘Give up, don't you put up a fight.” Rather, the story of the young adventurers surrounding Pan does feel like a better analogy for this moment in TXT’s story: Lost Boys are brave and individually talented, defined by their camaraderie, and, in some tellings of the story, they eventually choose to leave Neverland and grow up.

Asked how they’d explain this new era to fans, Beomgyu points to the lyrics of the The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION anthem “Happy Fools” featuring Coi Leray, with its chorus of, “Even if it’s a little delayed, I’m not afraid/ I’m happy every day.” Says Beomgyu, “I really want to tell them that we once wandered, and overcame this teenage phase, and are still growing. Those are the stories and messages we want to convey.”

K-pop’s Lost Boys are indeed growing up — and blowing up in the process. The quintet arrive in Japan at the top of the steep and steady upward trajectory they’ve been on over the last few years. It began with their 2019 debut, The Dream Chapter: STAR, which introduced the world to a refreshingly joyful sound from a group ready to explore the highs and lows of youth through a different lens than many of their K-pop peers.

While some other groups at the time leaned into rebellion in their lyrics and noise elements in their sounds, TOMORROW X TOGETHER arrived on the scene with hopeful, playful pop. Their very first release, “CROWN,” takes the stress of feeling different and turns it into a strength: “There's a horn rising out of my head/ But I love it/ You became my crown.” Some artists distance themselves from early material, but that first EP’s “Cat & Dog” and “Our Summer” both appear on the set list for this year’s “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE.”

Even the screeching halt of 2020 didn’t prevent the members from building on the momentum from their debut. Although they couldn’t connect with audiences in person, their sparkling pandemic-era release, minisode1: Blue Hour, with its particularly addictive title track, helped the group find a footing in the global market.

By the summer of 2022, they’d stepped onto a yet larger world stage. They became the first K-pop act to perform at Chicago’s Lollapalooza, delivering such a successful set that they’ve already been bumped up to headliner status for 2023. The “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE” tour, which arrived in America in early May, is also an exciting step up from the group’s previous trek, 2022’s “ACT: LOVE SICK.” While the last tour had TXT in theaters that sold out comically fast, this year sees the group upgraded to arenas.

“I can feel that there are literally more MOA in numbers, right in front of my eyes,” Soobin says, referring to the shorthand for the group’s beloved fandom, Moments of Alwaysness. “The scale is bigger — I think it’s flashier.”

“Since we have more MOAs this time, we can have even more fun,” confirms Yeonjun.

The day after our conversation, the members take the stage at the 10,000-capacity Maruzen Intec Arena, where deeply immersive sets, dramatic lighting, pyrotechnics, moving platforms, and dazzling costume changes make for a hypnotic three-hour spectacle. When they return for a recently announced Osaka show in July, they’ll be at the Kyocera Dome, which has more than triple the capacity at 36,000.

Speaking to how the show will translate to their upcoming Lollapalooza set, Taehyun shares, “There’s still time to set some specifics, but you’ll get a lot of hints from this tour.”

​​”When we were performing for the first time at Lollapalooza last year, I felt a little pressured and worried, rather than excited, because I had to perform in front of a lot of people that don’t know us,” Soobin recalls. “But last year, I saw that people were just there to enjoy, and they enjoyed our show — so now that we’re going back with the title of headliner, I’m not worried this time. It’s also a good opportunity to present ourselves to people that don’t know us, so I think I’m going to enjoy myself even more this time.”

There’s a palpable sense of excitement among the bandmates around that idea of headliner status. “When I saw our name the biggest it could be, I thought, ‘Could this be real?’” says Beomgyu. “When I was performing there last year, I remember thinking, ‘Could there be more people than this?’”

Considering half of their four-year public existence was during lockdowns, TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s ascension has been remarkable. As K-pop has become ingrained in the musical mainstream and the crowd of idols continues expanding, there’s a clear global demand for TXT: Not only are they major festival headliners, but The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION was the group’s first project to land at No.1 on the Billboard 200 albums chart. “I think I got more confident in our next album, and promotions, too,” says Taehyun of this latest achievement.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER formed through the former Big Hit Entertainment, which now exists as BIGHIT MUSIC under the umbrella of HYBE. If those names ring a bell, it could be due to the fact that HYBE is also the company behind BTS — but, although the members of TXT would be the first to heap glowing praise and thanks upon the artists they refer to as their “seniors'' in the industry, the two groups don’t have much in common beyond the offices they all share in Seoul.

HYBE founder Bang Si-hyuk, a businessman with an evident passion for songwriting, oversaw the formation of TXT and even co-penned the lyrics to that first track, “CROWN.” Under the direction of Bang, HYBE grew from a humble underdog running behind the other major K-pop players into an international force. The corporation has been named on Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential Companies list two years in a row now — and TXT’s own story is a major part of that journey.

“It's incredible to see how much they have grown to be incredible artists over the years,” shares HYBE producer Slow Rabbit when reached over email. He calls it “an honor” to have been working with TXT since before they were introduced to the public. “Looking back, it's surreal to think that they were the last group to debut in a small office building in Gangnam before moving into the HYBE headquarters in [the Seoul neighborhood of] Yongsan. It feels like we've been preparing for their success for a very long time, but it's all been worth it.”

As K-pop has broadened its global reach, it’s arguably become more competitive, too. With all the varied sub genres, aesthetics, team dynamics, and performance styles, fans can practically cherry-pick their ideal group. Ask MOA, and they’ll say there are a few things TXT does exceptionally well: There’s an unabashed joy woven into their sound, from the dreamy haze of 2019’s “Our Summer” to the infectious cheer of the dance break in 2021’s “No Rules.” As for their performances, TXT engender a communal feeling through constant engagement and communication with the audience, enticing their fans to join their young crew – if only for the duration of the show.

Since first coming together in 2017, the members have developed a tight-knit dynamic that makes them that much easier to root for, and makes MOA feel like more than just supporters. It goes beyond “fan service,” as TXT is always striving for authenticity in how they communicate with MOA. Beomguy notes the members “get a lot of energy from Weverse,” HYBE’s proprietary communication platform allowing direct communication and media sharing between artists and fans.

TXT’s pixie-dusted team dynamic, immediately discernible, also differentiates them from other K-pop projects. There are some that operate playfully, displaying their rapport through good-natured teasing. Others take a strictly professional approach, reasonably regarding their teammates more as coworkers who clock in, put on great performances, and clock out. TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s relationship could best be described as familial, displaying a reassured ease that stems from years of safety and trust. It’s a camaraderie that begets fearlessness, knowing that members of this brotherhood have each other’s backs.

“When we are on standby behind the LED screen between sections of the concert, I’m so out of breath,” says Soobin. “But when I hear the members’ voices in my in-ears, saying, ‘Hold on, we can do it, we’re almost there,’ they cheer me up and bring strength to me.”

“I’ve started leaning on my members,” explains Beomgyu. “Rather than feeling the strength of just one member, I feel the strength of the team.”

Throughout an incredibly demanding tour, which has a set list of over 25 songs (most requiring intense choreography), that reliance on one another is essential. “The things we have to do every day are not easy,” says Taehyun. “There are challenges on this tour that we can only do as a team.”

Hueningkai, who was only 16 years old when the group debuted, describes his bandmates as his “second family.” “Since we are five different people with five unique strengths, there are so many things to learn from each other,” he says. “I think I learned from Yeonjun how to use the stage as a whole and enjoy it — I don’t think I actually had a good sense of how to do that during the ‘ACT: LOVE SICK’ tour, but I learned from watching Yeonjun.”

Taehyun immediately jumps in, ready to hype up his bandmate: “Since our set list this time is so demanding with a lot of dances, I see Hueningkai and realize that he’s stronger than I thought — he has a lot of stamina.”

The members often spend their downtime with one another, too. Beomgyu shares that they enjoy going shopping and swimming, despite the fact that studio time, rehearsals, dance practices, and press moments already require them to be together nearly constantly. When asked what part of their work they most enjoy, dance practice or recording new music, Beomgyu goes with option C.

“Being home, in the dorm,” he says. Across from him, Soobin nods. “That’s a perfect answer.”

Although they enjoy their spare time, the boys come alive on stage – though the Japanese crowd behaves differently than what an American might find familiar. A concert here, even one at an arena like Maruzen Intec, is treated more like a Broadway show; upon checking in, a staff member explains that there is absolutely no video or photography permitted.

The lights go down and the Twitter meme “not a cellphone in sight” becomes unironic reality; throughout the nearly three hours the members spend onstage, I don’t spot a single mobile device or camera. The staff don’t even feel the need to lock up phones or provide the magnetically-sealed Yondr pouches you might see at certain shows in the US. People respectfully keep their technology tucked away.

I’m told to expect a difference in the way Japanese concertgoers interact with artists compared to crowds I’m more familiar with, and it’s distinct. There’s polite applause and a smattering of cheers between songs, but the audience often quickly falls silent enough that the sound of the members’ shoes squeaking across the stage is audible. While it might not have quite the adrenaline rush associated with a US show – “American MOAs really know how to party during a concert,” according to Yeonjun – there’s something undeniably intimate and sweet about the experience, a personal aspect that’s all too rare in the digital age.

As performers, understanding nuances like this and being able to tailor a meticulously planned show to global audiences requires hard work. The day before the concert, following our chat, TOMORROW X TOGETHER hold an extensive rehearsal in the empty arena. They run through almost the entire show, choreography and all, carefully preparing their comments in Japanese. (The members’ native language is Korean, and they’re also practicing their English, making this the third language they’ve worked with in just a few hours.) The concert’s Japanese lift includes introductions and opening comments, transitions between songs, audience interactions and games, and heartfelt closing remarks. While the bandmates take turns with the phrases, Taehyun diligently watches the monitors, quietly noting errors and helping when someone encounters a linguistic challenge.

In contrast with our time at the hotel, where only an interpreter and single HYBE employee accompany TXT, the arena is a flurry of equipment and criss-crossing staff. Despite their age — even the oldest of the group, Yeonjun, is just 23 — the bandmates move through the backstage maze of scaffolding and string lights like the seasoned professionals they are.

Throughout the days spent with their camp, staff members in their closest orbit speak of the group with utter fondness and pride. When showtime comes, and the same boys who took turns finding their light during rehearsal transform and step onstage in princely outfits, not a hair out of place, it’s easy to see why the people around them find such satisfaction and joy watching this young group of men band together and flourish.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER are similarly diligent in all elements of their career, particularly songwriting. As with past releases, the members were heavily involved with the development of The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION, which isn’t always the case in K-pop. That personal touch paid off in an album brimming with maturity, audible evidence of the group’s continued evolution.

The focus track, “Sugar Rush Ride,” is a high-octane jolt of adrenaline with eye-catching choreography that feels urgent and fresh, a true accomplishment for a group that has conditioned fans to expect top-tier performances. “Devil by the Window” kicks off the album with a throbbing dance beat and pushes the members into their lower registers to deliver lyrics wary of “a wolf in sheep’s clothes” seducing them to “stay when you’re tempted to leave.” “Tinnitus (Wanna be a rock)” is an exceptionally smooth bossa-nova bop delivered with bewitching confidence.

“When I look at the individual members, I see that they are all improving in their own unique ways,” observes Slow Rabbit. “Their songwriting, lyrics, and producing skills continue to mature with each project they undertake. They are constantly striving to get better at what they are good at… They have the confidence to experiment with bold ideas.”

“We’ve been performing a [new] song called ‘Blue Spring’ during our tour,” shares Beomgyu. “We started from toplining and incorporated the lyrics the members wrote, and the entire process was so fun and interesting. In the future, I hope I can write an entire track myself and continue to grow.”

Hueningkai wants to do more songs in the future that have a “band vibe” — think the group’s stellar track “0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)” featuring Seori. Yeonjun and Beomgyu want to dig into the hip-hop sound they played around with more during their debut era. Taehyun thinks the members would do a great job with a jazz song. He’s also grown to love toplining and lyric writing, and shares that he wanted to lug his production equipment on tour with him (it was, unfortunately, too heavy for his carry-on).

Following an album inspired by one of the most famous stories about fighting the temptation to never grow old, the group is determined to keep developing as they leave their “teenage phase” further behind. It’s only by maturing that they’ll continue to find new ways to explore the wide-reaching experiences faced not just by the group, but the audience growing up with them. Receiving the reactions to The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION has invigorated them and filled them with hope for the next stage of their career.

“I think right now, this moment, is TOMORROW X TOGETHER’s momentum,” observes Taehyun. “All five of us are ready — and we are confident.”

American fans who snagged tickets to the “ACT: SWEET MIRAGE” tour will be taken on a journey through TXT’s discography: the energetic, youthful Dream Chapter; the hard-hitting, sprawling Chaos Chapter; a dip into the playfully bad boy era of Thursday’s Child; and the recently introduced Temptation Chapter. With the setlist weaving in and out of these different periods, we witness firsthand how their various chapters are all part of an epic that’s still being written.

As Soobin mentioned, there are instances between dance numbers where the members are heard trying their hardest to catch their breath, offering the briefest glimpse of the hours of hard work required to pull off such an intense production. Details like the orchestral flourishes added to “Blue Hour,” a new dance solo for Hueningkai, and backdrops that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Disney theme park create an otherworldly, mystical atmosphere.

Eventually, though, the lights come up, the show ends, and the crowd begins to spill out as the streetlights of Osaka flicker on. By morning, the last few scraps of confetti on the arena floor will be the only indicator that the members of TOMORROW X TOGETHER were there. But that doesn’t mean our Lost Boys have returned to Neverland, never to grow up. They have too much still to learn and too many stories still to tell for that.

They’re only flying higher.

[songpiner]

Quip battery

#QUIP BATTERY HOW TO#

It makes you appreciate what you have, however little. I haven’t seen what Althauser experienced, but I can say that I’ve lived out of a car and I’ve experienced hunger in the way that he did. He feels people who grow up in this environment of too much of everything feel entitled to all of it. Today he walks into a brand new H-E-B and he just can’t imagine how it got to be this way. I would say ‘thank you,’ and I would mean it.” “I would pick out the bad spot, and eat the apple. “If I was hungry, and somebody offered me an apple with a bad spot on it, I would say ‘thank you,’” Althauser said. He told me about his childhood and not always having enough food to eat. I stopped by his house last week to talk to him about my struggles. Will you take me?Īlthauser grew up in the Black Forest in Germany before the fall of the Berlin Wall. That agreement goes something like: I don’t know anything. And all this was OK because I had committed to the master-disciple agreement with my chef, Marcel Althauser. In the summer it was 110 degrees, in the winter you could see your breath while you chopped onions. There was no heating or cooling in the kitchen. I was not allowed to use measuring devices.

#QUIP BATTERY HOW TO#

I learned how to make bread by touch, taste and sight. Long before that, my first real cook’s job was at Marcel’s in Port Aransas, a German and seafood restaurant. He was like a warrior in one of those Hollywood movies, spinning and slashing in such a delicate, practiced way that it becomes elegant, effortless - even beautiful. I think about the cooks in my life I have looked up to, like sous chef Matt Reinhart at Il Sogno, who regularly knocked out a perfect saute for a 300-person dinner service by himself on a six-burner range, while orchestrating orders for the five stations around him with a sleepy smile on his face - for the amount of money we made - and it makes me want to cry. This requires a depth of humility that is scarce today. That’s how I learned, and I’m so glad that I spent my time and effort in that way. I know because I’ve let several do this at Gwendolyn - and I’ve done it myself. In the absence of a job that provides knowledge of this craft, earnest students will try to do it for free. Perhaps cooking in pop culture is not as white-hot as it used to be, reducing the “mystique” per capita. I think there are a number of factors that knocked down their numbers. Today, finding these kinds of cooks, the kind with a fire burning inside them, is (as Indeed likes to quip) like finding a needle in a haystack. (I can tell you that as a teacher, there is no emotional fuel in the world like this.) When I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed young chef, cooks who would come introduce themselves wanted this thing so badly, you could see they were willing to do whatever it took to climb that mountain and become not just good, but great. Where are the people who are interested in cooking, you ask? They walk out by the dozen, leaving us to wash dishes alone until 3 a.m. And in this way, we took in completely unqualified people who have no interest in the craft of cooking. Here represents a great schism with the past: we were hiring people no longer because they were worth the money, but simply because they would take it. The applicant pool is thinning from both ends. We are now in a bidding war with every other employer on the map - from pretty much any industry. People are leaving the restaurant industry in droves, just as new restaurants were going up all over town. I asked for favors from people who used to work for me, to find that many have left the industry entirely. Whoops! There was an error and we couldn't process your subscription. My labor costs soared through the clouds, and the prices my clientele were willing to pay for food just could not keep pace with the increased demands in pay. And it’s not acceptable to just offer new people these raises the only honorable thing to do for the ones who have stayed was to offer equal or better pay than what you offer the newbies. Job ads placed for $10 an hour starting pay began to go silent. After that, there was the PPP funding release, the unemployment bonuses, and millions of people quitting their jobs or dropping out of their careers altogether, not chiefly because of a transmissible pandemic disease but because they now had government-sponsored justification to stop working jobs they didn’t like. Then the pandemic happened, and entire cities of businesses got barred from operation in those panicked early days. We would start anyone with a good attitude on dish station, and work their way up to prep, then cook, then, with any luck, lead positions and, ultimately, management. It’s hard to imagine it now, but two years ago, I was actually proud to offer entry-level employees at my restaurants $10 an hour.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 131.2 Tease (Part 2)

(you can start with part 1 if you'd like.)

It's not forever. Harry reminded himself as he sat in his fourth meeting today with a board of people he barely recognized. His eyes searched for Draco who was across the room, his head bowed as he spoke in hushed tones to a witch in a hideous magenta robe.

It's not forever he repeated as he listened to the arsehole leading the presentation about all of the ways that the war had helped the economy boom.

It's not forever he thought again as the board congratulated themselves on a war well won when not a single one of them was there.

He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to replace every person he'd lost with one of these arseholes instead.

His gaze met Draco's across the room and he wondered if the other man could see how this was killing him.

"Mr. Potter," the wanker who'd been running the meeting, Sebastian if Harry remembered correctly, said, "You've been awfully quiet," he added jovially and the room chuckled with him. Harry forced a smile. "What are your thoughts?"

"Thank you for the invitation to speak," he said courteously. "Yes, I agree," he lied, "It's really something that we've had such a boom in the economy." He paused as the people around the room congratulated each other again. "There are several things that I would personally love to see some of the excess get funneled into."

"Oh-" Sebastian started but Harry continued over him.

"The number of children orphaned during the war doubled," Harry said bluntly. "Our orphanages don't have enough room to hold them and they're being put in muggle orphanages or into muggle homes. Many muggles aren't equipped to handle a wizarding child."

"Mr. Potter-"

"Excuse me," he said. "If I could just have another moment of your time." He cleared his throat, "I would like to see better processes in place for how these children are placed. An extra set of interviews, even." There were murmurs around the room but Harry plowed on.

(Read more below the cut)

"The number of people who are now affected by lyncathropy has nearly quadrupled but our funding has remained the same for that department in St. Mungo's-"

"Yes, but-"

"And," Harry continued, "The potion typically used for treatment is really expensive. With all of the prejudices against lycanthropes, it's difficult for many of them to find gainful employment, they can't-"

"Mr. Potter," Sebastian interrupted more forcibly, "I don't really think this is the appropriate time or place."

"Then where and when is?" Harry snapped. His eyes found Draco once more and watched as the other man lifted his chin and inhaled slowly, deeply. And Harry took a deep breath and shook his head, looking down at his hands, "I apologize, I don't mean to be rude," he said even though it was a complete lie. "I must be feeling a bit peckish. Congratulations on your success," he managed.

"Yes, thank you," the other man said amidst a third round of congratulatory murmurs. "I think we're all a bit hungry," he chuckled. "Let's end early," he suggested.

Everyone was quick to pack up and leave, several people stopping to congratulate him but not a single one of them saying anything about orphans, or werewolves, or any of the other things that Harry hadn't managed to say.

Draco was talking to a wizard, patting him on the back and Harry pretended to be digging around for something important in his bag until that wizard left the room, leaving only him and Draco.

Their eyes caught and held, Draco looked at him helplessly and Harry broke. "I can't," he whispered.

"Not here," Draco said, voice soft and achingly tender.

He nodded and told himself that it didn't hurt when Draco simply walked past him and out the door. After another moment, where he let the emotions swirling inside of him rage, he took a fortifying breath and tamped everything back down.

Harry made his way out of the room, down the hall, and through the atrium; he was stopped every several feet by people wanting to talk to him, to have their minute in the limelight. When he'd started working with the ministry, he'd imagined that he'd be able to do anything he wanted because of these frequent meetings but none of them wanted to actually help. It was a game to them.

When he finally made it to the apparation point he barely had the energy to lift his wand and apparate home.

"Don't sit," Draco called when Harry's feet touched the floor.

He whined, "I'm exhausted."

"I know," Draco called back, "But we both know that rest isn't what is going to help you."

Harry wanted to argue, wanted to lash out. Godric, he was itching for a fight, desperate for an outlet. It's how he and Draco had gotten together in the first place, after the war and the trials. Fighting had turned into fucking which had turned into making love and now Harry could hardly imagine not loving Draco.

"I know," Draco repeated as he came into the living room where Harry was still standing in the middle of the floor. "Here," he said, holding out a pair of muggle jeans, a plain black tshirt, flip flops, and a pair of sunglasses. "Get changed."

Harry looked at him then, the other man was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a blue polo, blue sunglasses perched in his hair.

"What are we doing?" he asked even as he stripped out of his robes and the clothes he'd been wearing underneath.

"We're having a taste of someday," Draco said.

Harry paused buttoning his jeans and grabbed Draco's shirt, pulling him in and kissing him fiercely, pouring all of his frustration and desperation into the kiss.

"I know," Draco whispered, pressing his forehead against Harry's. "I know, love."

He swallowed and took a step back so he could finish zipping up his jeans and pull his tshirt on over his head.

"Ready?" Draco asked after he'd stuffed his feet back into his sandals.

Harry nodded eagerly and accepted Draco's arm.

When they blinked back into existence, they were on a bare, sunny stretch of beach by the ocean. "Give me your glasses," Draco said, holding out a hand.

"But I need them to see," Harry protested.

Draco rolled his eyes, but the fond curve of his mouth gave him away, "These," he said, holding out the sunglasses he'd brought down with Harry's clothes, "Are prescription sunglasses."

"You're brilliant," Harry breathed, leaning in to steal a kiss. "Sorry," he said, pulling back quickly remembering that they were still in public, even if the beach seemed deserted.

"Hey," Draco whispered, cupping Harry's cheek and drawing their lips together softly, sweetly, "This is someday, remember?" he murmured, lips brushing tantalizingly over Harry's before he leaned in and closed the distance once more.

Harry grasped his shirt in his hands and kissed him back for a long moment.

When he pulled back, Draco was smiling, warm and open and real, and a bubble of light expanded in Harry's chest. "Give me your glasses," he said again, holding out a hand.

He pulled them off his face and handed them over, accepting the sunglasses and watching as Draco carefully folded them and put them in a case. "Come on," he said as he shoved the case into a bag and held out a hand to Harry.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, reveling in the feel of Draco's hand in his, fingers entwined as they set off down the beach.

Draco smiled, "Right after the war," he said, "When I was trying to get my head on straight, I wanted to understand muggle culture."

"Oh?" Harry asked, greedily gobbling up every word out of Draco's mouth. They didn't talk much about the time just after the war.

He nodded, "You weren't there seventh year but what we were taught in Muggle Studies by the Carrows," Draco shook his head, "well, it doesn't bear repeating. And I wanted to know what they'd lied about; I wanted to see it for myself."

Harry squeezed his hand encouragingly.

"The new professor at Hogwarts who's teaching Muggle Studies now gave me port keys to different places that would let me experience muggle life."

"You did that by yourself?" Harry asked.

Draco laughed, "I know, it's outrageous to think about now, isn't it?"

"Sorry-"

He squeezed his hand and waved him off, "Don't be. It was crazy but I needed to see it, you know? The poor bloke I tried to pay the first time I had muggle food," he laughed again. "Oh Salazar, his face."

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled this much, the muscles in his face actually hurt from disuse.

"Anyway," Draco continued, "This was one of my favorite places. I'd been taught that muggles were stupid and lazy, but this," he said as they walked around the corner and a boardwalk came into view. "It was magic," he said simply.

The scent of fried food wafted down the beach toward them and the sound of children's laughter reached his ears. "I've never been to the boardwalk," he said.

"You'll love it," Draco assured, tugging his hand.

Harry tugged back, pulling Draco around so he could kiss him. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Draco replied softly, bumping his nose against Harry's.

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

The afternoon stretched into evening, the sun burning red and gold, and setting the ocean on fire. Harry leaned against the railing and watched the sun setting as he stole bits of the funnel cake that Draco had purchased. "They're never going to listen," he said.

"Sorry?" Draco asked through a mouthful of food and Harry loved him all the more.

"I love you," he said simply, distracted.

Draco grinned at him, "I love you, too," he replied. "What did you say before that, though?"

"That they're never going to listen."

The other man frowned, "We don't have to talk about this now," he said. "We're in someday," he added.

"But I want to actually, you know," he said, gesturing vaguely, "get here someday."

"Politics take time," Draco said gently, in the way he had a thousand times.

And Harry recognized it was a product of his upbringing, that Draco had been raised from a very young age to measure every word that left his mouth, to look at a room and size up the people in it to know who was the most important, to make connections and build on them, to calculate every move he made. It's why seeing him here with powdered sugar at the corner of his mouth made Harry feel like he could fly; because Draco could be free when it was just them. And Harry knew from experience that he'd slip back into the role he played without hesitation or difficulty. He'd make a great politician.

But not Harry.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm done with that."

"Harry-"

"I'm running for Minister of Magic," he said.

Draco gaped at him and Harry stored that mental image away for a rainy day. "I'm sorry. What?" Draco asked.

"It's the only way that I'm going to be able to get anything done," he said. "I'm sick of the games."

"But the games are what you'll need to get elected," Draco said.

He laughed, "Nope. I'm pretty sure I've found what all that fame will be useful for. I don't need the support of the idiots who work for the Ministry, I just need the support of regular people. And I'm pretty sure I've earned that. Then once I'm in office I can fire all of them and put in people who actually give a shit."

Draco stared at him for another moment, "Are you sure about this?"

He shrugged and looked out over the water, "As sure as I am of anything."

"Anything?" Draco asked, bumping him with his shoulder.

The corner of his mouth curved up, "You excluded, of course."

"Of course," Draco echoed. "Fuck, Harry," he breathed, "You don't do anything by halves, do you?"

He shook his head, "I think about where Teddy could have ended up if not for Adromeda and I can't sleep," he said. "I think of the way Remus was treated. And of the way the trials went after the first war, the way yours would have gone if I hadn't shown up." He rubbed his fist against the railing, "Every day I walk into the Ministry and I see that fucking fountain where wizards are stepping on other magical creatures, and I just," he shrugged, "I can't."

Draco shifted so he was behind Harry and wrapped his arms around his waist, hooking his chin over his shoulder. "I know," he said softly.

"Will you help me?" Harry asked.

Draco started nodding before he'd even finished the question. "Always, love."

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

part 1 | part 3

[arclundarchivist]

Home, Again.

(Spoilers from Campaign 2 Episode 141, it has been a lovely ride, and I will admit, this mostly going to be me getting a bit into my own personal fantasy, but I hope it is enjoyed.)

Caleb, a little grayer in his hair, stands on the beach staring out into the ocean, a wide smile on his face as he turns and sees several small forms racing about, clashing fake swords, delving into the water cautiously, or just doing what children are want to do. Veth's little "camp" had picked up steam, numerous children from across the breadth of Nicodranus coming to learn how to be, well, how to play at being adventurers. He'd managed to take a bit of time off from the academy, nervous still about the prospect but...he'd been drawn away for an excellent reason.

His family.

Nine years had passed since their battle in Cognouza. Nine years since they had become the unsung, though oft whispered. heroes of all of Exandria.

He'd seen them all from time to time across the years, coming together for birthdays and moments of joy and surprise, but now, was a time for true celebration.

He turns and spots Veth and Yeza, standing shoulder to shoulder nearby, watching the waves roll in, hunting perhaps like he was, for the behemoth that was the Nine Heroez to pull into port. On Veth's hip is a little girl, with a mane of curled, wild hair much like her father with a deeper skin tone like her mother: Molly.

Veth turns and looks up at him, "Do you seem anything?"

"Not yet, but they'll be here. I can't imagine they'd miss this for the world." Caleb responds, squeezing her shoulder before reaching down, letting the gently cooing Molly take his finger and squeeze.

He turns and looks back, spotting several other figures arrayed across the beach that he had reached out to in the planning of this event.

Shakaste is perched on a rock, telling a soothing story to an enraptured crowd of kids, which included Luc, and to his amusement Twiggy, who had arrived at the party seemingly out of the blue.

Running towards him, chased by her youngest adoptive siblings is Kiri. Veth invited her family to partake of Nicodranus and allow the kids a bit of fun during the summer months.

Kiri skids to a halt kicking up sand, standing almost to his chest now, several makeshift bandoleers and her collection of tinkered baubles resting on her chest and along her belt. She smiles up at him widely, chirping excitedly.

"Come on! Beau, Yasha! She's probably a good egg!" Kiri warbles, mimicking several voices she'd heard, tugging on his and Veth's hands.

Laughing, Veth passes Molly to her husband, and the pair allow Kiri to drag them all the way to the edge of the beach, where Beau and Yasha are approaching. They both look a bit older but more at peace, Yasha dressed in dark but less severe clothing, hints of Dynasty garb on the both of them. He also notices two figures walking a step behind them, looking a bit shy.

"I missed you!" Kiri crows, darting for the pair and hugging tight to their legs.

"Hey, Kiri," Beau says with a soft smile.

"Hello, Little Bird," Yasha says, giving Kiri a head scritch.

She coos cheerfully before darting back up onto her perch and scanning for signs of the others.

Beau looks at Caleb and wraps him in a tight hug, "Hey, Professor."

"Expositor," Caleb mutters, wrapping his arms around her and then doing the same to Yasha, who practically picks him up off his feet.

Beau kneels and hugs Veth, whispering, "Chaos Crew!"

"Almost." Veth states, "Hopefully, she'll be here soon."

Caleb looks past his dear friends and blinks in surprise as he spots Beauregard's Mother and younger brother TJ.

"Oh, uh, hello, thank you for coming." Caleb mutters, rubbing the back of his head, "I don't know if you remember me. I'm Caleb Widoghast."

Veth narrows her eyes slightly at Beau's mother: "Veth Brenatto."

"Clara, I do remember you," she remarks, nodding to them both briefly.

"Good, because I-" Veth begins only for Beau to place a hand on her shoulder.

"Down, Veth," Beau remarks, earning a chuckle from Yasha.

"Fine," she remarks, still giving Beau's mother a bit of a stink eye.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. There is some food and drink nearby, and blankets to spread out as you wish," Caleb states.

"Thank you," Clara says, turning to leave the four of them while TJ hangs back next to his sister, looking up at her uncertainly.

"Go have fun." Beau says, pointing to Luc and Kiri, "Those are the other kids I was telling you about, just don't get into too much trouble, okay?"

TJ gives her a shy grin, "No promises."

And then runs off, Caleb noticing the small sticks that he wears across his back.

"A chip off the old block, eh?" Caleb asks as Beau throws an arm around him.

"Not exactly, way more shy!" Beau states, looping her arm around Yasha's as Veth grabs his hand, "Four of the Nine, any words on the others?"

"Not yet, but they'll come," Caleb says.

"Good, I brought you all flowers from our garden." Yasha states, holding up a new book, filled to the brim with dried flowers, "You both look very good."

Veth smiles: "I'm with my family, and even more are on the way; I'm wonderful."

Caleb nods: "It will be good to see everyone again."

"Speaking of everyone," Beau states, unlooping her arms from her partner and friend, "Yo, Shakaste! I think it's past time you and I compared notes on some things."

Shakaste turns from his story to Luc and the other kids, the former getting dragged away by Kiri for a conversation with TJ, while Twiggy looks around him and her face widens in a deep grin.

"I mean, I agree, but I thought this was gonna be a day of fun, not work?" Shakaste remarks with a knowing smirk.

"I can do both," Beau says with a shrug of her shoulders as she walks towards them.

"I have notes too!" Twiggy cries, darting towards Beau and beginning to ramble, while Yasha turns and walks towards Yeza, the pair beginning a softer conversation as Yasha, ever so gently gives her hand out for Molly to play with.

Caleb and Veth end up sitting shoulder to shoulder on the beach, waiting and watching as their friends and number of children mill about them and are deep in conversation, when the sound of a firework going off draws all of their attention.

There is a collective jump amongst the party, the more martial figures immediately going on the defensive, with Yasha pushing Yeza behind her only for it to be quickly revealed to be Kiri once more, tearing away from Luc and TJ, now shouting.

"Jester! Jester! I missed you!"

Not a moment later, Twiggy is peeling off as well, with Veth, Caleb, Beau, and Yasha at a more sedentary step behind as approaching them arm in arm is Fjord and Jester, wide smiles on their face, Nugget loping ahead of them and teleport tackling Luc, who falls with a laugh as the dog begins licking his face.

Behind them, walking arm and arm is The Gentleman and Marion, followed by Orly and Vandren, and next to them, to Caleb's surprise, is Caliana.

"Kiri!" Jester cries out, sliding to her knees and wrapping the young Kenku in the tightest hug and spinning her about, revealing the swaddled bundle on her back which giggles in surprise at the momentum.

"And Twiggy!" Jester cries, drawing the gnome into a tight hug as well before ping-ponging to her friend with deep, tearful hugs and cheek kisses, going from Veth to Yasha, to Beau, and then to Caleb.

"Veth, so, about the Detective Agency...I'm sorry that I've been so busy...but." Jester began as she hugs her.

"Don't worry, Jessie, I'm glad you're here," Veth says, hugging her tightly.

"Yasha, my god, you look so beautiful! I missed you so much!" Jester cries, running her fingers through flower-filled hair.

"Thank you, Jester, I missed you too." Yasha states with a soft smile as she looks down over Jester's shoulder into the teal face of a small Tiefling toddler, the hint of a tusk coming in on the left-hand side, "And this little joy."

She tickles the bottom of his chin, eliciting a laugh, a smile widening on her face: "Hi, Charlie."

"Beau!" Jester cries, pulling her into a bone-cracking hug.

"Hey, Cutie." Beau returns, hugging her back and patting her cheek.

Jester giggles and then turns to hug Caleb, a soft but deep embrace, "You look very happy, Caleb."

Caleb whispers back, "I am happy. So very, very happy."

Fjord walks up next, looking down at Veth: "Veth."

Veth looks up at him with narrowed eyes, "Fjord."

They stare at each other for a moment before wrapping each other in a hug, "You look good, Fjord."

"I feel it." he returns, "And so do you."

Yasha and Fjord clap hands together with a smile while Beau comes in on the other side and punches him playfully on the shoulder.

"You know neither of those hurt as much as they used to." Fjord states with a grin.

"Good, where's Kingsley?" Yasha asks.

"Well wouldn't you know it...the tricky bastard went off and made himself into a pirate." Fjord said with a laugh, "I...I don't know if he'll be here."

Yasha looks down a bit crestfallen, "Oh."

"This does mean, though, that I need my old first mate back if she has an inkling to come to sea, just for a bit." Fjord said with a slight smile, looking to Beau.

Beau smiles and shares a look at Yasha, who shrugs but smiles softly. "Maybe, maybe."

"Nice to see you again, Caleb," Fjord says, pulling him into a hug.

"Nice to see you too, Fjord," Caleb says.

"Gangs almost all here; it's been quite a while, hasn't it," Fjord says.

"It has." Caleb agrees as he watches Jester place her son into the arms of her mother and then scoops up Kiri and twirls around with a laugh.

"Mighty fine to see all of you again, ain't that right, Miss," Orly says, nodding to each of them and nudging Caliana.

"OH! Yes, of course. Hello, again, Mr. Caleb, Beau, Yasha," Caliana states, with a nervous bow before looking at Veth and opening her mouth a bit awkwardly.

"It's Veth; good to see you again, Miss." Veth says with a smile, "How have you been?"

"Well, I..." Caliana begins, blushing slightly, only for Jester to spin by interrupting.

"We found her when we stopped her in Port Demali! Kingsley did actually, and then we caught up, and Fjord managed to convince her to join our crew, and she has been very helpful with the magic things at times like you were Caleb, and sometimes she scares the living daylights out of people that try and steal from us!"

Calianna blushes deeper, "I don't mean to."

"She's a good crewmate, and a good friend, speaking of which." Fjord says, turning to the older man beside him, "Vandren, this is my family, not everyone, but most."

Vandren gives them all a once over, "Eclectic group. Makes sense. Nice to meet you. Any drink to be found?"

"Yes, right over there," Caleb says, pointing towards a large picnic table.

"Right, Orly, let's get to it," Vandren says, clapping Fjord on the shoulder and heading over, followed by The Gentleman, who gives each of them a respectful nod, kissing his daughter on the cheek as he passes.

Marion smiles at them all, "I'm glad to see you all healthy and hale. You've all had quite the journey."

The assembled Nein shared a look, "That we have."

Jester smirks and then speaks up, "Speaking of which..."

She enters into a tirade of her and Fjord's most recent adventurer's interrupted at times by Fjord and a more tentative Caliana, while the others listen, sitting down as the sun hangs lower and lower in the sky, Veth's students heading for home, leaving the children adjoined to the party alone to chase each other, play fight, and ride about on Nugget. Charlie spends much of the time in his Mother or Father's lap, occasionally being passed to Yasha, who at one point ends up holding him and Molly in a moment of what Caleb could only describe as awed bliss, as their respective parents got drawn away by something.

A while later, Luc turns to trying to entertain them, showing off the few cantrips he'd learned to the other kids, including the assembled Shusters, and TJ. Kiri makes a game of picking at him after a bit.

As he begins talking about how strong he will be, Kiri walks up and pokes her beak directly into his ear.

"Kiri! Don't embarrass me in front of my apprentices!" he cries with a bit of a blush as Kiri made a joking kissing sound, gesturing to Molly and Charlie who stared at the pair in the muddled, joyful confusion that is Toddlerhood as they rest on their respective parent's laps.

"I don't think a little peck is all that embarrassing." a low voice states, drawing the assembled Nein's attention to a tall figure, his staff glowing a low pink, a wide smile on his face as Caduceus Clay approaches with several others in tow.

"Sorry, I'm late," Cad says, not even pausing as an elated Luc races for him and jumps into his arms, "I had a few friends to pick up."

Calliope waves, "I'm just his tagalong."

Behind her stands Nila and her son, Keg, quickly dashing out a cigarette and looking more than a little awkward, with Reani at her shoulder.

"Hello again," Nila states with a soft smile as the other curious youngsters readily approach her son.

"Long time no see, heard y'all did some really good work." Keg states with a smirk, sharing a look with Beau, walking over, and hugging Veth.

Reani darts over to Jester, wrapping her in a hug, then several of the others, cooing over the babies for a second before tackle-hugging Beau and then Caleb.

"Hey, Reani," Beau says, looking a little awkward but still happy to see her.

"Hey guys, also thank you, Caleb, for sending him my way."

"Him?" Caleb queries, a bit confused.

Clay walks up, hugging Fjord deeply, and then Jester and Yasha: "God, it's good to see you all again, but as I said, I had some friends to pick up."

And out of the shadows, melting into view with a soft yet nervous smile on his face, comes Essek Theylas.

"Hello everyone." he states, eliciting a few gasps and a tackle hug from Jester, "And let's just say Reani, and I have been working on...seeing all the colors and shades as it were."

He gives Beau a pointed nod.

Reani smiles, "He's a sweetheart."

Caleb gets to his feet, walking over to Essek with a cautious smile, "Welcome back to the Mighty Nein."

"Glad to be back...if just for a little while, it will be good, to..." he pauses, looking deeply into Caleb's eyes, "Take a bit more time with you."

As Jester lets him go, Essek slowly glides towards Caleb, and he feels their fingers intertwine, a soft smile growing on both their faces.

He turns and notices a few smirking faces amongst his friends, while the adjoining members are beginning to shuffle about and begin conversing, Reani and Twiggy hitting it off like an unending wildfire, while Keg mills about before choosing to sidle up to Caliana and begin asking her questions, Shakaste sits down next to Caduceus and begins to query him on how everything is going in his neck of the woods.

Fjord looks around at his family as several fires roar up around them. TJ, Kiri, Luc, the Schusters, and Asar are sitting around their own cooking marshmallows, watched by Clara, who has found herself the subject of affection for Nugget, his large head now splaying across her lap. Jester is sitting between Fjord and her Mother, Charlie asleep on her lap, head on her mother's shoulder, with her and Fjord holding hands. Beau is leaning against Yasha, next to Yeza, holding Molly while Veth sat between him and Caleb, with Esseek on his other side, their fingers just the faintest bit intertwined. A bit back from the fire, behind Fjord and Jester, Nila, Cad, and his sister are leaning forward, Cad's hand resting on Fjord's shoulder. Calianna sits next to Fjord, while Reani and Twiggy sit across the fire from Yasha and Beau. Vandren, The Gentleman, and Keg are deep in conversation at the nearby picnic table while Shakaste and Orly are seated between the Nein's fire and the kids, the former humming along as the latter plays some softer music.

"Gangs all here finally." Fjord remarks, "And on a beautiful night too."

"Well...almost all of them are here," Yasha states, somewhat sadly.

"No, everyone." a familiar voice states, as coming across the sands is Kingsley Tealeaf, with Marius in tow.

"Hi there, Angel, there was no way I was missing this party, especially since Joybuzzer reminded me every day about it," Kingsley states, kissing the top of Yasha's head as he walks by, doing the same to Jester and then clapping Fjord on the back and gently hugging Caliana as she scoots over.

"You too?" Essek asks with a knowing smile.

"So it would seem." Kingsley returns as Marius walks by, headed for Orly.

"Kill anyone yet?" Fjord calls out after him.

"No, Captain." Marius returns with a sheepish grin.

"Pity, good to see you still breathing, Lepual." Fjord states with a smirk.

"Likewise, Captain," Marius states, falling into a seat beside Orly.

Keg turns at the arrival of the newest figure and does a triple take before walking over and clunking to the ground next to Reani and staring at him.

"You...are making me extremely uncomfortable," Kingsley states with a smirk.

"Yeah...sorry, this is a little weird, honestly." as she turns to Beau, Veth, and Caleb, and mouthed, "Why didn't you warn me?!"

Beau blinks, "Sorry."

Kingsley chuckles, "Right, this is awkward, but I've got time to catch up with whatever that is and the rest of y'alls stories in a moment. Cause I need a fucking drink!"

He crows that with a laugh and a second later, he is mimicked by a surprised Kiri which is then picked up by Luc, who instead starts yelling: "Well, get a fucking drink then!"

He and Kiri begin to chant that back and forth turning it into a bit of a song, which Orly chuckles at and begins to play a bit of a jig, eliciting a few smirking laughs from the others, while Kingsley blanches a little bit.

"I feel like I'm a bad influence," Kingsley states as he stands up.

"Oh, we all are." Fjord agrees.

"Most of us." Cad amends with a smile.

Caleb chuckles, gripping Essek's hand a bit tighter as he smiles as well, listening to the chaos begin to pick up around him, as Kiri and Luc begin to dance around them, drawing others to join them as Orly begins to play in earnest, joined by Marius, as he draws a lute from his back. First Beau and Yasha, then Yeza and Veth holding Molly, then Fjord and Jester with their son between them, Marion and the Gentleman, Keg shrugs and begins tapping her foot while Twiggy begins dancing by herself, twirling in a flurry of spinning skirts, leaving Caliana, who is quickly offered a hand by Reani, taking it with a vibrant blush' Kingsley looks about before offering Cad a hand with a smirk, who shakes his head just looking about contently. Kingsley shrugs only for Calliope to vice grip his hand and twirls him away while Nila and her son are the last to stand up and dance, with TJ joining his older sister and her partner. Caleb shoots Essek a questioning look, who smiles and stands, resting his forehead against his silently, before in the moon and fire-light, missed by all but a cloaked green figure at the edge of the revelry their chins tip up towards each other into a soft, gentle kiss.

Caleb is glad to be home.

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

@just1bri @redwolfs-world @wonderlust75 @queenbeered

@sickofbitches

Master List

It was supposed to be settled.

Twenty

“So how much should I order for the party next week?” I analyze the list of food, booze, and supplies I had to order for EZ’s patch party. Or I suppose depending on the vote it would be a normal Friday night party at the clubhouse. Bishop didn’t or couldn’t tell me which way the club was leaning. I saw how proud he looked when EZ did things for the club. The way he would handle club business.

And EZ had become his prospect. I heard some of the stories about Angel being his sponsor in the beginning and how blood and the patch were getting confused. I had a feeling there was more to the story. But that’s all I could get out of any of them.

“I think it’ll just be the club,” Bishop pulls my hair from my neck to press his lips there. “But could be more. Maybe getting another delivery from SAMCRO. Ramos and Canche texted me and are coming down too. Don’t know if they’ll still be here for that.” His fingers work the muscles in my back, “You don’t have to do all this, querida. That’s what we have prospects for.”

“I won’t let EZ plan his own party,” I let my eyes close and I just feel his hands and lips on me. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You don’t know if it’s gonna be EZ’s party, Hermosa,” his hand dips down the front of my shirt. I let out a soft moan as his fingertips danced over my nipple. Bringing it to a hardened peak. My head falls back against his chest and I let him distract me from my task. A welcome distraction.

Or it would have been until the shrill of both of our phones pulled us from our activities. I would have ignored it but no one called me, not unless it was important. And the number that popped up on the screen was from Charming.

I couldn’t hear the words from the other end of Bishop’s line but I heard the familiar Scottish accent. And on mine, I got Montez, the Road Captian, from SAMCRO. I met him briefly in Charming a few months ago. “Chibs wants a sit-down,” he says.

“I know, he’s on the phone with Bishop now,” I respond, “What’s this about?”

“Just about our mutual business dealings,” he stated. Guns. The email I got from Declan a few days ago said as much without saying anything at all.

“I get it, but this is more club business, isn’t it?” I quirk a brow as I stand from my seat. Bishop had paced off to have a more discrete conversion with the SAMCRO president.

“You should be there,” he says, “Chibs wants you there.”

“OK,” I responded, “I’ll be there. I’ll leave it to the club to make the arrangements.” Without another word, I end the call. I hear Bishop’s boots on the hardwood floor behind me.

“Church?” I ask and he nods,” Well there goes our quiet morning.” I stand up from the kitchen table, my hands cup his face, and press my lips to his. “Just let me know where we’re heading and for how long once you know. I need to get a shower and get ready. Then I can meet you at the clubhouse.”

“I still don’t like you involved in the shit we do,” he tells me. It wasn’t something I pressed. I stayed back dealing mainly with the back-end stuff, letting Chibs and Declan handle the stuff on the ground.

“I know,” I wrap my arms around his neck and just hold him for a brief moment before letting him leave to do club business.

---

I toss an overnight bag in the back of my SUV. Just a couple changes of clothes for me and Bishop just in case. Text from Taza said we were meeting at a lodge at 8. Leaving from the clubhouse at 2. Club messages were always cryptic. No details, just exactly what I needed to know. And only what I needed to know.

I pulled into the parking lot of the scrapyard. “Jefe wants you to ride in the van with me,” Creeper says as he takes my bag.

“Why?” I ask sharper than intended, “No offense.”

“I don’t ask questions,” he replies, “but he’s inside.”

“You’re putting me in the van?” my eyes narrowed as I walked inside, word oozing with irritation. Bishop was sitting at the table with Taza and Hank.

“Drop the tone and sit the fuck down,” Bishop’s eyes dark as he looks back at me. I let out a breath as I took a seat. Something about his commanding voice did something to me. I didn’t want to feel a pooling between my thighs when he talked to me that way but it happened. I wanted to be pissed at him for talking to me that way, but my body betrayed me.

“Alright,” I tuck a curl behind my ear, “Why am I riding in the van and not with you?”

“Me and my guys have to be on a united front,” he replied, “ with the Kings and the Reaper. No weakness.”

“So I make you weak?” my voice is shakier than I would like.

“You make me unfocused,” he stated, “we get there I’ve got to go up against the Cro and keep my shit together with the Kings. Can’t afford distractions.”

"I'm not planning a striptease or anything, I'm just going to be there," I straighten up in my seat, finding my voice again, "to protect my family's interest," My eyes lock with Bishop's, "Both of my families interests."

"You being there is enough," Bishop replied his voice slightly softer. "Ride up there in the van, querida."

"Ok," I conceded, "I suppose there won't be time for me to clean up before the meeting."

I watch out the windshield, the bikers' formation. It's different than I'd experienced before. The poetry was still there but I was no longer a part of it. Just a spectator. El Presidente flanked by his VP and his Sergeant at Arms, Gilly, Coco, and Angel road behind them EZ still took the rear.

"We'll be there soon, chica," Creeper's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Not as far as the last time we road together."

"Sorry, I haven't been the better riding companion," I tell him.

"Don't worry about it, I get it. My ol' lady never listens to me either," he chuckled.

"I didn't know you had a girl," I quirk a brow.

"She works nights so doesn't come to the clubhouse often," Creep responds. "She is her own woman, like you. She ain't like the club hang arounds."

"She sounds like a keeper," I smile at him, "I guess I do need to pick my battles. Club stuff can get complicated. Especially when emotions and business is involved.”

"Bish just wants to keep you safe. We all do," Creeper pulls the van to a stop.

"I know," I watch as my boys file their bikes into a parked row outside of the lodge. "I appreciate it. Even when I don't."

I adjust my boobs and slide my feet into a pair of heels. One benefit of riding in the van, the ability to wear my favorite strappy heels. I swing the door open and step out. The lodge is woody and manly. Very appropriate for the situation.

I smile at the feel of a familiar hand resting on the small of my back, "Let's get inside, Hermosa." I nod in return. Inside the scent of leather, smoke, and whiskey filled my nose. I stand nodding as Bishop and Taza go over the plans with the tribe leaders.

"If it isn't Bishop's Princesa irlandesa," Oso Ramos kisses my cheek before embracing Bishop in a bro hug.

"You remember Canche?" Bishop nods to the Yuma President.

"Nice to see you again," I offer a smile as I hug the man. Over the next half hour or so I hugged and kissed my way through another dozen or so burly bikers. I took my place at Bishop's side. I was given shows of respect being the ol' lady of a Mayan King. And the representative of the Irish Kings. This world embraced me in a way that the one I'd come from never had before.

"What'll you have to drink?" one of the guys asks.

"Whiskey and cranberry, please," I respond. The glass was handed to me an instant before the front doors of the lodge swing open and SAMCRO saunters through.

"Who do ya gotta fuck ta get a drink around here?" Chibs baritone unmistakable. The lips of the kings spread into a smile as they step up to welcome the Reaper crew. We have a drink then make our way into the conference room. The table stretched the length. SAMCRO seated on one side, Chibs shouldered by Happy, Montez, and the biggest biker I’d ever seen in my fucking life, Rane Quinn. The Mayan Kings sat on the other flanked by Taza and Hank.

My shoulders pushed back I keep my head held high as I take my seat at the head of the table. I couldn’t show that I was taking sides. Though clearly, I did have a bias. I listened as Chibs explains the delay in trading off the guns to the Mayans.

“The North Cali port authority has made the decision for us,” Chibs said, “they’re closing down the Mendocino port. The Irish have nowhere to bring their guns.”

“Shit,” Bishop says snuffing out his cigarette.

I look between the men and add, “There’s another shipment coming in two weeks but after that, until we find a new dealer. I talked to the Irish Kings,” I look from Bishop to Canche and Oso, then to Chibs, “I asked them to give us a little time to work out a new import strategy. SAMCRO has come up with something that could keep our business dealings going.”

“Sorry to drop this all on ya laps boys,” Chibs looks directly at Bishop. “But that’s the way it is.”

“You wanna bring ‘em South,” Bishop responds, “that’s why my crew is here.”

“Aye,” Chibs states, “way south. There’s an MC that runs the port down in Tijuana.”

“The Vatos Malditos,” Alvarez adds. The name didn’t ring the same recognition that it did for Bishop and the rest of my Mayans.

Bishop leans forward in his chair, “Shit, we just had a little run-in with the VM. I didn’t end well.”

“Well, fuck,” Chibs responded. I searched my recent memory for what the hell had happened and met Coco’s gaze.

“That thing with Letty?” I asked. He nodded his agreement.

“Their Prez is a friend of mine,” Montez adds, “He didn’t mention any beef.”

“You already talked to them?” Bishop asked.

“Aye, we had to make sure we could make a deal,” Chibs responded, “They’re coming up here.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me?” Hank grunted.

“If Palo didn’t mention it,” Montez states, “It means he’s willing to sit down and meet. Nothing is going go down while we’re here.”

“Is there any way things can be worked out with the VM?” I cut my eyes to Bishop then back to Chibs and Montez.

Bishop eyes Hank then talks softly to Canche and Oso. Reluctantly he sighs, “They come to the table we’re willing to talk, we are willing to listen.”

“It’s a beautiful thing,” Chibs responds. “Now until they get here I need another fucking drink.” I hang back at the table feeling a touch out of place as the guys filed out of the room. I couldn’t or wouldn’t try to influence Bishop’s decision but I knew that if this deal didn’t pan out, I could be cut out of my family’s business. And the business was my last remaining connection to my father.

“Yo, Malibu,” Angel’s voice interrupted my inner dialog. “Come outside and have a smoke.”

I looked up at him confused, “What are you talking about? I don’t smoke.”

“You look like you could use one,” he responded, “Or a good fuck but Bish is occupied with the Kings and can’t accommodate you right now.”

“You are an ass,” I stand up from the table and walk with him outside. The pounding of fist against flesh fills my ears, EZ on the ground punching the face of another Mayan.

“What the fuck?” Angel says, “He can’t hit a patch.”

“He can if I tell him to,” Coco responds.

“That’s fucked up, he put fucking hands on us,” the larger of the other Mayans shouts.

“He’s obeying orders,” Coco states with a smirk. I stand back watching this display of masculinity with a smile of my own. It was a welcome distraction from everything else that was going on.

“Y’all wanna bother the Kings with this petty shit right now?” Angel asks. EZ breathes hard stepping back. He got whatever it was that was in his system out.

I place my hand on his chest, “You good?”

“Yeah,” he responds, “I needed that.” EZ shrugs off and moves over with his brother.

I step past him and take a look at the guy he was fighting, his face bloody. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Dolla,” he answers, “We just fucking with the Prospect.”

I show him my hands as I step closer to him, “Doesn’t matter why. Let me check your face. Make sure nothing’s broken.” I hold his face in my hands, my thumb moves lightly down the bridge of his nose, then over his orbital bone, and along his cheekbones. “You’ll be fine. I’d suggest you go around back to the bathroom to wash up. Don’t want your Prez to find out you lost a fight to a Prospect.”

I give him a wink then follow Angel, EZ, Coco, and Riz back inside. “Is the smoke pad always that exciting?” I ask as I catch up with them.

“All the time,” Riz says with a smile, “why I haven’t quit yet.” I take a seat on the arm of the oversized leather couch beside Bishop, his hand moves to possessively rest on my thigh.

“You ok, querida?” he reaches up wiping blood from my face with his thumb.

“It’s not mine,” I take the napkin offered, “One of the Tempe guys had an accident outside. I just checked him out.”

“The Vatos are here,” Hank says as he enters the room. We all stand, Bishop directing me protectively behind him. The tension in the air was palpable. I could see Bishop’s jaw tighten when Chibs spoke softly to them. My own heart raced but I stood firm. Weakness wouldn’t be acceptable in this room full of Alpha males.

We file back into the conference room. This time Chibs took a seat with Montez at the head, the VM on one side then the Mayans on the other. The room filled so fully men were lining the walls. The VM leader glared at me as I made my way to the foot of the table. Dolla from Tempe sporting the beginnings of a black eye slides the chair out for me.

“I can work with Santo Padre to schedule with the Irish,” I started.

“VM unloads and stores,” Chibs continues, “then transports to the East Cali border. We think 30% is fair to cut them in for.”

“Agreed,” Bishop responds.

“I won’t take orders from a woman,” El Palo barks.

“One word from this woman,” I narrow my eyes in his direction, “and this whole bloody deal is done. The Irish Kings would be more than happy to find another dealer to handle their business. And you can go back to scamming lost sheep.”

“Calm down,” Chibs says, “the both o’ ya. Ms. O’Shay is here at the request of the Irish. And will be here as long as they wish it.” I lean back in my seat listening as they discuss numbers and cuts. None of this concerned me. Not until they started talking about the Mayans paying restitutions.

“You lost men because you came in our fucking backyard,” Bishop said firmly. “What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?” My heart began to race again.

“The Mayans killed nine of my fucking men,” El Palo said.

“You were wrong,” Taza shouted.

“Can we just say that you both were fucking wrong?” Chibs states and looks over to the Mayan side of the table, “You’ve got to put something on this table so we can get the fuck outta here.”

After whispering with Canche and Oso, Bishop offers, “We’ll match SAMCRO’s 5%.”

“Fuck that!” El Palo yells, “20%!”

“Fuck you!” Bishop shouts. The men on both sides of the table stand up squaring off. Happy pulls his piece from his kutte.

“Jesus Christ! Fuck!” Chibs shouts still sitting in his chair at the head of the table. “You fucking Mexicans you make us Scotts look sensible. Gentleman get your fucking dicks off the table this is a fair deal.” Bishop and the Kings nod and everyone takes their seats again.

“I’m glad we can all come to a peaceful understanding,” I state. “Slainte!” I down my glass and the rest of the Mayans and Vatos join in reluctant acceptance. I hang back as the men file out. The VM exits the front and SAMCRO out the back. The men say their goodbyes.

Bishop laces his fingers with mine as we head back inside. “It’s a good thing what you did in there, hermosa.” He presses his lips to my temple.

“It wasn’t so hard,” I gave his hand a squeeze with a smile. “I’m used to handling angry Mexicans.”

“Don’t worry, querida,” he smirks, placing my hand on his member through his jeans, “I got plenty for you to handle.”

“I know you do,” I give him a kiss and a gentle squeeze. We sit and have a few more drinks. Music plays over the speakers. The playfulness of the evening was cut short but the sound of an explosion outside.

“Stay there,” Bishop jumps to his feet following the crew outside. I hung back, staying just inside the door a bike was on fire. I jump at the sound of machine gunfire. It seemed to come from all directions.

“Taz, Nova get down,” Riz shouts. I saw El Palo’s eyes clearly, he was focused on his assault. Riz took the shot and fell back on top of me. I never knew the man could be so heavy. I kept down. I heard Bishop’s voice yelling, his gun firing. All of their gun’s firing.

I shifted out from under Riz when the gunfire stopped. “Riz,” I place my fingers on his neck finding a weak pulse. Labored breathing. My hands moved down his chest and applied pressure to the wound. “Call an ambulance!”

I couldn’t think anymore, I just held pressure on his wound.

“Nova,” Creeper’s voice, “you’re bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” I muttered. Not sure if the shock or the adrenaline wore off but I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder.

“Lay back, sweetheart,” Taza’s voice soothed me, “Get a fucking ambulance now!” I could feel the color leave my face as I fell back. My hands were covered with blood. A mixture of Riz’s and my own. The room spun and went dark as I heard the approaching sirens.

[mypoisonedvine]

More Human Than Human | dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Blade Runner AU)

[for @nellblazer​‘s eighties-themed challenge!  thanks for hosting babe, sorry it’s slightly late!]

warnings: smut (noncon), choking, violence/guns/fighting, degradation, general nastiness.  and less importantly, just a shitload of gifs to create ~atmosphere~

word count: 3.5k

Early in the 21st century, the Tyrell Corporation advanced robot evolution into the Nexus phase --  a being virtually identical to a human -- known as a REPLICANT.

The Nexus 6 Replicants were superior in strength and agility, and at least equal in intelligence, to the genetic engineers who created them.

Replicants were used Off-world as slave labor, in the hazardous exploration and colonization of other planets.

After a bloody mutiny by a Nexus 6 combat team in an Off-world colony, Replicants were declared illegal on earth -- under penalty of death.

Special police squads -- BLADE RUNNER Units -- had orders to shoot to kill, upon detection, any trespassing Replicant.

This was not called execution.

This was called retirement.

“Officer Barnes.”

Bucky looked up from his instant ramen, extremely disinterested in interacting with his supervisor but aware that he didn’t have much of a choice.

“New lead on a hideout somewhere beneath the city.  One of the females from our favorite renegade crew of Off-world slaves.”

Bucky paused before responding.

“...somewhere?” he mumbled around a mouthful of noodles.

“I’ve already uploaded the coordinates to your vehicle.”

Bucky sighed quickly.  “Can I finish this first?” he asked, pointing to the noodles with his chopsticks.

“Intel’s fresh.  Let’s get there while it’s still accurate.  You know how quick they move.”

“Can’t someone else do it?”

The supervisor cracked a crooked grin, toothy and dirty.  Bucky grimaced.

“Come on,” the man suddenly became jovial, though his attempted manipulation was obvious, “you know you’re the best.  This has been a tough nut to crack, they’ve killed a lot of people and the other Blade Runners… they don’t have what you have.  They’re too green.  I need my best guy for this; I need the Winter Soldier.”

“You know I hate that name,” Bucky shook his head, “and I don’t like retiring the newer models.  They’re too… smooth.  Too real.”

“They’re not real,” the man assured, all friendliness lost from his voice as his impatience took over.  “And they’re dangerous.  Now get in the damn car and retire the bitch.”

Bucky sighed, tossing his half-finished meal into the trash and clipping his blaster back onto his belt. 

The bustling of the city was mostly muted inside the station, but once he stepped outside into the rain, he was bombarded with it all: the damp, wet air; the conversations of everyone passing by, mostly shouted into earpieces in languages he only roughly understood; the smell of exhaust, cigarette smoke, and stir fry cooking at a nearby food stall.  

He brushed past the crowds to make his way to the car lot, taking a slightly longer but less crowded route.  He was really good at ignoring things in times like this.  He ignored the noise that most would’ve found overwhelmingly loud, as well as the misty rain and humid night breeze.  

He ignored the shouts of someone in the distance as he got into the car, which turned its own engine as he scanned his badge.  The intel blinked onto the screen, informing him of the rogue units and their apparent location.  As he confirmed his route, he scrolled through the files.  The information was limited, the result of a recent hack on the LAPD’s computer system attempting to prevent exactly what he was doing now: hunting you down.

You navigated through the busy streets as you made your way back home after dinner.  You very rarely went out, fearful you would be spotted by someone important, but you had realized after months of hiding that if someone was going to find you, they would have by now.

Peddlers carried bags and baskets of ingredients-- all of them just repurposed and manufactured chemical byproducts-- past you along the sidewalk.  The food was the thing you really loved about Earth.  Off-world there was only basic, raw protein in bars.  You had only recently become aware that there was more to food than sustenance and survival, and even now you couldn’t imagine eating the same thing for every meal despite having done it your entire life. 

A lot of concepts were being introduced to you on Earth, in fact.  Earth was dirtier than your off-world accommodations.  More smoke, more dust.  After all, earth was the word for the dirt the planet was covered in.  There was no earth, no dirt, in space.  That didn’t mean it was clean, of course, but it was cleaner than this.  Now you were kicking litter to the side as you moved forward, ignoring strewn pieces of cardboard and scrap metal that gathered at the edges of buildings and roads.  

Where space had been empty and cold, Earth was alive but overwhelming.  The truth was, you realized now that beauty had come from your experiences off-world.  Not that it justified your enslavement, but you had experienced things you figured you never would again: community, for one. 

You could hear the dog barking as you opened your door, and he jumped up onto your legs in excitement.  It was impossible not to smile with this animal greeting you so excitedly; you understood now why humans liked them enough to keep creating artificial ones, although since you had found this one abandoned in the street, clearly they were manufacturing too many.

Shutting the door behind you, you grabbed the leash you kept draped with your coats, collaring the dog to take him for his last walk of the night.  As you left you glanced out your window, jumping up when you saw an LAPD car landing outside your building.  He probably wasn’t here for you, right?  You decided to take the back way out, but he was already ahead of you.  

Down the hallway you saw the figure of a man approaching you.  You could tell just by the way he walked that he was a Blade Runner, and your blood went cold.  The good thing about your model was that you blended in with humans.  You’d only gotten better at it in the past few months.  You just hoped you were good enough.

Turning and beginning to walk away, he waved you down and you froze, realizing it was too late to run.

“Is it real?” he asked as he stepped up and you turned to face him; for a second, you didn’t know what he was referring to, but then he looked down to the dog.  

You followed his gaze and laughed.  “If it was real, don’t you think I’d be living somewhere nicer than this?”

He looked at the door behind you.  “So you live here?”

You hesitated, and already he knew that you were going to tell him that you needed to be on your way.

He was a step ahead of you, flashing his badge quickly.  “LAPD business.”

“What… is the LAPD’s business with me?” you asked slowly.

“Why don’t you let me in and we’ll talk about it?” he suggested.

“I was just about to walk him--”

“It can wait,” he interrupted sternly, his expression hardening a little.  “Won’t take long, leave the dog outside.”

You nodded quickly, tying the leash to a handrail with your shaking hands; you slipped back into the apartment, shutting your door after he followed you in.

“So, officer…”

“Barnes.”

“Right.  Officer Barnes.  Would you like something to… drink?”

He shook his head, taking a seat at your dining table like he owned the place.  He motioned for you to sit across from him as if he owned you, too.  You did, because for all intents and purposes in this moment, he did.

The Blade Runner set his weapon on the table slowly.  

You swallowed dryly, looking at it before turning your gaze to the window, and the blue-green reflections of the city outside.  “It’s time for my retirement, huh?”

In the peripheral of your vision, he nodded.

“Did the others put up a fight?”

He paused before answering, like he was remembering.  Remembering the deaths of your friends.  “They tried,” he eventually said.

You looked down, taking a deep breath.  “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, but I may not answer.”

“Why do you do this?”

“It’s my job.”

“Yes, but, you don’t have to do anything.  I was a slave.  I really did have to do everything.  You have choice; you have an entire life to live.  Why would you spend it doing this?”

He laughed a little-- not so much a laugh as a sharp exhale through his nose, like you were delusional, like your opinion was a complete waste of his time.

“Nevermind,” you scoffed, “I know why you do it.  You hate us.  You think we’re all evil.”

He shook his head.  “Machines are like anything: good or bad.  If they’re good, they’re not my problem.”

“You think I’m a machine?” you asked incredulously, nodding to his bionic arm.  He winced, like he thought you hadn’t noticed, but even a leather jacket and biker gloves couldn’t hide his dirty little secret from you.  You were a little too observant for that.

“Lost this arm to one of your kind,” he explained with a scowl.

“I lost everything to your kind,” you hissed.

He smiled a little.  “You never had anything to lose.  You never had anything.”

“And whose fault is that?”

He shrugged.  “Not mine.”

You sighed with exhaustion; humans were all the same.  They spent all their lives deflecting blame, shirking responsibility.  “My name is--”

“I know your name,” he interrupted firmly.  “N6FQB21416.”

You grimaced.  “That’s not a name, that’s a serial number.”

“I don’t really give a shit about either.  What worries me is the offenses listed in your file.”  He cleared his throat as he recalled the list.  “Launched a mutiny which killed 14 men.  Stole a ship.  Illegally trespassed into Earth’s atmosphere.  Killed 8 more people in your journey from the port to Los Angeles.  And, presumably, you killed whoever was living here and have been squatting in their apartment ever since.”

You’d found it abandoned, actually, but there really wasn’t much point in disputing his claims.

He sighed before he spoke again.  “All this over a few more months?”

You looked away, trying not to think about how much time you’d wasted seeking liberation from the built-in expiration on a replicant’s lifespan.  It was ingrained in your DNA, you couldn’t stop it.  You had been living in denial of this for quite some time now and you preferred to keep it that way.

“You’re going to die either way,” he added coldly, “so why all this violence?  All the fighting?”

“Because for now, I’m still alive.  To live is to fight.”

“I guess I can agree with that,” he replied gruffly.

With that, you made a run for the living room-- there was a gun under the couch, if you could just reach it in time--

But he was already on you, laughing at your pitiful clawing on the floor.

“Officer Barnes, please--” you begged with the last of your thin breath.

“Call me Bucky,” he instructed as his hand wrapped around your neck.

Your mouth opened to speak, to gasp for air, but it was useless.

“You weren’t a laborer, were you?” he growled, pinning you down.  “You were a pleasure unit.”

You ignored his realization, continuing to attempt to fight.  

“You’re weak,” he hissed, “I’m amazed you’re even trying.  Don’t they train the fight out of you?”

He was right.  They had.  You’d been trained back into that instinct by the Resistance, but you weren’t made to fight.  You weren’t even made to work.  Your greatest purpose had always been to simply be beautiful and stay still.

“There are probably thousands just like you, you know.  Identical in every way,” he explained coldly.  “And you think you’re more human than me?  You’re a fucking skinjob.”

“Fuck you,” you strained as his weight knocked the air out of you, your hands clawing fruitlessly for something to grab onto.

“Give into your instincts,” he encouraged as you felt his hands grabbing at the top of your leggings.  

What was actually disgusting was that you did, for a moment, relaxing into his grip before your fight renewed again.

“Get off me!  I’ll fucking kill you, I swear!” you yelped.

You couldn’t see it, but you felt the business end of his blaster press against your head.  You stilled.

“You did this for years,” he reminded you.  “What’s one more time?”

“You’re gonna retire me either way,” you hissed.  

“Maybe I’ll let you live,” he shrugged.

“You’re a Blade Runner,” you shook your head.  “All you know is killing.”

“It’s not killing,” he insisted.  “You’re a replicant.  All you know is obedience.  Stay fucking still.”

You felt his weapon slide against your head a bit as he adjusted to holding it with one hand, the other moving to his belt.  

It was humiliatingly easy to slip back into the mindless slave you’d been before.  So much work to make you a freedom fighter, and it only took less than a minute to renege on it all.

You felt what must’ve been his cock rubbing near your opening, spreading the wetness he found there.  “Fuck, you’re soaking,” he laughed mockingly.

He began to push forward and you thought he might split you in half; you cried out as he groaned with pleasure.  

You heard him sigh as he buried himself in you, not moving for a moment and just basking in the feeling.  If nothing else, you were thankful for the moment’s reprieve, but you would need a lot longer than he was likely to give if you were going to adjust to his size.

You could stop yourself from whimpering a little when he pulled nearly all the way out, the sound morphing suddenly into a yelp as he thrust forward roughly.  His fingers were digging into your shoulder hard enough to bruise-- everything he was doing, he was doing hard enough to bruise.  Did it always hurt this much?  You couldn’t remember now.

“You’re tight,” he informed you through his teeth, sounding strained.  “Almost better than the real thing.”

Tears welled in your eyes, more from his words than the pain at this point; more from being pinned to the floor than why you were pinned to the floor.  You didn’t understand the opinion of replicants as ‘fake’.  When cut, you bled.  When hurt, you cried.  Your body was as much flesh and blood as his-- moreso, in fact.  You were the real thing, at least to the touch.  You knew better than anyone that there was no soul in this body… but the body was real.  Just as weak to him as a human would be.

Each movement inside you rocked you forward; you were worried you’d get seasick as you tried to focus on the feeling of the hardwood beneath your fingers and nothing else.

You felt your body begin to truly relax and go limp, and his weight on you lessened when he realized you would submit.  “That’s it, just let go,” he encouraged quietly, moving his hands to your hips instead, pulling them up a little to push deeper into you.  “Maybe it’d feel good if you let yourself enjoy it.”

Your enjoyment had never really been much of a factor before.  You knew how to put on a show for the ones who got off on porn star moans and screams, but it was just for appearances.  Even better than that, you knew how to lay there and take it, and that seemed like plenty for today.

He leaned forward and wrapped his hand around your neck, not tightening his grip but rather simply feeling your pulse beneath his fingers.  Paradoxically, you felt your inner walls get slicker as they fluttered with pleasure.

“See?” he grinned, moving down until his breath was hot on the back of your neck.  “You can like it.”

He fucked you with more vigor then, and you moaned.

“Fuck, you like it rough, don’t you?” he asked as his tone shifted from mocking to deadly serious.  “I understand.  You’ve done it so many times that this is the only way you can feel anything.”

You snorted out a weak laugh.  “I could say the same to you.”

The metal hand, protected by his glove, shoved your face into the ground roughly as he fucked you harder than you’d known was possible.  That glove was made of leather, and that leather came from an artificial bull.  You realized that he thought of you as no better than that.  You wondered if he was right.

“Say that you love it,” he hissed into your ear, pulling your hair roughly.

“I love it,” you answered quickly.

“Say that you love me,” he added with a growl.

“I love you.”

He laughed coldly, grabbing a handful of your ass as he watched himself sink into you, your body accepting him so easily just as your mind had begun to.  “How’s it feel to get fucked by a Blade Runner, huh?”

“F-feels good,” you sobbed.  “Please, don’t stop…”

“You gonna come?  Can you even do that, do they let you?”

You could, though you almost never had.  Against everything, a pressure was building in your body that you didn’t know how to stop.

“Bucky,” you groaned, a plea for something that you couldn’t put words to.

“Go ahead, come on my cock,” he permitted flippantly.  You didn’t want to do anything he told you to, but somehow he was hitting all the most delicate places inside you.  He moved even faster, chasing his own high, just as you reached yours. 

Your nails dug into the floor as you came with a strained sob, your body quivering with white-hot shocks until your vision started to get spotty.

“Fuck,” he groaned from behind you, “you’re squeezin’ me, ‘s so tight…”

His words were lost to you; your ears were ringing, and though the height of the feeling had passed, you still felt incredibly sensitive.  He showed no signs of stopping.  You weren’t sure how much more you could take.   

“Please, s-slow down,” you begged, reaching back to try to push him back by his hips.  He grabbed your wrist and forced your arm into an awkward position behind your back.

“Don’t get greedy, doll,” he purred, the sarcastic petname making you feel a little nauseous.  “I haven’t even come yet; isn’t that what you’re for?  To make me feel good?”

You couldn’t answer as he started to choke you again, your sobs cut into silence.

“Don’t worry, ‘m close,” he grunted.  “Gonna fill up this wet little cunt.  You want it, don’t you?”

You nodded, fighting the numbness creeping into your face.

“Yeah, I know you do.  Tell me how bad you want it,” he demanded as he released his grip.

“I want it so bad, Bucky!” you yelped suddenly, voice hoarse and desperate.  “Come inside me, please--”

“Fuck!” he groaned one last time.  You could feel his cock flexing and throbbing inside you as his movements began to slow, though he didn’t come to a full stop for quite some time.  You’d never before been so sure that a man had emptied his entire load into you, but the way Bucky moaned made it undeniable.  Even when he slowly pulled out, you still felt so full.  And sore.

He sighed with relieved exhaustion, standing up and looking down at you for a second before walking to the other side of the room, finding your record player-- the record was still spinning.

He dropped the needle and smiled a little as the song came on: Sinatra.

“Wow, oldies.  Are these yours or did you just find them here?”  he asked you, turning back to face you again.

You didn’t answer, scowling at him as you tried to catch your breath.  

“You’re still worn out then.  Figured you’d be tougher.”

You turned away, pushing yourself off the floor and adjusting your clothes until you were at least mostly put back together.  

You glanced to the window but he’d already reattached his weapon to his belt, and you knew he could get it out faster than you could jump through the glass.  Not to mention the eight-story drop.  As much as you didn’t want to be a slave again, you weren’t ready to be ‘retired,’ whether it be by the Blade Runner’s blaster or your own outrageous escape plan.

When you looked at him again, he was staring at you.

“You’ll give into your obedient instincts quicker next time, I bet,” he announced suddenly.  The scary thing was that you weren’t upset by his words, just relieved, because a next time meant however many days until then that you would be spared.  “Aren’t you tired of living on the run?”

You were.  It hadn’t been so bad when it was you and your team against the world, living together in abandoned buildings and in the outskirts of the country where everything was desert and dry grass.  But then you’d split up and tried to lay low, and it was lonely.  As twisted as it was, Bucky using you reminded you of a long-forgotten purpose, ingrained deep into your mind… so deep you could never really let it go.

“Are you?” you returned his question, after a long time spent in thought.

“Yes,” he answered after an even longer pause.  “But I think you’ll help with that.”

With that, he scooped you up into his arms and began to carry you out the door.  “Somebody to come home to will be nice,” he considered wistfully, “even if it’s just for a few more months.”

[honey-dewey]

Finding the Right Voice

Frankie Morales/Mute and chronically ill Reader

Word Count: 1,804

Warnings: Reader is both mute and has gastroparesis. Reader throws up once. 

After much pestering from the boys, Frankie reluctantly signs up for a dating app, intending for it to be a joke. Until he falls in love. You and him text daily, getting to know each other so intimately despite never meeting. At least, never meeting until Frankie wants to take you on a date. So how the hell are you going to explain to him that you are constantly ill and will never speak again?

Frankie had always thought dating apps were a waste of time. Who the hell actually met the love of their life through the Internet? 

Frankie Morales, that’s who. 

Of course, he’d been hesitant to tell the boys he’d found someone, mostly because he knew they’d give him shit about it. And they did, of course. But now, months after meeting someone, they realized Frankie was genuinely happy and toned the teasing down. 

“I’m just worried!” Frankie said, staring at his phone. “They haven’t responded in days.” 

“Dude,” Benny said, gesturing with his beer bottle. “They’re probably just busy. Or out somewhere with shit cell service. I dated a girl like that. She went on vacation with her parents and didn’t call for like. Two weeks. Thought she’d died. But when she got back.” He leaned back, smiling drunkenly. “The apology sex was mind blowing.” 

“Okay!” Santiago interjected, throwing an arm around Frankie’s shoulders. “You think they’re on vacay, Fish?” 

Frankie shrugged, grabbing his own beer. “I dunno. They aren’t the vacationing type.” 

William snorted from across the table. “Just like they aren’t the phone call or meet in person type?” 

Immediately, Frankie knew where this was going. “Ironhead.” 

“I’m just saying!” William pointed out. “How do we know that Catfish isn’t being, well, catfished.” 

Frankie sighed into his bottle. “I don’t wanna talk about it Will.” 

Santiago, who was somehow the voice of reason here, nudged Frankie. “You texted yet today?” 

“No.” 

“Why don’t you?” Santiago suggested. “Then leave it alone for a while. I doubt they’re meaning to leave you, they seem too nice.” 

Frankie picked up his phone and opened his texts. Aside from the group chat he had with the boys, the aforementioned number was the last one he’d texted. 

Frankie: Hey, haven’t heard from you in a bit. You doing okay? 

Twenty miles away from the bar Frankie was in, you were leaned over the toilet in the hospital, hurling away what little applesauce you’d eaten for dinner. 

Sitting back against the cold tile of the hospital bathroom wall, you sighed deeply upon hearing your phone ping. Who the hell wanted to talk to you right now? 

Of course, it was Frankie. 

Settling down in the bathroom, you unlocked your phone and texted him back. 

You: I’m so sorry Fish. I’ve been a bit sick. 

Fish: You don’t have to apologize for that. Are you feeling any better? 

You snorted softly. As if. 

You: Not really. It’s just gotten worse. Spent most of today throwing up.

Fish: You’re drinking water, right? Gotta stay hydrated. 

You snapped a photo of your half full water bottle a nurse had brought you and sent it to Frankie. 

You: Yep! Gotta finish this before I go to bed. 

Fish: That’s good

Fish: Wait a second. Are you in the hospital? 

You swore silently. How the fuck? Unless he frequented the same hospital as you, how the hell did he even know where you were from that blurry water bottle photo? 

You: Yeah, I got here today. Nothing too serious, I was just too dehydrated

You felt bad lying to Frankie, but you really didn’t want to tell him the truth. The truth was too long, too complicated. Frankie would probably leave if he learned the truth. 

Fish: I’m not too far away, if you’re at the hospital I think you’re at. Want me to drive you home when you leave? 

You: Nah. I’m staying with family rn and it’s a haul to get out there

Another lie, another stab of pain through your heart. 

Fish: Okay. I still wanna take you out though. We could get dinner and walk around the park. 

You almost started sobbing. 

You: Oh Frankie. I wish I could. 

As soon as you typed the message, you deleted it. Best not to let him think anything was wrong. Instead, you took a minute and finally replied with, 

You: That sounds lovely Fish. 

Fish: But?

You: But I don’t think I can.

Back at the bar, Frankie was slumped over the table, staring at your tiny message of rejection. 

“Dude, that’s hard,” Benny commented. “I’m starting to think Will might be right.” 

“I’m sorry?” William said, coughing as he swallowed wrong. “Say that again?” 

“No.” Benny leaned over the table and patted Frankie’s wrist. “I got nothing dude. Nothing.” 

Santiago sighed. “Why don’t we stop giving Fish a hard time?” He said, seeing the hard lines in Frankie’s face appear. “They said they were in the hospital, so maybe it’s really bad.” 

“You think?” Frankie asked, looking up with wide eyes. 

“Maybe,” Santiago said. “They might not want you to worry about them.” 

Frankie looked back at his phone, at the waiting message. He picked his phone up and typed one more message before shutting it off and pocketing it. 

Frankie: I just wish I could get to know you. For real. 

You stared at your phone, tears sliding down your face. Frankie would never know, if you could help it. He’d never know that you were so sick all the time. That you couldn’t eat anything without hurling it up hours later. That you hadn’t uttered a single word since you’d turned sixteen. That you’d never speak another word again. 

Putting your phone away, you abandoned the water bottle and shakily crawled back into bed, sobbing silently into your pillow until you fell asleep. 

The next morning, a team of nurses checked you over and deemed you okay to leave the next day. You nodded numbly, absently fiddling with a small stuffed toy as they started your laborious morning routine. 

“This came for you last night,” a nurse said as everyone left your room. She placed a worn out baseball cap and a folded note on your bed. “From a very nice gentleman who seemed rather heartbroken.” 

The nurse left, leaving you to grab the cap and the note. 

The cap was worn out, the edges all frayed and the logo on the front nearly illegible. The note was in much better condition. 

Hey. 

So, I’m sorry about what I said last night, and I feel like a text wouldn’t have made it better. This is my favorite hat. It’s seen some shit, just like me. And just like you, I think. 

Look, last night, I sounded like a dick. I want to make it up to you, I really do. But I don’t know how to take you on a date or anything. I sure hope it isn’t because of me that you don’t want to meet. I know my nickname is Catfish but I promise I’m who I say I am. 

Tomorrow, I get off work early. If you’d let me, can I pick you up and take you out? Or at least take you back to my place for a movie or something? Please. 

Love, your Frankie. 

You ran your fingers over the lettering, memorizing how Frankie wrote every single word. Maybe, maybe it was time to open up. The worst that could happen was rejection. 

Scooping your phone up, you texted Frankie back. 

You: Tomorrow at 4, that’s when they discharge me. Get here early tho, I have some stuff to explain.

The next twenty four hours were hell for the both of you. You were both plagued by so much anxiety it was hard to do even the most basic of tasks, but you managed. Eventually, you received the text you’d been dreading all day. 

Fish: I’m here. Visiting room B. 

You took a deep breath. All your personal belongings were in a drawstring bag you put over your shoulder. You headed out of your room and slowly down the hall, towards the visiting room. 

Opening the door was the hardest thing you’d ever done. 

Once you’d opened the door, you stopped in the doorway, taking Frankie in. 

He looked exactly the same as he did in his photos. Tall, handsome, kind. He smiled upon seeing you, and you swore your heart stopped. 

“Hello,” Frankie said, moving towards you and holding out his hand.

Hello you signed, waiting for Frankie’s reaction. 

He paused, his hand falling to his side. “Mute?” 

You nodded. 

Frankie simply smiled again. “So that’s why you don’t like phone calls,” he said. “It’s okay. I know some ASL.” He paused, taking you in. “Can I hug you?” 

Yes please.

He wrapped you in a warm hug, allowing you to collapse into him. Months of text messages and listening to his voice mails were nothing compared to this. 

Eventually, he pulled away, and you two sat on the uncomfortable couch. 

“So what’s with the tube?” Frankie asked, gesturing to your face. 

You pulled a whiteboard out of your bag and began to write, going slowly so you spelled everything right. 

I have a condition called gastroparesis. My stomach is paralyzed and won’t move food to my intestines. I “eat” through a port in my side and this tube in my nose leads to my stomach, so whatever I drink can be drained out. I went mute before I got diagnosed with this.

“Oh.” Frankie blinked a few times. “So I guess dinner is off the table too.” 

You snorted, laughing as best you could with no voice. No dinner. you signed happily. But a movie would be nice.

“A movie it is,” Frankie said, standing. “C’mon. I’ve got a bunch of movies at my place. And I think the boys are coming over tonight.” 

You stood, following Frankie to his beat up old truck. He talked your ear off about all sorts of things while he drove home, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled into the driveway that you’d remembered his hat. 

Close your eyes. You signed, digging around in your bag. 

Frankie did, laughing when you snuggly placed his hat on his head. 

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hands. “I was really worried you’d catfished me at first. I didn’t know what to think when you didn’t want to call or meet. I dunno, I just thought you weren’t, y’know, you.” 

You shook your head, pulling your hands out of his. I wouldn’t dream of it.

Frankie smiled. “I love you.” 

I love you too Fish.

That night was the happiest you’d been in years. Frankie’s friends were all amazing people, and all three of them immediately overlooked your muteness and illness. You were happy and Frankie was happy. To them, that was all that mattered. 

“So Fish,” Santiago said, leaning across the couch to nudge Frankie’s bicep. “Aren’t you glad we forced you to download that dating app?” 

Frankie looked at you, curled up under his other arm, sipping water and waiting for the feed bag with your dinner in it to finish draining into your port. You looked up at him, smiling and nestling closer. 

“Yeah. I am.”

[bluerose5]

The Ghost of Paradise (Exile AU)

Chapter 2: By the Minute

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,796

Tags: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Scott Ryder, Reyes Vidal, Reyder, Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exile, Flirting, Secrets, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Romance, Rivalry, Engineer/Mechanic Scott Ryder, Jealousy

[Read it here as well on ao3.]

“Our agents say that you were speaking with Reyes Vidal at Kralla’s,” Nola said. She didn’t even give Scott a chance to breathe. The second he was through their gates —which were still a work in progress— Scott was ambushed. “Do I even want to know what you have planned?”

Scott grinned at her.

“Why must I always have something planned?” Scott asked. “Reyes is a good friend. For all you know, we could have been catching up over drinks.”

“‘Could have’ doesn’t mean that you were.”

“Fair enough.”

As she fell into step at his side, Nola led him around while they spoke, appraising their growing community with pride.

“Scott, as governor of Paradise, should I not be made aware of any transactions that might affect us?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Tell me what I need to know then. Nothing more, nothing less.”

As if he could refuse her insistent prodding. Every time he left, he always forgot how relentless she could be upon his return, but only when it pertained to matters that could have both predictable and unforeseen effects in their future.

In a way, Scott was grateful to have someone with that type of dedication on their side. They’re going to need it.

“I swear, it wasn’t anything particularly groundbreaking,” Scott promised. “I gave him some seeds from our latest project in exchange for a long-ranged scanner modification. That’s it.”

“Hmm… A decent enough trade.”

“Glad to have your approval.”

Of course, it was too much to hope that she would leave it at that.

“What is it for?” Nola asked.

Scott knew from experience not to lie to her face.

He sighed. “I’m going to scout out some of the Remnant ruins nearby. See if I can get a read on their bots, or a turret if I’m lucky.”

She cocked her head to the side and considered that for a moment, lips pursed.

“Promise to be careful then. I know you would gladly give your life to protect any of these people, but we don’t need you to throw it away because of pure recklessness,” she reminded him. “If it comes down to an altercation, we would rather have you here than some lousy turret schematics. Besides—” She shrugged. “You would probably be the only one who could make sense of them anyways. You and that stupidly genius brain of yours.”

Scott scoffed, suddenly uncomfortable as he shifted in place.

“Got it from my parents, or so they say.”

Ellen and Alec Ryder. The woman who literally gave her life to perfect biotic implants and the man who created a whole new type of AI. Quite the legacy to live up to.

Good thing Scott wasn’t living his life based on their achievements. Andromeda was a whole different playing field compared to the Milky Way. The work he was doing with Paradise was incredible in its own right. At least, he liked to think so.

If he could change at least one person’s life for the better in Andromeda, then he considered that a success.

Based on the feedback he was receiving from the residents, he was doing a damn good job, and that was enough for him.

But Nola had a point.

People relied on Scott now. As much as he was willing to dive headfirst into danger, he needed to refrain from doing so.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised her. “If things start to go south, I’ll ping you and Nakamoto.”

“Thank you,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Scott hated to worry her so, but there was that one other matter.

“If it’s any consolation to you,” Scott said, trying for a lighter tone yet failing, “Reyes offered to accompany me on the trip.”

Nola stopped short, and Scott skidded to a halt. She narrowed her eyes at him with a sneer curling at her lip.

“No, that is not of any consolation to me. Scott Ryder, you know how he is.”

“Charming and witty?” Scott tried for his best smile, but Nola wasn’t buying into that bullshit, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Flighty and untrustworthy, especially once his back is against the wall.” Then, she amended her statement, taking on a slightly accusatory tone. “That’s assuming you didn’t pay any of his ridiculous service fees.”

“Puh-lease.” Scott chuckled. “If anyone should be spending their credits, Reyes should be the one paying me for my company. I’m a treasure not many can afford.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nola snorted, “but at least you know your worth.”

“They say that time is money, after all. I’ll make sure to charge him by the minute while we’re together.”

“Please do, and make sure to get a picture of his face once you show him that bill.”

Scott was only happy to see her smile again.

“Will do,” he said.

“While you’re at it, drop a few hints here and there that Paradise might be looking to contract out some exclusive deals with top-rate smugglers. Leave out the ‘top-rate’ part, of course. Can’t have that going to the poor man's head.”

“His ego is already insufferable enough without the compliments,” Scott agreed, “but isn’t the whole point of secrecy for you and I not to draw attention to our connections here?”

“A woman can dream though, can’t she?” Nola sighed.

“So much for Reyes being ‘untrustworthy.’”

Nola didn’t even hesitate, brushing off his attempt to use her words against her.

“Skill is skill, and we don’t exactly have the people or resources to be picky right now. Everything is a commodity on Kadara, even integrity. If he betrays us, we’ll deal with him, simple as that.”

Right.

Still, it was laughable to think that the Charlatan would take on a contract with some of his direct competitors.

Although, that sounds like exactly the type of stunt that Reyes would pull. More than likely, he’d have an ulterior motive for doing so, but Scott could see it happening.

Did he support the idea, though? Definitely not. 

“I don’t know,” Scott muttered. “I couldn’t see Reyes limiting his business to one group, especially if we’re only starting to get our feet wet.”

“You would know how he operates better than I, but I suppose that attitude is understandable. Disappointing, but understandable.” Nola grumbled. “Well, if nothing else, tell him the least he could do is give you a discount.”

“Trust me, I’ve been working that angle for a while. No such luck.”

“Greedy bastard.”

As they finished up their routine patrol, they soon switched direction, heading towards Nakamoto's clinic to conclude their meeting. There, Paradise’s leaders convened. They reviewed the requests that their colonists posted on the message boards around the settlement. Together, they decided on what matters they could approve for certain and which ones would be placed on the docket for a community vote. After that, they moved on to logistics, including topics such as requisitions and inventory.

To draw the meeting to a close, Nola relayed their latest numbers for colonial development. Water production was steady. However, food stores would be struggling soon to keep up with the recent influx of residents, so security personnel and all of those who knew their way around a gun were strongly encouraged to increase hunting and foraging activities while out on patrols or while performing their daily tasks. A roster will be posted on the local message boards to look for volunteers who would like to fill a full-time hunter-gatherer role.

Hopefully, what few angaran scientists they had amongst their people would be able to process their first batch of nutrient paste after their next harvest. It wasn’t exactly the tastiest solution available, but it was a necessary one if they were to survive.

In terms of population, there was a rapid spike in enrollment when word spread that Paradise actually got shit done and held true to their promises, but they expected the effect to eventually plateau once people settled in. Angara enrollment was up at the moment, especially after Scott appointed Nola as governor, and they have even seen a few Initiative members join up, having made the journey all the way from the Nexus to be reunited with friends, family, and loved ones.

Scott asked that they spread word for people to be warm and welcoming. The request probably wasn’t necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Their community would make no friends by tearing people apart, and they prided themselves on being close and tight-knit.

It was important that they not only claimed to be but that they acted like it as well, backing up their words with actions.

Security assignments were then posted. Patrols would have to be upped to make up for an increase that they were seeing with gang-related attacks. Once automated security measures were in place, they would revisit the matter in order to assess which sectors needed heightened security. Emergency drills would be held at the end of the week.

With all of their needs addressed, Nola called the meeting to a close.

Once the meeting was adjourned, Scott approached Nola and their Head of Security, requesting a full census to be done within a day's time. Scott needed names, numbers, faces. Each citizen’s profile needed to be updated within their database.

If Scott was going to make an effective defense matrix for the colony, then he would prefer to program an IFF system that only a select few could remotely activate. For the system to work as intended, all of the colonists' photo IDs and biometric profiles would need to be kept current and constantly updated in real-time.

Nola promised to see to it that Scott got what he needed, shooing him off.

Apparently, he was hovering, but Scott could take a hint. He could tell when he was no longer needed, and he knew that Nola worked best when he wasn’t constantly worrying after her like a mother hen.

Departing from the settlement, Scott cloaked himself the second he went beyond the boundaries of their walls.

He was almost halfway back to Port when he received a message from Reyes. Figuring that he was in the clear, Scott made sure that the coast was clear before deactivating his cloak.

Pulling up his omni-tool’s interface, Scott opened the message. Along with it, there was a set of coordinates, sent from Reyes’s location.

R: Think I’m ready to cash in on those shuttle repairs. Wouldn’t mind the company right about now.

Scott’s fingers hovered above the holographic keys, contemplating his next move before deciding to hell with it.

S: Miss me that much?

R: Am I that obvious?

He didn’t even give Scott a chance to reply before he sent another message.

R: If it’s still in question though, let me put it bluntly.

R: I want to see you.

Scott pursed his lips, cursing his stupid heart for racing in response.

S: Give me a few. I’ll be there.

R: I’ll be looking forward to it.

Before he could embarrass himself, Scott closed out his messages. He quickly made his way to Port, grabbing his bag of tools and gear before venturing back out into the badlands.

From there, Scott followed the coordinates to a cliff, overlooking a nearby valley. The sun was slowly but surely sinking down over the horizon, lightning up the sky in array of pinks and oranges and reds.

Reyes was already waiting for him by the time he arrived, the shuttle powered down for the moment.

However, the second Scott noticed that Reyes was facing away from him, he instantly slowed his walk to a crawl. He bent his knees into a slight crouch and shifted his weight with each step, toe to heel as he snuck his way up behind him.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

Scott delighted in watching him him jump in shock, only to have a blade at his throat in the blink of an eye.

As soon as Reyes realized who it was, all the blood drained from his face.

“S–Scott!”

Hands raised in surrender, Scott raised an eyebrow at him incredulously.

“You know, I was kind of expecting a warmer welcome,” he admitted, careful of the firaan's sharp edge. Keema must have given it to him. “Have to say, though, would it be weird if I was a little turned on right now?”

Reyes scoffed.

Trailing the blade along the outline of his throat, Scott swallowed thickly when he eventually felt its pointed tip press underneath his chin. Reyes tilted it up, and Scott followed, lest he risk being cut.

Their eyes met, and Reyes smirked.

Bastard was toying with him.

Retracting his knife, Reyes sheathed the firaan while Scott tried to catch his breath. The goosebumps left behind in the dagger's wake soon receded, yet a warm heat lingered.

“Tsk.” Reyes huffed at him. “Ryder—”

Uh-oh, back to last name basis. From experience, that meant trouble.

“You know better than to sneak up on me!” Reyes scolded.

“I do,” Scott said, not even afraid to acknowledge it, “but I love getting a rise out of you.”

“What if I would have hurt you?”

“But you didn’t.”

Scowling, Reyes placed his hands on his hips. Shaking his head, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Scott, what the hell am I going to do with you?” he asked, releasing his nose, half-fond and half-frustrated.

“I’m sure we could think of something.”

Reyes hummed in agreement, watching Scott approach the shuttle with his bag tossed over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground, then immediately got to work.

Watching him closely, Reyes leaned against the side of his shuttle with a thoughtful look.

“Maybe I could take you on a date?”

While Reyes tried to sound confident, his attempt ultimately failed. Instead of forming the words into a bold offer, they fell flat, sounding more like an uncertain question.

Scott stopped what he was doing. He spared Reyes a brief glance, only to return his attention to the task at hand, hiding his flushed face.

“Wouldn’t Zia disapprove?” Scott asked, being rougher than necessary as he practically took apart the control panel.

Envy curled inside him, spreading like an infection through his bloodstream. There was a sharp squeeze around his heart as it was encased in the feeling.

Reyes called him out on it, way too perceptive for his own good.

“Ryder, are you jealous?” Reyes chuckled.

Scott glared, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender.

“Just asking.”

“And if I am?” Scott retorted.

“Then I’d have to put your mind at ease.”

“It’s really none of my busin—”

Reyes closed the distance between them. Reaching out, he cupped Scott’s cheek, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. Weak as he was, Scott leaned into his touch for a split second. His eyes threatened to flutter closed, but he had to remain firm about this one matter, if nothing else.

As he started to pull away, Reyes said, “There is nothing going on between Zia and I.” Scott froze into place. “We went out for drinks a few times, nothing more.”

“You swear?” Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I swear.” His voice grew heated, impassioned. “I might be a bad man when it comes to many things, but I wouldn’t ever lie about that to you.”

Scott considered that before replying, “Well, like I said—” He cleared his throat, eyes averted. “ It’s not really any of my business, so I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He trailed off, uncertain why he was acting that way.

Reyes furrowed his brow.

“No need to be sorry. If you had crossed a line, then I would have said so.”

“Even then, you’re not mine. Your relationships are your own.”

“I could be.”

Scott regarded him skeptically.

“Could be what?”

“Yours,” Reyes answered instantly, staring intently at Scott. “Just say the word.”

If only they weren’t both keeping secrets from each other at the moment, then Scott might take him up on that.

Turns out, being with the Charlatan would be a huge conflict of interests. Who could’ve guessed?

Silence settled between them. It was as if the whole world was awaiting Scott’s answer with bated breath. Time itself seemed to stand still in anticipation.

“I—” He struggled to find the right words. “Give me time.”

That’s all he could ask.

Reyes’s hopeful expression fell, and that alone felt like a stab to the chest. Scott's breathing trembled a little, as if it was becoming difficult to continue drawing in one breath after another.

God, he didn’t want to hurt him, but neither of them could really afford to rush into things half-cocked.

Scott copied his earlier gesture, reaching out to cup Reyes’s cheek. The change was almost instantaneous, how the tension drained away, only for Reyes to melt into Scott’s touch. He leaned into his hand, starved for affection.

Scott swallowed thickly, unable to pull away, let alone take his eyes off of him for even a second.

“All I ask is that you give me time,” Scott repeated. “That’s not a ‘no.’ I just need to think a few things over, iron out a few details.”

Reyes listened, then agreed.

“Alright.” He pulled away with a small, private smile. “As if I could deny anyone such a reasonable request, especially you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Returning his attention to the shuttle, Scott got back to work. After all, he didn’t want to neglect the poor bird, and it appeared that the shuttle was in desperate need of a little TLC.

His diagnostics only confirmed his suspicions.

When a couple of sparks resulted from his prodding, Scott chastised Reyes for mistreating their baby. Reyes grew defensive, both of them falling back to old habits as they bickered.

This was the type of work that Scott did on the Nexus after he got sidelined and shafted. Systems repairs, shuttle repairs, routine maintenance… That sorta thing.

It was how he met Reyes to begin with. Few pilots had the energy to hang around and talk shop with Scott while he worked, especially since a lot of them had only recently returned from failed colonization efforts. Understandably, most people didn’t want to entertain idle conversation after watching their friends die out in the field.

That was fine by Scott, but Reyes had always gone out of his way —even then— to make sure that Scott had anything and everything that he needed.

They might have taken his shuttle out on a few joyrides together, gotten in trouble for wasting fuel, but Scott wouldn’t trade that time they spent together for anything in the galaxy.

Even now, it felt natural to settle back into their old routine. While Scott worked, Reyes watched, and they talked about anything and everything.

Time passed, and Scott only got deeper into the repairs and modifications. Despite the setting sun, he still broke a sweat, a light sheen glistening upon his skin.

Eventually, he had to take off his shirt, leaving him in a plain tank top that quickly got dirty along with his hands.

Swiping at the perspiration beading at his hairline, Scott grunted as he came to a stopping point for now. He reached for his bag, but what he was seeking wasn’t there.

“Shit.”

Turning towards Reyes, Scott huffed at him.

The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide his staring. Face flushed, he was biting teasingly at his bottom lip, brown eyes dark as he watched Scott through a hooded gaze.

Getting to his feet, Scott crossed his arms over his chest.

“See something you like?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re shameless.” Scott shook his head in disbelief, tsking under his breath. “You’re just as bad as that one time when Gil Brodie asked for a ‘second opinion’ on some fix he made. Turns out, I ended up doing almost all of the work while he sat back and watched.”

“Smart man,” Reyes noted, giving Scott a thorough once-over. “This Gil must have great tastes.”

Scott snorted.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. If you really want to make me happy, then you would grab your water bottle for me.”

“Did you forget yours?” Reyes asked, slightly concerned. After all, being caught out in the badlands without water was just asking for dehydration or heat stroke.

Nevertheless, he got the bottle for him. Scott placed his hands over Reyes’s, shrugging with a flustered blush.

“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “I thought I had packed it! I don’t know where it could’ve wandered off to.”

“Perhaps you were in a bit of a rush to get here,” Reyes said, trailing off suggestively.

Scott figured that he would allow that.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but what else do I keep you around for, if not the water? You wouldn’t want the guy repairing your shuttle to get dehydrated, right?” Scott smirked. “I could get delirious, and it would be very unfortunate if I just so happened to forget to install an essential component.”

Reyes gasped dramatically, relinquishing the water to Scott, who was quick to take a swig.

“You always have to watch out for the pretty ones,” Reyes grumbled. “Always causing trouble, keeping secrets…”

There it was again. That sense of knowing , that sense that both of them were holding something back. It was left unsaid. Neither confronted the other about it, but they knew that the secrets were there.

Before the sudden lag in conversation could get too awkward, Scott took another swig of water and asked, “So, you think I’m pretty?”

Reyes chuckled, glad for the change of subject.

“Kian seems to think so,” he muttered. Leave it to him to avoid the question. “He keeps asking when you’re going to start working for him at Tartarus.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“As a dancer?” He had to make sure he was hearing right.

“Yep.”

“Could you imagine?” Scott scoffed. “Me, shaking my ass for money? A tempting offer. It would probably be more profitable than the odd jobs I take on here and there, but I think I’m fine where I’m at.”

“Damn,” Reyes sighed, “what a shame.”

Scott raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“You saying you would have come to watch me?”

“Not only that, but I would have paid to watch you,” Reyes said, “especially if I could have gotten a private show out of it.”

Scott tried to imagine it, grinning in spite of himself.

“What’s so funny?” Reyes wondered.

“Nothing, nothing,” Scott said, brushing off his concern. “That just made me remember a thought that I had earlier.”

“What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Scott gestured vaguely. “Just that I should start charging you a fee for when we spend time together.”

Reyes winked at him.

“It would be worth every credit.”

[haru-sen]

IAL: Mandalorians 2

Thanks, 3-D Render Anon, with your adorable voodoo dolls.  That was the serotonin I needed.

I should be working, but I’m posting this.  The Mando’a phrases and cultural dishes are from Wookieepedia.  I’ll post the actual translations in the fic, but I don’t have time right now.

You woke up in a tent, your entire body aching.  You were tucked under some blankets, a bedroll under your head.  Your sabers were still on your belt.  

“Query: are you done yet?” HK-53 asked, from overhead.  “Also, are you sure I can’t kill these Mandalorians?”  

“I am going to track down that pacifist module and shove it right up your accessory port,” you muttered.  “Just you wait-”

“Shock: Master, how could you threaten your loyal droid this way?  When did Master get so cruel?  I am very proud of you!”  

Laughing, you held your head for a moment. “What happened?”

“Recollection:  You collapsed. The blue-armored meatbag injected you with kolto, and carried you here.  The black-armored meatbag kept his gun on me, and I made sure neither of them did strange things to your person while you were inconveniently indisposed. It has been a little over a standardized hour since you lost consciousness.”  

You sat up slowly.  The sun was still up.  “Where are we?”

“The witch is alive.”  

You blinked, the black-armored Mandalorian standing in front of you.  He was not wearing his helmet. Tall, with dark skin and clawmark scars across his cheeks, he loomed over you.  He was well-groomed, his beard neatly trimmed, his black hair was immaculately styled.  How did he not have helmet hair?  

Blue scrambled over, also with his helmet off, also younger than you expected.  He was blonde, hair gelled and styled.  What the hell? Did Mandalorians discover the secret to preventing helmet hair?   He smiled at you, with eyes as blue as his armor, his cheeks flushed. “You’re recovering much faster than I expected. How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank Delta Squad under the table again…”  You said, rubbing your forehead.  You had overdone it back there.  Between the terentatek corruption, the Ataru form, and the subsequent wounds, you had pushed yourself too hard too quickly.  

“Jedi drink?” Blue raised a brow.  

“No, we just absorb dew through our pores,” you scowled.

“This Jedi witch is about to get dunked in a lake if she keeps giving me that attitude,” Skull said coolly.  

“Well, I am thirsty,” you said.  

To your surprise, Blue offered his canteen, looked thoughtful for a moment, took a drink, and then offered it again.  “It’s not poisoned.”  

“Disgust: Not poisoned, but definitely contaminated,” HK-53 said.

You hesitantly accepted the canteen, drinking down some of the metallic-tasting water. “Thanks.”  You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “What do I call you?”

“Reaper,” Skull said. “76.” He pointed at Blue.  “You?”

“Strike,” you said,  climbing to your feet.  The world wobbled, but did not tilt too far on its axis.   You looked around.  This encampment was small, but there was a cold firepit and vehicle tracks. They had not set this up in a couple hours.  They had been in this area for awhile.  

“Strike,” Reaper said, expression grim.  “I think we need to talk.”  

“No, I need to get to Nar Shaddaa,” you said.  

The men looked at each other.  “So do we.”  

“That’s what we need to talk about,” 76 said, crossing his arms.  

You stood there for a moment, a little intuitive nudge already sending your thoughts into overdrive. This was about to get even more complicated. “Because you really like casinos?  Right?” You asked, with a sigh.  

“Because we need to get one of those kids back,” Reaper said.  

“...Of course, you do,” you said, staring up at the sky.  You were glad someone had survived to hire mercs to rescue their kid. And you didn’t really care if the child chose to avoid training on Tython. But you did not need battle-happy Mandalorians ruining your operation.  “Which one?”

“Xenya Itera, human female.” Reaper held out a holo of a little girl with a tiny spherical droid floating over her outstretched hands.  She was dark skinned, her hair in several long tiny braids. She was smiling.  “You can rescue the others, but we are obligated to retrieve her.”  

“And if she doesn’t want to go with you?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Then she doesn’t have to,” Reaper said with a shrug, surprisingly unbothered by the question.  

“Your bounty?”

“Not your problem,” Reaper said coolly.  “We just need to get the kid away from the Cartels. Simple enough.  Easier too if we go after them together.”  

...Two sensible, non-volatile suggestions from Mandalorian mercs in one day? Was the world coming to an end? ...Or was it a trap? There was a long history of bad blood between Jedi and the Mandalorian clans.  

“What clan?”  You asked suddenly.  

“Excuse me?” Reaper said.

“What clan are you?”

The men looked at you for a moment, like they hadn’t expected that question.  “Clan Ordo.”  

You nodded.  You didn’t have any standing grudges with Clan Ordo.  Hell, you hadn’t really ever dealt with them.  But they weren’t Clan Lok, Rook, Varad, or Viszla, so you were probably good for the moment.  “I can work with that.”

**

“You should be fine with Ordo,” Rogun said, over the comm-link.  “They were one of the clans that backed the Crusader’s Schism, several years back – wanted to side with the Republic instead of the Empire.  Whole thing got crushed by Mandalore the Vindicated, and Ordo was eventually welcomed back into the fold, with honor.  So they likely don’t have the grudge that Lok and Viszla do.  I can’t speak for the individuals though.”

“Good to know,” you said, sitting cross legged in the tent.  “And Talon?”

“...I guess you’re right, Strike.  There are no coincidences.  He’s been spotted on Nar Shaddaa, near the slave markets with an entourage.”  An entourage? Did that mean…?  Rogun gave a rough laugh.  “The Force moves in mysterious ways.”  

“No, the Force is a mean bitch with an axe to grind, usually in my face,” you scowled.  

Rogun guffawed, the lethorns on the side of his head shaking.  “You’re never going to make Master with that kind of talk.”  

You rolled your eyes upward, like that was the only thing keeping you from obtaining the rank of Master.  Ha!  “Just so you know, I got quizzed by the Council on our association.”  

“I’m sure you said nice things about me,” he said, his grin mean.

“I said, your sandwiches suck.”

Rogun scowled back at you.  “It was the best I could do during an active bombardment!”

You knew adult Chagrians often lost their sense of taste due to environmental factors, and maybe that was the reason the food had been awful, but it was rude to point that part out.  “Yeah, well, I talked you up a little too.  Made sure they knew that despite your questionable occupation, you’re a friend of the Republic.”

“Great, so when they come knocking at my door for favors or charitable handouts, I know who to blame.”  

“Just give them one of those sandwiches, that’ll send them on their way.”

Rogun squinted at you.  “It’s a good thing you’re useful, Strike.”

You laughed.  “Thanks, Rogun. Keep me updated on Lord Talon’s movements.  I’ll make you a delicious sandwich in gratitude.”

“Go kiss a sarlaac,” he scowled, and hung up.

“You certainly have a way with people,” Reaper said, hovering by the entrance.  

You had not noticed his approach. How much had he heard?  “That’s me, making friends wherever I go,” you said with a shrug.

Reaper gave a low chuckle.  “You and that mouthy droid.”  

You glanced around, realizing HK-53 had not been over your shoulder for your conversation with Rogun. You got up, a little concerned.

“Relax, he’s shooting bogstalkers with 76.  They were attacking the comms equipment.  I’ve already updated my people. I’m going to finish breaking down the camp, and then we can go.”  

You started to disassemble the tent, watching as HK and 76 sniped at the leathery reptilians that fluttered in the sky.  

“What are you flying?” Reaper asked, packing several weapons into crates.

“The usual – Rendili Defender-class light corvette.  It’ll get us where we need to go.”

“And you think your credentials will be enough to get us through Olaris?” He asked, because the Republic-held city wasn’t too friendly toward Mandalorians.  

“I can, but it might be easier if you leave off the helmets.  I know that’s culturally insensitive, but we’ll move faster if I don’t have to pull rank on a bunch of terrified soldiers and customs agents,”  You shrugged, bundling the tent tightly.

“Sensible,” was all Reaper said.  

**

“So what’s it like, traveling with a Jedi Knight?” 76 asked, lowering his rifle.

“Declaration: That is a broad question, meatbag.  Be more specific,” HK-53 said, rifle aimed at a ferrazid hound, the mutated creature already tearing apart a broke receiver.  

76 laughed.  “Do you get in a lot of fights?”

“Bragging: We get in so many fights.  The number of people who want to kill Master is very high. And it doesn’t seem to get lower, despite how many people we do kill. If I wasn’t so busy killing her enemies, I would want to fight her one day.”  HK-53 paused, its head twitching.

76 frowned.  “Why does she attract such enmity?  Just who are you killing?”

“Aggravation: Master has killed many things, usually enemies of the Republic, but she has also made many rules about what I am not allowed to kill.  It is unnecessarily complicated.  For example, Master generally prefers to let the enemy make the first move of aggression, to ensure that it is adhering to her archaic rules of “moral” combat.  Sometimes she even talks people out of fighting her.  Can you believe it?  She knows they’re her enemies and she lets them walk away! She should just kill them ahead of time, not spare them.  What is she thinking?” HK-53 gunned down the mutated hound-beast.  “But Master is a Jedi, and Jedi have to follow silly rules,” the droid muttered petulantly.  

“How did a...violent murder-happy droid like yourself end up with a Jedi then?” 76 asked.

HK-53 tilted its head, giving 76 a very skeptical look.  “Suspicion: Such flattery. Why are you asking so many questions, meatbag?”  

“I’m just curious about the people I’m traveling with,” 76 said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “It’s not every day I meet a Jedi Knight or such an...enthusiastic battle droid.  It leaves an impression.  There’s a story there.”

HK-53 stared at him, those eyes glowing.  “Satisfaction: We are impressive. You don’t need to know more.”  Turning back to the swamps, HK-53 surveyed the area. “Observation: Oh, it looks like Master and the other meatbag want us to return.”

76 just laughed awkwardly.

**

“Concern: Master, that meatbag was asking a lot of questions about us.”  HK-53 was secured to speeder on the seat behind you.  The Mandalorians were on the other. You were technically using their equipment, but you didn’t exactly trust a bunch of battle-happy maniacs in the driver’s seat.  That included your droid.

You zoomed over marshlands and fields, the Mandalorians riding parallel to you.  

“What kind of questions?”

To your surprise, HK-53 just replayed the recording of the conversation.  Normally, he was all too happy to summarize an interaction, and intersperse his own commentary, but he let it play out without interruption.

“Query: There is subtext that I do not understand, Master.  Is he probing for weakness?  What angle is he coming from?  What does he hope to learn?”

You sighed.  “It could be socially-motivated, but I’m sure he’s also trying to gather intel.  People often let a lot of things slip in friendly conversation.”  

“Query: What did he let slip?”

“Not a lot,” you said, thoughtfully. “But he’s trying to be diplomatic, and he seems to have a personal interest in Jedi.”

“Query: How can you tell?”

“The enthusiasm,” you said. “He’s not just asking for intelligence purposes.  He’s interested in the topic, and he wants to make a good impression on you.  I’m not exactly sure why – Mandalorian mercs aren’t really known for their diplomatic skills, but I think if we talk to him more, we’ll figure it out.”  

“Statement: These Mandalorians are not what I expected.  Normally, we just fight them, and it’s a little difficult, but it’s done.  This change in behavior is...disconcerting.”  

“Yeah, I know.  Nothing about this mission is what we expected,” you muttered.  

**

  “Clean, sturdy, and fast,” Reaper said, looking over your ship.  “Not bad.”  

“Spacious,” 76 said, with a nod.

Given the fact that it was just you and HK-53, the ship was almost too big.  “You guys can make yourselves comfortable in the crew quarters,” you said, gesturing to the rooms.  “Let me know if you need anything.  I’m going to make some calls before we reach Nar Shaddaa.”

But first you needed to change into an intact top, and check your wounds.  Your robe was ruined, and there were three parallel gashes across your low back.  They nearly spanned the entire width of your back, and were each a couple inches wide, and thankfully not too deep.  But they would take a while to heal.  76 was right, you would scar.  Your healing skills just weren’t up good enough.  Still.  

The auto-navigation was engaged, cockpit locked.  You wouldn’t have to take the helm till you reached Nar Shaddaa.  You didn’t exactly trust the Mandalorians on your ship, but you could feel them settling down, sharing one of the two sleeping rooms - there were multiple berths on your ship, but they holed up in one together. And they were behaving. To your surprise, when you reached Olaris, the Mandalorians had tucked their helmets into their bags, and quietly followed you through the spaceport.  HK-53 attracted more attention with his running commentary, but boarding had gone smoothly.  

You put HK-53 outside the comm room and shut the door.  

You first called Master Amari, to give her the update for the Council.  Yes, you were going to Nar Shaddaa.  Also, Orgo the Hutt had a terentatek and had tried to feed you to it.  You did not have time to finish the beast – but you would return to take care of it, after you rescued the children.  You had picked up some Mandalorians – they were also tracking one of the children and on their best behavior.  

Master Amari had been interested to learn they were Clan Ordo, but seemed satisfied with your progress.  You did not mention Lord Talon.  

The next call was less staid.  

“A terentatek, Theron,” you snarled.  “How did you manage to leave out that detail?”

“I don’t keep an inventory of every crime lord’s dungeon!”

“It’s a goddamn terentatek, not a monkey lizard!  How did he even get one?”

“Did you try asking him?” The spy asked snidely.  He lounged on the comm unit, looking nothing like the sickly boy you’d met on Haashimut. “I was too busy trying not to die!”

“Sounds like a “you problem,” he shrugged.  “And stop whining, you didn’t die.”  He grinned at you.  

“No, thanks to you!”

“You didn’t invite me.  You could still invite me,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes bright and too eager.

“Pfft, since when did you care about a dozen potential padawans?” You asked, even though you knew the answer, just like you knew why you had not invited Theron along.  It would get too complicated for a variety of reasons.  “This is barely even Jedi business.  It’s a criminal venture that happens to have Imperial ties – not really relevant to the SIS or your career.”

“...I heard you saw the Grandmaster,” he said, suddenly subdued.  

And that was exactly why you had not invited him.  Theron was a shady son of a bitch on the best of days.  That said “bitch” happened to be Grandmaster Satele Shan was just another level of complicated. There were so many reasons the situation was screwed: she had given him up immediately, his father was “unknown,” and he didn’t have enough force sensitivity to blow out a candle.  His solution? He’d gotten some kind of high end cybernetic implant and gone off to play spymaster for the Republic, instead of working through his feelings.

But there was always an underlying layer of bitter regrets that accompanied his dealings with the Jedi Order.  

“Yes, she looks healthy,” you said, playing it off like it was not a big deal. “It was going to be a disciplinary hearing, but that changed, because I’m just a pawn in some greater philosophical argument.  Or maybe because they needed me to do a job,” you scowled.  “I still annoy her, don’t worry.”  

“Wanna wager which one of us is the greater disappointment?” Theron asked, his smile deceptively cheerful.  You knew better than to answer that question.  “Just kidding, Strike.  It’s obviously you.” He made finger guns.  “She hasn’t given me a second thought.”  

You shrugged, pretending like you didn’t hear the open wound in that statement. “I doubt it’s anything so important.  I just get a lot of lectures from the Council.  You can probably guess what they think about strong emotion and any activity that isn’t meditating in front of a fountain.”  You paused. “Look, do you want to be there when I report back to them?  Like as an SIS adjutant or something?”

Theron let out a harsh laugh. “Are you trying to get kicked out, Strike? You show up to a High Council meeting with the Grandmaster’s bastard offspring in tow?  How’s that going to look?”

“...You’re the one asking to come along,” you scowled.  “Make up your own mind, Theron.  I don’t offer to drag you into stupid Order business, you complain.  I do offer to bring you into stupid Order business, after you ask, and you decline and point out why it’s a dumb idea.  This is why you don’t have friends.”

“You’re one to talk, unable to make real connections because the Order stunted you for the first half of your life. Now here you are, running around with that psychotic defective HK unit, like it will replace what you lost on Corellia, chasing after Lord Talon like he’s the one you’re mad at, instead of-”  

The world narrowed to a single point.  Red light flashed across your field of vision.  

“You need to stop talking,” you said, your voice going cold.    

Theron blinked, his eyes widening.  “...Druk.  Strike, I didn’t mean-”

You cut the connection, the room blurring around you for a moment.  It took a couple seconds for your vision to adjust.  To realize how angry you were.  Sure, Theron was an asshole, but he’d only peeled back the scab on a still-festering wound.  You tilted your head back.

Breathe in.  Hold.  Breathe out.  Hold.  Repeat till the darkness recedes.  

Gradually, your control steadied.  But you sat with that cloud of anger, not letting it go, nor letting it take ascendance.  It was there, a pulsing reminder of your humanity.  

You were going to kill Lord Talon and maybe his apprentice.  Not because you hated him, though you did.  Not because it was the right thing to do, though it was.  You were going to kill him for personal reasons, and unlike the rest of the Order, you were not going to lie to yourself about it.  And if that brought you down, if that decision made you fall, well, you were prepared.  You had taken the appropriate precautions. There would be no Sith Lord Strike.  

There was a ping as you received an incoming message.  It was from Theron. It was only five words.  

I’m an ass.  I’m sorry.

You shook your head, not ready to respond just yet, and left the comm room.  

**

“Is that the best you can do?” 76 laughed, and then there was whumpf, before you heard a body hit the floor.  

You peeked into the bunks, to see the Mandalorians stripped down to their shorts, wrestling on the ground.  Both men were muscular, with noticeable scars from blasters, vibroblades, and even some teeth and clawmarks.  But the tattoos were interesting… Reaper had a full left sleeve, and 76 had some very colorful creatures etched on his back.  Was that a varactyl?  

“See something you like?” 76 asked, glancing over at you.

Reaper looked up at you, narrowing his eyes.  “Or are we being too loud?”

“I wasn’t sure what was going on, just making sure it wasn’t a murder,” you said.  “Carry on then.” You abruptly turned around, shoulders taut.  You would not stare.  And you certainly would not get caught staring.  

“Hey, you seem kind of stressed.  Do you want to spar or something?” 76 asked.  

“That’s not a good idea right now,” you said, tensing.

“Why, because you’re still weak from getting your ass handed to you by a Sithspawn freak?” Reaper asked, casually.  “Don’t worry, witch. I’ll go easy on you, if you ask me nicely.”  His grin was savage.  

You turned back to face him, feeling the anger pour off you in waves. “...Mandalorian, do you need someone to humble you that badly?” You asked, your voice low and harsh.  

Reaper laughed.  “You don’t scare me, witch.  Choose your weapons.  And if you need to hide behind your fancy light swords-”

“Practice blades will do,” you said.  “Come on then.”  

Reaper squinted at you.

“You don’t think I’m going to tear up this room, do you?  The sparring mats are on the lower decks,” you said, already heading down.  

**

You picked up two blades off the rack, choosing a full blade and a half-length blade.  The cargo hold was equipped for exercise, as you did not normally transport a lot of goods.  You stretched, ignoring the whispered conversation between the Mandalorians.  

“Oh good, the medbay is across the hall-” 76 said.

“Whose side are you on?” Reaper growled.  

“You’re out of armor, cyar’ika,” 76 murmured. “She’s a Jedi.  The outcome is obvious.”

“Hut’uun,” Reaper spat.  “Verd ori'shya beskar'gam.”

“Don’t be salty because I’m telling the truth, mir’osik.” 76 laughed.

Maybe you should have called HK down here.  He could have translated the Mando’a for you.  Except he’d be calling for real bloodsport instead of just sparring.  And you didn’t need that temptation right now.  

You took a few practice swings, reviewing your forms.  Niman would be the most sensible.  This was just a sparring match. It was an all-around style, and Reaper had a lot more muscle mass than you did.  You did not need to go all out. You swung the longer blade, feeling the air part in front of you.  

Reaper glowered at 76, then stalked over to the weapon rack.  

“Don’t worry, Mandalorian,” you said, your mouth curving in a mockery of a smile.  “I won’t use my witchcraft to beat you.  I’ll do it with my own two hands.”

“You don’t sound much like a Jedi right now,” Reaper said as he stepped on the mat, holding a single vibrosword.    

“What do I sound like then?” You asked, as you began to circle each other.  

“A real soldier,” Reaper said.  “Which is impossible, because everyone knows that the Jedi like to hide in their fancy temples praying for peace, while their soldiers die.”  

You just smiled, the insult gliding right by your ear.  You had made that argument too many times to be offended by it.  Especially when it was from a Mandalorian braggart trying to get under your skin.  But it said everything that this was how an outsider viewed your order.  

You spun your swords, the heavier one in your dominant hand, feeling just right.  The anger boiling under your skin seemed to evaporate.  It was just energy now, ready to power you through another fight.  Your mind slid back into its seat of balance.  

Reaper charged you, lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air in a horizontal arc.  You sidestepped, ninety degrees to the right, just out of his reach.  And while his blade was extended, you slipped around his guard, and dragged your short sword across his back, a thin line of blood appearing seconds later.

He whirled, swinging the sword at you.  You parried with your left hand, and glided forward, under his guard, so close you couldn’t swing your other blade.  Instead, you grinned up at him, and rammed the hilt into his stomach.  

Coughing, Reaper doubled over, glared at you, and then his leg snapped up.  You slid backward, but a half-second to slow.  He kicked you in the chest, and you had to catch yourself in a spin.  It was suddenly hard to breathe.  

He charged you again, blade raised overhead.  

You instinctively raised your swords to parry, catching his blade between both of yours.  You twisted, and the vibrosword flew out of his hands, and landed on the floor of the cargohold with a clatter.  

“Do you yield?” You asked, spinning your swords. “Or would you like a moment to go retrieve your weapon, Mandalorian?  That’s fine.  I’ll wait.”  You grinned. “Because I can do this all night long.”

Reaper stared at you, eyes dark, nostrils flared. He was bleeding, breathing hard, and sweat glistened on his velvety skin, but he didn’t look like he was done.  

“Maybe you’d like to try both of us then?” 76 asked, his eyes narrowed. He picked up Reaper’s sword and then a stave for himself.  He placed the sword in Reaper’s outstretched hand, and took up a stance beside his comrade.  “Tion'ad hukaat'kama?”

You tilted your head back, moving your head from side to side.  76 held the staff like he knew how to use it.   You closed your eyes, feeling the currents of the force flow through you, a picture of the field forming in your head.   They stood side by side, but they would attempt to box you in.  They both had excellent range, but 76 would have the advantage of reach.   You could see the range and motion of their attacks before they made them, and while it would be difficult, you were good at this. “What are you waiting for?  An invitation?”

76 lunged first, sweeping the staff at knee-height.  

You leapt over the attack, even as Reaper slid to your right swung the vibrosword in a downward arc.  Elbow bent, wrist pressed to your head, you blocked the strike.

76 struck again, thrusting the staff like a polearm.  

You jumped backward out of his range, disengaging from Reaper’s sword lock.  You spun around toward Reaper, blades outstretched.  

76 swung the staff around, blocking the area across Reaper’s torso.

You struck the staff with a clang, and had to swing your right blade to block Reaper’s counterattack.  You disengaged again, dancing to the side, putting Reaper between you and 76. He tried to swing his sword, but you parried the blow again, and whipped your other blade across his cheek with a little flourish.  

The skin split and instead of countering, he stared at you, with an intensity that made you hesitate.  

From behind Reaper,  76 thrust again, striking you in the side with the staff. You hissed, and kicked Reaper backward into 76.   The blonde man steadied his friend, and together they stayed on their feet.  

You touched your side, knowing that the area would need extra healing later.  But it wasn’t enough to bring you down now. Breathing hard, you took a deep breath and whirled toward them, blades spinning in your hands.  

Still leaning on 76, Reaper didn’t have a chance to take a strong defensive stance.  You caught his vibrosword between yours, and scissored them, sending his weapon flying once more.  You couldn’t quite kick him aside, so you circled around to 76.  You got close, too close for him to use the staff properly.  He could block your blows, but he didn’t have the space to maneuver.  Your blades slid off the staff, but still scraped against his chest, slicing a long gash through the pink skin, the tip of the short sword catching on a gold ring.  

“Haar'chak!” He yowled.  

“Ke'pare!” Reaper shouted.  “Wait!”  

You froze, having not noticed the little gold rings on his nipples. “Disengaging,” you said, dropping your vibrosword, and very carefully freeing the short blade from the piercing.  “Why the hell would you leave those in for a sparring match?” You asked, backing up.  

Wincing, 76 held a hand over the right nipple ring.  “I...forgot,” he mumbled.  

“Showoff,” Reaper said, shaking his head.  

“I’ll get the kolto,” you sighed, setting the blades back in the rack, before you went across the hall to the medbay.  You grabbed the first aid kit and headed back.  

76 sat in the middle of the mats, rubbing his chest sheepishly.  Reaper sat next to him, shaking his head.  

“Hold still,” you said, crouching down in front of him to examine the cuts on his chest.  You cleaned the wounds with a sanitizing wipe and then applied a layer of kolto over the cuts.  You glanced at the nipple.  It was pink and a lot more swollen than the other one, but still intact.  You hadn’t torn the piercing or cut anything off. It wasn't even bleeding. Squeezing a little more kolto onto your thumb, you rubbed it lightly against his nipple.

76 stiffened, inhaling sharply as you put the healing gel on him.  He was breathing hard now, chest and face flushed from the exertion. He watched you with hooded eyes, teeth clenched.  “Do you patch up all your conquests?”  

“No, normally there isn’t enough left to fix,” you said, meeting his gaze.  

He studied your face for a moment.  You could feel the heat pouring off him.  He leaned closer.  “So I’m one of the lucky ones?”

“Very, you almost lost that piercing and more.” You said, your mouth suddenly dry.

“It’s still sore, maybe you could put some more kolto on it,” he purred, a very knowing smile on his face.

“No, I think you deserve to suffer a little for your stupidity,” you said, backing up.  You glanced at Reaper.  “Do you need kolto?”

“Go on then,” Reaper said coolly, sitting up straight.  

You crouched back down in front of Reaper, keeping him partially between you and 76.  You worked quickly, your fingers lightly tracing the scar on his face.  He watched you sullenly, as you quickly applied the gel.  And then he turned around, silently giving you his back. His skin was hot under your fingertips, and you tried to seal the wound quickly, very conscious of 76’s hungry gaze. You slapped a bandage on it, and he turned back around, plucking the kolto out of your hands.

“Let’s see those ribs,” Reaper told you calmly.  “76 hit you pretty hard.”  

“I can take care of it myself,” you said.  

“No one’s going to pounce on you,” Reaper said.  “And even if they did, you could handle them.” He did not look at 76.  “Now don’t be stubborn and try going up that ladder with your ribs cracked. That’s just foolish.” There wasn’t any of the previous malice in his voice, just a gentle chiding that reminded you a little of Master Amari.  

Sighing, you unfastened your sash, and peeled back your robes, wincing as you touched your left side.  

His head tilted to the side, Reaper applied the healing gel to your bare skin, his warm hands gently massaging it into your left side.  You bit your lip, placing a hand near there as you tried to convince the bones to knit back together correctly.  

Between the kolto and the little bit of force healing you could manage, the pain began to subside.  

“Better?” Reaper asked, his palm still pressed to your side, close to your hand.  

“Yes,” you said, swallowing roughly.  “I should be good.”  

Reaper bowed his head.  “You won, Jedi.  I am...humbled by your prowess.” He nodded to you, giving you a slight smile.  “But I would like to try against you again later.  Perhaps barehanded next time.”  

You remembered seeing them rolling around on the ground, wrestling.  Your breath caught.  “You’re welcome to use the sparring mats,” you said, pulling away, closing your robes and tying off your sash.  “But I need to go meditate.”  

“Will you join us later?” Reaper asked.

“...We’ll see,” you said, glancing at 76, who lounged on his side, one hand cupping his sore pectoral.  

76 winked at you.  “Feel better?”  

You blinked, having already forgotten why you’d agreed to spar in the first place.  “Yes, thank you, but I really need to go meditate.”  

“I can think of some other things that would help you out,” 76 said, looking you up and down with a smile.

“I really should go,” you said, already halfway out the door.

**

“I need to go meditate?”  Really?  That was your best excuse?  It worked, but still…

Grumbling you, shut yourself in your quarters, limping to the fresher for a shower.   It was quick, and you changed into another clean robe – today had been hard on clothes – and then settled on your floor cushion, still feeling the force run through you.  

You did not contemplate the temple fountains, nor the forests of Tython, nor any Jedi object.  You stared out the window, into the void of space, the stars twinkling in the distance.  You fully expected flashes of red light, or even that dark haze that settled over your mind when you really got to thinking about the past.  

But the force continued to move through you in strong currents.  It was like sitting up to your shoulders in a warm ocean.  The world took on a soft gray glow, and you let yourself drift.

It was the most peaceful you had felt since Corellia.

**

“Knight Strike, are you occupied?” 76 asked over the intercom.  

You opened one eye, focus settling back into your body.  “Do you need something?”

“We took the liberty of making a meal, and thought you might be hungry,” he said.

You blinked. “Oh, I’ll be down in a minute.”  The offer took you by surprise.  HK-53 had said nothing about them moving around the ship. You rose, tightening your robe, and left your quarters.  

A warm savory scent hit you as you opened the door.  The entire deck smelled of rich spices and sauteed aromatics.  It was coming from the conference room – the one you used as a makeshift dining room back when… Back when there had been more people on your ship.  

The Mandalorians were inside and had set up hotplates and a kettle on the table.  Reaper was back in his polished black armor, sans helmet, stirring a pot. He did not look up when you came in.  He just lifted a battered spoon to his lips and tasted the stew or maybe it was a casserole?  If so, it was heavily sauced.    

76 stood over his own battered iron skillet, an amber colored cake within.  He cautiously poured some syrup over the cake.   Then he cracked open a bottle and poured an even more generous amount of dark liquor over it.  “It’s almost done!”  

“If you want to cook, I have a small kitchen setup in my quarters-” You paused, realizing that maybe you did not want them traipsing in and out of your bedroom.  

“Oh? Really? I would like to see that,” Reaper said, looking up and smiling at you, heat in his gaze.  He lifted the spoon from the pot, offering you a taste of the bright orange stew.  It had chunks of mystery meat, vegetables, and what looked like beans.  It smelled like fire, smoke, and peppers, clearing whatever spacedust might have been clogging your sinuses.  You hesitantly took a bite.  It was savory and hot. The layers of earthy and smoky spices blended well together and even though you were still chewing, you wanted another bite almost immediately.

Even if you had never tasted this dish before, there was something immediately comforting about it.  The meat was smoked.  The vegetables had likely been dried and reconstituted in the sauce.  The “beans” were actually some kind of grains, soft and fluffy with just the right amount of chewiness.  “That’s very good,” you said. “What is it?”  

“Tiingilar,” Reaper said, watching your face.  “It doesn’t burn too much, I hope.”  

“The seasoning is excellent.  I’m very fond of peppers,” you said, raising a brow.  Was he hoping that it was too much for you?  That seemed a possibility.  You had beaten him in combat, so he was going to compete with you in other ways.  Still, if it meant that he cooked a nice dinner, you wouldn’t take too much offense.    

Reaper just smiled at you.  “You are full of surprises.  The last non-Mandalorian I fed this to accused me of poisoning her.  It was...too hot for her delicate mouth.”  

“She wasn’t as well-traveled as Knight Strike,” 76 said, flipping his skillet and dumping the cake onto a battered metal plate.  “Uj'alayi. It’s a traditional dessert,” he told you, pulling out a combat knife and slicing it into six pieces.  “It can be made in our helmets.  Reaper insisted that I use a pan this time.” He winked. “But I think the helmet adds to the flavor.”

“Interesting,” you said, glancing at Reaper, who just chuckled.  “Should I get-”

“No need! We have tiingilar, uj’alayi, and behot tea.  Plenty of food to go around,”  76 said proudly.  He paused, gesturing to the table.  

“And I have a few extra bottles of kri’gee and narcolethe, if you’re interested,” Reaper said, a little too innocently. “Now I think he is trying to poison me,” you said, because you weren’t an idiot.  Those liquors were very potent.  

“I have some extra ne’tra gal,” 76 said, gesturing to the bottle he had.  “It’s a much nicer ale.”  

“It would go well with the uj’alayi,” Reaper said, setting a bowl of his spicy stew in front of you.  He poured you a mug of tea.  Then he began doling out portions for himself and 76.

76 put a slice of cake in front of you, along with the open bottle of ne’tra gal.

You took a sip of the sticky sweet ale.  It was more potent than you were expecting, but it was Mandalorian alcohol.  You then took a small bite of the dense cake.  It was rich and sticky, filled with dried fruit, nuts, and some kind of sweet syrup.  The syrup had carmelized a little on the outside of the cake, but the inside was almost too sweet, except for the ale that soaked in.   You washed it down with more of the ale.    

76 watched you eagerly.  “What do you think?”

“It’s rich,” you said.  “But the ne’tra gal does go well with it.”

“It was originally army rations – lots of calories for a march,” Reaper said.  “We thought you might enjoy some traditional Mandalorian food.”  

“That was very kind,” you said. “It’s delicious.”  

“Do Jedi have tasty traditional food?”  76 asked.

You sat with that for a moment. “...It’s actually kind of bland,” you sighed.  “Nutritious, but not fancy.  They don’t want us to be “distracted” by such things.”  Back in the day, Theron had smuggled you candies, snack foods, and even alcohol.  You felt a twinge of annoyance.  Back in the day, Theron hadn’t been such an asshole.  “I like trying new things though.  I had to sneak around in Coruscant – make it look like I was only stopping because I needed “sustenance.”  Not because the food stall smelled delicious.”

“We are not encouraged to be easily distracted by food,” Reaper said with a frown.  “But there is no harm in enjoying it.”  

“...Jedi aren’t supposed to “enjoy” things,” you muttered.  “Well, they can, just not…too much.”

“What counts as “too much?” 76 asked, taking a big bite of cake.  

You shrugged.  “That’s a philosopher’s debate.  But we’re meant to focus on denying most temptations.  Want and attachment lead to other negative emotions, which lead to hate, which leads to the Dark Side.  Let me summarize it for you: everything fun leads to the Dark Side.”  You rolled your eyes and took another swig of ale. “Depending on who catches you, that lecture can go on for hours.”

“Enjoying cake leads to becoming a Sith Lord?”  76 chuckled.  “I want to eat more.  Will that get me my own lightsaber?”  

You laughed.  

“Your Order has a real fear of this Dark Side,” Reaper said, sipping his tea.  “It seems a little convenient, like a method of control.”  

“The fear is legitimate, but the safeguards are controversial.”  You took another bite of his spicy stew.  “It’s complicated.”  

“So what happens when a Jedi goes to the Dark Side, becomes dar’jetii? Why is this so dreaded?  I have met the dar’jetii of the Empire.  Some are reasonable.  Many are not.  But they are not Jedi, and they are not so much more fearsome.”  Reaper’s brows furrowed.

“We’ve fought dar’jetii,” 76 said, chest puffed out.  “And we’ve won.  Didn’t get to keep the lightsaber though.  Captain got it.”  He gave you a rueful smile.  

“I assume dar’jetii means “Sith.”  And that’s part of the problem.”  You took another sip of tea, staring at the wall.  “There are two different understandings of the terms.  The political difference is that Jedi are force-sensitives who work for the Republic.  Sith work for the Empire.  It is an overly-simple explanation.” You held the mug between your hands, its warmth comforting.  

“That is how we understand it,” Reaper said.  

“Then you have the philosophical definitions.  There are two sides to the Force, Light and Dark.  The choices you make in life determine your alignment.  There are Imperial Sith, who are fair-minded and compassionate.  Even if they may not follow the Jedi Code, they are of the Light, though it would be unwise of them to advertise that.”

“And there are Jedi who are cruel and bloodthirsty, and they are of the Dark?”  Reaper asked.  “Your Order allows this?”

“No, they do not.  In fact, they are dismissed from the Order, and sometimes they are imprisoned.  Sometimes it is...worse.”  You did not look at them.  

“That seems like a tactical disadvantage,”  76 said.

“...It’s more than that.”  You switched back to the ne’tra gal. “Sometimes singular choices can swing a Light-side Jedi to the opposite end of the spectrum.  They go from honorable, kind, and patient to violent, cruel, and despotic in seconds.  Falling is a sudden kind of madness. Often they turn on their friends and allies, killing the people they swore to protect. Sometimes they recover who they were and regret what was done.  Sometimes they just become monsters.”  

“What causes it? I haven’t heard of Sith having such experiences often.” Reaper asked.  “Do they fear an inverse effect?”

You laughed, imagining that for a moment.  “No, I guess I haven’t heard of a Sith suddenly being filled with an uncontrollable sense of altruism.  At least, not to the same degree.  They may switch sides or work to seek redemption, but these are conscious choices.”

“So what makes Jedi so much easier to influence?” 76 asked.  

“Well, the Sith Code does encourage a certain amount of violence and backstabbing, but that’s the question, isn’t it?  The Jedi Order thinks if we, as individuals, keep our distance from the world, do not get attached to others, and live like ascetics, we can avoid falling.  If we just follow their rules, and live in our cloisters, we will be safe.”  The bitterness of your words surprised you.  

“Is there no middle ground?”

You took another bite of the stew.  “That’s also complicated. Allegedly, there is.”  You thought of the Gray Jedi. “But it is not an explanation accepted within our Order.  I have witnessed people falling.  It is...horrible to see someone you have known your entire life changing into the antithesis of themselves.”

“So if...attachment makes them fall, what brings them back?  Do you appeal to their honor?”  76 asked.

“Maybe,” you said, because you would give a lot to find the answer to that question.  “I think...reminding them what they found to be so important can help.”  You thought of Nomen Karr.  “But sometimes they are just in denial.  They think they are infallible, they think that excuses whatever actions they take, and that accumulation of corruption combined with their own hubris destroys them.”  You sighed.  

“What causes this madness?  The revelation of their own hypocrisies?” Reaper pressed.  

“Force users are...vessels.  The Force runs through us, it is like a constant stream of energy.  That energy can manifest in different ways.  Light Side users have certain powers, Dark Side users have others.  And then there are some abilities that are so rare, it’s hard to say where they come from.  Those are the extremely talented few: I have a friend who can heal broken minds.  But I have no idea how to do such things.  I am just a better-than-average fighter.” You smiled wryly.  “But one of my teachers has a theory.  Jedi spend so long keeping out the Dark, that sometimes, if we lower our guards, if we make an emotional choice toward the Dark, suddenly we have opened ourselves up to an outpouring from it.  Some of us do not know how to cope and that system shock is too much too quickly, and then we swing to the opposite side.”  

“So maybe you should do a few bad things, to keep your mind safe,” Reaper said with a shrug.  “Easy enough.”  

You laughed.  “...maybe.  Or maybe that slow acceptance of corruption just makes it easier to fall.  That’s a high-risk theory for me to try to prove.”  

“So what is an example of how a Jedi falls?” Reaper asked.

You sat there, knowing it wasn’t any of his business, and that you were drinking too much.  But it was not a secret.  And he wasn’t actually asking about your past. “Say you go into battle, and you really hate the person you are fighting.  You have thought long and hard about how they need to die.  You know that it is against everything that your Order has taught you, and you don’t care.  They might want him as a useful prisoner, but even if he surrenders, you are going to kill him.  Or perhaps, you are going to disobey orders – you will pursue him off the battlefield, even if it means leaving your comrades or charges behind.  There are many ways.  But I think it comes down to, you will look at your choices, you will know that what you choose is wrong, and you will do it anyway.”  

Reaper snorted.  “That doesn’t sound evil: foolish and undisciplined maybe.  But killing certain enemies is sensible.”

“But if it throws off your sense of self…”  76 rubbed his chin.  

“That is a problem we do not have to deal with,” Reaper said, brow furrowed.  “Perhaps the cost of sorcery is too high.  Or perhaps Jedi are weak-minded.  Their strictures are too rigid; the conditions they set are unreasonable.”  

“This fear of attachment and strong emotion,” 76 mused.  “How are they as parents?”  

“...Jedi are good caretakers, but not good parents.  Because Jedi are not supposed to marry or have kids, so we usually recruit externally,” you said, trying not to think of Theron.  

Both men blinked.  “What?!”

“We’re warrior monks,” you muttered.  “Or supposed to be.  There are exceptions, but in general, marriage and other romantic attachments are not encouraged.”  

76 and Reaper exchanged meaningful glances.  

You could feel the judgment.  You finished your ale, suddenly wishing for more.  

“So no sex?” 76 asked, his eyes wide.

“...We’re not supposed to,” you said, looking at the table, suddenly embarrassed.  

There was a long moment of silence.  

“But you don’t always do what you’re supposed to, do you?” Reaper asked, his voice warm and amused.  

You bit your lip.  “That’s really not your business.”  

Reaper gave a low laugh.  “I didn’t think so.”  He tilted his head to the side, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.  “There’s no shame in indulging or abstaining.  But something tells me that you’re not the type to shrink away from a challenge.”  

You crossed your arms, staring hard at him.  Did he need another lesson in humility? “What are you trying to say, Reaper?”

“I’m saying, if you choose to indulge, we’re both interested,” he said plainly, and took another bite of his tiingilar. “And if you don’t, we respect that too.”  

You nearly choked on air.  

“But we’re a package deal,” 76 said, his expression uncharacteristically somber.  

“...Wait, are you married?” You asked, because it was easier than processing what Reaper had just offered.

“Promised,” Reaper said, giving 76 an appreciative smile. “But this one has fought at my side for years, and that matters more than any words spoken.”  

76’s cheeks burned pink.  He gave Reaper a warm look.  “Traditionally, we can just say the vows whenever: in person, over comlink, through letters, and it’s done. But our clan wants to be there to witness it and throw a big party, which isn’t exactly traditional – they usually can wait till afterward.”

“But certain clan-members are insisting that they should attend,” Reaper said.

“And if we didn’t make the allowance our sisters and the Captain would never forgive us,” 76 said with a sigh.  “You don’t cross the Captain.”

“And our sisters are unreasonable and very good with their flamethrowers,” Reaper said.  

“Oh,” you said, like it all made perfect sense.  They were about to be married, but they wanted to invite you to their beds?  How did that make any sense?  You groped for words. “That’s lovely.”  

“You could come too,” 76 said.  “There will be plenty of food.”  

“...Uh…” You blinked, not sure how to process the proposition, the wedding invitation, and the entire situation.  

“76 and I take pride in performing well, be it fighting, cooking, or other recreational activities,” Reaper said smoothly.  “If you’re concerned, we’d be happy to give a demonstration.”  He leaned over, one arm around 76’s shoulder.

76 nodded happily. “You can think of it as exercise or stress relief.”

“Or you can just watch, if you like, we don’t mind,” Reaper purred, stroking 76’s hair.  Those thick metal gauntlets tightened into a fist, pulling 76 closer.   Reaper leaned over, pressing a hard kiss to 76’s neck.  

The blonde man moaned.

But Reaper was watching you, those dark eyes glittering.  

“...I should go meditate,” you said, abruptly standing up and retreating from the room.

[the-writings-of-kaos]

The galactic crossing program finality.

It had been a few... rest periods? She wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed, so she asked W.I.N.G her now silently angry Ai. 

Freyith: “Hey uhh, wing?”

W.I.N.G: “What?”

Freyith: “How log have I been on this miner?”

W.I.N.G only sighed into Freyith’s ear piece as she quickly ran diagnostics.

W.I.N.G: “Its only been 4 seret (8.9 hours), and you still have not reconsidered leaving the deathworlders miner.”

Freyith: “Hush, they are doing something.”

W.I.N.G went silent as the deathworlder stopped the miner, stood up from their seat, and simply began to prepare some food stuffs. They had done this before, suddenly open their fang filled maw in a silent if not calming groan of sleepiness, before getting up and preforming some other task. Although they seemed to enjoy preparing different food items to eat every one of their three daily eating periods, they always surprised Freyith with the different confections and roasted succulent meats. This time it had taken out a large packet of freeze dried meat, primitive runes marked onto it with a foal smelling drawing material. It pried open the package and neatly placed the thin strips of fatty meat on a uniquely rectangular devise. It behaved similarly to the food prep surface that mysteriously erupted with heat each time it was needed to heat a meal, instead it needed to be attached to what Freyith originally suspected to be some sort of water dispenser. But it was in actuality a power outlet it seems, for a number of lights on the devise blinked to life as the similar sense of heat began to roil out of the rectangular heating surface. As the deathworlder coated the thin strips of meat with a sweet smelling semi liquid that had come out from a cylindrical container, the heat made the meal sizzle with the all too familiar sound of the deathworlders odd food preparation technique. While the meat cooked, the deathworlder looked to me and gestured to the storage that contained the platters. It had done this before as well, it was a request it seemed. Freyith stood up and retrieved the two platters and handed them to the deathworlder, the deathworlder taking them and serving a generous helping of the thin strips of meat. It had prepared a soft white grain that was place beneath the sweet meat, this one she enjoyed. It didn’t seem to bother her digestive system, and the deathworlder possessed a great deal of it. It didn’t spoil easily, and seemly the deathworlder enjoyed it as much as she did.

The deathworlder handed out the eating utensils, as it had begun to eat its meal. Once it had finished it merely put away the plater and it’s utensils into the cleaner devise, and simply went back to its station. It had done that... three times now... eaten, cleaned, and then back to work. Work periods averaging out at 8 Quib (5 and a half hours), but what did she except. Suddenly, the miner stopped, as the deathworlder tapped on a number of data pads. Suddenly, a massive meteoroid landed off in the distance, it looked as if it would cause a massive creator, and all the work these deathworlders were doing. But... thrusters... and sheets of metal, appeared. The thrusters pushing up from the bottom, and the sheets of metal catching atmosphere from the top. Once the meteoroid landed, the deathworlder for the first time got up from its post without needing to eat. And pulled a sitting station out from the wall, and sat in it. Offering the seat on the back of said sitting station. W.I.N.G: “Freyith, think about this, a massive rock fell out of the sky and that means something to the deathworlder. What if it has just been fattening you up for later this whole time?” Freyith: “Then it would have force fed me that fatty meat. Cmon, it’ll be fine.” Freyith sat down in the seat and allowed the deathworlder to secure her to it, before it got into the forward seat. Metal plates folded out from the wall and surrounded the two of them, and the feeling of falling graced Freyith for a moment, before a comfortable landing followed by a light bouncing up and down. W.I.N.G: “We are on a... ground transport?” Freyith: “It would seem so.” Looking out from a window in the protective plates, Freyith could see the massive miner she had been in all this time with the deathworlder. It was massive, and rather worm like. She could see another terrain vehicle that had folded itself into the side of the miner. And based off of the deathworlders love of symmetry, there was likely two more on the other side. As the transport neared the meteoroid, Freyith could see other similar ground transport vehicles, each one with one or two passengers. The transport stopped, and the plates folded away. Freyith unsecured herself and stood up, slowly. She could noticed the widened, frightened eyes, of the other deathworlders. Her deathworlder seemed to take the lead, standing next to the massive meteoroid. It seemed taller than the miner was long. The other deathworlders seemed to be arguing, but her deathworlder called their attention forward. A taller, stronger looking deathworlder with a darker skin pigment walked to their trans port and pulled from it a large shiny metal weapon. W.I.N.G: “WHY AREN”T YOU RUNNING?” Freyith: “I’ll just fly away at the first sign of trouble, relax.” Her deathworlder took the metal weapon in hand, and brought a remote controlling devise up from their clothing storage pockets. And pressed something on it. A plate of stone on the side of the meteoroid folded away, as a large cylinder extended out of it. It was much larger than the little deathworlder, but despite this her deathworlder ran up to it. Her deathworlder brought up the metal weapon, and brought it down on the end of the cylinder. And the weapon stuck in with a large dent. Her deathworlder made a gesture above his head, before running to the transport. All the other deathworlders did the same, so Freyith quickly secured herself into her seat. As her deathworlder hopped in, the metal plates came over her and it. And sealed with a hum. The transport was moving fast now, Freyith kept her eyes fixed on the meteoroid. The transport reattached itself to the miner, and the plates folded away. The deathworlder jumped up quickly, tapping the data pad a few times as all the room was cover with projections and screens. Thousand of optical eyes fixed on one thing. The meteoroid. Suddenly, it began to... inflate? No it was bursting! The rock folded down, out of the way. Revealing a massive mesh holding thousands of transparent spheres. The mesh began to snap and fall away, as the spheres all rolled into the many rivers the deathworlders had been digging. Her deathworlder was jumping around celebrating, they raced to their pilot helm, the miner drove itself out of the river bed with the help of the deathworlder. And backed up the back end up above the wall of earth, that divided the river bed from the deep lake. And with one ‘thunk’ the wall was gone, the dirt settled, and the spheres began to pop, actually pop! As thousands of units of liquid began to flow down the river, what's more many many tiny water creatures were swimming in the what my implant realized was water! They filled the lake and river! All the rivers were filled with water, as was the lake, and all were filled with thousands of aquatic creatures!  Her deathworlder was celebrating, they looked as though they would burst with excitement. It was happy, so happy. Freyith couldn’t help feeling happy too.

--------

 Over the next few days, Freyith witnessed the first rain to occur on that planet, she witnessed the first plants grow without a greenhouse on the planet, she watched as the deathworlders retrieved the metallic weapon used to set life loose on the planet. And used it to harvest the first trunk of a dying “oak tree”, to grow on that planet. These humans, they changed the world, only a crew of 300 of them there, and 200 more operators back at their home world. And within 2 of there standard year cycles they managed to make that world into an arboreal paradise, they live there in the millions now, only 100 of their standard years cycles later. And in that time they have funded and terraformed 30 other planets. Humans... they change worlds. The adorable changers of worlds. 

And they come in peace. _______ Authors note: Hey everyone, sorry for my late submission, school has started up again and I’ve been shoulder deep in studies. Best of wishes to my fellow authors, prompters, and commenters for their inspiration for this piece.

[killiansprincss]

Could This Be Us?

This is my work for @csjanuaryjoy​ this is my first year taking part and I’m excited to share with you all! I’ve made it my goal to write more this year and this seemed like the best way to do that goal! This is just a cute fluff missing scene that I hope brings you joy!

Also on A03

Summary: set in the few weeks before 4b when everything was clam, Emma and Killian agree to babysit Neal and Emma slowly begins to let down her walls and Killian becomes vulnerable. Pure fluff. Babysitting adventures.

___

Emma was happy. The Snow Queen was gone and Gold was banished to the real world. There was nothing and nobody that could hurt them anymore. They could begin their normal life, well as normal as a town filled with fairytale characters could be. Her parents were Snow White and Prince Charming and her boyfriend was Captain Hook, so it was a little crazy, but for the first time in her life, Emma was truly happy.

She goes downstairs to see her parents cooing over her baby brother. Again, still weird that she was 30 and the same age as her parents, and had a newborn baby brother. Even weirder that he was named after her dead ex boyfriend, but his death did allow them to defeat Zelena. And she couldn’t tell them the horrible things Neal did to her, it would only ruin their sense of hope and belief that everyone could be a hero.

“Morning Kid, want me to drive you to school?” Emma asks her son, as she pours her coffee.

Henry spent 4 days at the Apartment Lot with Emma and his grandparents, and the other 3 days at Regina’s. It was their best attempt at normality, and Henry seemed to like spending time with David, dropping not so subtle hints that he wanted to take up sword fighting lessons.

“It’s okay Mom. I think I’ll walk, Ivy is meeting me early as we’ve got our science project due today so we need to go over everything.” He tells her. He was getting pretty friendly to this Ivy girl, Emma was sure he had his first crush, but wouldn’t say anything in case she ruined anything.

Checking the time and realises she’s late, she takes a final sip of her coffee before saying, “I’ve gotta go. Killian’s helping out at the station today and I’m meeting him at Granny’s for breakfast.” It had become a weekly tradition to meet Killian for breakfast, she was getting him to try everything on the menu, and this week was Pancakes with bacon and maple syrup.

“Wait, Emma before you leave.” David says, picking up Neal from his crib. “We wanted to know if you and Hook would babysit tonight. We haven’t had a night to ourselves in a while.”

Emma smiles, “We would love to. And since when do you approve of Hook babysitting? Does this mean you like him now?”

David rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the smile from his face. Truth is he was warming to the fact that a pirate was dating his daughter, he was a good guy, he cared for Emma and he was proving day by day that he wasn’t the man he was years ago. “He’s still a pirate dating my daughter, so he’s under careful supervision. But if he makes you happy I’m not standing in your way.”

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Morning love.” Killian waits for Emma outside the lot, which he really didn’t have to do seeing as he lives in the room he rents at Granny’s.

She gives him a quick kiss, and takes his hand as they start walking. “So my parents have asked us to babysit my brother tonight. I told them we would, I hope that’s okay.”

Killian gives Emma a worried look. “Just so you know Swan, I know nothing about babies, I’m not so sure how helpful I can be.”

Emma smiles at her boyfriend, he could’ve easily said no, but he didn’t. “That’s okay. I didn’t raise Henry, I also don’t know the first thing about babies, so it’ll be an adventure for both of us.”

Killian was so lucky. He truly was the luckiest man in the universe. He never imagined Emma would be with him in the way that she is. He also never imagine he would help look after her baby brother with her. If Liam could see him now, he hoped he would be proud.

They walk into Granny’s hand and hand and sit down in the booth. Emma orders them both Pancakes with bacon and maple syrup, and waits patiently to see what he thinks of them. She shows him that he has to cut into the fluffy circle stack and pour the syrup all over them, the more syrup the better.

His eyes go wide as he chews and realises it’s delicious. “It’s so sweet. This is breakfast food?”

Emma laughs as she digs into her plate. “Oh yeah it’s breakfast all right. I don’t know what you eat for breakfast in the Enchanted Forest but we have many sweet options in this world.”

“Much better than the things I was eating whilst at sea.” He says as he pours even more syrup onto the pancakes.

“And what was that, Rum and more Rum?” She teases as she takes a bite off her plate.

“Ha-Ha Swan. Contrary to your belief, I did eat actual food as a pirate. Not nearly as sweet as this though, it consisted of dried fruits and nuts, then once we docked into port, we were able to have bread and other fresh pastry delicacies.” He chooses to leave out that in Neverland his diet did consist mainly of Rum and non poisonous fruit from the Island.

Emma smiles. This is what happiness looks like. Watching her pirate boyfriend eating Pancakes for the first time. She could get used to it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

That night, Killian comes over around 6. Her parents had decided to go to a restaurant in town that wasn’t Granny’s, but after constant reminding that Emma had their number to call should anything go wrong. Not that it would. Hopefully.

Emma’s donned her leather jacket for some comfy clothes, leggings and an oversized hoodie, hair in a messy bun. Not her usual sheriff, or saviour look. Killian however is still in his modern leather jacket and jeans, not quite understanding that babysitting would be much easier in comfy clothes.

“Here, put these on.” She tosses him a pair of David’s clothes, sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, hopefully her dad won’t mind, he did say he was liking Hook more and more every day.

“Swan, the clothes in your world are utterly ridiculous.” He says as comes out of the bathroom, looking a lot less like a pirate, and more like a man.

Emma smiles, she had to say he looked good in sweatpants. “Trust me if Neal pukes all over you, it’s a lot easier to get it out of an old t shirt that it would out of leather.”

Killian looked vulnerable. For the first time really. She’d seen him in a lot less clothing before, but she never noticed how vulnerable it makes him look. Underneath all the leather, was a man who had been broken before.

He looks down at his Hook, “do you want me to take this off?”

Emma immediately tells him no. “I don’t see why you should. It’s a part of you, and he’s gonna have to get used to it.”

Killian smiles, the little prince will have to get used to it. Because he’s not going anywhere, he’s sticking around. He will never leave Emma like all those before.

“So where is the Little Prince then?” He asks.

Emma leads him over to the crib in the corner of the room, “Do you want to hold him?”

Emma trusts him. Wholeheartedly. So he agrees to hold the baby.

Neal fusses at first in Killians arms, but he fusses with everyone. He just needs to get used to it.

“Am I doing it okay Swan?” Killian asks as he fusses, but he isn't crying which is a good thing.

“You're doing great.” Emma smiles at him. This was a rare sight, Captain Hook in sweatpants holding a baby. Emma was getting butterflies in her stomach looking at it. She and Killian had been together for a few months now but she could already see a future with him. Being with him was so different than it ever was with Neal, even Walsh, despite it being all fake, was so different to Killian. He never tried to shower her with gifts or presents or big romantic gestures like Walsh. Killian was just there, by her side. And that's all she wanted.

“I think the Little Prince likes me.” Kilian beams as Neal starts laughing at the faces Killian was pulling.

It was scary. Emma was sure she was in love with him. She just couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud. Because as soon as she said them, things would change between them and it would become real. When she told Neal she loved him, he left her. Killian wouldn't leave, she knows that. But it still scares her.

“Oh no. No. Swan. What’s happening, why is the little lad crying?” Killian asks frantically, starting to panic that he was doing something wrong.

“He’s hungry,” Emma tells him, grabbing his bottle from the counter. “This should be warm enough by now.”

Killian takes the bottle and gets Neal to drink.

“You gotta make sure you’re holding his head, it’s sensitive at this age.” Emma says making his arm support her brother's head.

“You’re good at this you know.” He says as she helps him. “How is it you know all this?”

“Just watching my mom do it really. Also, my cursed memories of me raising Henry. Even though it didn’t happen, I remember learning everything from the books. I remember staying up all night when he cried, and learning how to be a mother at barely 18.” She decided to confide in him, she’s never told anyone about her cursed memories, or about her time in prison, but she feels like she can confide in him, tell him anything without being judged.

“I was 17 when I gave birth, cursed or not, I turned 18 a month later and a few weeks after that I was released from prison. It wasn’t my finest moment, but in my cursed memories I had Henry to keep me going. When I woke up and got my memories back, it made me wish I never gave him up. Because those 12 years were the best 12 years of my life.”

It feels good to open up. She’s letting him in slowly, but it feels nice. He doesn’t pry, he doesn’t ask too many questions, he just listens to her.

“After our father abandoned us, Liam practically raised me. I felt empty and hurt, but Liam, he was there even in my darkest days. The best years of my life was when we were in the Navy together, before it all went wrong.”

They were two halves of the same coin, both abandoned and lost everyone they ever cared about. But together they were healing, both themselves and each other.

“I think he likes you!” Emma says wiping her tears away as Neal becomes fascinated with Killian's Hook.

Killian looks down at the little prince in his arms to see him trying to grab his Hook with his tiny little fingers. “Everyone likes me Swan. I’m not surprised your brother does too.”

“I didn’t like you at first.” Emma teases.

“Aye but my charming wits and looks won you over eventually.” He teases back, causing the smile that he loves to see.

It would be so easy in this moment to say the three words. Killian knew it the moment she kissed him back in Neverland, and in the missing year he realised how much he loved her when he thought he’d never see her again. But he knows better. If he said the words right now, it would cause a rift, and maybe cause her to run. So he doesn’t, he will wait for her to say the words first. He’ll wait forever to hear her say it, it doesn’t matter. As long as they’re together.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it Swan!” He speaks too soon as he begins to rock the little prince to sleep, he decides to bring up the contents of his tiny stomach all over Killian.

Emma tries not to laugh, but she can’t help it as laughter fills the lot.

She takes Neal from Killian so he can clean the sick off his shirt, “told you this would be a better idea, imagine trying to get that off your leather vest. There's another one of David shirts on top of the dryer, you can put the dirty shirt in the basket with the other dirty laundry.”

Looking after her baby brother with her 300 year old boyfriend is honestly not even the weirdest thing about her life at the moment. But it’s something that she never thought she would be doing, she was 17 when she gave Henry up and she thought she would never want kids, or even be ready after that. But just seeing how good Killian was with her brother, it got her thinking could she want this life? It wasn’t off the table. A baby with her hair and Killians eyes. Maybe one day.

___

“He won’t stop crying. Why won’t he stop crying?” Emma cries. They had been trying to settle him for almost an hour now and she’s getting tired. If this was a recurring thing then maybe having a baby of her own wasn’t something she wanted. Especially as it was barely 8.30.

“What else can we try?” Killian asks with Neal in his arms trying to send him to sleep by rocking him slowly.

“I don’t suppose you know a lullaby?” Emma asks, half joking, not really expecting him to.

Except he starts to sing, or hum a melody. It’s quiet enough that she can’t hear the lyrics properly, but Neal seems to like it. So much so that it stirs him off to sleep.

Emma’s really impressed. “That doesn’t sound like a sea shanty. Since when does Captain Hook know a lullaby?”

“My mother used to sing it to me and Liam. Before she died that is.” He tells her, putting Neal down slowly into his crib.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don't be, love. It was a long time ago.”

“Can you tell me about her?” She asks.

“I was 5 when she died, Liam was 8. I don’t remember much about her, Liam probably remembers more. But I know she was tough, she wouldn’t have taken my fathers bullshit. She used to sing that to Liam and I every night before we went to sleep. I sang it to myself sometimes on the Jolly in Neverland after Liam died. It comforted me.” He brushes it off as if it’s nothing, similar to how Emma talks about her past. She takes his hand and interweines their fingers as she leads them back to the couch.

“I like hearing stories about your past. About your pre-pirate days. Reminds me you weren’t always cursed.”

She wraps her fingers around his Hook, she’s never been afraid of it. Or afraid of the man attached to the Hook. She can’t help but imagine one day a baby with her hair and his eyes fiddling with his Hook the way her brother did tonight. And that’s scary.

Emma has a way of seeing the good in him, despite his cruel actions she sees beyond it, sees the pain it’s caused him in the past few years as he attempts to better himself. “I certainly was cursed with bad luck but sadly my actions were of my own accord. But I’ll tell you one story of the time Liam and I got caught in a storm at sea. Liam was a Lieutenant at that point and wanted to prove he could handle it, the stubborn arse.”

And so he tells her stories of his time in the Navy. He tells her anything she wants to hear, and he realises this is the first time anyone has really asked about Liam, or his past. The women he spent the night with back in the Enchanted Forest, well they never did much talking. And with Milah, she was focused on forgetting her past so didn’t care much to ask about his.

“I wish you could’ve met him. He would’ve loved you.” It’s nice, speaking about Liam, telling her the stories he hasn’t really ever told anyone-or thought about in centuries.

Snow and Charming return a few hours later, to find their daughter and Hook asleep on the couch, Emma’s head resting on the Pirates chest. Snow smiles at the sight, and even David isn’t appalled at the sight either, appreciating that his daughter is happy. Snow grabs a blanket and covers the two of them.

“Is that my shirt?” David whisper screams at his wife seeing the pirate wearing his clothes.

[ladynightmare913]

Red Rose, Blood Moon

Greetings and welcome to Chapter 13! I apologize for the long wait but, reality got in the way of my story weaving. I have been doing much self-reflecting and I wasn't content with how it portrayed me. But after much deliberation, I decided to change the appearance of my blog until it showed what I felt is my reflection and made me happy. But do not worry, I have returned and links have been updated on the Masterlist.

This is an original story inspired by the tale of Red Riding Hood. As always, I would like to a special thank you to my best friend Olivia (@asunshinepuff ) for joining me in writing this world onto paper.

CW: This chapter contains a brief mention of gore, gruesome descriptions, creatures, fire, and things you can imagine in your nightmares! You have your warning!

This story contains only original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those who want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask to me or Olivia on her blog. If you have any questions, theories, or curiosities about any of our characters or how the story will progress, send them to the ask box!

Now without further Adieu!

Chapter 13: A Burning Night

The group gathered their belongings and traveled to the port of the river. The ferry they managed to secure passage from was not the most pleasant looking. The lumber was mellow and dull. It was fairly large, able to carry a hefty number of passengers, including a few horses.

Felis grumbled as they boarded the boat. Making comments here and there, saying his ship was far superior and making the occasional snarky remark. He would not allow the comparison of his “child” to this wreck of a boat, thank you very much. Who on top of it all, most probably had an inadequate captain. Cassandra simply rolled her eyes each time with a shake of her head, agreeing occasionally with Felis in order to finally get him to stop grumbling.

Rosabella walked behind the bickering couple, ensuring that neither Felis nor Cassandra was lost in the crowd. She would occasionally look behind her, not trusting Red to fade away into the crowd the moment she got distracted. She looked ahead, it made her uneasy, the way he would lag behind, and every time she turned to look at him, he would be looking right back. As if he was rather unimpressed that her consistent need to check on him was an offense.

Still, she supposed, Red still hadn’t made any mention of what occurred in the springs, to which was eternally grateful, she doubted she could live with the embarrassment. She would be mortified if anyone knew. Reluctantly, Rosabella hasn’t omitted to acknowledge that he has been acting like a gentleman about it. Now Rosabella prayed that it would remain that way.

Once they boarded the ship, along with their horses, there were few cabins so Cassandra and Rosabella would share one. Felis and Red would loiter about on deck. The ferry took sail just before the sun began to rise. Felis took to friendly conversation with fellow passengers, trying to get more intel about the missing persons and if anyone else had seen strange creatures. Red took to watching from afar. After getting a few hours of sleep, Cassandra and Rosabella joined the men when meals were offered.

The meal was noisy, but none of the lot weren’t used to it. Picking up a few choice words from the fellow passengers about mysterious figures walking in the woods at night. They would never respond to anyone’s calls.

“The strangest thing about them, I swear is their eyes. Glowing red they were.” One traveler revealed, “Twisted looking things, I bet it be another form of those thirsty bloodsuckers.”

“Do you mean the Night Stalkers?” Rosabella offered. She knew many creatures that feasted on human blood.

“I mean Vampires.” The man corrected gruffly. Unease when she spoke to him with ease. “You don’t suppose they moved into France do you?” he asked the other men.

“Oh, they’re already here.” One man commented. Some men choked on their food. Rosabella thought it best to not say anything. Felis and Cassandra’s silence was answer enough. Red scoffed. Sapphire eyes followed him as he rose from his seat before he left. After the meal, Rosabella searched for Red. She found him leaning against the wall, staring out to the water. She didn’t bother to announce her presence, she knew he would have heard her approaching long before he saw her.

“Will you not sleep?” She asks softly, stepping closer.

“Not if I can help it.” Only his eyes moved to look at her. “I don’t trust others, so I don’t sleep.”

“Surely you don’t doubt that we could keep watch while you slept?” She inquired.

His head tightly towards her, his eyes were scrutinizing her. “Is there something you needed?”

Rosabella did her best not to feel affronted at his shift in tone. She sighed deeply, she extended her arm, his cloak in her hands. “I simply wanted to return this to you.” Though she doubted he needed it, she could feel the heat burning off of him from where she stood.

His gaze relaxed, wordlessly accepting his cloak, and put it on before he carried on looking out to the river.

“And to thank you, for not saying anything about what happened.” She said sincerely, he didn’t say anything in response.

Rosabella placed her hands behind her as she leaned back to the wall. She was a respectable distance away from him. Looking out to the river, they stayed there in silence, and snow began to fall.

“Have you encountered vampires before?” Rosabella spoke gently.

“Yes.” He shifted, crossing a leg over the other.

“When?” She asked.

“Not that many years ago. Contrary to what people believe, vampires are not an old race. They’re new.”

“Really?” Her eyes blinked in bewilderment. “How do you know?”

“I’ve traveled far, I’ve met creatures older than myself. Vampires are young compared to the rest of us.”

She frowned at that. “Most people say they are terrifying, creatures of seduction and immense power.”

“I know of more powerful and terrifying creatures, Vampires are just overgrown mosquitoes. Vampires are entitled children, who play with their food. Get offended when their food supply fights back. ” He chuckled dryly.

“Do they fight you?”

“No, they didn’t stick around long enough to find out. They usually avoid us.” He looked to Rosabella.

“Us?” She leaned forward, her head faced towards him.

“The other old creatures and I. The oldest vampire would only be roughly three hundred years old.”

“I heard of wolves and vampires fighting each other. Is that true?”

“Yes. The vampires have no qualms about fighting any wolf that isn’t me.”

“Sounds like you don’t like them,” Rosabella nodded slowly, looking back to the water, “the other wolves.”

“To be frank, I don’t like anyone. Why would I make them the exception?” He eyed her skeptically.

“Because they are your kin?” She offered with sincere eyes.

“They are not my kin. I want nothing to do with them.” He replied coldly.

Disconcerted, she paused. “I would give anything to have kin,” she leaned back to the wall, her eyes solemn, “It’s the only thing I have ever wanted more than anything in my whole life. To not be alone.”

Red frowned, “What about your grandmother?”

“She adopted me.”

Red said nothing, only gazing down at her with an assessing gaze. “What about your friend Cassandra? She-”

“Will marry Felis. They will have a family. They will want to live their lives, and I will not interfere. Cassandra wouldn’t let me, but it wouldn't be right if I did.” She interrupted, her head turned to look at Red. “And I will be left to my own devices, they would never mean to leave me, but it is to be expected.”

“You sound like you’ve resigned yourself from finding your own pair.” He assessed. “Which is strange for women your age. You seem certain of it.”

“I am. I am something that men would find improper of a wife, and when they learn the truth,” she paused, looking back to the river, “I don't even know what I am. No one knows. I suppose that is why I have been searching for my kin for years, hoping that they would have answers.”

Rosabella looked down. They stayed silent for a long moment, staring out at the river. Red’s lips parted to speak before Rosabella interrupted.

“Goodnight Red.” She stepped away from the wall, walking to her cabin. Nox looked back to Red from his perch on her shoulders, ears perked up. Red stared out to the river. Rosabella went to bed, Nox curled beside her.

A monstrous roar resonated in the chill of the air. A scream. A struggle, and the sound of glass shattering to the ground. Flames spread across the ferry. Rosabella woke to the smell of smoke. Her sapphire eyes wide at the state of their cabin. Cassandra was already out of bed and standing, Lumi clung tightly to Cassandra’s arm as she hurriedly gathered what she could.

Rosabella was quick to her feet, Nox curled tightly on her shoulders, chirping as the women escaped their burning room and froze at the sight of the ship, Rosabella recoiled at the stench of burning flesh and the agonized screams of the ferrymen as they fell into the water. Stricken at the sight of the men, the women pushed themselves to flee. They came across Felis, whose eyes locked onto Cassandra. The pirate rushed spotting them over the sea of panicked passengers and rushed towards them.

“Cassandra!” His frantic eyes, his hand gently cupping her cheek. “Are you alright?”

Cassandra gives a meek smile, eyes softening briefly at the frantic look in his eyes, raising her hand to his on her cheek. “I’m alright. There’s no need to fuss, but we need to go.” Grasping the pirate’s hand, she pulled him along to find a way off this burning ferry.

“Where’s Red?” Rosabella called out as followed the couple.

“I don’t know, I ran to look for you when I saw the flames,” Felis responded.

Rosabella glared at Felis’ head. “You left him alone?!”

“Well excuse me for coming to your aid and leaving a grown man alone for a minute!” Felis replied as he turned a corner.

“And you didn’t think for one moment that leaving the Father of Werewolves to his own devices was a bad idea?!”

“To his own devices?! This wreck of a boat is in flames! I doubt he could do anything in this chaos!” The pirate retorted.

“When this is over, remind me to slap him, Cassandra,” Rosabella said.

Cassandra grinned. “Will do.”

The group turned at the final corner, stopping when their path was blocked by the creatures from back at the hot springs in Mirstone, in flames. Rosabella blanched.

“What are those things?!” Felis sneered at the smell of burning flesh. “They smell like fish vomit.”

“Fish vomit?” Cassandra asked in confusion. Looking back and forth at the burning creatures and the pirate.

“How did they even get on the ferry?” Rosabella muttered to herself.

“Don’t know,” Cassandra grimaced. “I hate that they're on fire, and they reek of dark magic!”

“We should probably abandon ship now,” Red spoke from behind the group. Catching the three off guard.

Rosabella sighed in relief. “Where were you?” She asked as Red walked toward them.

“Helping passengers and horses off.”

“By helping, do you mean throwing them overboard,” Felis interjected.

“Do you recommend they stay on the ferry and burn?” Red glance at the pirate.

“Alright, right now is not the time for this!” Cassandra yelled as she leaned over the railing, frowning. “They took all the lifeboats!”

“Oh great, now what are we going to do?” Felis exclaimed with a slight roll of his eyes.

Red looked at Rosabella. “I really hope you know how to swim.”

“What?” Her brows creased in confusion.

Red moves his arm under Rosabella’s legs and the other supporting her back, then lifts her with ease. Her eyes widened in shock. Red turns quickly and tosses her overboard. Rosabella let out a small yelp as she fell into the freezing water.

Red turned to look at the pirate and sorceress. Cassandra immediately backed away from the wolf.

“Don’t you dare. I’ll throw myself off, thank you.” Cassandra glared as she climbed over the railing, and jumped into the river.

Felis turned to Red. “After you.”

“Ladies first.” Red smirked as he pushed Felis off, Red climbing over just as the creatures reached where they stood.

The group swam until they reached shore, and watched as the ferry sunk below the freezing river.

“It’s f-freezing.” Felis stuttered out as he shivered as he stomped out of the water, his arms crossed as he sat on a log.

“It’s the m-middle of winter, w-what were you e-expecting?!” Cassandra retorted, rubbing her arms as she walked towards the shivering pirate. Lumi swimming close behind her, and shaking off his fur once he reached dry land.

“Cassandra, p-please light a fire.” Rosabella looked at her sister while she soothed the horses that reached the shoreline before they did. Nox curled tightly on her shoulders for warmth.

The sorceress nodded before walking to the log Felis sat on. “Felis, I need your seat.”

“Find your own log.”

“Do you want to warm up or not?” She gave a pointed look.

Felis grumbled as he rose from his seat and watched as Cassandra crouched down, placing her hand above the wood, after a few brief seconds it ignited into bright purple flames.

Red walked out from the river and didn’t stop until he reached the trees.

“Where’s he going?” Rosabella asked her comrades.

“Probably to get away from the horses. They smell.” Felis answered

Gypsy gave an offended nicker. Felis stuck his tongue out.

“Leave him be for now. Handling one man-child is enough.” Cassandra teased, pulling her hand away from the fire as she stood up.

Rosabella sighed, taking a seat next to the burning log, warming her hands and petting Nox’s head. Cassandra sat close to the pirate. Lumi began snarling at Felis, who in turn hissed right back at the little ermine. Rolling her eyes, Cassandra scolds the two, prompting them to behave.

“Are you my fiancé or my child?” Cassandra inquired.

“At this current moment, probably your child.”

They sat in silence for a long while, finally warm and dry. Red still had not returned. The silence ended at the sound of grumbling. Cassandra, Rosabella, and a few horses all turned to look at the pirate.

“... What? I’m hungry. Swimming works up an appetite.” Felis admitted.

“Definitely a child.” Cassandra sighed as she rubbed her temple.

Rosabella smiled softly as she rose to her feet. “While I’ll go find us something to eat, I’ll look for Red.”

“Can we have venison?” Felis asked, Cassandra elbowed him.

Rosabella laughed softly as she walked into the woods. Nox happily trotting behind her. Both woman and sable walked for a long while, finding a few berries and mushrooms that weren’t poisonous. But no deer. Rosabella hummed in thought, she looked down to Nox.

“Well it looks like I’ll have to hunt as a wolf now won’t I?”

Nox gave a chirp, Rosabella accepted it as affirmation. With nothing much left to pick from bushes, Rosabella shifted into a wolf. She was far larger than any of the horses back at the campfire. Nox quickly climbed onto the wolf’s back, and off they went in search of food.

It didn’t take long for the she-wolf to find a wandering stag. Nor did it take long for her to claim her prize. Carrying the dead stag in her jaws, she trotted back to camp. Nox chirping happily on her head.

Nearing the clearing of the forest, Rosabella turned back to her human form but froze when caught Red’s scent. Her eyes darted to the blonde man, who stood beside a large oak tree. There he stood, eyes wide.

“You’re a wolf?”

Tag List: Let me know if you wish to be added!

@waltzintherain @spookypotato @purple-amaranthe

[xyliane]

wild blue yonder

summary: killua had plenty of better ideas for how to spend his eighteenth birthday. a cake a mile high, a day on the town with alluka, maybe even some peace and quiet for once. instead, he’s doing what all zoldycks do: assassination, murder, the works, all at the ass end of the ocean, all because it will tilt the scales of trade just enough in their favor to make a move. he doesn’t have to worry about a blood curse, no matter what his sister says.

notes: think of this less like a fic and more a...preview? I’ve written about 10,000 words of this off and on over the last year or so, and I would love to write more, but [gestures at the world] [pokes at the smoldering remnants of my dissertation]. yeah. so, as special thanks to @trashsketch and @thehuntyhunties, here’s a first draft of the first bit of cursed prince (which, knowing me, will get a wholesale rewrite of the first section at least cuz lol worldbuilding). T (blood and killua’s mouth), pre-killugon; ft: mito, the zoldycks, ikalgo, and did I mention the blood. 4900 words. (title is not the final title, but swiped hastily from the third track of “the horror and the wild”)

notes pt 2: @trashsketch DREW THIS FOR THIS AU aaaaaaa

---

Alluka’s eyes turn black over dinner three weeks before Killua’s eighteenth birthday, and he has to shove half a bread roll into his mouth to avoid making any noise. If he’s lucky, no one else will notice. If Alluka’s lucky, Nanika won’t say anything, will stare at Killua for a few minutes before slipping back into the recesses of his sister’s mind. If they’re both lucky, they can return to their meals and continue ignoring whatever Mom and Illumi are discussing about the southern trade routes, in tones just barely not argumentative. If Killua’s lucky, he won’t have to kill anyone in the next month.

Of course, the Zoldyck family has never owed its success to luck. They have skill, and intelligence, and a massive fortune. They have a town full of merchants and spies at the base of Kukuroo Mountain, centuries of debts of money and life tying the people to the family. They have, Silva Zoldyck is fond of noting, family. And family is paramount.

Even more than that, though, they have Nanika. They have information, dropped right into their minds. All it costs is a bit of death, the risk of death or curse or worse if they don’t do what she suggests. Just that, and Killua’s little sister.

The family thinks it’s worth the price, so they have to deal with it for now. Killua’s his father’s successor to their mountains of gold and death. He’ll change it. He’s promised Alluka.

“Mom, look,” Milluki says. Killua swallows a curse.

A smile stretches across Kikyo Zoldyck’s face, as full of empty pleasure as the black visor stretched over her eyes. “Well. This is convenient.” She turns to Illumi. “Shall we see what to do about our mercantile issues in the South Sea?”

Illumi frowns. “If you must,” he says, and looks expectantly at Killua. “Kil? Take care of it.”

“Alluka’s not an it. And it’s not my turn.”

Mom sighs melodramatically. “Kil,” she says. 

“Mom,” he says in the exact same tone.

Father, who’s spent most of dinner silent, snorts a chuckle. When Killua turns to him, he gets a firm nod, bright glimmer in his pale blue eyes. “Go on, Kil,” he says, voice rumbling. “Ask after the block in trade. Best do it now, before the thing in your sibling chooses otherwise.”

Killua nods once, and turns to his sister. She is still staring at him—Nanika is still staring, black eyes blank and a strange little smile on her face. 

“Nanika,” he says, voice steady. 

Her smile widens. Killua, she says, her voice an echo between his ears. No one else hears. I love Killua.

I love you too, he thinks back, and hopes that she can hear. “Nanika, how do we open up trade in the South Seas to benefit the Kingdom of Padokea?”

“And the Zoldycks,” Milluki says, a sneer in his voice.

“We are Padokea,” Mom says, and sneers right back. 

Nevertheless, Killua grits his teeth and adds, “And the Zoldyck family.”

Maybe this time will be different. Maybe she’ll give them a corporation, or an abandoned island full of pirates. Pirates would be fun. Or maybe nothing will happen, and Killua will be able to turn eighteen without being halfway across the world burying a sword into someone’s back. He can take Alluka to town, sneak her out the back while the butlers aren’t looking. It’ll only be for a day, and he’ll be with her. 

Nanika opens Alluka’s mouth.

Dammit, is all Killua manages to think, before the vision slams into him.

        red 

    is all he gets at first, and he thinks that maybe this time, he won’t be the center of this vision. Maybe Milluki will get one and have to get off the mountain for the first time all year. Maybe even Illumi will stop hovering, conspicuously leaving profiles of eligible bachelorettes for Mom to coo over and Killua to ignore. But the table turns red and Killua sees

                red ocean

    red hair green (brown) eyes

                red lips

            red stains on pale  skin

red flower in black (white) hair

red scars on dark stars  

                red waters overflowing

                           red death under red sails

        red blood

    red

red red

    red red red red red reD RED

The vision releases him, and Killua barely manages to catch himself before he pitches face-first into the soup. Even after the fact, his senses are swimming in blood, enough that he can practically taste it. One of these days, he’s going to learn how to live with it. The rest of his family does.

“Kil, where are you going?” Illumi asks.

So much for his birthday plans. “Where do you think,” he says. 

“Kil,” Mom says again, and he rolls his eyes.

“The ass end of the ocean, I think,” Killua says, and ignores his mother’s affronted gasp as he starts in on the rest of his dinner. It tastes chalky under the blood. “I’ve got a month to kill the queen of Whale Island.”

“Isn’t that the place with the magic storms and the cursed pirates?” Milluki says.

“You can’t use magic to control storms, idiot,” Kalluto mutters, just loud enough for Killua to hear.

“The cost?” Illumi asks.

Killua shrugs. “Blood curse. Nothing new.”

Nanika always exchanges her information for curses. Illumi and Kalluto have messed up before and come back with numb limbs or empty eyes, consequences for having failed within the time limit. But those curses are simpler things. Killua gets the blood curse, every single time.

He loves his sister, and he’s grown to love Nanika, in her own way. But he doesn’t need the extra pressure.

Father claps a hand on Killua’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kil. We will celebrate your birthday when you get home from the ass end of the ocean.”

Mom makes a scandalized noise and Killua smiles, pride radiating out from where Father’s hand rests against his shoulder. It makes him stand taller, almost as tall as Illumi. Never as tall as Silva Zoldyck. No one is that tall.

Behind him, Alluka stirs listlessly, blue eyes foggy. Once Father’s grip lifts from him, Killua reaches over to grab her hand, squeezing in whatever comfort he can. She tries to smile back. No one else notices. “Be careful, Brother,” she mutters. “Blood stains.”

————————————

It takes the better part of three weeks to get to Whale Island. Killua could have taken a cabin in one of the spice merchant’s galleon and been there in half a month. But that would be easy. Zoldycks do their job well, and well doesn’t mean easy. The first ship out of Dentora was only a week, but from there it was a schooner to a sailboat to three days on a blasted fishing dinghy for the last few islands. The sailors had laughed at him when he’d said where he was going. At least the food’s been good, because he’s going to turn eighteen out here in the gods-forgotten nowhere. He’d hate to come home and tell Alluka there had been nothing good out here.

For all that they’re in the middle of nowhere, the Whale Island port is almost impressive. If a place could be valued solely on the number of colors, Whale Island would be the richest port on earth. The ships alone are every shade imaginable, the height of summer trade filling each dock to overflowing. Purple sails from Kakin, greens and yellows from Lukso, the ostentatiously huge gilded galleons out of Yorknew. Even austere blacks and whites from Padokea, sticking out of the rainbow forest like snow-blistered icebergs. It makes him feel like home, almost. He’ll catch one of them off the island as soon as he’s done. Father will make sure they’re fairly compensated for leaving ahead of schedule. And sprinkled throughout are the collection of Whale Island’s mercantile armada, with no set color or design other than a bright circle of orange-gold, open at one end.

The port itself bustles with life, as diverse as the ships in harbor. It lacks the size or height of trade centers on the mainland, or even other islands like Balsa’s landmass-spanning city. But it makes up for it in smells, and shapes, and the honest smiles on merchants’ faces even as they fleece their customers for every extra cent. Out here, there’s no option but the port. They smile at Killua all the same.

Killua’s assassinations usually take a little more finesse—a Zoldyck is a threat, and he’s dyed his hair more than once to vanish into a crowd. But here, Killua’s pale skin and travel-stained dark clothing doesn’t even stick out, so long as he keeps his white hair tucked under a thin hood. No one even looks twice at the sword on his hip or the knives weighing down his boots, not with how everyone else seems to be armed. It’s almost relaxing. He can drift into the forest, kill the queen, and drift back out again, catching a ship out of port before anyone is the wiser. 

Maybe this is a pirate nest, and no one thought to tell Killua…?

“Hey, traveler! You come in recently?”

Killua turns and is blasted in the face with the smell of fried fish. Behind a grill covered in pans and fish, a short round man with reddish skin and beady eyes waggles his thick eyebrows, a shock of black beneath a bald head. As he does, his arms dart back and forth between tasks, juggling fire and vegetables and pots as though he has extra arms. It’s kind of hilarious, and Killua doesn’t restrain a laugh.

The man grins back, obviously pleased. “Yeah, not exactly the easiest, getting all the way out here,” he says. “Sit down, look over the grill, tell me what you want.”

“That’s okay, I don’t—” Killua starts to protest, when another man reaches around the cook and drops an assortment of things off the grill and onto a plate. Well, a young man, not much older than Killua, with thick black hair woven back into a single braid trailing halfway down his back. Freckled brown skin is clearly visible beneath an open green vest woven through with gold thread. It would look almost princely, if it weren’t covered in oil and fish guts, and worn almost to the point of being transparent. 

The young man hands the plate to Killua with a conspiratorial light in his bright brown eyes. “You should eat,” he says, and his voice is tinged with Whale Island’s rich accent—thick vowels, rolling syllables. It’s musical, in a way Killua wouldn’t have expected.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until the man pushes the plate more insistently at him. Killua shakes his head. He doesn’t want to stay any longer than he has to. He can’t get too close. “I’m not—”

“It’s on the house.”

“It is not!” the chef says, and thwaps the young man across the back of his head with a stack of napkins. “I have a business to run, and the shipping season don’t last all year.”

“Sorry, Ikalgo,” the young man says, an apologetic grin on his face. It doesn’t stop the chef’s rant, loud enough that it attracts the attention of the bread maker next door, who begins to cackle in amusement. The young man does his best to weather the shouting, only occasionally interjecting that he’s been working here for only a few days, that he’ll pay the difference, he promises. But when he catches Killua’s eye, he winks, as though this is all some great game and no one else has caught on yet.

Killua feels his cheeks heat up. Rather than worry about that, he shoves a skewer of fish into his mouth, and then he forgets about the rest because blessed gods that’s good. There’s spice in here he’s never even smelled before, mixed with something sweet that makes it even hotter than it should be.

The chef’s winding down by the time Killua’s finished, his assistant as apologetic as ever. They both notice Killua’s empty plate at the same time. The chef even seems impressed. “This ain’t your first time on the Islands, eh?”

Killua shrugs rather than answer. No wonder Mom is so invested in taking control of this route, if the spices pack this much of a punch. The investors in Padokea are probably salivating at the possibility of owning even a fraction of the trade. “The food’s really good,” he says instead, and the chef lights up.

“Ikalgo’s got the best seafood on Whale Island,” the young man says. “How long are you here for? Palm’s got great pastries, and she’s right next door.”

If the pastries are even close to as good as the fish, Killua might be convinced to stay here forever. But he can’t. This is why Illumi always tells him to never talk to anyone, not more than he needs to. It’s too easy to fall into conversation, to get attached. When his only job is to destroy the lodestone of a city, or a kingdom, or an island, he can’t afford any distractions. Not even cute boys offering him pastries with big brown eyes. 

The assistant seems to sense Killua’s hesitation, and his grin dims a little. But before either of them can say anything else, the chef yanks on his thick black braid and snaps, “You still have another three hours here!”

“But Ikalgo—”

“After last time, you owe me!”

“Even Palm didn’t ask,” the young man whines.

“Palm didn’t lose her entire storefront to a flashflood.”

Killua can’t stick around. He grabs his bag, heavy with travel supplies, and turns to face the edges of the market. The trail leads up and away into the jungle. Theoretically, the queen’s mansion should be somewhere up there. But where…

Well, maybe it can’t hurt to ask one more question.

“Do you know who might know where the queen of Whale Island lives?” he asks, not expecting commoners to know the answer. 

But the chef and his assistant shrug. “Ask anyone,” the young man says. “Anyone knows.”

“Anyone from the Island knows,” Ikalgo clarifies. “Her house is up at the end of the path, bout forty-five minutes into the jungle. Can’t miss it.”

Killua blinks. “Can anyone…go?”

The young man shrugs again. “Sure. If you wait a bit, I can—”

“What part of three hours do you not understand?”

“But he—”

“I’ll be fine,” Killua says, and nods politely. The chef and his assistant wave goodbye, and go back to bickering. Out of the corner of his eye, Killua can see the chef getting back to food prep, even as the young man grabs plates and napkins for other customers. He should feel bad that this is all going to ruin. Not immediately, sure. But without a ruler, most places fall apart. And if it falls apart, even for a little while, it’s long enough for Padokeans to set up shop, to reclaim the trade routes and caches of power that they want.

Maybe Whale Island will do okay in the end. Or maybe not. It’s not Killua’s problem.

Too bad, though. The food was good.

The queen’s house is indeed right up the road. Killua makes it within sight of the low walls outside the complex before ducking into the trees, not willing to risk a frontal assault on his own. As friendly as the Islanders seem to be, especially the assistant, the amount of armed fighters and sailors could be a problem. Once Killua finds a good rock, too heavy for a normal person to lift, he swaps his traveling clothes for proper Zoldyck gear: black trousers, an armored black jacket, silver-grey gloves. His sword is sheathed against his hip, and his boot knives are supplemented by another blade at the small of his back. He stashes all of his earrings but one, a sapphire stud Alluka had given him for his sixteenth birthday. She’d said it was for luck. But Zoldycks don’t have luck.

Killua keeps it anyways. Maybe he’ll be lucky this time.

Killua wants to finish this quick and quiet, on the small chance that the young man from the fish grill gets off work and comes up the path. By the time the chaos sets, he should be on the ship and halfway out to sea. Even the fastest ships won’t be able to catch him.

He climbs up the back wall, peering into what looks like a vegetable garden behind a modest two-story building. Killua recognizes about half of the herbs—most of them are useful as poisons, and a few are normally grown in the middle of a forest. None of them have any business being behind a queen’s home. Then again, the building would barely qualify as a merchant’s house in many kingdoms, well-constructed as it is. It’s the color of the sky and thatched neatly, signs of old storms and hard winter winds in the occasional cracked paint. The back door is a solid dark wood, and the window on the second floor is open to the sky. There’s no sign of any caretakers or guards, not even footsteps. The only sound is a quiet hum of a woman’s voice, wafting gently down from the open window.

It can’t be this easy. But part of Killua doesn’t mind. At least this time, the only person he’ll have to kill is the one he has to. No lying, no backstabbing. 

And he can go home without risking a blood curse, and celebrate his birthday in peace.

He still takes his time sneaking across the garden, boots falling silently as he steps through the shadows of the house. Taking a chance that nothing in this building is locked, he carefully presses open a window on the ground floor and drops into what looks like a large kitchen. A massive slab of wood serves as a table down the center of the room, with a collection of beautifully carved chairs arranged around it. The smell of herbs permeates the whole room, sinking into the wood and floors. 

There’s still no one in sight. 

There’s still only the woman’s humming filling the air with gentle wordless noise.

It’s too easy. It has to be.

Killua draws his sword as he creeps up the stairs, following the sound of the woman’s voice. He’ll know the queen when he sees her—Nanika’s visions have a habit of sticking, permanently, or at least until the job is done. Like how he knows the humming is the queen, even though he’s never heard her voice before today. How when he peers around the corner, he knows that the queen is the woman humming over a pile of papers. Her bright orange hair is swept back from her forehead, a simple braid circling her head where a ring made of silver and onyx rests on Silva Zoldyck’s. 

The humming stops. “You can stop creeping around my house and tell me why you’re here,” the queen says without looking up from her work. “If you want to petition for the Padokean spice merchants to stay another week, you’ll need to take it up with the portmaster.”

Killua doesn’t say anything. His grip on his hilt tightens for a moment, before relaxing. 

The queen flips over the page and starts on the next. “Also, no, I am not interested in selling port space, either. Tell your king he can rent like everyone else.”

Killua takes a final step into the doorway, and lunges, his sword lightning fast.

But the queen whirls, nearly as fast as Killua, and catches his strike on a short wavy blade of her own. Her snarl sparks with furious challenge. “And if you’re here to kill me,” she says, “you’d better try harder than that.”

Killua bounces back, narrowly avoiding the sweep of her knife. The queen is unarmored, but  holds the blade at her side, other arm lifted in well-practiced defense. Rather than wait for Killua to strike again, she darts forward, bare fist blurring in a fury as she tries to strike Killua’s solar plexus. But Killua is faster, and he catches her strike on his forearm, brushing it aside. She snarls even as she stumbles back, leaving herself open for Killua to strike again. This time, when she catches his blade on her knife, she almost doesn’t make it, only barely managing to slide out from beneath Killua’s strike. But her bare foot lashes out, catching him on the knee, and he feels the joint crumple.

She scoffs. “You’re not the first person to try to assassinate me,” she says. “Tell me who sent you, and I’ll send you home.”

Killua responds by punching her in the stomach with his hilted fist. 

To the queen’s credit, she keeps her knife up, enough that she manages to slash him across his forearm. The wavy blade cuts deep and sharp right through his jacket, leaving behind a wide erratic slice. Killua ignores the pain and raises his blade.

She glares up at him furiously, bright brown eyes wide and not scared at all. They look familiar. In fact, they look like—

They look like the young man from the market.

The chef, his assistant, everyone else, is going to lose their queen. 

Don’t get attached, Illumi commands in the back of his head, and Killua shakes the hesitation out of his limbs just in time to block the queen’s jab right at his heart. He catches her wrist with his bare hand, wrenching it out of place until she can’t hold on anymore. The wavy knife goes clattering away across the floorboards, out of sight and out of reach. 

She kicks him in the side again, shit, and Killua throws her to the ground. The back of her head thuds against the wood floor, and she crumples with a pained noise, trying and failing to get back up again.

If Killua moves now, he’ll kill her. 

This time, he won’t miss. 

The queen starts to move, and Killua brings the blade down in a single brutal strike.

Blood always smells the same—metallic and warm, life draining out in flows of red. Killua hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes when he struck, but he feels the splash of blood across his face, sinking through the open slice on his sleeve and through the skin of his gloves. Messy. Father would be disappointed. It’s better if it’s quick, and clean, and no one fights back, and no one is gasping shakily on the floor—

He opens his eyes.

The queen lies at his feet, still alive. She has a hazy, almost drunken grin on her face, and her arm is still raised from where it connected with Killua’s sword, blood flowing freely from its stump. Her dismembered hand lies just out of reach. And she’s laughing.

“You should have killed me,” she says. A gust of wind blows up from the ocean, curling around her, almost as wild as her eyes. Outside, a massive storm darkens the sky, clouds near-black and crackling with energy. The air tastes of lightning, and thunder, and danger, and sudden fear jolts down Killua’s spine. 

What had Milluki said? Cursed storms and magic pirates?

Killua’s eyes widen. “What—”

“I said,” the queen says, and her voice reverberates in the stormwall. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

She lifts her hand and spits a word, and a wind like a hand bellows up the stairs and throws Killua out the window.

He lands heavily in the garden, nostrils filling with herbs, bouncing once and hitting the building’s wall. At least the ground’s soft. But he dropped his sword somewhere between the second story and the dirt, and he does not have time to look for it before the storm hits. It whirls around the sky, a cyclone of pitch-black clouds centered right over the house. If Killua didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was only on the house, dropping almost to the ground as though trapping him in the eye of a storm.

He clamors over the wall, bad knee jolting with pain and a little voice screaming at him to run, just in time for a wall of rain to come crashing down between him and the jungle.

Stepping out of the rain, as though made from stormclouds and landslides, is the young man from the seafood shop. But instead of a stack of plates, he holds a brutally sharp sabre, blade short and thick and slightly curved up from its guard.

He takes in Killua, waterlogged and covered in blood, and his bright brown eyes go wide. “You’re—” he starts, and then his expression narrows with fury. “It would have been easier if you’d tried to kill me in town.”

“Why would I do that?” Killua says. “I’m only here for the queen, not an assistant fish fry.”

The young man grins with all of his teeth, any amusement from earlier washed away by unrestrained anger. “I’m Gon Freecss,” he says. “You tried to kill my mom.”

He’s the prince. In about the stupidest response Killua could have, he tries to rub some of the queen’s blood out of his eyes. But it doesn’t budge. If anything, the rain is making it worse, seeping into his face and clothes in a bright red tattoo, making his skin crawl. 

Blood curse, Nanika had promised. It was always a blood curse.

Shit shit shit gods fucking shit. For all Killua knew, the blood was going to kill him from the inside out. 

“I don’t care about who’s next in line,” he says, and takes half a step towards the storm wall. He had to get out, had to get home, or else— 

“You should care,” the prince of Whale Island says. “Because if you’d killed me first, the storm wouldn’t have come for you.”

Killua barely has time to draw his knives before Freecss is on him.

Maybe it’s the panic worming its way out of Killua’s stomach, or the sharp pain in his knee, or the blood curse scratching at his face. Maybe it’s the resolute fury in Freecss’s eyes. Either way, the prince moves nearly as fast as Killua, hacking at the assassin with brutal short slashes. Killua manages to block all of them, barely, boots slipping in the torrential mud. The prince is good enough to make Killua work if he was in good condition, and between the rain and the blood and the knee, they’re all but equally matched. 

Killua finally blocks a blow and shoves Freecss back, the prince leaving himself open. Killua presses his advantage in height and speed by kneeing the other man in the chest. Freecss coughs out a pained curse, and he tumbles back, mud covering his skin and his long braid. Killua follows, slashing out half-blind with his knives, and he feels his blades connect as the prince bounces away. Another splash of blood, this time on a bare hand. This time, Killua feels it sink in, painting his pale skin the color of rust.

Freecss has a slash on his cheek and shoulder, Killua’s wild strike having gotten him on bare skin. The weight of the blade also caught the prince’s braid, which droops tangled and waterlogged across his brown face, half-covering his eyes. Freecss curses again, something foul, and simply slices his sword through his hair. The rest of his braid lands in the mud with a heavy thump.

The prince wipes a streak of blood off his face, not seeming to care that the wound continues to flow freely. “I’m going to kill you,” he says, voice low as thunder.

Killua has fought soldiers and mercenaries and assassins, from the weakest to the most skilled. He’s been tired, fought for hours in the snow and sleet, wherever Father has asked. He’s fought with half the bones in his hand broken, with his legs immobilized by ice. But then, he’d been ready. He’d known what to expect. He hadn’t been fighting a storm at the same time he was fighting a prince. Freecss presses ceaselessly, forcing Killua back until his foot hits the wall around the queen’s home. The prince’s home. He can’t go any further back.

The prince’s eyes glint in the storm, and he slashes the sabre across Killua’s front. 

And Killua’s leg slips out from under him.

The mud carries him stumbling out of range of the prince’s slash, but also costs him one of his knives. Killua staggers to his feet, trying in vain to rub the blood off his face. All he gets is mud, and rain, and more blood. A callous on his hand must have ripped in the fight.

Oh. And his jacket is cut open across his front. Distantly, he can feel blood dribbling down his chest, starting at the shoulder and cutting towards his side. That should hurt more than it does. Even his leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore, a dull throb beneath the rain.

He’s tired.

Freecss snarls—just like his aunt, a small part of Killua notices—and slices the sabre straight down through the air. 

Static gathers in the air, bright and sharp, and Killua realizes he’s going to die.

“Sorry, Alluka,” he says. The words are lost under the wind and rain.

Then Killua is struck by lightning.

And everything is white.

[northcarolinanative]

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝟾)

Chapter 8: “Code 45759 JJ” 

A/N:  Okay I hope this chapter makes sense, like I said before my knowledge of the boats and ferry systems are very limited haha. Thank you all for all the wonderful support!! I actually feel like the fic is starting to pick up speed. I hope it doesn’t come across rushed, which is why I am a little worried about this chapter. Please let me know what you think! or any other requests, either for this story line or something else! :) 

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. Her and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to catch up? Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch.6 / Ch.7

JJ was the first to break the silence that had built between us. “Let’s go for a swim?”

“JJ what? I’m not even in my bat–” I couldn’t even make out my sentence before I was pulled into the cold water. I slowly kicked myself back up to the surface of the water. I wiped my eyes off to see JJ beside me. He came up in front of me, both of us kicking to stay up. We held onto one another loosely for support. Once again, close enough for me to realize. “JJ what the hell?” I said. I started to feel my clothes sticking to me in that uncomfortable way. 

“You did say that you came out here to cool off right?” He laughed. I splashed him laying back on my back just floating. It was nice, being able to look up at the few white clouds in the sky. JJ followed suit, laying back and just staring up at the clouds. 

He lifted his hand up to point at a cloud, just over a tree, “That one there he started.” I looked up to where he was pointing. “Looks kinda like a bong.” He caught me off guard, causing me to laugh. When I did I submerged my head in the water, sucking up water. I came back up coughing out the salty water. “What?” JJ just looked at me. 

“Seriously? A Bong?” I raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” He shrugged. “Maybe I just wanna smoke.” He laughed looking down the shore. “I’ve got an idea.” 

“Oh no” 

“The last one to Old Man Jones dock cooks dinner.” I rolled my eyes as he started counting. “One. Two.” I took a deep breath. “Three.” We both took off down the shore. I dove quickly underwater trying to gain a little foot ahead. I may not have been on the island all year, but mom and dad made sure that John B and I knew how to handle ourselves in the water. I resurfaced and took a breath of air before going back into the water. JJ was right to my left, and I was too competitive to let him win. I pushed in a little more effort trying to out swim him. I looked up and dove back down, realizing we were only feet from the dock. I reach up grabbing the edge and pulling myself up. One I was holding the edge for support I saw JJ surface and grab the dock. We were both a little out of breath. Taking a moment to catch our breaths and relax. The sun was directly over us, helping to warm the water. 

“You’ve been gone for like over half a year,” JJ said, still catching his breath. “On the mainland no less. How did you beat me? It was witchcraft wasn’t it?” 

I laughed. “Oh you caught me! Burn me at the stake” I joked. “So what’s for dinner Chef J?” I smiled, beginning to swim lazily back to the house. JJ followed after me. 

“Hmmm. I was thinking of pizza maybe?” 

“I thought the deal was to cook?” 

“I don’t think you want that Y/N” I laughed at his comment, knowing full well JJ was actually a decent cook if he tried. “Plus if we're gonna be up all night looking at the maps again we’re gonna need brain food.” 

“Right, pizza, brain food” I laughed with him. I turned to float on my back, shutting my eyes from the harsh sun. “So what happens if we find a lead, like a ship that went through? What do we do then?” I had not thought that far ahead. 

“We track them down,” JJ said. 

“How do we do that?” 

“That’s all on you Nancy Drew. What if we go to the ports? Call the captains and ask questions?” 

“Yea, uhu JJ. We can do that.” I laughed. “Maybe look at new reports. If it is another country, the police might not have those on their radar yet. Check out that place however we can.”

We had finally reached the dock, making our way to the house to dry off. JJ went into the bathroom to change, while I went into John B’s. Every time I went into his room it was like a punch in the gut. The air was thick and hard to breathe. After what Kie said, it feels like JJ and I are the only ones that believe he’s still alive, which sucks. I feel like we can’t do this, just JJ and I. We’re both so irresponsible and here on our own, how are we going to pull this off? I pulled my new dry shirt on over my head. Hanging the wet clothes over the railing on the bed frame. I turned, walking out the door to find JJ on the landline phone. 

“Yes that’s two cheese pizzas, with half the sauce.” He looked over at me sending a wink my way. It made my cheeks turn red. I started grabbing the papers and maps from the bin on the counter and settling into the barstool beside JJ. 

“Half the sauce?” I questioned. 

“I know how you always try to take the sauce off of your pizza” He chuckled. “So I figured I’d save you from looking foolish around here.” He moved to grab one of the papers from the table and the third map. The map from the day after the storm. My heart was beating quickly. I could not believe that JJ remembered how I liked my pizza. 

“You remember that?” 

“Kinda hard to forget Y/N. It’s weird.” I pushed against his shoulder pretending to be hurt by his statement. 

I took the sheet that had all the boat listings. “What time did they..” I stopped. It set in JJ was there when they told him about John B. He was there, with the other pogues, he didn’t have someone to gently guide him into the idea like you did. It was just in the open for him. 

“What time did what?” JJ said breaking me from my thoughts. I looked at him. I could feel the worry in my glance, but he seemed to be oblivious, or ignore it. 

I cleared my throat. “What time did they say that they lost them?” 

“Oh umm. I have no idea honestly. I mean, when I got in the car with the Heywards it was like almost one A.M?” 

“Alright. Then we’ll start at 00:00 and move from there.” 

JJ and I were deep into marking up the map, to where the Phantom was found, could have drifted, and the radius they might have swam to. There were lines everywhere, annotations at different times. Lines that went right over where the boat was but were way too late in the day. When the pizza got there, I beat JJ to the door, quickly paying for the pizza. 

I walked in carrying the box to see JJ tracing a line down the page with his finger, and the silver Juul hanging from his mouth. He looked up. “I thought I was cooking dinner” 

“Ah I changed my mind, you did buy us groceries” I ruffled up his hair, setting the pizza box on the stove. I grabbed a piece from the box. I took the Juul from his mouth and handed him the slice of pizza. I took a hit from the Juul, feeling the familiar effect of the nicotine before sitting down on the map and grabbing myself a slice. 

-- 

I lifted my head from my hands and looked at the clock on the microwave. 2:30 am. JJ and I had been looking at the map for so long that my eyes were burning. We had since finished the pizza, smoked a joint, and a line of beer bottles was forming along the wall. 

“What stamp time are we at?” I asked JJ as he crossed another ocean liner path off of our list. 

“8:02”. I let out a frustrated groan. 

“Okay only one more hour then we can get some rest.” JJ smiled at me and rubbed my shoulder. Over the last few hours we decided that we had to start moving quickly if we were going to actually find them. We realized that things were more time-sensitive than they seemed before. 

“Okay next one,” I said, gripping the map. 

“This one is a Cargo ship, smaller, it left from Port of Wilmington Delaware, and crossed into the NC Atlantic at 5:45. The trail is a solid purple line, Code 45752” 

I squinted at the map, all the numbers starting to run together. I found a purple line leaving the side of Delaware reading 45752. “Here, I’ve got it.” I used my finger to trace the boat’s path down the coast for a bit, then out to sea, then coming toward the banks. I followed it till it hit a sharp turn toward land. It came right to the Phantom wreck, then turned a right angle back down the coast. “Code 45759 JJ” I said tapping at the point, scared that if I looked away it would disappear. “JJ what does it say?” I said urgency in my voice. 

“All it says is ‘detour’,” JJ said, looking at me with a confused look. “They probably just weren't watching the boat and got off course.” 

“Look at this J,” I said, still tapping on the spot. I began to trace. The boat’s line “Here they are going down the coast, following the same path that literally every other damn boat we have looked at did.” I reached the turning point. “But here they turn here and go towards the island.” I stopped, tapping on the gold star that we had put where the Phantom was found. Then turn back course right here, at the wreck of the Phantom. I looked up to see JJ looking at the map intently. “Then here they stop, then continue. Something caught their attention in the water, the wreck. What is the time stamp for those two marks?” 

JJ rushed to grab the paper, tracing his finger along the line of stamps. “Uhhh. It’s 7:56 and 8:32.”

“That’s too long for them to be on that tiny strip for it to just be an unmanned ship.” I felt the hot tears start to fall from my eyes. I didn’t even mind, because this time they were tears of joy, tears of hope, we had something.

“He did it, he got out.” was all JJ said. 

“It is the only one who turned this way, had any weird activity. JJ this has to be it. It has to be.” 

“John B and Sarah are alive,” JJ said. I could see tears on the brim of his eyes. 

“Holy shit J” We both stood up. JJ put hands on either side of my face and connected his lips to mine. I was frozen at first but quickly began to kiss him back. It was brief, but I felt a spark as he pulled me closer to him. 

He pulled away, still holding my face in both hands “You, Y/N Routledge, are a damn genius.” 

“We really did it J. We found something.” He started to wipe the tears off of my cheeks with his thumbs, both of us smiling like idiots. 

“Do you want to tell Pope and Kie to suck a dick or should I?” He said with a laugh.

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[marie-dufresne]

Fast forward; the fall of ShinRa. Geostigma is on the rise and Rufus is reduced to a wheelchair. Marie manages to find the lodges and sees her former employer for the first time in almost a year.

@ivory-paragon

There were memories and there were dreams. Lady Marie Devereaux could not tell them apart.  How could she, when all of her life had been dictated to her. An accident had wiped her memory entirely, or so she’d been told, and as she ‘recovered’, she was fed stories and pills, stories and pills, stories and pills.

Her husband, Colin, only wanted to see her well again.

Why then, she wondered, despite all his attentiveness and patience and benevolence, did she harbor a raw, deep seated fear of the man?

The things she recalled before she woke up were not real, she’d been told. They never happened, and yet they felt so real. So concrete. She could see faces, hear voices, feel textures.

But for all the things she was told happened?

There was nothing.

Why couldn’t she conjure up a shred of a memory? A familiar smell, or image?

It felt wrong to doubt him when he was waking her up with gentle kisses on her forehead, serving her breakfast on a tray in her suite. They didn’t share a bed in this manor. She needed to recover, he claimed. Then they could be intimate.

It suited Marie just fine. She felt no attraction to her husband as guilty as she felt to admit it, but he’d mentioned they’d been trying for a baby the past few years. They’d try again when she was well.

After three weeks she was left only with a slight limp from where her hip had been injured and after two months, there was no physical evidence left of the accident and she took to what she’d been doing for—how long had they been married? Fourteen years?

It seemed odd to her, to be married for fourteen years and not seek medical help to conceive. If that was right, she’d been all of eighteen and in prime shape for child bearing when they married.

Over the months locked up inside the grand estate, Marie did not begin to trust the past life she didn’t know. Not with the expensive clothes he dressed her in or the jewels or the gourmet foods served to her day in and day out. Instead, she began to doubt.

Her memories, the ones she thought could be real, had faded into nothing more than strange feelings of nostalgia and a recurring nightmare of a bustling street, a telephone, and her crying out for a friend. Or perhaps a lover. She didn’t know.

She didn’t even recall the name.

It happened by accident, her discovery that would either save her or ruin her. Too hasty in picking up her morning tablets, too slow to catch it before it tumbled down the drain. Ah, that was alright. Skipping one dose wouldn’t kill her. They were only meant to keep her balanced. It had been almost a year since she’d been taking them. Surely she’d be fine skipping one dose.

She didn’t tell Colin. It didn’t feel right to tell him, and she carried on, planning out the next season’s gardens, deciding to add an elaborate water feature to the grounds. He liked when she tinkered with the estate. It kept her busy.

Combing through a catalogue of plants, a question popped into her head that had her sitting upright.

What happened to Midgar?

Midgar? She laughed quietly, shaking her head and turning the page. She hated the idea of cities. She hadn’t ever been there, had no desire to be there, so why she was thinking about it now, she didn’t know. And what happened to it? Nothing as far as she knew. Why would anything happen to it? How silly.

The question wore on over the afternoon and it ate at her. It ate at her so much that while Colin was in a meeting in his study, she meandered into the library to tackle the archived newspapers, if only to quell the obnoxious mantra of a question.

That was until she discovered there wasn’t a single newspaper in the library. For a man who made a point of keeping up-to-date on the planet’s happenings…why didn’t he keep newspapers?

She briefly considered asking him casually. How was Midgar these days? Should they make a trip into the city? They were society elites after all. Shouldn’t they show their faces?

Sighing, Marie tapped her fingers onto a standing globe before giving it a little spin. No. She hadn’t been permitted to leave the property since the accident.

Another thing that didn’t sit well with her.

Feeling fuzzy, she opted for a nap. That evening, before bed, she dropped another tablet down the sink.

That night brought her dream, this time with flashes of colour. One colour. Red.

The morning brought her nausea, vomiting, and chills. The dream was gone. The second question Colin asked after her wellbeing was if she’d taken her medication.

He counted them. She’d been smart to dispose of them.

It was all she needed to know something was wrong in her household and through the pain and the sickness, she continued to forego the ‘necessary’ medication. Her dream was stronger, bits and pieces of what seemed like a fantasy were reappearing in her mind, and her fear of Colin Devereaux only grew stronger.

There wasn’t any communication to the outside, save the telephone but she was smarter than to try. They did have an extensive collection of encyclopedia, so again she took to the library. This time it was while he slept, at half past three in the morning. The night, dyslexia, and the tail end of her detox all working against her.

She had the orange pill bottle clenched in her right hand, flipping through the pages of the volume she’d selected, finding nothing. She read the name of the medication seventeen times, working letter by letter to no avail.

She sat back with a sigh, flicking off the tiny lamp she’d brought with her before turning it back on again, eyes roaming the bottle and finding an ‘active ingredient’. That was available in a different volume, and her stomach turned to stone as she read it, chills of a new kind settling underneath her skin.

“….working as a memory suppressant in several trial drugs thought to aid victims of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Never fully tested, it was pulled from all clinical trials due to ethical controversy and potential for misuse.”

With her hands pressed against her mouth, Marie stopped the sobs that shuddered up from her chest. Not here, not now. She had to make it back upstairs, back to her suite where if she was found, she could pretend to have had a nightmare. After that, she had to leave.

It didn’t matter wholly what the truth was anymore, what were memories and what were dreams and what were fantasies. What mattered now was survival.  For going on ten months she’d been living with a monster. A man drugging her and manipulating her to what end, she wondered.

The next morning she had a name, a name from her dreams and she felt a little better. It also brought with it a number. She’d always been good with numbers and when she spied the telephone from across the parlor after breakfast, she wondered if he would answer if she dialed.

She had a friend somewhere out there in the world, or had at some point. Maybe he could help her.

But calling him from here was not an option. What if he didn’t remember her? What if she’d done something terrible?

For three days, she resisted the urge to flinch when Colin walked in the room. For three days, she kept her hands busy with estate work and leisure so he couldn’t see them shaking, and for three nights, she combed the encyclopedias until dawn, looking for something she could use to give herself a head start.

Finally, on the fourth night, she added some liquid from a sleeping gel into her husband’s nightly cognac. He wouldn’t sleep suddenly, but he would sleep longer and far more deeply once he turned in.

With only a few pieces of jewelry in her handbag, she slipped out of the one blind spot the estate security offered, and ran into the night.

At sunrise, she found herself in civilization. A small town by the looks of it, directions written on a wooden post at the crossroads. Junon wasn’t far, but she wouldn’t be able to walk there. She’d worn her most sensible shoes, but she’d been running for nearly six hours.

She traded a ring for a a bath, hot breakfast, and a truck ride from the innkeeper who was more than eager to do whatever she needed of him.

In the city, her first stop was a jeweler. Even without memories, she knew that trading would only get her so far. She needed cash. Whether she was truly Lady Devereaux or not didn’t matter; she held herself well enough not to be questioned and left the establishment with a purse full of gil, less the bribe she’d paid to have any evidence of her being there destroyed.

Next, a cellphone. One that couldn’t be traced, that had no bill. What did they call them?

“A….burner phone, ma’am?”

The clerk shifted uncomfortably at the woman before him. She didn’t seem all there.

“Yes,” she replied, straightening a bit. “I need a burner phone.”

“No one who buys one of these it up to anything good, you know,” he joked, “you’re not dealing, are you?”

Handing over the gil, Marie looked up with an icy glare, unappreciative of the humor.

“I’ve just left my abusive husband,” she said, lifting her chin, “and I must find Reno.”

The young boy didn’t hand over the box, instead offering to set it up for her. He didn’t know who this ‘Reno’ was, but if what she said was true, maybe he should help.

“I’ll also need to know the fastest route to Midgar,” she informed him, “I think I belong there.”

The second clerk froze from stocking shelves to look over at the counter, sending the boy a questioning glance. Where was this woman from?

“You’ll uh…you can take a boat,” he settled on, “uh…buy a ticket to ‘Edge’ though.”

Marie accepted the phone he handed her, slipping it into her purse. “Edge?”

Realizing this woman was either off her rocker or had been isolated for too long, the young cashier didn’t want to upset her, so he shrugged with a small smile. “New Port Codes, I think,” he told her instead, “maybe it’ll end up being safer for you too.”

Satisfied with this, Marie headed to the harbor and bought the next ticket on the fastest ship. Alone in her cabin, she lowered herself to the bed. If Colin was after her, there would at least be enough distance between them that when she got to Midgar, she could vanish. Or if not vanish, possibly enlist the help of someone.

With the phone in her hand, her heart raced. She had a number, and she had a name. Aside from that, she had nothing. She didn’t recall this ‘Reno’ or why they were of any importance to her. When had they met? Were they involved with her accident?

She wouldn’t know unless she tried, so with trembling fingers, she dialed.  After four rings, there was a voice on the other end.

“Yo listen you got the wrong number.”

Marie’s brow wrinkled. What an odd way to answer the phone.

“…Reno?”

A little sigh, followed by a groan. “Ayyy okay so you ain’t got the wrong number but if this was about the other night, I was drunk and—“

“Reno it’s Marie.”

Silence.

She prayed it wasn’t confused silence. She prayed he knew who she was. She prayed that he was someone who would help her.

There was shuffling on the other line, followed by a slamming door. “Where the fuck have you been.”

The demand came out as a hiss, but the tone of concern did not go unnoticed by her.

“I don’t know; I—“

“All I get is this freaky voicemail, you go missing, and a week later the fucking world starts to end! What the—“

Her eyes widened as muffled groans and growls of frustration came through.

“The President is in a bad way, Marie. He…we could really use you, and you—you were just gone. No one just vanishes like that unless we make it happen. You know that.”

She didn’t know that, and she didn’t understand the cause for concern but she did know about the voicemail. She’d relived it almost every night since she’d stopped her suppressants. Wherever she’d been—Midgar, she assumed—she’d been running from someone. She’d called him for help.

He hadn’t answered.

By the time his voicemail beeped, she’d been snatched and all she could do was scream.

In this moment, she knew it was Colin Devereaux himself that had taken her.

Taking a breath, she leaned forward. “…why…would Winston ShinRa have any use for me?”

She was terrified of the answer. The President’s reputation was a filthy one riddled with cheap affairs and illegitimate offspring. If she’d had any part in that…

“Winst—what the—No! Rufus, blondie! How can you not even—what happened to you?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her hand coming up to cradle her forehead, “I…I’ve been forced to take memory suppressants. I only just stopped taking them and I can’t…I’m sorry but I just can’t remember anything about myself.”

More silence, and she thought for a moment how almost comical it was. Reno was never silent. It pleased her that she knew this.

“Well that’s great,” he sighed, “scrambled eggs for brains. Well seriously, you should get here. Brick wall memory or not, you might be able to do somethin’ to lift his spirits.”

Her?

“…why me?”

This silence was different, as if it were a subject he wasn’t used to, or perhaps was uncomfortable broaching.

“…because you’re in love with him.”

Marie stared ahead at the wall of her cabin, any words she might have had to object swallowed by the fact itself. Who was she?

Luckily for her, Reno wasn’t in the mood for dwelling on sentiment, if he ever was, and charged ahead, a familiar teasing tone directed at her.

“Yeah, you don’t remember? You were always up his ass like some kind of pet or something.”

He cursed. It was low and under his breath, like he couldn’t believe the situation they were in, like he didn’t need more on his plate, but it was followed by a low groan.

“Tell me when you’re scheduled to dock. Rude will pick you up.”

When she’d given him the information she needed, the call ended and she took a breath, the phone trembling in her hands. She realized she didn’t know—or remember—what sort of person Rufus ShinRa was. Was she jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire? Reno might have known she loved him (maybe everyone knew), but he hadn’t said anything about the president’s feelings for her. What if, especially in the bad way he was in, she was met with resentment or rage?

She had, after all, disappeared.

At the port, this ‘Edge’, Marie recognized nothing. Where had her city gone? Panic rose up in her chest and as her eyes searched for anything familiar, she felt her body freezing her where she stood, grumpy passengers pushing by her as she stood in the way, so out of place in her glamorous, tailored clothing and sophisticated hairstyle.

A hand on her shoulder took her attention away from the sight before her and she looked up, met by an unsmiling face and sunglasses. Unsmiling, but not unkind. She knew this man—or had, at some point.

“Rude?”

His hand slipped from her and he beckoned her forward with the smallest of nods. Dutifully she followed, sliding into the car, clutching her handbag. After a few miles of silence, she looked over and smiled.

“I’m sorry I don’t have much to say…I’ve…had a confusing year and I don’t remember you enough.”

“…”

His lack of response didn’t seen to be from displeasure or annoyance, so she smiled again and tried to relax enough to sit back.

“…it’s fine.”

She believed him.

Marie didn’t keep track of the time they spent driving and she didn’t try to initiate any more conversation. Maybe she could have asked questions to prepare her for what he was taking her to, but she found herself tired of being told about what her life had or hadn’t been. She’d have to see for herself.

He lead her into the lodge and though first her eyes settled on Reno lounging on a sofa, the moment she caught sight of Rufus, confined to a wheelchair, the tightness that had been building in her chest burst.

She knew his face. She knew it.

The room tilted, memories assaulting her. Small, brief flashes of moments. A swirling pool of mako, a slaughtered lamb, a pink fluffy pen, the smell of a cappuccino, a knife at her face.

His hands on her.

She shook, standing there, her life seeping in through the cracks and she felt something stronger than anything she’d felt before.

Despair.

“I…”

There was so much she could have said, that she wanted to say, working her way through the confusion of sorting out everything before her, but there was only one place to start and in only a few steps, she was before him, falling to her knees, tears she understood and justified brimming in her eyes, but as they fell, no makeup smudged, not anymore.

“I’ve failed you, sir.”