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hornime · 4 years ago

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hq as my discovery weekly | part one

warnings: this is completely sfw, combo of fluff and angst

characters included: kenma, akaashi, oikawa, suna, koganegawa, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo, hinata, kita, terushima, iwaizumi, osamu, kageyama, sakusa

a/n: this was a random idea i thought of but i think it’ll be really cute haha. maybe you guys’ll find some new songs in the process! totally encourage anyone to use this idea if they want cus this was super fun to write!

playing... one through fifteen / sixteen through thirty

↪ “cotton candy lemonade" by blu detiger: kenma kozume

i've been up too long, something's wrong / watch the rising sun / turning all my nights to days

i've been on my own, come find me now / i'm lonely to the bone / but I don't feel so low when you're around / let's run away from home

you'll bе my kaleidoscope, my color in this life / watching thе world fade away

kenma is not the most extroverted and he’s in his head a lot, so he’s someone that might not always see the ‘color’ in things that exist around him. but when it comes to you, well, you’re someone that makes him look up from his screen a little longer than usual.

↪ “love affair” by umi: akaashi keiji

don't overthink this is love / maybe it's just a crush

i hope what I feel is enough / maybe this is just lies

i wanna know how to feel, what to feel, what's right / i never know / 'cause when it gets real, I just run away / and hide from you

akaashi gets anxiety. he used to be certain about a lot of things—his intelligence, his skill, his happiness, but most important to him was his feelings for you. he’s overthinking again, he knows it, but he’s getting an uncontrollable itch that maybe this is all in his head; he doesn’t love you, he just think he does. but when you’re in his arms, breathing even and eyes fluttered shut, he remembers what you always told him: it doesn’t matter what he knows, it matters what he feels. and he feels like the luckiest man alive.

↪ “coke” by iii addicts, danice: oikawa tooru

come closer, i been eyeing you from way over / so it's time i come for some closure

had to let her know that you could lick this / shake it up, it's gonna probably gon' bust

why, tell me why / why am i not satisfied / every time i cross that line / i feel it, i feel it

oikawa feels like tantalus: a man constantly reaching for a goal just out of reach, straining his muscles and screaming his voice hoarse just for a glimpse of an unattainable destiny. he’s desperate to get ahead, and while he may be running at top speed at all times, the finish line doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. his worst fear is that, some time he’ll slow his pace and look back and realize he hasn’t gotten very far at all.

↪ “baby powder” by jenevieve: suna rintaro

i'll put up with you babe / there's somethings I won't take / baby don't feel me false / yeah that turns me off

you're making me so high now / you're everything I'd ever want / you're keeping me so dry now / you're everything I'd never want uh

plastic on the floor but it ain't for me / ima go up to the place that i'd rather be

suna is straightforward. he won’t deal with your bullshit, and he learns that you won’t deal with his either, which makes you so appealing. when he starts letting more and more of you in, he feels you slipping through his fingers. you wanted to be friends, so you treat him as one. he doesn’t remember when he started wanting more.

↪ “chandelier (instrumental version)” by paquin: koganegawa kanji

instrumental so no lyrics lol

koganegawa is bubbly. he’s a bouncer: he bounces between social circles, bounces colors behind his eyes, and bounces back after adversity. he’s an amiable guy, and it’s landed him plenty of friends and opportunities, but best of all, it’s landed him you.

↪ “l-over” by u.s. girls: ushijima wakatoshi

my lover has no heart / magic moving blood around that body / he's cool to the touch / i don't see him much / but when I do, he does nothing for me

can you imagine trying to get / some satisfaction out of a stone?

spare me any talk of your future life / i don't know what I'll do without you

ushijima is stubborn. he’s deadset on achieving his goals for the future, and if you can’t work with them, you better work around them. you’re tired of how he grounds you; you thought it was a blessing at first, having a guy that knew what he wanted and would always act as a constant in your life, but you’ve started to see that he’s not a lighthouse anymore, he’s an anchor. he’s an anchor that’s chaining you to the ocean floor and will drown you if you, even for a second, stop kicking your legs to stay afloat.

↪ “magic!” by リアムMAZE1981: bokuto koutarou

and when you smile at me that way / well you can warm the coldest day / it's magic

and all i have to do is think of you / to make the music start to play / then i dance down the street / and the people I meet stop and say hey hey

and when you want me you just clap your hands / and I'll be with you right away / then we'll float on a breeze / while the leaves in the trees softly say hey hey / magic ways, my friend / you love the girl with magic ways and it's true / i might as well give in

bokuto is bright. he tramps around the world with the light of the sun illuminating his face. there is nothing in the universe that could ever drag him down, especially not with you around. you’ve cast some kind of spell on him, he’s sure of it, because your very presence makes him certain that he’s immortal. he must be, because when he’s with you, he’s withstanding the heat of a thousand suns that erases the darkness in every shadow, corner, and crevice of his life.

↪ “i hope that u think of me” by pity party (girls club): kuroo tetsuro

i hope that you dream of me baby / nightmares are what dreams are baby i-i-i / i think I'm fallin' out of love

you tell me that it's easy to be / you tell me that it's easy to be with me but you lie-i-i / why do you lie all the time?

kuroo is focused. he takes note of everything when he’s working on a task, down to dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s. he often finds himself with tunnel vision, unable to think of anything but the current responsibility at the top of his every-growing to-do list. somewhere along the way, he lost track of you—must’ve loosened his grip on your hand and your fingers fell through empty space. he’d look for you, back in the void, but he’s busy. he keeps moving, unaware that you’ve turned back, walking in the opposite direction as him to find the life before him that you barely remember.

↪ “the leanover” by life without buildings: hinata shoyo

kiss me, break my mind, close the door / black steel, break my mind, close the door

if i lose you in the street / i say, i say, i say, i say, i say, i say / wassup, wassup with you? / wassup with your friends?

hinata is unfazed. he knows that, when things go bad, there’ll always be something there to right them. so when your paths diverge—maybe your schedules don’t work out, your dates get canceled, your nights home become more and more sparse—he’s not worried. not one bit. because at the end of the night, he knows that you’ll always find your way back to one another, and you’ll always greet him with open arms. and he’ll always do the same.

↪ “ladyfingers - edit” by funding secured: kita shinsuke

instrumental so no lyrics lol

kita is polished. he works hard during the day to be with you at night, dancing in little circles in the small kitchen of your shared home. he looks at you with fondness and appreciation, thanking his stars a million times over for granting him with someone like you. he’s a tree, stable in the harshest of gales, but even trees like to sway with the wind sometimes.

↪ “black madonna” by cage the elephant: terushima yuuji

makes no difference here, so let's be real / black madonna, my black flower / nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide / you're not havin' fun, i think that you should ride

climb so high, don't hear a sound / don't you forget what goes around, comes around / climb so high, tell me how to feel

call me when you're ready to be real / black madonna, my hallelujah

terushima is hedonistic. he’s never concerned himself with thoughts of the future, or of the past, or of anything, really. all he can think about is making each moment as willing to be lived as possible. you, on the other hand, are practical, too practical in his opinion, and he wants you to let loose, lighten up a little bit. maybe in the long run, it won’t be the best idea to let him take you by the hand and on a midnight adventure, but you haven’t thought that far ahead yet. guess he’s already rubbing off on you.

↪ “mother nature’s bitch” by okay kaya: iwaizumi hajime

everybody / please give a warm welcome to / to this current mood

here i am / easy to please / here i am / okay with it

here i am / desperate for attention / here i am / being mother nature's bitch

iwaizumi is hardworking. he does the best he can with everything he tries; sometimes that amounts to something and sometimes it doesn’t. most times it doesn’t fulfill his expectations, as high as they are. when you’re around, his borderline hatred for himself disappears. when you’re there to tell him how great he’s doing, the tension in his shoulders dissipates.

↪ “smithereens” by rasharn powell, ab001: miya osamu

found my power / and my brethren / in a tussle with the world itself

see if I’m david, you’re goliath / there’s some power in defiance / put my heart in a slingshot / we been cycling away for days

searching for freedom always / likeness of an orgasm been had / empty with a peace that just don’t last / petite mort, then born again

osamu is pioneering. he opened a small business and eventually branched out, managing chains of his restaurant across the nation. it may not be a flashy job, but it’s a solid one, and a draining one. there are days of back-to-back shifts, afternoons overwhelming catering orders, and nights spent sleeping over on a cot near the kitchen. when he dreams, curled up with the smell of onigri still lingering in the air, he can only think of ‘what if’ he’d chosen another path, a path with a more obvious end, a more obvious definition of glory. but he still wakes up at dawn, conquering his own corner of the sky, knowing that his life, while it may be small, is not insignificant.

↪ “must be” by lou phelps: kageyama tobio

must be the henny on the ice / must be the diamonds that I buy / might be the shit that I write / whatever a n**** do and say, that's what I like

i'm on the cloud as i walk the front door / that's a boost, that's true, that's loo

yeah, um, i'mma need my space / 'cause you's a bum-bum, can't be standing next to me, uh / forgive me for my sins / don't tell me this is wrong if it feels right

kageyama is cocky. he’s good at what he does, amazing, actually, and he sure as hell knows it. he’s surrounded by people that make him better, people that he makes better, and he can’t think of a place he’d rather be. he’s on his way to carve his way into the moon and he’s not going to tolerate anyone that wants to keep him on earth.

↪ “jealous” by eyedress: sakusa kiyoomi

you could have anyone you want / why would you want to be with me? / you know, I'm nothing special

don't tell me about your problems / if you're not trying to solve them / don't ask me for my help

sakusa is independent. he’s not one to see himself as part of someone else’s orbit, opting to act like a random rock, floating in space with no origin and no destination. he’s worried that, if he gets too close to you, he’ll end up getting drawn in by your gravity and either crash land or burn up. neither seems appealing, and the idea of a safe encounter hasn’t even crossed his mind, so he’s going to keep moving on an endless trek towards the stars.

#haikyuu!!#haikyu #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kenma #akaashi #oikawa #suna #koganegawa #ushijima #bokuto #kuroo #hinata

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erazonpo3 · 4 years ago

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Intro to my infodump on Alphecca but also I’m getting more and more shameless about it so I’ll probably dump a lot of other shit too later but back to the point: I never tend to stop mutating characters in my head but for all intents and purposes Alphecca is at a point where I’m satisfied with how fleshed out she is in my mind, so I figured I’d write it down.

SO basically a rundown:

Alphecca’s main purpose is to be the “Season 1” villain, in which her part in the story can be expanded but mostly wraps up in a self-contained plotline, and has relatively low stakes so that there’s room for the narrative to escalate. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t pose a threat as an antagonist- because she absolutely does- but simply that her behaviour of terrorising people and raising bodies is already the status quo, and she has no grand design or plan of action. Cassandra steps in to change that status quo for the better, but her failing to do so won’t leave anyone any worse off than they already are. Yet with that being said, Alphecca is also built to be Cassandra’s antagonist specifically, so of course there has to be a resolution there.

Alphecca as Cassandra’s antagonist

Alphecca exists to be a foil to Cassandra, so that when you put them together their differences shine brighter. Where Ilione is a foil to Cass in that she’s largely her polar opposite: extraverted, very emotionally sensitive, inexperienced etc, Alphecca is a foil to Cass by being very similar to her but for a few glaring differences. It’s worth noting that while their personalities are pretty different, they share a same jaded perspective on life and struggles with mental health that stem from an ugly ZT origin story.

Both women were approached by Zhan Tiri during a time they felt powerless, and sided with her over loved ones in an attempt to regain control over their life. They were encouraged to embrace malice and sadism, had their faith in their loved ones undermined and had those insecurities stoked, and all this instability created the perfect storm for them to be easily manipulated and betrayed. Zhan Tiri operates as a cult leader does, seeking out vulnerable people and cutting them off from their remaining support networks until they have nowhere left to run, even if they want to.

It’s not to say Cassandra wasn’t making her own choices, but this kind of gaslighting shouldn’t be dismissed either. Some people will forever lack sympathy for her, but that’s exactly the point of Zhan Tiri’s manipulation- if nobody’s willing to help you out of the hole you’ve dug for yourself you’re going to be stuck there to rot, so you may as well keep digging in the hope that you might hit gold eventually.

Alphecca and Cassandra are both victims to Zhan Tiri’s super fun form of control, but the major difference between them was that Rapunzel remained willing to help Cassandra out of that hole. Alphecca didn’t have a Rapunzel, or a Varian, or a Eugene, and instead over time she became twisted and warped into a menace who doesn’t need Zhan Tiri’s encouragement to do terrible things anymore. And that’s what makes these two foils to each other; Alphecca is the monster Cassandra never was but could have easily become if she was never shown compassion.

Thus the only person who can stop Alphecca is someone who can empathise with her, at least to some degree. In fighting terms, Alphecca has a bottomless bag of tricks up her sleeve and the nature of her undeath makes her essentially immortal. She cannot be conquered, only slowed down, and the more pissed off she gets with you the more volatile and dangerous she becomes.

Cassandra initially sees Alphecca as a chance to prove herself, both as a force for good and as someone who can rid the world of Zhan Tiri’s legacy. However, it quickly becomes apparent that Alphecca cannot be defeated through conventional means, because otherwise warriors like Adira (who has encountered Alphecca before) would have been able to deal with the problem. Considering that Alphecca herself has sought out her phylactery to destroy it- with an extra thousand years of hunting up her sleeve- but failed to do so, makes it apparent that she can only be stopped by being reasoned with. But for a lich who hardly remembers the human experience, that’s pretty difficult.

It ultimately means the only person who can stop her is Cassandra, because the only person who can reason with her is someone who can empathise with her from a place of camaraderie rather than condescension, and recognises that the cycle of violence needs to be broken by compassion and not just violence but harder.

The Storyline

Basic plotline goes like this:

Early on into her journey Cassandra learns about the bone witch that roams the wilderness and terrorises innocent villagers, desecrates the dead, is probably a cryptid because legends have existed about her for generations, et cetera and so on. When evidence appears that this witch is real Cassandra and decides to investigate, because this is a pretty straightforward “good guy stops the bad guy” situation for her to jump into. (By this point Ilione is also tagging along).

Their first encounter with Alphecca is pretty tame. They intercept her at a mausoleum, she does a fancy music number/generally has a good time fucking around with them, but ultimately skulks back into the shadows at the end. It’s sort of all in good spirits and Alphecca isn’t ‘defeated’ by any means but still bows out as a show of good sportsmanship.

Their future encounters are a lot less nice.

The more Cassandra continues to pursue her, the more pissed off Alphecca gets, and when Alphecca gets pissed off she begins to embrace her sadism and her outbursts become more violent and cause more collateral damage. She lowers herself to underhanded tactics like throwing Cass into a nightmare reality a la Tromus and becomes increasingly sinister. The ‘tentpole’ of this plotline probably marks the shift from Alphecca as a trickster figure into a more dangerous one as Cass and Lio learn that she was also a disciple of Zhan Tiri.

The situation ultimately comes to a head by the finale, by which point Alphecca is very much unhinged and out for blood. She becomes fixated on Cassandra and does her best to hit below the belt, sniffing out her insecurities about her past with the moonstone and bludgeoning them with a metaphorical sledgehammer, and basically tries to goad her into a complete spiral.

This is the emotional climax, and the underpinning of Cassandra’s character development in becoming emotionally sound enough to shake it off. It’s at this point she understands what Alphecca is doing; Alphecca is caught in her own eternal maelstrom of emotional torture and latches onto anyone she can drag down with her for the small amount of pleasure it brings. She’s able to recognise those feelings because she can empathise with them and knows exactly what she needs to hear in that moment.

There’s probably some extended backstory revealed by this point too, going into a little more detail about the way in which Alphecca was caught in Zhan Tiri’s web down to becoming a lich, but of course what’s more important is the resolution.

With Cassandra getting through to her, Alphecca is able to pull herself together long enough to ease the situation back down again and have a more honest conversation about hope and humanity and compassion and all those good things. Cassandra admits that she can’t do much to ‘fix’ her, but starts by continuing Rapunzel’s legacy and showing forgiveness and compassion to someone who doesn’t think they deserve it. (Alphecca isn’t entirely regretful of all her actions, but does acknowledge that she ought not project her pain onto others anymore.)

Alphecca Post-S1

Alphecca doesn’t really get a ‘redemption arc’ because honestly I don’t want her to be redeemed. It’s not really a moral stance so much as I believe she’s genuinely disinterested in being a better person, she just has the selfish desire to be able to live happily again. And that’s kind of all she needs. She doesn’t care much about other people, but she’s working on herself and that means squashing the sadism.

I think it also continues to make a good parallel to Cass: Cassandra is trying to do better not only for herself but by others because she sees it as her own social responsibility, whereas Alphecca just wants to do better for herself and if other people benefit from that, that’s just a bonus.

Alphecca doesn’t join Cassandra on her travels either, although she does make appearances as a reoccurring character. Cassandra is upfront about the fact that while she wants to help Alphecca, she needs to help herself first, and the damage Al inflicted on her is slow to heal. They’re both in danger of dragging each other down in their own spirals so it’s best that they give each other space, but it’s also very important that they’re able to share their experiences. It’s a minor struggle between Cassandra and Ilione that Lio doesn’t really understand a lot of Cass’ struggles, although she does try to be sensitive about it. Alphecca provides that alternate perspective: Lio can provide support but little empathy, while Alphecca can provide empathy but little support.

I’ve also got more Alphecca stuff living in my brain regarding her origins, her own foray with Death and her association with lesser and greater deities, her relationships to other ZT cultists, et cetera et cetera but I’ll probably stop here to keep it succinct.

But basically over the course of this plotline Alphecca goes from wacky evil villain to really tragic but still evil villain to not really evil villain but still kind of a jerk neighbour that shows up at your house asking for your wifi password acquaintance.

#basically my build-a-bear guide to making an antagonist #it's fun #of course there's so much more to making characters and villains than just this but basically foils good #alphecca #cta au #my art #cassandra #female villains can have little a homoeroticism as a treat

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krcolou · 4 years ago

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𝐡𝐢, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐞 // thread.

WHO: Cole & Junko [ @lazersong ]

WHEN: Jan. 14

WHAT: Post Take Cover Thread [ Link ]

WARNING: Mention of past violence, wound first aid

Cole

Cole struggled with his journey from the ship to the one place he felt safe. He felt his shapeshifting struggle, slowly changing his body to his natural form as he fell onto her doorstep. Small changes, like his eye color and growing height. At least he looked similar enough to be recognized. “J-Junko?” he called out, weakly. “Junko help?”

Junko

Junko hadn't been out much recently, but it was not because of some dumb boy. She had been digging up all the information she could ever possibly need on the ACPD and their traffic of foster children since her sisters were taken. It'd been days and she couldn't stop, this being a vicious cycle that she only snapped out of when she heard a familiar voice outside her apartment. With furrowed brows she opened the door, eyes widening when she saw Cole. "C-Cole?" she said, reaching out for him. "Oh, stars. What happened?"

Cole

“Shot. Two time,” Cole said, rolling onto his side to look up at her. “In pain. Much pain.”

Junko

"Shot?" Junko asked as she knelt down beside him. "O-Okay, uh, can you- can you make it inside? You know what—" She knew there wasn't time for that, hooking her arms around him and sliding him across the threshold with all the strength she had.

Cole

Cole let out a loud yell when she pulled him, surprised that she had that much power in her to move his heavy body. He cursed loudly in his own language, before letting out a pained exhale. “Sorry.”

Junko

She didn't mind when he yelled out, but she didn't let it discourage her either as she finished dragging him inside and slammed the door behind him. "Don't apologize," she said, standing up and hurrying into the kitchen.

Cole

Cole watched as she hurried to the kitchen, trying to move himself as his body started to change even more. Shit. He didn’t want to reveal his true form to her, ever. But his pain level was increasing too much to hide it. “Don’t — don’t scared,” he called out to her.

Junko

Junko shook her head even though he couldn't see her. "I'm not scared of you, Cole—" she began before reentering the living room and seeing him change. Oh. This is why he didn't agree to be with her. But despite every warning sign her body gave her she ignored them and bent down beside him again. "I-I'm not scared." she assured him.

Cole

Cole didn’t note the stutter in her voice at first, too focused on his bleeding wounds. He kept his hands pressed against his side, not able to apply pressure to his back. “Not?” He asked, surprised. “You are strange.”

Junko

"Yeah, I know," she replied, lifting up his shirt and flinching whenever she saw the wound. She began cleaning the blood surrounding the area before applying pressure. "You said you were shot twice? Where else?"

Cole

Cole nodded loudly at her cleaning the blood, cursing loudly at her before cowering into himself. “S-Sorry, Junko. Am sorry. For — for that,” he apologized, feeling like he had to for anything done in that form. “Back. Shot in back."

Junko

"You don't have to keep apologizing. A lot worse things have been said to me," Junko said softly before nodding. "You're going to have to help me and roll over, okay? It'll probably hurt a bunch."

Cole

Cole looked at her with pleading eyes, not wanting to do so. His hand, gigantic in this form, enveloped hers gently. “I got ride. For you and sisters. For leaving Avalon,” he said, not rolling over.

Junko

Junko paused whenever he told her this. "Y-You did?" she asked.

Cole

Cole nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “When things bad, you all leave. Safe.”

Junko

"I... I... Thank you, Cole," she said genuinely before remembering the wounds and blinking out of her daze, "You're still going to have to roll over."

Cole

“Welcome. I... I care. Even if cannot be thing. Care a lot.” Cole frowned, shaking his head. “Am okay not to roll over.”

Junko

"I know you care. It's totally a thing," she said, then sighed. "You have to or else you'll bleed out and die. Dying isn't good. How about I — I tell you about them while I work? My sisters? You should know more about them since you're going through all this just for us."

Cole

“No, us. Us thing,” Cole corrected. He paused, finally giving up in a sigh. Slowly he rolled over, groaning though the entire process. The idea of her seeing his scar covered body from all of his fights was off putting, especially since his majority were on his back. Weakened he impacted his stomach to the floor, unable to move any more. “Okay. Okay. Am roll.”

Junko

"Oh... That thing," Junko swallowed and tried not to hyperventilate when his scars were exposed, keeping her surprise to herself as she began working on the shot to his back. "Good, good... Um. Well. Their names are Chiyoko and Keiko, we're about five years apart so they're... Stars, they'd be twenty by now. They're twins. When they were really little, I used to plait their hair and tie it off with different color ribbons so I could tell them apart. Chiyoko was always yellow and Keiko was always green."

Cole

Cole nodded, hissing as he felt her hands against his back. “Twenty. T-Two tens?” he asked, shuddering in pain. “Have sister. One. K’Salou.”

Junko

"Two tens," she confirmed and kept pressure on the wound. "I have a suture kit for — well, reasons. I'll start stitching you up now, okay?" Junko smiled whenever he said that, opening her small first aid box and picking out a needle and some thread. "Really? What's she like?"

Cole

“Stitch?” He asked, not sure what she meant by that. “Strong. Very strong. Have not seen in years, can be different.”

Junko

"Put together," she said instead and gently brought the needle through the opening and began suturing. "I know how that is... But I hope my sisters aren't too different. Chiyoko was the outspoken one, Keiko was more solemn — that means quiet, really."

Cole

Cole yelled out in discomfort, pounding his fist into the ground out of reflex. “No! Don’t — don’t!” He yelled, trying to move away.

Junko

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she apologized, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know it hurts, but I have to do this. Just — keep telling me about K'Salou. Why haven't you seen her in so long?"

Cole

Cole flinched even more when she placed a hand on his shoulder, expecting the next contact to be painful. “Am okay, am okay. No stitch,” he said, trying to push himself up. “Because... because have job. Mission to.. do this.”

Junko

"No, you're not okay. You need this. Lay back down." she commanded with a huff and forced him down by the shoulder.

Cole

“Ah!” he whimpered, collapsing to the ground when she forced him back down. “Please, Junko.”

Junko

“I know it hurts but I have to do this,” Junko said, continuing to suture the wound.

Cole

Cole remained silent and tensed as she sutured his wounds, preferring his method of just allowing it to heal into a scar on its own.

Junko

Junko concentrated as she threaded through the skin — at least what she thought was skin — eventually easing up with a sigh as she finished. “Okay. I’m done.”

Cole

Cole didn’t respond to her at first, just shakily rolling over to his uninjured side. “Hate that,” he said, glancing over to her.

Junko

"I'm sorry," she said and kept a hand on his shoulder. "But I had to. Here, take these. I don't know how well they'll work for you, but we might as well give it a shot." She unearthed a handful of pain pills and gave them to him.

Cole

The bolug stared at the pills she handed him, debating taking them. “These? These are?” he asked.

Junko

"They help with the pain," she explained. "Hopefully..."

Cole

Cole nodded slowly, taking the handful of pills and swallowing them dry. He debated his next move — to try to stand and lay down on something other than the floor, or to remain there. One was less painful, in the end. “Want... want me to go?” he asked, focusing on every word.

Junko

"No, what? Stars no, you should stay here," she insisted, remaining cross-legged beside him. "I wouldn't want you anywhere else, Cole."

Cole

“I am... am stuck this way,” he said. “Hurt too much to look like — like normal person.”

Junko

"That's fine. I'm not afraid," she reassured. "I've seen a lot worse."

Cole

Cole truly didn’t believe that, but in that moment? He didn’t care. He managed to sit up enough to rest his forehead against her shoulder, letting out a pained sigh. “Junko, you are good.”

Junko

Junko placed an arm around him. "I'm alright," she said with a small laugh. "You give me too much credit."

Cole

He leaned into her more when she placed an arm around him, taking in her increased warmth to his colder form. “No. Good. I.. care lot. A lot. But... see why not good? Yes?”

Junko

“... I see why you’d think you’re not good,” she admitted. “But this doesn’t change my opinion of you.”

Cole

“You say this like you not seeing me,” Cole said, huffing. “I crush and strong. Danger.”

Junko

"I see you," she said. "And all I see is someone who is scared."

Cole

“Am not scared,” Cole said, pulling back to look at her face. She was so tiny, especially when he was like this. He moved to touch her cheek, barely clipping it with his fingers before dropping his hand. “Not scared.”

Junko

Junko stared at him, swallowing before nodding slowly. "Okay. You're not scared. And neither am I."

Cole

“Strange. You are strange, Junko.”

Junko

"Thank you." she smiled.

Cole

Cole moved, about to try to stand up. He needed to lay down somewhere comfortable, especially if he was going to try to force himself to chance into something smaller. “Help stand?”

Junko

Junko considered it for a moment, then decided that he knew his body better than anyone else — especially considering no one in the Core would ever dream of getting close enough to a bolug to understand their anatomy. "Yeah, sure," she agreed and stood up, holding her hands out for him.

Cole

Cole gripped onto her hands, trying not to squeeze too hard as he stood up slowly. His expression remained pained, as he finally stood up straight beside her. Stars, she was tiny. “Bed?” He asked. “Unless blood problem.”

Junko

Junko peered up at him, always having known she was shorter than the average human, but never really having felt it until just then. "It's okay, you can have a bed. C'mon." she pulled him along gently.

Cole

Cole limped out of pain as she pulled him along, trying to find the steps that worked for his sutured wounds. “Share? Share bed?”

Junko

She ruminated on this for a moment, then decided there really was no harm it in. "Okay. If that's what you want."

Cole

“Yes,” he said, stumbling slightly. “Safe. For both. If droid finds me.”

Junko

“A droid did this to you?” she asked as she led them to her bedroom.

Cole

Cole nodded. “Did. Yes. I broke arm off.”

Junko

"Oh, wow..." Junko murmured and led him to the side of the bed, "Here."

Cole

“Yes. He threatened Junko. So defended,” he said, slowly crawling onto the bed. He was far too big for it, having to curl himself up to not hang over the edge.

Junko

“He threatened me? Why?” she asked with a frown, trying to figure out how they could possibly share the bed.

Cole

"Because he was upset. That I hurt a man for lying," Cole answered truthfully. At least as truthfully as he could, in his mind. He moved to try to give the young woman room, wondering if it would be better to big or little spoon. "Come, Junko."

Junko

“You hurt someone? Who?” Junko furrowed her brows then sighed, laying on the bed and looking up at him. “Why’d he lie?”

Cole

Cole moved his arm around her, pulling her in closer. “Said he be at ship every day. Was not. Knows I am bolug.”

Junko

Junko allowed him to pull her in, enjoying the contact even though he was very different from when she last saw him. "That's not good... Does the droid know you're a bolug too?"

Cole

"Yes," he sighed. "He knows my look... but it is a liked look... I do not know what doing."

Junko

"... Well, try not to worry about it right now," she said, lifting her head up and looking down at him. "You should get some rest."

Cole

Cole watched her look at him, eying her carefully as she did so. “I will kill him.”

Junko

“No, no no no, you shouldn’t do that,” she said with widening eyes. “You should go to sleep and then when you wake up I can... I can make breakfast! And it’ll be a good day.”

Cole

"You sound like marriage," he chuckled, keeping his arms wrapped around her.

Junko

Junko pouted at this, “A wife, you mean? I do not. I sound like a concerned friend.”

Cole

"Yes, wife. Marriage. You are sounding like wife," he insisted.

Junko

“I— well,” she huffed softly. “So what if I am? Maybe you need one of those so you won’t keep getting shot.”

Cole

"No time for wife. Body cannot handle wife," Cole responded, furrowing his brow as he patted her belly. He knew what hell pregnancy could be for the bolugian species — and he knew that no human could handle it without a terrible experience themselves. "I get shot for others. Not me."

Junko

Junko raised an eyebrow at him as he did this, "You don't have to have a baby to be married," she said. "Getting shot is getting shot. I don't care how you do it. It's still dumb that it even happens."

Cole

"You are strange. You and humans are strange, Junko," he replied, pulling his hand back. "...Sorry."

Junko

"I'm strange? I'm not the one who goes around getting shot for others."

Cole

"Not — not for. Because. But I get shot for you. Happy to," he admitted.

Junko

"... You still shouldn't do that," she said, "I don't want you getting shot for me. That's unproductive."

Cole

Cole leaned in slowly, placing a gentle kiss on the young woman's forehead. "Is okay."

Junko

Junko frowned deeply and looked at him, "Not okay. Not when I pour my heart out to you and tell you how I feel and then you say you can't be with me, then turn around and get shot in my honor and then come here while I'm doing work for my help! I don't mind helping you, not at all, but it's all a bit... I don't know. You're the strange one, not me."

Cole

"Do you not want help? To help? I can — I can heal old way. Heal slow and... and body make marks," he said, frowning. "Am not strange. Things different for bolug."

Junko

"No, I- of course I want to help you, Cole." Junko sighed and flopped onto her pillows. "Well, things are different for humans, too."

Cole

"What do you want, Junko?" he asked, quieting down when she flopped down.

Junko

"I just... I just wanna go to sleep. I'm tired. I've had a long day. Haven't you?"

Cole

He nodded slowly. "Yes, Junko."

Junko

"Okay. Goodnight, Cole."

#𝐊𝐑'𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔 : convos . ⧽ ━━ and god made me.#ft. junko.

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yellowsugarwords · 5 years ago

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Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “The Things We Do”

Title: The Things We Do Characters: Clementine, Luke, Kenny Summary: When Clementine gets her first period and sends Kenny and Luke out to find her products, the two bicker the entire way. Kenny makes fun of Luke and, in the end, Luke gets his revenge. All in the name of getting Clem tampons. Author's Note: this one was so fun to write!! i hope you guys like it!! Requested By: simply_psychopathic on Wattpad support me with ko-fi ♡ ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

“You have what happening right now?”

Luke closed his eyes, mortified by Kenny’s question. Of course, he knew that Clementine was far more mortified than he could ever be.

Clementine took a deep breath, exhaling sharply through her nose. Her hands were balled into fists, her face flushed red, and that grew even darker when she needed to repeat herself. “I’m,” she hesitated, gulping. “Bleeding. And I need stuff for it.”

Kenny stared at her, confused out of his skull. Beside him, smirking, Luke found his lack of comprehension hilarious. Deciding to spare Clementine the trauma of Kenny fumbling through even more questions, he stepped in. “I get it, Clem. We’ll handle it.”

“Handle what?” Kenny snapped, turning to the male. He absolutely hated feeling out of the loop, and right now? The loop was nowhere near him. They weren't even in the same realm.

Luke had a plethora of sisters when he was growing up. Seeing as he was the middle child — with girls in his house both younger and older than him — he learned about everything. His mother very much valued teaching him everything alongside his sisters. “There’s no value in keeping this a secret.” She’d said. “You’ll value knowing this. It affects you too.”

So, when Luke entered high school and his peers were learning all the ins and outs of contraception, safe sex and, of course, menstruation, Luke was well ahead of the game. To him, the topics didn’t phase him.

Clearly, Kenny hadn’t gone through the same treatment.

“My God,” he sighed as they wandered the forest road. Whether it was out of embarrassment, or shock, or disbelief that Clementine was growing up, Luke didn’t know. He chose not to ask.

“It’ll be an easy trip,” Luke said, adjusting his machete strap. “We’ll walk in, grab all that we can, then head back home.”

They were headed toward an abandoned convenience store on the side of the road. It was about a 20-minute walk — 30 with Kenny slowing Luke down — and the plan was to grab as much supplies as they could. That way, Clem wouldn’t need to worry about running out for a while.

“If it’s such an ‘easy trip,’ then why’d you have to drag me along?”

“Because I didn’t want you embarrassing Clem more than you have to.”

Kenny glared at the comment. Luke just smirked. All he knew about Kenny was that he, in the past, had a wife and a son. It didn’t surprise him that he knew so little, especially in their new world where children were so rare. Needless to say, the longer he could keep Kenny from saying anything awkward to Clem, the better.

Luke’s job was to make sure of that just like he had done for his sisters in the past. The memory gave his chest a bittersweet ache.

In silence, the two stumbled across the convenience store right on time and, just like they’d planned, slipped in without complication. The store, to that day, hadn’t been used as a base by any group. While Luke wanted to find it surprising, the truth was that it was so out-of-the-way people rarely stumbled across it. Considering that Carver’s camp was nearby, and that most of the road’s travellers were either escaping him or about to be kidnapped by him, no one wanted to linger for long.

The doors were unlocked and, weapons drawn, the two made their way in. When it was empty, they relaxed.

“Let’s search the place first,” Luke said, returning his machete and adjusting the bag slung over his shoulder. “There’s probably some stuff here we can use.”

Kenny hummed in agreement, pocketing his gun and adjusting his backpack. His only request was that Luke be the one who fetched what Clementine needed. Kenny knew absolutely nothing about what to get to help her.

Luke started in the cereal, crackers, and granola aisle. Three granola bars laid on the ground, clearly dropped from the last group to swing through. He tossed them into his bag and kept searching. On the other end of the store, Kenny was rifling through canned food, ignoring the ones that were punctured or swollen and instead bagging those in good condition.

Time passed in silence, and the two continued to scan the aisles, noting the one that carried the supplies they came for. Kenny avoided it. Luke glanced at it fleetingly, seeing how much space he needed to leave in his bag to swipe the aisle clean.

“Hey look,” Sounded through the silence.

Luke glanced up from where he was studying dusty, old boxes of what he assumed were cereal. He turned, passing an aisle for where Kenny was. “What?” He asked.

Stepping to the side, Kenny gestured to a baby doll. “It’s you.” He said. He was in the toy aisle which held only a handful of items. The smirk on his face at the insult — albeit a bad one — made Luke’s lip twitch.

Luke pursed his lips. Turning, he gestured to a small cluster of dust swept into the corner of a shelf. “And that’s you, old man.”

Kenny’s gaze turned and his smirk instantly vanished. “Let’s just get the shit and go.”

Luke was in charge of gathering and packing Clementine’s supplies as it was easiest for both of them. After all, Luke actually knew what he was getting. Kenny was lost beyond belief. So, as planned, Luke went to the section and swiped it clean. After stuffing his bag to the brim and transferring all of their collected food into Kenny’s bag, they continued on their way.

“So, your girlfriend’s never talked to you about any of this?”

Oh Lord did Kenny hate where this conversation was going. “No.” He said.

Luke puffed out his lower lip, but said nothing. It was strange to him that someone could live in a world where not only did they not know how menstruation worked, but that thought it was gross opposed to natural and normal.

“I know how it works. It’s not my place to ask for all the details about how they handle it.” Kenny furthered.

Luke shrugged. “It’s useful to know. Especially now since we’re all in such close quarters.”

Kenny knew Luke was right, but it would be a cold day in hell before he admitted that aloud. So, he remained silent.

He’d never had a daughter; he’d only ever had Duck. Seeing as Katjaa and Sarita were private people, they never thought to have a conversation about how they handled it. It felt pointless and needlessly embarrassing; something that could never emerge naturally in conversation, and seeing as he never had a daughter, it felt even less needed.

Should he learn all about it as a courtesy for the people he lived with? Probably. Was he going to? He didn’t know.

“Oh shit,” Kenny groaned, doubling over.

Luke turned hearing Kenny’s footsteps stop, staring at his hunched over figure. He raised a brow, skeptical. That was, until he spotted blood droplets hit the floor of the dirt path. His eyes widened and he jumped. “Kenny?” He asked, starting closer. “Hey, are you okay?”

The male groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and gradually forcing himself to be more upright. His head remained downcast. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Nosebleed.”

Luke blinked, watching as another blood droplet fell from his face and crashed to the floor. He raised a brow, considering, then relaxing. “Do you need a minute?”

“No shit.” He snapped. “I need to get the bleeding to stop before we start attracting.”

Luke placed his hands on his hips. Kenny has a point — walkers were attracted to the smell of blood. If they caught wind of him, that was trouble. Trouble that would lead them right back to the lodge.

So, they needed to stop the bleeding. And fast.

Louis paced, and looked around, and considered. Then, he smirked. Then, he laughed.

He rummaged through his bag and Kenny heard the crinkling of packaging. He groaned, assuming Luke was taking it easy, opening one of the granola bars they’d found. Instead, after a moment of bitterly waiting, his chin was jolted up and an object was shoved up his nose. The only thing he could see in his field-of-view was Luke’s cheeky grin.

Instantly, he knew what had happened. His gaze heaved in displeasure.

Well, now he didn’t ever need to have that conversation with Sarita. He knew exactly how women handled their cycle. He knew exactly how those strangely designed products benefited them.

“You’re an asshole,” Kenny scoffed, his voice nasally and congested.

Luke bit on his lower lip to force back a laugh as he stared at the male. He turned away, not wanting to make him even angrier. “I think it’s a really great look for you.”

“Luke--”

“Very educational.”

“Fuck you.”

His plan of ‘not making him angry’ was out the window. Though, what else had he expected? It was Kenny. He could breathe and Kenny would call him selfish for stealing oxygen from others.

They wandered in bitter silence, occasionally Kenny slinging another ‘you’re an asshole’ or ‘was this really necessary’ his way. Luke only ever chuckled. “Hey, it worked.” He’d say.

Because he was right, Kenny wouldn’t say anything.

Approaching the cabin, Luke went in first. His priority was to get Clementine’s supplies to her ASAP. It would settle her worries and bring her peace; why they set out on their mission to begin with. Maybe it would make seeing Kenny in the state he was in a little less traumatic.

“You’re back!” Clem beamed, scurrying to the top of the stairs as the two slipped inside. She’d emerged from one of the back rooms she’d been aimlessly waiting in, pleading they could to find what she needed.

Luke came up first, taking up her field-of-view. “And we were successful.” He slid the bag off of his back and passed it, sealed, to Clementine’s open arms.

“Thank you,” she sighed, the panic in her eyes washing away. “Where’s Ken…” but before the words could escape her lips, her eyes landed on the very person she’d been missing.

Luke stepped to the side as she began, exposing the very male she’d been looking for. At the bottom of the stairs, Kenny was abandoning his gun on the weapons bench, his glare cool and calculated.

As he started up the stairs, Clementine’s confused stare contracted. “Uh, Kenny?”

When he reached the top, his eyes closed, and he huffed a sigh out of his only free nostril seeing as a tampon was wedged up his bleeding nose. “Don’t ask,” he snarled, his voice nasally and constricted. He started away into one of the back rooms to clean himself up and sort himself out.

Luke smirked as he watched him wander away. He watched how red Clem’s flared cheeks became, eyes wide as she stared dead-ahead, the reality of the situation settling in. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I think he might have a skewed view of what those are actually used for now.”

Then, the embarrassment washing away as quickly as it had drawn upon her cheeks, Clem smiled and laughed; eyes closed, head dipped forward to muffle her giggles, face bright and happy.

It was his favourite sound, and he couldn’t help but giggle too. Her embarrassment was beginning to fade and joy was taking hold. It was exactly what he always wanted to offer Clementine: protection, comfort, and happiness.

Just like he used to offer his sisters. ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

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crqstalite · 5 years ago

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SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 9

i said ‘hey 7k sounds like a good place to stop.’ but because i got expository again, i decided ‘hey lets add another 3.4k words to this mess so no one feels like they’re getting cheated out of a story!’ so here’s 10k words of a badass deciding she isn’t taking shit from anyone anymore.

disclaimer: i don’t hate quinn, tri’ama does.

inspiration : cosmic love, florence + the machine.

TRI'AMA._YAVIN_IV.

Another Revanite seizes up before the woman, a grin on the Inquisitor's face, strands of wet hair falling in her face delicately. The shadows cast a menacing look onto her face as thunder claps in the distance, lightning flashing as Tri'ama catches a glimpse of the lightsaber through the soldier's midsection, burning a hole through their uniform. The lavender blade disignites, and Nox hooks the hilt neatly on her combat belt as the person falls to the ground in a heap, eyes rolling into the back of their skull.

"Break?" She asks the two who'd accompanied her on the mission into the ruins. The soft, soothing voice of a mother is out of place on Yavin, and it sends shivers down her spine as Darth Nox acknowledges their presences. Her eyes are anything but warm and inviting, glowing a dark gold. It's as if she's offering them a midday snack instead of a break from the rampant hordes of enemies they've faced all day long.

She's pleased with herself over the murders of what feels like millions of people amongst the ruins, though Naji's presence has gone strangely quiet during their march through. Not a single Revanite has fallen to the Jedi's doublesaber, the occasional healing thrown out. Usually it tended to drive her up the metaphorical walls, but the Jedi Master hasn't said a word. Any Revanite that attacked her, she refused to kill, only to injure in any way possible. In sight or out of it, Mierrio often finished the job. Tri'ama nearly feels bad for the Barsen'thor, surrounded by so much death. The two of them thrived off it, but the Jedi typically didn't. If anything, she looked a little green around the gills as a splatter of blood soaks into her armor.

Nervously, the Barsen'thor -- Naji, nods and they move to a less populated area of the ruins to presumably rest. Thankfully, it's under a stone overhang, so the three have managed to effectively dry themselves for a duration of time. It seems whenever she ends up with one or the other, she manages to get soaked. Tri'ama chuckles to herself, there must've been a constant here somewhere.

The pale woman is a mystery, and impossible to decipher her true intentions even after all the years they'd known each other in passing.

And again after they'd both ascended to the Council.

And essentially attempted to kill each other. More than once.

Darth Mierrio Revel-Kallig is just like a rancor in waiting and a literal beast on the battlefield as she strikes down adversary after adversary with no remorse for the loss of life, but how prim and proper she ends up being while on Dromound Kaas in the sight of the Dark Council. Proper black formal attire, hair pinned up and away from her face, it's hard to tell which personality she's talking to half the time. Right now though, she's in her element. Torn armor, mussed hair, blood all over her robes, and happily pulls out a kolto patch and perches herself on a broken stone. Even Tri'ama has to admit she's still the epitome of grace post-battle, running a hand through her hair when a barely curved back, one leg crossed over the other. As if she's preparing for a photo-shoot instead of the battle of a lifetime. Rolling up a sleeve, she stretches out her arm and looks up to Tri'ama, "Sit for a bit, darling. There's still a lot I don't know about you after all this time that we've known each other. Good a time as any."

Blazes, so this was going to be one of those conversations. Those 'picking Tri'ama apart just because I can and because hypothetically I'm on the same power level as her' conversation. She hated talking about herself to begin with, and now she was concerned Nox may have known this and is taking advantage of it in front of Naji. The other woman is paying attention rather well though, even if she's attempting to appear as if she isn't, eyes closed and glowing dimly in the shadowed area. Can't figure why that would be good for either of them, but she figures she'll amuse the other woman for a bit.

"There's nothing you need to know, Nox." She answers, taking her own inventory after the last big fight as they slowly make their way out of the cave. Dealing with the puzzle within took time, and it was frustrating enough that she was considering just destroying the thing and finding Revan on her own, but Nox had deciphered it quick enough that she'd only had to defend the two against a few packs of wild beasts. She could cross nature excursion off her vacation list after all of this, and readjusts her hood to cover her hair properly before responding, "Nothing that's on a need to know basis, in your case."

Mierrio muses for a moment, pressing the salve onto her pale skin. While it soaks, she looks up to her with a pointed look in her eye that Tri'ama mistakes for the look of a hunting predator akin to that of the beasts they'd just fought off, "What about that Quinn fellow? Your wedding was wonderful to attend, where is he now?"

Tri'ama hesitates, attempting not to make her position on the matter too clear to the women in her company, hiding behind her respirator as to not make her emotions clear.. She's not sure if Naji knows the current state of her affairs with the man, or even whether Nox is just pressing her buttons or not. Does she know what she's been trying to get up to lately? Aghdani had never been close to her, as far as she knew. The Iridonian wasn't friends with many others on the Council as it was, and had never taken a liking to her either.

It wasn't like the divorce had gone quietly either. Quinn was still frustrated in his own way that she was no longer his wife, though made it clear he disagreed with her ruling. He wore his ring proudly, parading around the Fury as if he still owned the place. Well, in his own quiet rebellion that was. She often could sense him lingering in front of her quarter's door, never staying for long but the feeling of desire strong in his presence.

Desire and longing were the only things the man felt nowadays. It keeps her up at night, and she nearly feels bad for him, denying him his true feelings. At times, she even finds herself missing him next to her at night, the other side of the bed cold when she sleeps and when she wakes. But the ever-present scars on her body she can see in the mirror when she suits up for the day are a quick reminder to why. Why those blue eyes are constantly a lie, why his soft, caressing touches during her treatment will only lead to another cycle of pain.

Aghdani had refused the reassignment of the man after only a day with him just as she had feared, an email sent days later that she wasn't going to put up with this new assistant of hers and that Tri'ama could just kill him if she wanted to rid herself of him that badly. The connotation of the message had come off surprisingly well for just being a message as well, just as angry and spoken with a heavy Imperial accent as if the woman had been there herself.

She wouldn't say that she hadn't considered the thought rather heavily. But as much as she fingered the hilt of her lightsaber late at night at the door of the medbay, she couldn't bring herself to simply rid herself of him in such a manner. He didn't deserve justice like that, and she'd only prove herself no better than those on the Council.

It scared her to have his hands roaming about her body again after all the fights she'd managed to get into. Lana had been rendered unavaliable with her assignments with Marr, and she wasn't about to ask Satele for healing either. Naji was routinely gone with Whyatt on other missions to bring both sides of the coalition closer together, and she'd never trusted Nox with her body before. She didn't intend to start now. Though some injuries had become unbearable, and force healing wasn't something learned in a day either.

Naji may have been healing her at the point, she's not sure. There's a certain softness numbing her mind right then, and it feels like her healing.

"Why do you care, Nox?" Is all she can ask, not even looking her directly in her eyes as she processes how to answer her question, rolling her wrist and waiting for it to crack satisfyingly, "Quinn is Quinn."

Mierrio raises an eyebrow, obviously suspicious, "You didn't bring him on planet, you brought that little Twi'lek girl, the one who always talked too much. I remember you used to drag around the poor man like a pet -- blazes he used to act like one too. Waiting on you hand and foot, never an opinion deviating from your own. Kriff, that always gave me a good laugh. It was as if he was made to please a Sith. Breeded to, if you will."

Tri'ama doesn't laugh with her, though Nox is right in some capacity. Parts of their relationship made it clear one was clearly more powerful than the other. It had always been that way, and neither had ever bothered to ask why. Tri'ama had never tried to rise him to her side rather than beneath her, as most Sith-force blind relationships ended up being. Now, she didn't regret doing so considering what he'd done, how much more information he would've had on her. But she regrets her actions before landing on Yavin, even though she knows they were right.

"And in the end, I will seek you out among the stars."

"Quinn?" Naji questions quietly, pulling her own ponytail out and letting her golden curls dust her shoulders. Scarily, Tri'ama had forgotten she was still there amongst all her own scatter-brained thoughts. The Barsen'thor was rather innocent in the matter that she (or as far as they knew) didn't deal in the same sorts of relationships the two Sith did. Was she even married? Or with anyone, for that matter? The Barsen'thor was Jedi, and they had some sort of code against passion of any kind, and marriage seemed like it was in that ballpark. Or love in general. She figured all the people in the Republic were more committal than they were anyways. She wouldn't expect her to understand the struggle.

For some reason, that stings.

She'd been as silent as a mouse for the last few minutes, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and Tri'ama had assumed she was meditating and healing from the past few skirmishes, open wounds now visibly scarring over. Now though, her grey eyes are inquisitive, looking to Tri'ama first, "Is he the soldier who's been with you as of late?"

Mierrio laughs loud at the question before she can answer, nearly out of character for her as she regards the woman with a distasteful smirk that for some reason annoys Tri'ama, "Oh blazes no. Quinn would have a heart attack if he heard you compare him to the Lieutenant. That's Pierce, Quinn is a starchy old fellow who likes to grovel at our dear Darth Amarillis-Quinn's feet and play dutiful plaything."

Tri'ama grits her teeth at the hyphenated last name she'd been able to shed (though without official records being changed accordingly just yet), and Naji looks uneasy at the response, flickering her gaze to Nox, "Right." She's understandably uneasy, the answer was odd and demeaning, brushing her fingers through her tangled blonde hair. She'd been the only one without a hood in their small scouting party, and had gotten drenched, "I wasn't aware you were married, Wrath." She says curiously, the epitome of serene with the backdrop of the jungles as she drops a metaphorical bomb on her.

I'm not, is on the tip of her tongue, And I never will be again. Not to him.

Don't say anything about Theron either, is in the forefront of her mind as she considers that Naji may know more than she's letting on about her and the SIS agent. For a foolish moment, she wonders if they talk about her when she's not around.

"How odd. I believed you would've brought your dear husband with you, Wrath. What is he doing these days, running odd jobs for you in Sith Intelligence? I always despised that lot, poking their noses where they don't belong." Nox questions before she can even formulate a response. So that was her perogative. Either she knew the truth and was trying to get her to say it, or was genuinely clueless and was hoping to get a rise out of her. Tri'ama couldn't think of a time that the woman ever truly liked Quinn, mostly because of his uptight mannerisms. Given she'd never liked the informal manner of her husband, the pirate. Andronikos Revel had never sat quite right with her, and she often questioned how the man had accepted fatherhood so readily by the way Nox spoke of their relationship. Possibly because of her past, she wasn't attracted to such ruffians in the way Mierrio was. At the very least, Quinn had been an open book in his opinions of her.

All until the end.

"Then I suppose your husband has run off again if he's not here either?" If Nox wanted to be petty, she could be petty right back. It's childish, she knows, but she wants to talk about anything else other than Quinn. Anything other than the man that had forced his way back into her life, even though she'd thrown him out. Anything other than the man that kept her perpetually anxious as soon as she stepped on the Fury every night. Anything other than the man who ruined the one good thing in her life.

Anything other than the man who'd ruined everything.

She's scored a point, because her face goes ashen, eyes narrowing in offense as Tri'ama continues on her tirade, "Even if Quinn grovelled, I knew where he was at all times -- who he was with. More than you can say."

"Andronikos remains to be more independent than your fool of a husband though. He could stand up on his own two feet." She nearly growls. Tri'ama has struck a chord with her. Mierrio had always been oddly protective of her relationship with the pirate, and it's rather satisfying to feed off her anger. Nox's had been always been different than Aghdani's, or Lana's. Roiling, dark, hot, and strong. Oh, and it was so easy to get her all riled up just in time for a fight. Years after the Revel's spontaneous marriage, she still couldn't figure what was such a sore spot for her, other than that he used to never be around as often.

In a sense, she's almost right. Though there'd been more than a few times that the pirate had gone missing during one of her especially brutal moments, and Tri'ama had accordingly made note of that for use in later arguments. In the recesses of her mind, she wonders why Nox is even out here fighting with the coalition. According to passing gossip, she'd just recently given birth to her second biological child only a few months ago, not to mention that her Sphere still needed her on other planets. It explained her weakness on the battlefield and her more defensive tactics as well, "My children won't grow up with a pushover for a father, unlike your legacy."

"You and I both know I have no intention of raising a family of my own, Nox." Tri'ama laughs darkly at the proposition (it'd be discussed, but never picked up again -- for good reason), rough beneath the effect of the respirator on her voice, "Hypothetically though, I'll never live in fear that any children of mine will grow up with someone who could leave at a moments notice for their own gain. Or someone more concerned with fighting petty battles than the bigger picture."

The scowl on the other woman's face is enough for her to claim victory over the argument. She's successfully pissed her off, for lack of other wording. She nearly formulates another response, but she's concerned there may be another scathing answer afterwards. Mierrio had never been one to give up easily, especially when it concerned her. They had more important things to attend to anyways, and arguments about ex-husbands and fathers wasn't among them.

"Don't think I haven't taken notice of your interest in the Grandmaster's son, either." Her voice oozes with triumph as Tri'ama makes to leave the overhang. Her eyes widen out of sight of the other Sith, effectively stopping her halfway in between their shelter and the rain. Nox scoffs at the gesture. She'd effectively been caught, and Tri'ama's surprised. Nox has never been one for the small details unless they applied to her, "That's right. It's rather obvious there's something going on there, just so you know. I knew Sith took whatever they wanted when they wanted it, but because you were married I was sure you'd be more committal than this. Can't wait until the Council hears about it. Oh the scandal."

Tri'ama is quick to turn around and find Nox with her hands on her hips, close and with a smirk on her face. Mock surprise dribbles out of her voice, a pale hand coming up to cover her mouth as she laughs wickedly, "You're in love with a Jedi's son. Forceblind no less! I thought you'd hit rock bottom with Quinn, but you just keep sinking."

She won't resort to violence, that's what Mierrio wants. Just to piss her off. Revan won't wait around for Mierrio's playground taunts to shut off. Tri'ama takes a breath, closing her eyes and trying to soothe herself back to being unshakable. Naji picks up her doublesaber from where she'd been sitting and squeezes past her back into the rain, thunder rumbling in the distance. It's nearly akin to her own emotions now. The Jedi is apprehensive, her presence giving it away, and has effectively removed herself from the situation entirely at the risk of being attacked while their backs are turned.

One more word out her mouth, and Tri'ama won't hesitate to defend herself. Or Theron. Asking for a Sith to respect a Republic agent with anything less than a strong distaste was asking a lot as it was, but Nox has lit a fire in her. Flashes of their last conversation still haunt her, still frustrating her late at night as the rain lulls her off into a restless sleep. All that's been on her mind has been Theron lately, and Nox's calculating glare isn't helping the matter. Threatening to tell the Council, it has to be one of the most childish things Mierrio has given an ultimatum to, but to her family, it'd be a major blow.

"I always knew you weren't cut out to be Sith. You may have come from a pureblood family...oops I mean raised by a pureblood family, but you hesitate at the worst of times. Mercy isn't a luxury or a necessity, and your ruthless edge has been dulled over the years," Mierrio cackles, pale face close to her own as her eyes narrow, taking her in, "It's truly sad, you were so promising. As much as you wish it, you'll never be one of us."

She slaps her.

Tri'ama has had enough.

The Sith recoils, surprise evident in her amber eyes as fury boils just beneath the surface. Tri'ama tries to keep her face stoic, unmoving. She won't continue being pushed around by the likes of Nox, and this is just one of about sixty million reasons why. Why she's willing to protect Theron against her, she isn't sure right then. But she's not only insulted him, but herself as well.

Her palm had left a bright red mark on her cheek, and is already bruising her porcelain skin. Her own hand stings through the thin glove, and Nox meets her eyes, nearly ready to respond something fierce before Tri'ama starts herself, "I am Sith. I was born Sith, and I always will be. Just because I don't kick those who are already down like the likes of you and the Council, doesn't change that. Don't forget your own bloodlines before you try to dirty mine, Revel. I'm sure mine extend much further than your own."

And for once in their young lives, Mierrio Revel-Kallig is left speechless. Her mouth is moving for a moment before standing up straight and pushing her own way out of their small structure without another word.

Tri'ama pauses herself for a moment, considering what she's done. When they're no longer fighting Revan, she can't expect any assistance from Nox anymore. She's now nailed that nail into that coffin, and will pay for it down the line. As satisfying as it was to do right then, the consequences may be more than she bargained for. Nox had pull in the Empire, and a power base that could possibly topple her if she wanted to.

She chuckles, watching her hands offhandedly as they check over her own body, saber hilts in her hands and being ignited. Not too many injuries, not enough to warrant a new kolto patch or a request of force healing.

You weren't going to give up anything for Quinn, now you're willing to give up everything you ever knew for a man who'll leave you as soon as someone prettier than you shows up, or as soon as the war orders him to kill you.

No one speaks for a long while on their trek to the small temple amongst the ruins, and Tri'ama is happy to keep it that way. Surely Naji would have her own questions later, but whatever connection they'd had previously has given away to static. Her presence is well hidden now, wound up well within that mind of hers as they continue fighting through Massassi and Revanites alike. Occasionally there's a warm healing over a certain injury or bruise she takes note of, but she doesn't bother saying anything to her when she does do it in a break of their adversaries. They're sporadic as well, and the gouges and bruises are piling up again, bleeding freely in the tears of her armor. She's halfway to believing Naji has grown scared of her.

Mierrio had similarily cut herself off from the rest of the group, but hood lowered as to wear the bruise proudly. Maybe to make her feel guilty, but she smugly reminds herself she doesn't care. Some do deserve to be hurt, and Nox deserves to be knocked down quite a few pegs.

It wasn't intentionally that she brought her past into the issue, she knew that much. Many liked to acknowledge that she was raised by purebloods but never one herself, not even a speck of it within her DNA. It was a constant reminder that she wasn't really an Amarillis, didn't really belong to a great bloodline even though she had been adopted at the age of only a few months. Tri'ama had never known anything else, but had been distant with her family since then.

It was a point Mierrio enjoyed to poke fun at, even though her own bloodline couldn't even be traced further than her ancestor, Lord Kallig. The little Tri'ama had become privy to was that she'd been a slave for years until they'd run into each other on Korriban as teenagers. Also, her children had been fathered by an ex-Republic solider, and well known Imperial criminal. To say the least, Tri'ama considers whether the other Sith are right to whispers about the impurity of their family. With how she's been treated since they knew each other, she also wonders if karma will continue being dealt out like this.

For her own sanity, she prays it does.

"We couldn't keep him from coming. Sorry!" Is essentially the message Vette has sent her once they reach the staging area again, and Tri'ama isn't immediately able to deal with this all at once. Trying to wrap her head around the idea of two Revans is enough at the moment, but getting all the other coalition missions done at some point before the entire planet went up in smoke? She's so exhausted, so absolutely drained emotionally and physically that she's considering shoving Quinn out an airlock just to get back on track, the way Pierce had suggested he go. Deal with the fallout whenever she came down from her battle high.

"It's good that you didn't. I told myself I was not altered by my centuries in the Emperor's grasp. But my actions were those of a madman, consumed by rage. I am glad to have left such evil behind." Revan, the real Revan, had paused, maybe taking all three battleworn women in, and his glance had landed on Tri'ama specifically before continuing, "You must do what I could not, Wrath."

Wrath. That's what she'd been for years, that was her whole identity. She was one of the most powerful Sith in the Empire right now. People respected her as such, gave her credit where credit was due.

The Emperor's...

Or the Empire's, was the question. She'd struggled with the idea for years since the Hand had found her, and even worse she'd learned there'd been one before her that was running around with a Jedi now. There'd been pointed glances toward one another as they went about their tasks on Yavin, but she grew more and more curious about the man as the days passed. He was tall and strong, not unusual for a pureblood, but he had an odd presence she couldn't put her finger on. He was kind enough to Whyatt, and hadn't made any moves to get rid of him as far as she was concerned.

Tri'ama wondered why she was the replacement for him. An up and coming Lord of Sith against a three hundred year old who'd served that time faithfully to the Emperor? She was powerful, but there was no question that he could easily crush her should he will it.

A flash of red catches her eye, and she spins around to focus on it, assuming the worst. Another Sith with red robes, nothing more. They pass by with little more than a glance, and Mierrio continues on while Naji pauses to wait for her. Running a hand through her wet hair, she brushes off Naji's questions and follows after the other woman, nearly frustrated again. There had been too many close calls as of late, and Mierrio's pestering hadn't helped with the issue either. Tri'ama had wanted to cut this off entirely and just be allies again and nothing more. Even if there was a possibility they could continue this affair after Yavin, it'd be frowned upon. They'd be lightyears upon lightyears away from each other, and it was nearly inevitable that she'd fight against him directly one day. To be directly or indirectly responsible for the death of a lover would haunt her until the end of the days. Tri'ama reminds herself this was still the best course of action, regardless of her true emotions for the man. But there was something so horribly alluring about him that she was sure she was going mad, or it was a trick of the Force again. There was no understanding it, and if she could just focus for two seconds without thinking about it, there wouldn't have been a problem.

Even with Quinn, he wasn't nearly as distracting. Her thoughts of him weren't as intrusive as her musing of the agent. Half the time he'd been distracted by her anyways. Turning the tables on her so quickly was so absolutely frustrating because she hadn't expected it. And Tri'ama hated surprises.

Her mind is elsewhere as Naji debriefs Satele and Marr on their mission to the ruins, and Whyatt turns out to be successful in his own small missions for some of the more prominent members of the temporary alliance. The scrawny Iridonian Zabrak man was, surprisingly enough, good for something she found, and was adept with duel wielding. He'd single-handedly fought off hordes of Massassi according to reports, and came back to tell the tale with only a gash over his nose. Well, there were more forest green bruises Naji later fussed over after the meeting was dismissed, but that was all that Tri'ama had noticed at the time.

It takes a bit for her to collect her thoughts and prep with the others for the next, and hopefully, last mission into Revan's hideout. There are battle plans, their flight in. It's going to be haunting her all night, and Yavin doesn't exactly have cantinas where she can numb away the thoughts until morning. The fight against Revan is going to be one where their willpower is going to be tested beyond belief. It had been a long while since she'd been in such a high stakes mission, where it was either kill or be killed. Flashes of her memories aboard Malgus' stealth ship, her short time on Makeb before Aghdani and Nox took over the mission, fighting the cyborg in the sinking ship on Manaan. More recently, the fuzzy memories she has of the mission to the station jammer. All moments that she was convinced would be the end.

This...this might actually be the end. Might be something she won't be able to walk away from.

Tri'ama would be lying if she said she wasn't worried. Yes, the Grandmaster of the Jedi herself is assisting in the operation. Two Dark Council members would be fighting alongside her. A Sith of immeasurable power, the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order and the Defender of Tython, along with her own power.

And Theron.

Yet again, she'd be caught in a lie, should she admit she wasn't fearful for his safety. Not that he couldn't defend himself, she'd seen him fight on more than one occasion, and win. But his last words to her are beginning to ring around in her head. Blazes if she doesn't regret not responding to him and his well-meaning concern, to at. Even the false hope, the false spark that would've been lit for him if she'd stayed, if she'd taken him then and there, would've been better than this strained allyship. Comforted him that she would be okay, promised him that she'd come back to him.

The thought slips through her fingers again.

She doesn't love him, that's what comforts her at night. Admitting that aside from a regretful conversation and mutual admiration, there isn't anything keeping them together. That's the way it should be, anyways. Tri'ama should be able to go about her life like any other Sith. No lingering attachments with someone forbidden to her. Stars forbid she begin thinking she wants to belong to him in such a manner. After this, yes after this, she'll return to the Empire. Maybe someone else will catch her eye, maybe she'll remain alone for the rest of her reign as the Wrath.

All that matters is getting off Yavin with all her limbs intact. And preferably, everyone elses'.

Still, she ponders whether she should speak to him. Before all of this, at least. An ancient evil that could probably snap her neck if he wanted to, flick the light out of Theron's charming hazel eyes right before her was going to face them only twelve hours from now. Either way, it could be the worst way for either of them to go, falling to Revan in such a violent manner.

The tanned ring line taunts her as she moves to slip her gloves back on from where they'd sat on the table previously, having to type rapidly on her datapad earlier with their findings from the excursion in the ruins, and the gloves had interfered with the response time. Theron is not her's, and she is not his. I don't love him, is her first thought. She'd told herself she loved Quinn, and had burned a fire of desire for him for years. In the end, she ended up charred, with scars to prove her naivity.

Before she can even stop the thought, her legs are already moving towards the staging area, where she'd seen Jakarro's ship touchdown weeks ago, and where Theron had left to only ten minutes prior. It's now or never -- and she is hoping it's now. Or, this will haunt her for the rest of her natural and unnatural born life.

You're making a mistake, she thinks, It isn't worth your time anyways. No SIS agent wants anything more than a fling with a Sith anyways.

You aren't worth it.

Shut it.

Red. Red, red. She's searching either side of the courtyard for the jacket, hands in a perpetual fist on either side of her lithe body. People part for her, maybe knowing she's a woman on a mission. Jedi and Sith alike, she's searching for his presence among the dwindling throngs of people as they head off to barracks or shuttles to get rest for the upcoming battle. Nothing stands out to her, and with how many force sensitives are here, she's sure they can sense her desire just as much as the blood pounds in her ears. It'd be embarassing to explain to anyone what she's looking for, and she refuses to do so no matter who comes up to her to ask. Stars forbid Naji had found her after the discussion they'd had earlier with Nox. The woman would know immediately. Even worse if Nox herself sensed it.

She's nearly ready to give up half an hour later, ready to accept she's missed her chance, and hard. It's growing darker, and though the storm had let up sometime ago, it's threatening to return. It's hard not to make it evident she's disappointed. There's barely anyone left, and knowing her crew, someone would come looking for her if she didn't come back soon.

Even the droids who regulated speeder travel over the infinite jungle had been powered down and stored somewhere out of the rain once she reaches the outcropping. It feels like it's been forever since she's been alone with her emotions like this, and it's stifling. Now she knows why she keeps other people around for so long, she physically can not be trusted not to do something rash. She drags a hand down her face, a grimace over her lips as her fingers itch for something to crush. Why is she so damned frustrated? Hell why is this bothering her so much?

Why can't she just be every stereotypical Sith that had ever been born into this hellhole of a galaxy, and not care about how anyone else fares over her own health? Tri'ama hates that she wants him, wants his arms wrapped around her again, wants those burning kisses all over her. Hates that she does want to spend just a little more time with him. Hates that her honest emotions are being spiked by her need to belong, belong to something, belong to someone. Quinn had essentially quenched that thirst for the longest time, but had left her waiting for someone to fill the void. Sith didn't need to belong, they didn't need to love. They needed passion to thrive, and for some reason the galaxy had given her passion as their code required -- in the worst way possible. In the form of someone she couldn't have, in the form of someone she shouldn't have.

But she wants him. She wants Theron Shan more than she knows.

And she hates herself for it. She wasn't going to cry over him, she wasn't going to be making this a spectacle. Her thoughts unwillingly linger to Pierce. she'd admitted she was over Ashley for months now, and here she was, wanting anyone to take her no matter what consequences waited for it. It wasn't right to keep leading him on like that, but all she wants is to fall back into old routines, old comforts to heal her.

"My lord?" A quiet voice questions, startling her out of her thoughts as the sound of boots against stone fills the air. A sinking feeling of dread fills her as she processes the accent that pronounced her name and title for years beforehand, growing ever closer, "The crew was beginning to fret over your extended absence."

"I'm assuming that means you were fretting?" She asks a little too coldly, but as he comes into view he doesn't even seem a tad offended by her tone, "Pierce, Jaesa and Vette know I'm fine and wouldn't have sent you after me."

"I will admit, it has been a long while since I was in your service, I will not attempt to understand the reasoning behind the change in protocol, but I will accept it if that is what you wish." For a moment, he's quiet and Tri'ama really begins to take him in properly. A few gray hairs have appeared since he was gone, a salt and pepper look beginning to take hold on him. A younger her would've appreciated it, had he not betrayed her she would be proud to call him her husband.

"I do not feel conflicted in the least. Not about anything. Including you." It had been shortly after they'd disposed of Moff Broysc, something she doesn't regret to this day, but it had been a welcome surprise about this. She had originally meant to return to her own quarters after the mission debrief, go over what she knew about the Hand, but raises an eyebrow at the admission, curious of his nature. He pauses, waiting for her to allow him to continue, "I've held back long enough. Been too rigid, too inflexible. I won't suppress my feelings and desire any longer."

"You were a tad slow out the gate, Quinn. Pursue me if you must." She'd played hard to get, even though she'd flirted with him only the day prior, "Someone else may have caught my eye while you waited around."

"I know you're only testing me." He answers, such a strong challenge to her. A welcome challenge, of course. Showing even a little backbone was good, but this was the first time he'd done anything, or not taken her words at face value.

"Oh really? But how can you be sure?" She'd asked, both hands on either hip. Flirting and making fun of Quinn had been a pasttime at the time, and she wondered what his response would be this time, "What if there really is some Pureblood out there thinking of me in your stead?"

"I'm sure if he is out there, he was slower out the gate than I was to realize what kind of woman you are. Come to my quarters, and I'll show you." Tri'ama had to try not to widen her eyes at the offer, aware of how important that had been to him, to take control and not follow her lead first.

Tri'ama didn't often like surprises. In fact, she despised being out of the loop about anything. But this one, she had liked the challenge that he'd alluded to, "Lead the way then, Captain."

He had made no move to leave at that point, maybe musing over his next actions, but instead he'd thrown an arm around her waist and kissed her hard. It had been her very first kiss, and looking back on it, she regrets that it was with him. At the time, she found it hot, and had allowed him to drag her off into pleasurable night in her quarters (she had decided against screwing him in the crew quarters).

Once she'd returned to the cockpit in the morning, pleased but finding the other side of the bed empty (a tad disappointed he hadn't stayed the night, but she shivers at the thought now) he'd been there, a smirk on his face and a now-forgotten datapad in hand, "I'm glad we got that settled. I'll return to my post. I hope to see you off-duty again soon."

Tri'ama had very quickly returned the favor, yanking him forward by the leather of his uniform to kiss him hard, datapad clattering to the floor. While surprised, he'd allowed her to, and when they broke apart she had a wider smile on her own face, "There's no doubt you will, Quinn."

But all she has now for his is distaste, and a lack of trust to go with it. The memories had been so wonderful at the time, things she fell back on when she needed an extra boost during battle to remind herself what she fought for.

She can't tell, but she's sure he's armed somewhere. Even with the lack of blaster present, and that sends a shiver down her spine. With no one else in the immediate vincinity, she's eerily reminded of the night aboard the transponder station.

She's reminded all too easily of walking it with her hand in his, and returning to the Fury with her's nearly cut off had she been anymore ignorant of his intentions. Steeling her gaze on the temple in the distance, she asks, "Why are you here, Quinn?"

"I am fully aware you're able to make your own decisions, and would never question your judgement, my lord. But you put me on leave for years, and as soon as I return, you attempt to change my servitude to another. I'm afraid she didn't want me there," He begins, still looking out over the canopy of trees before turning his gaze to her, "You've attempted to rid yourself of me, my lord. So I ask, if you really did not want me around any longer, why didn't you just kill me as Darth Aghdani had made so evident she would do if you did not?"

"I have no interest in acting rash over issues in the past." Tri'ama answers, averting her gaze from his as she takes a shaky breath, "Your death would serve me no immediate or long term purpose, and until Jaesa learns to force heal, you still serve a purpose aboard the ship, even if my own emotions do not align with wanting you here. You betrayed me Quinn, and instead of staying away as I'd requested, you returned against my wishes. I'm sure your astute observations lead you to the conclusion I wouldn't be pleased."

He pauses for a beat, maybe truly considering her words before relaxing out of his perpetual parade rest and turning fully to her, "My lord. I ask you to reconsider the reassignment -- and the divorce. You were frustrated and acted rather quickly, and I barely had any concern in the matter. You pretended as if your love for me disappated in only a few months. You may not enjoy the thought, but I still care for you, my love. You have never left my thoughts."

I still care for you.

My love.

If she wasn't already haunted by the uniform, by having to sit down with him at the opposite end of the table when briefing the crew on missions, if it wasn't bad enough to have him here now telling her all these things years upon years too late. Things she would never accept, things that she would've loved to hear if it were from anyone but Captain Malavai Quinn, she will struggle to recover now. Moving on had felt like such a great idea hours prior to this, but she's terrified now. He's going to be around until she can find another unlucky, lower placed Sith Lord to take him away from her.

Her chest feels like it's tightening around her, as if her heart will begin pounding out her chest if she doesn't get out of here now. She tries to regulate her breathing, but he grows closer to her and it's suffocating. And this time, there's no Pierce to request for something, no Vette to pull her away for other, fake responsibilities. There's no one here to save her from her nightmare, and she's not sure she can continue putting on a brave face in front of him.

She wishes she weren't here right now. Tri'ama wishes she could be anywhere else but here, with only a few inches separating them. She wishes her ex-husband weren't here, trying to win her back after everything he'd done. She wonders if he even thinks about the fact that he deserves the consequences she'd given him, thinks about what they mean.

Tri'ama may have all the armor she can have on right now, but she feels so exposed to him, as if he still knows all. As if he's still the one with all the answers, as if they've gone back to the day after the day she'd confessed she no longer wanted to be called Quinn, to be considered his. No longer wanted to be his wife.

The days she'd lapsed in her judgement.

"My lord. I regret that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I wanted to be here to witness your fate." He'd said, not facing her in a large room on the transponder station. She'd been mildly suspicious at the time, confused what he meant. Not completely convinced about what was going on.

"Have you found someone else? If you say it's not me, it's you, I won't be responsible for my actions." She'd answered sarcastically, rolling her eyes as a dark chuckle following the response. Oh, how unprepared she'd been for what came next.

"It's not me or you. It's Darth Baras. I owe him more than you could imagine. It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law, and there's no special signal emitter." She'd still been unbelieving, raising an eyebrow and ready for this all to be a joke to get her away from everyone. It's their anniversary, after all. He'd been too serious though, and she'd had a well-placed sinking feeling about this, "Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed."

"I thought our relationship was real. I thought we cared about each other, Malavai." Her left hand had grown closer to her saber as it had set in. This wasn't some elaborate plan dreamt up by a man in love, this was a ruse. This was a murder by a skilled killer.

"I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But he's forced my hand, and I must side with him. Once you're gone, your crew will either join me with Baras, or be killed." The Imperial accent isn't so comforting anymore, and she draws the hilt of one saber. She had prayed she didn't have to draw it on him, but she's not so sure anymore.

"Baras will run the Empire into the ground, Malavai." She'd foolishly believed if she kept using his name, kept being familiar with him, that she'd win out and he'd see the right in his wrong.

"Baras has always been one step ahead of every enemy. He'll lead us to victory." He had finally turned to look at her, a regretful look on his face though his voice remained emotionless, "After all this time of observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses." Two battle droids appear behind him, blast doors opening with a loud thump. She must've looked so horribly hurt, that he averts his gaze again, "These war droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure."

"I--" She pauses, watching as the war droids walk up behind him. Drawing both blades and igniting the rose read sabers, she had set her lips into a thin line, wishing the tears back, "I know how thorough you are, Malavai. I'm sure this will be greatest test."

"And if I'm right, your last. I'm sorry it came to this, my lord."

The absence of my love, had only confirmed that it really had been the end of her relationship with Quinn. Not the wedding they had shortly after, but the transponder station had been the end. Killing Baras, had done nothing to sate her broken heart.

"Quinn," His gaze doesn't waver from hers, in fact nearly reaching for her hand as she turns to face him fully. Her hands are shaking, and she pulls them away just as a finger dusts his palm, "I am not yours. I will never be your love again. You attempted to kill me, and then hid behind Baras as your excuse for not coming to me with the issue first. I do not trust you, and in this future or any other, I will never trust you again. Whether it has been two years or twenty, your petty begging will not change how I feel about you. You are the Captain, I am the Wrath. I have the final say on my relationship with you, and I say that you have been reassigned. I am not your wife, and I never will be again. Be lucky I have not ended your life prior to this for every transgression you've had since you've returned to my service."

For the second time that day, she's rendered someone speechless, and for the second time today, it's welcome. The surprise is evident in his blazing blue eyes, and then regret, disappointment, "Return to the Fury and prepare the ship to leave after tomorrow. Tell Pierce and Vette that Protocol Alpha is active, understood?"

It takes a moment for him to visibly collect his thoughts, and another for him to decide not to say anything more and face her wrath, "Understood, my lord."

And with that, he's gone.

She spends a few hours waiting there on the outcropping. Channeling her hatred, but halfway in between that and meditating. Tri'ama is far from relaxing, far from feeling as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders. The rain is battering down on her for ages, but she's kept warm by the hatred she has for the galaxy at the moment. Nothing registers in her immediate vincinty for a long time, nothing exists but her.

Something is relaxing her through her force signature. It's numbing the frustration, the anger, the desire, the longing, the sadness as she comes down from her fury. It's a tad frightening, she's not sure why it's there. It isn't her own guilt either, but its soft and calming. As if someone is comforting her through it all, but there isn't any other presence she can sense here in the staging area.

She's drenched when she returns to the Fury, but Tri'ama is at a crossroads, and for once in her life, she's more unsure of where she's going next than ever. No master, only an absentee landlord. No lover, only a man who can't give up and another that she doesn't want to give up.

The end all, be all of their existence begins tomorrow. If Revan succeeds, her life is over as she knows it. The entire galaxy, is over as she knows it.

Looking at herself in the mirror through the haze of exhaustion, she asks herself what kind of Wrath she was. Did she fight for the Emperor, who intended to devour an entire planet once he returned to full strength? Or did she fight for the people of the Empire, and now, the galaxy?

Her golden eyes, accentuated with the deep purple of corruption fade away into grey as she realizes the answer isn't so far out of reach.

Who did she fight for?

THERON._YAVIN_IV.

He's not sure what he's accidentally witnessed when he makes to return to his shuttle for the night. After running a few odd errands for his mother (mostly assisting Master Grace and Iresso with the debriefing of a few missions; with how delicate they were to the Republic, he was glad Nox and Tri'ama hadn't bothered helping), he's almost ready to turn in for the night with a datapad in hand. But, as the thunder rumbles in the distance, the black clad Sith lord is nearly glowing in the early evening moonlight. A storm is coming, nearly an analogy for what they're facing the day after.

He considers for a moment, and finding they're relatively alone, crosses the distance to meet her. There's a lot that's gone unsaid in the last few days, and they haven't exchanged a word, not even a look since she left him after he'd expressed his concern for her, and he's afraid he's really messed up now. Well, it was a given, he'd missed his opportunity by straying away from her, but he felt that his life probably would've been in danger if he'd bothered her with the issue any longer. Other than the odd quote she'd sent him (that had most definitely not kept him up at night, wondering if the Wrath was actually a master at a crypting messages), he's not sure what she truly thinks of him. Of course, she hasn't been hostile towards his faction, which is all he can ask for.

Before he can move any closer, (there's still quite a ways separating them) a well-dressed Imperial man cuts to her. Clearly he'd been coming from where the last shuttle had touched down, or he thought so. He'd been working so long the time had passed faster than he'd expected, and the other man made a beeline for the Sith. Theron almost has half a mind to move to stop him, or hurry his own pace to catch up to the two, but the rational part of his mind tells him to hold back. So he does, waiting and leaning against a ruin. He wouldn't be able to hear much (the Holonet connection was kriffing horrible on Yavin outside of where they'd set up further in the base; there were no other things he could connect his implants to, especially to listen any closer either), but just watching her body language as she realizes the man is there is enough to make him realize something is amiss. She tenses visibly, and keeps herself from making eye contact with him.

Taking a closer look at him, it isn't immediately evident that he's run into Malavai Quinn. It takes him a moment, but when he does recognize him for his profile, Theron knows that this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation for either party involved. Tri'ama had seemed stressed enough earlier in the day when she'd debriefed with Master Iresso and Darth Nox about their run-in with the spirit of Revan, and adding the man to mix doesn't sound like the brightest thought anyone could've had at that very moment. He wouldn't pretend he even began to understand the pent-up frustration and regrets the woman had for her ex-husband, but for some odd reason or the other, he can't bring himself to move to help.

The conversation is short, or he assumes it is for as long as he stands there. It didn't seem to be going well, and he doesn't creep any closer to figure out the true connotation of the exchange either. With Tri'ama wearing her respirator, hood up and that Imperials seemed to struggle with any other emotion than blatant straight faced disapproval, he's not sure that by the time Malavai leaves if one of them won out over the other. For a moment, he panics Tri'ama may have known he was there (Iresso -- the Jedi, not the well-meaning soldier, had mentioned that his presence was frazzled all the time and rather easy to pick out) as she sweeps her eyes over the staging area. But, instead of seeking him out, she kneels down on the speeder pad as rain begins to fall. He moves under an outcropping to keep the storm from doing its worst to him, and for the longest time she doesn't make to leave, changing from kneeling to sitting with her legs crossed. He wasn't sure whether Sith meditated. And figured if he asked, Nox would laugh and Tri'ama would figure he had been watching her and drift away further than she had been before.

By the time another fifteen minutes passes, she's so out of it he's able to leave without a stir from the woman. Theron's sure she knows he's there and just not acknowledging him, but makes it back to his shuttle. He runs the necessary checks, no Imperial tampering, no one has broken in while he was gone. Goes over what he's learned in the day past, finishing off notes, laying out battle plans to study when he got up in the morning. Taking apart his blasters, cleaning out the necessary components, replacing those that needed to be replaced. Putting them back together, recalibrating his implants into lower power mode, it's all routine now. Still going over reports from soldiers and sensors out in the jungle. He was sure Satele -- his mother could've assigned someone else to do this job, but she assigned him the task. The praise that was heavily overlain with professional courtesy was still welcome though.

Running a hand through his hair, he lets his mind wander to her for a moment. In the view of others, she's not exactly maternal. Whyatt is years younger than he is, but she praises him for his work, and there's clearly a connection there that Theron himself yearns for. After learning the Zabrak's story, Theron feels a little guilty for that. A boy -- a literal boy, only twenty two. Barely nine at the time of the destruction, he'd watched as Theron had watched the Temple on Coruscant burn during the Sacking of Coruscant. He'd been a pupil of Satele's after his old Master had fallen in battle, and while he'd been taken under Master Atiya when he became a padawan at seventeen, he still had a closer relationship with her than he likely would ever had with his own mother. Yes, he felt horrible about being bitter about it. Whyatt, like most Jedi, never knew his parents during the war, but according to records, they'd both died during the Imperial occupation. Satele was closest thing he had to a mother figure, and he figured Atiya had filled the role as a father as well. He'd been spiraling at the loss of his Master, which was clear in his facial expressions whenever he was mentioned.

Still.

There's one more thing he ends up doing before going off to bed. Lana (against her wishes, probably. The Sith was horrible with communications these days, but he's still bitter for what she did on Rishi. Childish or not, he still thinks she deserves his thawing cold shoulder) has mailed him a status report of his forces and Jedi on-planet, and he marks it for reading later. But he goes back to the message Tri'ama had sent him. He's seen it plenty of times, trying to decrypt it, see if every letter of every word created a sentence. Evidently, it didn't.

He didn't intend to die with regrets. And right now, the Wrath was one of them. He wasn't particularily attached to her, she was kinder than most and fought for the good of the Empire, but something kept dragging him back to pale, blonde Sith. Unlike how most would argue, it wasn't her body. It was her intellect, her strategic mind. Her battle worn courage, and her startling need to protect those of the Empire. Her soldiers weren't canon fodder, not like how many others would let them be.

He admires her for being a real person rather than a monster who happened to be breathtaking to lay eyes upon.

Hell, that was sappy, even for him.

He'd never bothered responding to her previous message, and curiousity gets the best of him because he responds late that night. Whether she'll respond or not is the real question, but he'll play that game. It's something that Doxie had once said to him, and as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep, he wonders if it's considered regifting. Cheesy, maybe. But inspirational nonetheless. Thought provoking, maybe.

"Some nights I wish to go back in life. Not to change anything subtle, just to feel a couple things twice."

In the early parts of the morning as he goes about his routine again, checking and rechecking his blasters, calibrating and recalibrating his implants. Considering eating something out of the MREs, drinking a cup of caf instead, he gets another surprise that he hadn't expected. Looking at the healing bruises in the reflection of the dark screen, he isn't immediately sure how to react to the message he's received.

"There is my heart, and then there is you. I'm afraid there may not be a difference - T.A"

He didn't know Sith ever signed their names. For the longest time before Lana, he wasn't sure that they even had names -- or were willing to share them with others.

It's nice to know that Tri'ama trusted him with her's, facing possible death.

Looking out in the viewport over the still storming jungle, he considered every single way this could end. Certain death were the words of the day apparently, but he would've liked to return to the Republic. There weren't a whole lot of people that would be devastated over his death, his mother maybe and his father if he was really grabbing at straws. Lana might be upset for a while, but Tri'ama may fight for a long time after he's gone. Or forget about him, that was a possibility, and probably the actual outcome.

With a somewhat renewed sense for survival against this ancient ancestor (something would always circle back to his heritage -- his mother, his father and apparently a very old grandfather with beef against both factions), he makes his way back to the staging area, her words still bouncing around in his head.

He'd fight for something alright. Yes, he'd fight for the Republic, everything he'd ever known and everything he hoped to return to. But there was something new alongside that.

He'd fight for her.

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monigheandonn1743 · 6 years ago

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Ceart-leth

Previous Chapters

Chapter 23

Holy mother of God.

Heart pounding and limbs shaking, he collapsed sideways onto the bed, gripping Claire arse and pulling her with him. Her inner muscles were still clenching and quivering around him, making his cock twitch and his body tremble with the aftershocks of his release. Christ alive, he’d never felt pleasure like it, and just the thought of leaving her warm, wet, welcoming body made him want to weep in despair.

“Are ye well, mo gràdhag?” He panted as he threaded his arms around her and pulled her hot, sweaty body as close to his as he could. She was as breathless as he was, and her leg visibly trembled as she hooked it around his, keeping him locked deep inside her.

“Well?” She breathed, shakily as she burrowed into his chest and touched her lips against his hammering heart. “I’m euphoric.”

“Aye, so am I.” He laughed, kissing her hair and pulling her closer.

He’d never imagined that taking a woman could be as exquisite as it had been with Claire. They’d been one heart, one soul, joined in more than just body, and for the first time in his life, he’d lost himself completely. With her gentle encouragement, and soft words of love, he’d let his mind go free, and allowed his pleasure to out-weight his fears.

He’d already been teetering on the brink, tempted to have her regardless of the consequences. Since that moment in her rooms at Leoch, he’d been neigh on desperate to take her, to pummel her depths and claim her as his own. He’d needed her like air, and it had only been his fears, new and old, that had stopped him at the lake.

But then his beautiful wife had asked him to make love to her and he’d refused. He’d let his fears come between them once again, and the disappointment in her eyes had cut him to the core. But like always, she’d accepted his limitations, and done what she could to reassure him despite her own sorrow. Yet, he’d still let his past rule his present, and Claire had been paying the price for a woman long dead.

Though still shrouded in guilt for his own carnal needs, in the end, when she’d fallen apart in his arms, he’d been powerless to deny them what they so badly needed.

And he couldn’t regret it.

She’d been right there with him. Rising and falling in time with his thrust, calling his name breathlessly, and crying out in pleasure. He’d hurt her, of that he had no doubt. He’d seen it in her eyes. But while that knowledge pained him, he couldn’t regret that either, because through that pain, she’d become his.

And she’d enjoyed it.

The deep, wild love that they’d made had pleasured her as much as it had him.

Just the remembrance of her tight clenching muscles, and her desperate cry of exaltation, had new sparks of lightening striking deep in his stomach. His hips jerked against hers, and she gasped, spasming around his softened cock.

“Jesus, Claire.” He groaned, as he gripped her hair and pulled her head back. She looked up at him, her swollen lips parted, and her eyes hooded and wonton with desire. “I canna get enough of ye.” He growled as he claimed her lips and thrust further into her depths.

She whimpered, and tensed in his arms, and he froze.

“It’s okay.” She whispered against his lips, attempting to reignite the flames, as she rolled her hips against him. But his hand clamped down on her arse, stilling her movements, and he pulled back to look down at her.

“Nay, t’is not…”

“I’m fine.”

“No, Claire, ye not.” He insisted pulling her head further back. “Christ, I can tell well enough that ye in pain.”

“Jamie…”

“Hush.” He ordered gently, as he moved his hips and slipped out of her. She winced, and he raised an eyebrow as he moved his hand up to cup her face. “Ye hurtin’ an’ ye dinna need to hide it because ye fear my reaction. I was there with ye, Claire. I saw ye pleasure. Hell, lass, I felt it. So I canna doubt that ye enjoyed it.” He whispered as he brushed a lock of hair off her face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, ye’v nothin’ to be sorry for. This is my fault, t’is I who’s sorry. I’v let my past control our future, an’ I shouldna have. But I was afraid.” He admitted, as he lent to gently kiss her forehead. “Afraid of hurtin’ ye, afraid of losing ye, and afraid of ye fearin’ me.

“I shoulda trusted ye. What’s between us is different. Yer different, an’ I’m different with ye. But by being afraid, I have made ye fear me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She protested vehemently.

“Aye, ye are.”

“I’m not…”

“Claire, ye constantly fearin’ my reaction.” He argued. “Ye worried that one wrong move will send me runnin’. Ye wouldna told me of the blood oath if ye didna have to, an even when ye did, ye took the responsibility for my actions. Then, although ye wanted it yerself, ye tried to stop me from takin ye because ye feared I’d regret it. An’ now that I have, ye hiding ye pain because ye fear my response.

“It canna go on, Sassenach. Ye’v made me happier than I’v ever been in my life. Ye my wife an’ I want to spend my life lovin ye an’ raisin’ a family with ye. So no more fears. We’re in this life together, an’ I willna continue let my past create a chasm between us.”

“You’re right, but I’m not blameless, Jamie. I should have trusted you as well, and I’m sorry.” She whispered, as she ran her hand across his shoulder and up into his hair. “I love you.”

“As I love ye.” He smiled, “Now, tell me. Are ye in pain?”

“A bit…okay a lot.” She amended, blushing, when he raised his eyebrow again. “You are bigger than average, you know, and for a first time, that’s a lot to take.”

“Aye, I ken.” He smirked flashing her a wink. Men weren’t exactly shy when it came to pissing or bathing, so he’d seen enough cocks to know he was well endowed.

“Cocky bastard.” She laughed, slapping his arm. “You weren’t exactly gentle either.”

“An’ who’s fault is that? I seem to remember ye beggin’ for more.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Oliver Twist.”

“Who?”

“What? Oh my God!” She gasped sitting up and wincing as she stared down at him wide eyed... and naked. “Oliver Twist hasn’t even been written yet! Or Great Expectations, or Pride and Prejudice, or Dracula…Christ, I could make us a fortune, I’v got some of them on my phone! I should totally rewrite the Harry Potter books...”

“Are ye really talkin about books, when ye lyin’ naked in my bed?” He growled, grabbing her waist and dragging her back down. “With ye breast right there beggin’ to be…”

“Yes…and…oh...” She squeaked when he lent down and bit her nipple. “Ah…Jamie.”

“Aye, that’s more like it.” He murmured against her skin, before soothing the stink with his tongue. “Now tell me…ye reached yer pleasure twice. One straight after the other.”

“That’s not a question.” She smirked, tilting her head back as his fingers replaced his lips on her breast.

“How?” He clarified, pinching her nipple, and almost feeling her gasp in his awakening cock. “The ache of wantin ye hasna left me, an’ I could take ye again now. But if I’d reached my pleasure in ye hand, like ye did mine, I couldna have taken ye then.”

“Call it an unfair advantage.” She moaned, as he twisted and pulled at her pebbled flesh. “Woman don’t need…ah, God, Jamie…we don’t need recovery time…Jesus ah…”

“What do ye need, lass?”

“For you to stop teasing and to make me come.”

“Come where?”

“Nowhere…Christ…make me come, it means make me orgasm…to make me find my pleasure.” She explained haltingly as she writhed on the bed beside him.

“Mmm.” He hummed storing that away for further use, as he twisted her nipple again.“Ye like this?”

“God yes! Don’t you?”

“I dinna ken.” He shrugged as he let his fingers begin a slow trail down her stomach. Nobody had ever touched him like Claire did, he’d never felt a woman’s embrace as he took her.

Annalise had lain like the dead, with her hands and legs flat on the bed, clutching the sheets and screwing her eyes closed.

She’d never been a part of it with him.

Not like Claire had.

“Then we’ll have to find out.” She whispered, sobering slightly at his admission.

“Aye, I suppose we will.”

He smiled at her, then looked down to follow the path his fingers were taking. But as he got to her naval he stopped and slowly drew them back up her body.

Shit.

It was no wonder she was in pain.

There was blood, and a fair amount of it, on her inner thighs and hip where his hand had held her. It was on his legs too, as well as his hardened cock, and around the edges of his nail.

She’d warned him that, with her courses, making love in the bed would be messy, and he truly wasn’t bothered by the sight. He’d seen enough blood in his time to be immune to it. But that didn’t make the sight any less alarming.

The fact that his cock looked like it had been massacred, was bad enough. But to see so much blood coming from his wife was horrifying.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before leaning down to kiss her lips tenderly. She’d explained this to him, told him the whole process of a woman’s cycle. Of how and why a woman bled for five days and didn’t die.

And he’d promised her, not ten minutes ago, that he would let go of his fears, and he would.

It was perfectly normal, he reminded himself. Natural even, and he wouldn’t be alarmed by it. It was just her body’s way of expelling what she didn’t need, and preparing her to receive his seed. If she didn’t bleed again in twenty eight days, it meant she was carrying his bairn.

She wrapped her arms around him, deepening the kiss, and he let her, as he reached blindly onto the bedside table and retrieved the wet rag. It was cold, but it would have to do until he could get her in the bathtub.

He placed it between her legs, shushing her, and moving his lips to her neck, when she startled.

“Let me take care of ye.” He whispered against her throat as he gently cleansed her skin and the apex of her thighs.

“You didn’t have to…”

“I know. I want to,” He breathed, as he lifted his head to look down at her. Almost losing himself a over again in her whiskey eyes. “You’re my wife, Claire, t’is my job, and my privilege to care of ye. When ye ready, there’s a bath waitin’ for ye…”

“How?”

“I told the lasses to draw it for ye while ye were changin’.”

“You dear, sweet man.” She whispered, her eyes glistening with tears as she reached up and cupped his face. “Thank you, so much.”

“Ye welcome.” He smiled, before looking away to clean off her hip and to drag the rag over himself.

“Will you join me?”

“In the bathtub?”

“Yes.”

“Aye, if you’ll have me.”

After giving strict instructions that she wasn’t to move from his bed. Jamie made his way towards her dressing room, and knocked once on the door to ensure the lasses has left. With no sign of life, he depressed the latch and walked in.

It was warm, maybe too warm, with the roaring fire and the billows of rose scented steam rising from the water. But it was perfect, Maggie had done exactly as he’d asked.

He’d not bathed in a tub with anyone since he was a wee lad and had to share the water with Willie. But he’d been intrigued by Claire’s suggestion, and having expected a relatively chaste wedding night, he’d wanted to do what he could to make it special for her.

And he knew well how much she loved the water.

The shutters had been drawn for privacy, making the room cosy with naught but the light from the fire, and the few candles that had been left lit on the walls. As requested, a decanter of wine and two glasses, sat on a small round table next to the tub, and he smiled when he saw them.

Maggie was discreet, but that simple request was bound to have tongues wagging below stairs. His request for daily baths had caused a few raised eyebrows, but now they knew he would be sharing them with his wife, and thescandal would have them entertained for months.

He laughed, not in the slightest bit bothered. He loved his wife, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. His people would know that well soon enough.

Satisfied that the water wasn’t too hot, and all was as it should be. He flipped the lock on the servants door, and returned to retrieve his bride.

“Ah, so ye can do as ye told.” He smiled as he made his way over to the bed and scooped her up into his arms. She came willingly, with a soft sigh as she laid her head against his chest.

“On occasion.”

“When it suits ye, ye mean.” He laughed kissing her forehead.

“Mmm.”

“Ah, Sassenach.” He sighed, as he stood her by the bathtub and pulled her naked body against his. She looked up at him, her eyes warm and her smile soft, and he couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss her lips. “What ye do to me.”

“I can feel what I do to you.” She murmured, trailing her hand slowly down his chest and stomach until she brought it to rest over his cock. It twitched in her hand, and she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him softly as she awakened his desire.

“I beg of ye, lass.” He groaned, digging his fingers into the flesh of her arse. “Dinna start what ye canna finish, I’v only so much restraint, an’ I dinna want to hurt ye.”

“Who says I can’t finish?” She winked, as she released his cock and stepped out of his arms.

“Ye dinna seem to be finishing anythin’.” he complained, trying to grab her hand back as he gestured to his weeping cock. It was nigh on painful, his need for her to keep touching him, but seeming oblivious, she simply smiled and turned to dip a rag into the water. “Claire...”

“I’ve not even started yet, My Lord.” She all but purred, the sudden huskiness to her voice making him shiver with need, as she dropped to her knees before him.

“What are ye doin?”

“Cleaning you up.” She whispered, licking her lips, and drawing the warm wet cloth up the inside of his thigh.

Dear God above.

She was trying to kill him. She kept her dark, hooded eyes locked on him, gazing up at him through her long eyelashes, as she folded the rag over his cock. His hips jerked, and a low groan built it his throat and brushed past his parted lips. It wasn’t the wet heat he wanted to feel, but Jesus Lord it felt good.

She took her time, cleaning him throughly, and driving him half insane. When she gently eased back the skin, and wiped the cloth around the bulging head, he couldn’t take any more. His bollocks were aching, and if she didn’t stop he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

“Enough.” He growled, stilling her hand as his heart pounded erratically somewhere near his throat. “I canna take much more, lass.” Her lips twitched and she dropped the rag before wrapping her wee hand around the shaft. “Claire…”

“Sshh.” She breathed, as she rose higher on her knees, bringing her eye level with his cock. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

He was seconds away from forcing her to stop, or begging to lie back and spread her legs. His mind was so clouded in lust that he didn’t know which, but before he could decide, she moved forward and ran her tongue along the length of his cock.

“Claire…what are ye…”

“Ssh.” She murmured again before wrapping her lips around the weeping head and drawing him into her mouth.

“Jesus Christ.” He cried as lightening shot through the base of his spine, jerking his hips and making his whole body erupt in goosebumps. “Claire…lass…shit.”

She hummed around him as she worked her hand in time with her mouth. Sucking, pulling and twisting over and over as she massaged his length with her tongue, and danced it around the head. He was blinding by stars, and too overcome with awe and pleasure, to even think about stopping her.

He’d never felt anything like it in his life, he was in mind numbing bliss, and without though, his hand went to the back of her head and he buried his fingers into her hair. He could feel her sharp nails digging into the flesh of his arse as she pulled him towards her, encouraging him to move.

With what sanity he had left, he tensed his muscles, locking himself in place, least he thrust forward and hurt her. But she growled, her dark eyes hungry and begging, as she scrapped her teeth along his cock, and he was lost.

His hips shot forward, pushing his cock further into her mouth, making her moan and her stretched pink lips to tighten around him. He gripped her hair harder and thrust against her, again and again going deeper and deeper with each shallow movement.

He was in heaven, with white hot flames burning under his skin, tightening his balls and pulling him closer and closer to the inferno. He wanted to close his eyes, to throw his head back and roar with pleasure, but he just could not take them off her.

She looked sublime, and the utter bliss and triumph in her eyes, was only fueling his need.

She moved her hand and placed it with her other on his arse, helping him move until the tip of his cock was thrusting against the back of her throat. Her muscles contracted, gripping his cock so tightly that he cried out and pushed in further, making her gag.

“Christ…I’m sorry.” He panted, pulling back until his cock slipped out of her mouth.

“No.” She begged, wrapping her hand around it again, and pumping it firmly as she drew him back towards her lips. “You have no idea how…God Jamie…I want you too…please do it.”

“Lord God, lass. Ye slay me.” He groaned pushing back in though her parted lips, all the way to the back of her throat. She gaged again but her eyes begged him not to stop, so he tightened his grip and thrust forward.

He’d already been so close to to edge, but as she swallowed and moaned, licked and sucked at the thick shaft of his throbbing cock, he lost all control. His balls pulled up, and his movement turned jerky and rapid. He was close, so very close.

“God, Claire…I canna stop…” He cried thrusting in as deep as he could. All his muscles contracted, and he groaned long and low as he twitched and released his seed down the back of her throat. “Argh Christ!”

She swallowed around him, over and over, taking everything he’d given her, before slowly slipping his cock out of her mouth.

They were both breathless and panting, with their hearts pumping wildly and their eye locked. He fell down to his knees before her, and pulled her shaking body into his arms.

“I’ve never…Lord I thought my heart would burst.” He panted, as he kissed her head and ran his hands smoothly up and down her back. “Are ye well? I dinna hurt ye?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me.” She promised as she wrapped her own arms around him. “That was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Aye. I canna argue with ye there.” He laughed, kissing her again and moving back sightly to look down at her. “Now come, lass. Before the water gets cold.”

Chapter 24

#outlander #jamienandclaire #outlanderfanfiction #ceart-leth

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icarusatmidnight · 6 years ago

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Novel Prep Tag!

I was tagged by @indecentpause to do this, so thank you! I get a bit distracted yesterday watching a certain music video and looking for pictures, hence why it’s a little late~ :D

Rules: Answer the questions and then tag as many writers as there are questions answered (or as many as you can) to spread the positivity! Even if these questions are not explicitly brought up in the novel, they are still good to keep in mind when writing.

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

Three twentysomething year old insomniacs attend an informal late night support group to deal with their magical trauma, or maybe become gods? The wording is pretty unclear.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

I'm still not honestly sure. When I think about it, I always personally break it into Act 1, Act 2, Act 3 but I'm still not sure if those will be just acts with a single book or something more. o:

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

Modern magic, mundane magic, runes and signals littered as graffiti in subways, redcap blood drives on the weekend in the park, friendships are rad, failure as a positive, that good old city night life, curling up in diner booths at 3am because why the heck not, found families and getting better

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater, definitely! I had this hazy vibe and the character for Icarus before reading those books but seeing how ...matter of fact and mundane magic was described in the books just clicked something in my head. I ended up tossing out the old half-plot it had, and by the end of month, I had this new one and much much happier with it. :D

Also, the Serenity Rose comic book series. I have a thing for near-god characters that still have really relatable issues and just want to live their mundane life. It's one of favorite ...tropes, I guess, and that series does it great. It also deals with growing past your trauma (working through your negativity, so to speak~) so, yeah! It's free online too and I'd highly recommend it. Fair warning though, second book is a fair bit bloody at times.

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

I will always love this gif and the whole scene in MIKA’s Make You Happy video (the whole video really) but the playful vibes of dipshit friends is like, Icarus’s core to me. ( ´͈ ◡ `͈ )

Also, just... a lot of Hydrae’s art especially her old Teen Wolf fanart (like the bottom left picture). Fun fact! I first created the concepts of Oleander and Daed when I was watching the first season of Teen Wolf, so seems pretty fitting I still draw inspiration from one of my favorite artists from that time. Her DnD art is amazing too! :D

MAIN CHARACTER

6. Who is your protagonist?

Oleander Thistle is the main-main protagonist~.

7. Who is their closest ally?

While he dearly loves Kingcup and Thyme, his closest ally is Daed and he will always be. They're known each other the longest at this point and Daed does have Oleander's best interest at heart and can look out for him without overstepping his boundaries either.

8. Who is their enemy?

I want to say Lund because it's Lund. But he doesn't really feature in the story outside of mentions and flashbacks, so it's probably easiest to say shitty societal stigmas and shitty coping mechanisms on a whole??

9. What do they want more than anything?

Oleander ...wants to know more about himself and his past especially how he survived losing his heart back when he was like six. He has some theories that make sense, but he's lacking some good hard facts about that. Not knowing actually causes him a fair amount of internal conflict that he can’t seem to rationalize away like he can with most other things.

10. Why can’t they have it?

The easiest to swallow answer is he simply lacks any way of knowing or finding out. Both of his parents are gone and Lund wouldn't know so unless someone has a time machine, his hands are pretty much tied.

The harder one is that Oleander is honestly terrified of finding out that he's not who or even what he thinks he is, so he doesn't try and lets his fears fester inside of him. Like, what even is he? Who can honestly survive having their heart ripped out of their chest still beating and live on without it being much of an issue? It's fucking weird. One of the ideas that refuses to leave him alone is that he's nothing more than a confused spirit possessing the corpse of a dead six year old, and what if that's true? He spent years trying to get his life back. What was all that for if he's even not himself?

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

That he's not him, but that's less wrongly believed and more his worst fear, you know?? Wrongly believed is honestly more Kingcup and Thyme's areas, and that's part of why they like Oleander. The kid is pretty matter of fact and reasonable with his opinions especially about himself (or so it seems on the outside, and even then it’s the what ifs that drag him down). He's like their unflappable little rock! :D

Until, of course, he isn't. :’D

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

I really love doodling Olly so thank you. ^o^! Fun fact, his natural hair is like a dark auburn brown. His original plan was to screw around with his hair for funsies for a bit while he was traveling with Daed, only for someone to tell him blonde was a really bad look for him one day in a grocery store. He’s spitefully kept it blonde ever since because fuck you too, lady.

PLOT POINTS

13. What is the internal conflict?

Outside of his ‘what am I’ conundrum which is his main internal conflict, he’s also figuring out how to better navigate the bitter raging sea of anger inside of him. He may want to know more about himself, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely a-okay with the years he spent under Lund’s control. The trauma is still real.

14. What is the external conflict?

They've all been burned and traumatized by magic, and instead of doing the more rational approach to healing like talk to a therapist, they ...do other things that are less helpful. There's also a massive social stigma to having been burned by magic so it's not like they actually have a lot of options at hand. :/ Starting Icarus is actually helpful in that regard because at the minimum, it builds a nice little support system.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?

Oleander is screaming the worst already happened, what could be worse than his past?! But off the top of my head, losing his heart again would been such a devastation to him. Or, just giving up completely.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?

That's a good question. o:

17. Do you know how it ends?

There's plenty of bits and pieces that I know happen, but it's not absolute yet.

BITS AND BOBS

18. What is the theme?

Mistakes don’t have to define you. Recovery isn't a straight line, but it's possible. Found families are neat.

19. What is a reoccurring symbol?

We will see. I’m sure they’ll pop up at times. xD

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description)

Most of the story takes places in a small port city named Dead Leaves. Less of it takes place in the Inbetween and The Romneya Backwoods too, but Dead Leaves is the main spot. Like I said, it's smaller city but still thriving and lively. The Icarus verse has a slight solarpunky vibe to it so despite the name, it's very green with lots of parks and trees and plants. It's common to see ivy climbing up old buildings and rooftops to have their own little gardens. There's plenty to do with an ton of shops and venues and museums and old historical spots too. Its home to the ever famous Clove Archives that's a massive tourist spot for all to visit, and because of that, there's a few universities and colleges within the city too.

I definitely write it with Boston in mind too, so yes~ c:

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?

I'm a super visual person so, oh god yes! Do I ever! So many scenes! One of my favorites involves Kingcup punching a wall and Oleander throwing up a wall. :D

22. What excited you about this story?

I just really like these characters, this concepts and the story I have so far. It honestly feels me with joy when I doodle and write about them and it's one of the first stories I've worked on that doesn’t really ever frustrate me either. I also just want to write a story about queer kids finding friendships, falling in love, dealing with the shit and learning from the lesser mistakes you make in your youth. Failure isn’t a death sentence, you know?

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!

I beat my ADHD down every so often and just write write write until it regains its strength? o: I’m gonna look into seeing a specialist this year to learn a better way because it doesn’t work well enough anymore. :l

Tagging: Mhmm. It said lots of people so @elliot-orion @loopyhoopydrabbles @mirror-of-too-many-books If y’all don’t want too, that’s totally cool too! :D And anyone else who would like to do it, please do it! I loved to see it! <3

#long post #dear god it's long #but this was fun!#thanks indecentpause~ :D #icarus at midnight

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glitchlight · 6 years ago

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dream journal 8-22-18

dream started with a man breaking into a school for mages, and kidnapping a specific student, who had a powerful grandfather. It takes a lot to ransom a girl like that, so after he captured her, he went back to his hideout where his two accomplices were introduced, one a man so incompetent he could barely tie his own shoes and a person who was really spacey but helpful. There was a reason they were supposed to take care of the girl and nothing else.

(the setting of the dream looked... I think it was floating island fantasy world? but with skyscrapers and the implication people’d been living on islands for so long they forgot everything else. This wasn’t super important.)

The incompetent man and the spacey person struck up a conversation with the girl while the mastermind went to lick his wounds and recover from his, really dangerous mission. He stuttered and stumbled over himself a bit to try to bring the girl (who was really scared) out of her shell, and started making dinner for her. He explained that he was really just a small time thief trying to look after his spacey friend, someone who knew they had some sort of magic, but had lost all their memories. Spacey friend interjected and complained at points but didn’t contrast his account.

Mastermind comes back out, takes a lion’s share of the dinner, and leaves the scraps for everyone else. Thief tells the girl to take it all, as he and spacey are used to going hungry.

the next day, Thief and Amnesia are helping to transfer the girl to another city, and have to keep her locked in the back of a truck. Amnesia talks about magic with her some, and she “smells” what their magic is almost immediately after they get away from the school, which is loaded with so much magic it’s hard to sense small magic without getting overloaded. Amnesia’s magic is “ink” something that’s rather rare, but considered cursed. Ink magicians are reality and fate changes “literally able to change the ink on the page of history” but have been maligned and considered demons. Due to the incompetence of thief, they almost get discovered at a check point, but Mastermind uses more of his electric magic to get them through un-discovered.

Thief mentions he’s using a lot of his magic, and that he should be wary. There’s rumor that a gang of infamous bandits are in the area and could steal the heist away from them. They weren’t named in my dream, but they were known for the dangers of the swordswoman, the wiles of the thief, the power of their mage, and the accuracy of their archer . Mastermind tells thief to mind his own business and mind the road.

They stop for food, and Amnesia leaves the truck door ajar after a noticeable pause, watching the girl. The girl looks to them but they’ve already stepped outside. The girl waits for a moment and tries to slip out. Amnesia and Thief are talking to Mastermind, who looks run ragged, and trying to figure out where to go. Their planned hideout has been staked out by the legendary bandits according to the rest of his crew.

Mastermind pulls on his magic and catches the girl spying, and throws her into the back of the truck. Rounding on thief and amnesia, he has them drive while he keeps an eye on the girl. He barely glares at her as the truck rumbles off and instead falls into an uneasy sleep.

After a short amount of time, the truck comes to a stop at a safehouse, and the Mastermind steps out to see that the truck is at their planned safehouse. The one staked out by the supposed legendary bandits. He goes nearly nuclear, and thief and Amnesia get dragged out the cab. Mastermind is ranting and raving about the bandits, how they need to get ready for them. An explosion at the front door leaves two people sillouetted, a tall woman with a stern expression and a man carrying a bow with natural ease.

The mastermind, whirls on them, almost laughing when he sees two. “Are your companions cowards? Or are you contemptuous of my skill? Me, he who fought his way into a school single handedly!”

The archer laughs and the swordswoman gives a sly grin. “Of course not. Our companions set this up all along”

Thief steps forward and has a dagger against mastermind’s throat. Mastermind roars and starts fighting three of the bandits, Amnesia looking over the girl. They fight like they have fought together for years, which they have, but he’s crafty and electric magic is powerful. He senses he’s losing and darts over to the girl, hoping to take her as the ultimate hostage. But no sooner does he wrap his arms around her neck than does he feel like blood run cold, Amnesia stepping forward in intense rage. He throws a knife into Amnesia’s chest and they take it and walk forward anyways, chanting low and slow as his blood turns hot again, then too hot, needles burning their way out, his body unraveling from his fingertips.

In an instant, he’s gone into nothing, and Amnesia collapses on the ground, the knife coming away bloody but the wound already gone. Thief goes to the girl and explains that they’re releasing her to her grandfather without charge; they’re criminals but they still have morals, and mastermind was giving them a bad reputation. Amnesia wakes up as the girl’s grandfather arrives and has no memory of the girl at all, Thief explains that they truly do have amnesia and lose their recent memories every time they use their magic.

This sounds somber but this was like, the first story in an anthology about them? It was very folklore, in that there wasn’t a true narrative progression so much as “here are some fun stories with these characters”. Despite the tone of the above at points, it was much more explicitly comedic in my dream.

Thief acts cool but he and Archer are like, genuinely kind of losers who just happen to be good at their one thing. Amnesia is immortal and ageless and the implication is that they may’ve committed some horrible thing in achieving that, and their current state is a consequence of that (because that’s not the norm even for ink magicians). But beneath all that it was a kind of wacky story. There was one bit where they’re robbing twelve banks in a single night, and a time magic trap has thief and archer trapped in a cycle where they keep dying and coming back in increasingly convoluted ways, they ask Amnesia to help but they end up just turning off their ability to die, so they’re shambling around like zombies and shedding limbs and bickering as much as they’re able as they try to fix it (swordswoman’s off either not robbing banks because it’s childish or has already robbed 12 herself at this point).

#glitchlight glitchwrite #dream journal //

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thethrillof · 6 years ago

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BatIM -> everybody escapes / Undertale -> Underfell / Batman - pick one!

Bendy and the Ink Machine (Escape End)

Henry’s alive and human, but incredibly discolored. the lighter shades of his hair are yellowed, and the darker are just black. same with his eyes and skin. the skin and hair go back to normal after months and months, but his eyes never change back. it’s highly unsettling to anyone he meets, and he ends up wearing sunglasses a lot.

several surviving toons are their “perfect” selves, but that doesn’t mean they’re just toons–they’re still amalgamations of Joey Drew Studios’ employees, and so they have lots of weird, broken memories of the outside world. they’re not great at reconciling the differences, of which there are many with the changes to tech and culture in the decades they were trapped beneath.

bendy is mute. henry is leery about interacting with him too much for a while, and he spends more time hiding around whatever living space they’re in over interacting for even longer, so whatever window he got to maybe learn to speak properly passes. he does learn to communicate through gestures and writing eventually, though.

toon logic, ofc, doesn’t work. no hammerspace, no squash-and-stretch, they’re all living beings now that just happen to have biology containing demonic magic. it doesn’t come up often, but sometimes memories between reality and the cartoons they worked on so much get mixed up and there are accidents.

sammy lawrence does not deal well with being outside. sure, he’s a lot more human now and that’s what he wanted so desperately! but he had Rules down there. they’re mainly things he made up to give himself false belief that he had the slightest bit of control over his fate as long as he Did Things Right for his lord, and now they’re almost all useless. he’s torn between drowning in guilt and desperate denial about how much terrible, nonsensical shit he did, and bounces between offering gifts to bendy and gifts to henry.

they’re usually mundane, like food or a song, buuut sometimes they’re not, and henry has to be very careful to keep track of knives and other sharp things.

allison sometimes takes one for her own comfort, but she usually mentions that or deliberately lets henry see her pick it up. nine times out of ten, henry has to make sure sammy doesn’t try to hurt people that he or bendy are unhappy with.

(this includes hurting henry for bendy, hurting bendy for henry, and sammy hurting himself for either/both of them to get back into their “good graces”. it takes dozens of sit-down explanations for him to actually start believing it when henry says that’s not good, and no, that’s not some kind of secret test)

he does go outside with henry sometimes. he sees himself as a guard. really, it’s good for him to be exposed to other people and ideas. (henry pretends he doesn’t notice how he sticks right to his side and grasps the edge of his sleeve like he’s terrified someone will swoop in and take him)

honestly a lot of them end up staying inside at all times. allison angel and any boris-es go out with henry sometimes, or even alone (if carefully), but susie-alice and the butcher gang and even the more normal Lost Ones are hideously afraid of interaction. guilt at the mindless cycle of madness and desperation in the studio, and terror that they’ll be rejected for their sins.

really, “sins” are a heavy subject. it has a lot less real importance on the surface, but it’s as hard to shake that kind of thing for everyone else as it is for sammy.

it’s not all bad, though! most of them have much more stable forms. being outside, of course, means they’re not all killing each other. and henry does eventually encourage everyone to go outside once in a while, even if it’s just somewhere like the park on a blustery day where there won’t be so many people.

going out at night and stargazing is the most regular occurrence.

Underfell

the Underground is dominated by the colors red, black, and white–red for the color of human blood, black the color of the darkness monsterkind was forced into, and white for the color of monster dust.

sans is not particularly malicious to the human, or anyone else. also less liked in general by others’--papyrus is the Popular Brother here b/c he’s loud and commanding even as he’s ridiculous.

this also puts a ton of weight on papyrus and it’s miserable. sans sometimes does encourage him but it doesn’t do much most of the time.

undyne tries to be “nice” by ignoring this instead of calling him out and possibly making it seem like he’s got a weakness. this is better than the alternative but does not help b/c it makes papyrus feel like a liar on top of everything

alphys is extremely paranoid and her “security” is a thing with a ton of crazy anime and science related questions outside the door, and if you miss any, you’ll be killed. you either have to befriend undyne and convince her to come with you or just constantly quit and reload to get past this and into the lab.

flowey is still a dick, but less of one than in canon tbh. he mainly watches things from afar. killing everyone isn’t all that interesting when monsters sometimes kill each other already.

if anything, most of his “playthroughs” consisted of figuring out who he could pit against each other.

the first fallen human still made the plan with asriel to die and give him their SOUL to gather more to destroy the barrier, but they were a lot more direct about it–they let asriel kill them himself.

he did love them, and as it turns out human deaths are a lot slower and messier than monster ones. this. naturally, traumatized the shit out of him! he does not want to kill a human ever again. or even go near one for long. he doesn’t have skin anymore but he still feels like something’s crawling over his stem at the thought.

he mainly spends frisk’s timeline stalking them from afar. they are distantly aware of this but can never turn around fast enough to actually talk to him.

Batman (unspecified AU, let’s go with…”The Joining did a lot more damage at the end of TB Season 4″)

the villains are incredibly hard to contain, but that honestly stops mattering after the first like, eight months. (which is a long time, but still.) it gets through almost everyone’s heads that this…isn’t going to get fixed quickly enough that stealing money and antagonizing the batman is worth anything. and who the fuck cares if penguin has a few more shiny bird-themed statues or mr. freeze took over an abandoned building and has a ton of diamonds hoarded inside it, people half the city is leveled and people are dying

honestly the villains are shockingly good at keeping certain types of crime down themselves. some do leave (like catwoman and riddler, at least for a while) but most stay, seeing gotham as theirs and theirs alone, and so any violent gang-types are p quickly slammed down before they can be a real problem to anyone. the time for that is past, the supervillains run this city’s crime now, and no useless panicked looters are going to drag their fearsome reputations through the mud.

joker and ivy are the real big threats b/c they don’t give a shit. about anything.

ivy loves that there’s so much more room for plants to grow now and regularly smothers parts of the city that aren’t recovering quickly enough with forest, which does not help the homeless people problem

joker just loves the chaos and stirring the pot. he even sometimes leaves, unlike ivy, to cause trouble in neighboring cities b/c there’s slightly more intact things to fuck up. not often but enough to be terrifying. ivy just wants gotham to be her first full conquest.

the justice league forms a lot more quickly and has a lot more members from the start, b/c it’s less a thing for Big Superheroes and more for people who want to help and have above-average power to do so. you got metahumans and people with heavy tech and the like working together--lucius fox is actually considered a member almost immediately, and even the likes of hawkman and the flash defer to his judgement.

#pangurbanthewhite #au #batim headcanon #tb au

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jincherie · 7 years ago

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Under the Bridge | Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader Genre: fluff, smut, slight angst, Hybrid!AU Words: 10.6k+ Warnings: blood, violence (only really at the beginning), some swears, badass MC, SMUT that would probably be considered graphic?? idk Notes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Requested by japanesewonderflan: I HAVE A REQUEST!!!!!! 🙌🙌🙌 Can you do a hybrid au! For either Jungkook or Jimin and you just found or bought them and they teach you about the life of a hybrid and what it's like and then you start to understand but one-day you come home to them in heat????? 😄😄 If you don't want to do the smut part, that's fine too, I'm down for just fluff if you're only comfortable with that. From your love 💙💜💚

Grumbling, you kicked the can before you one last time, watching with a pained expression as it went over the edge of the bridge and landed on the bank of the river beneath. You were wet. You were cold. The rain had stopped for now but you heard thunder in the distance and knew you didn’t have enough time to get home and dry before it would rain again. If it was summer, and daytime, you’d probably enjoy it. As it was, it was winter, and almost 7 o’clock on a Saturday night. You were walking home after a two-hour exam, and although it was your last one for the semester by god were you tired. You just wanted to sink into the ground and let the earth take you. Your mind and body hadn’t quite caught up to the newfound freedom you currently possessed.

Your tired eyes fell upon one of the poles lining the walkway, squinting a little to make out the small font on the attached advertisement. It was for a local chemist, one of the ones that provided prescriptions for both humans and hybrids.

Is your hybrid in heat? The flyer read. All new Subtle Suppressants will take care of that! One pill taken once daily will completely neutralise that pesky heat, like it was never even there! Buy now and—

You stopped reading, the advertisement making you angry. Heats were something hybrids got as a result of their animal DNA, a natural occurrence. Those pills worked, of course, but what they didn’t tell you was the side effects. In the process of neutralising the heat, the suppressants seriously altered hybrid’s biological systems, and not in ways that were healthy. The pills completely wrecked their heat cycles, and if they ever stopped taking them the results weren’t good, and the recovery process was messy. Nausea, weight gain, weight loss, damaged immune systems… it wasn’t right.

Not all hybrids bought or adopted were forced to take suppressants— some owners would refuse and allow the hybrids heat to run its natural course. Although, you thought sombrely, that alternative wasn’t really anything better. There was almost always an ulterior motive for allowing a hybrid to have their heat.

Frowning, you kicked the can in front of you, a different one this time, and wished things were different. You didn’t know all that much about hybrids, but you knew enough to wish for every hybrid to ever exist to have a safe and loving home where no harm would come to them. The way things were made you incredibly frustrated, and you just wished you could do something about it.

Your next kick sent the can flying off the side again, landing on the opposite bank. You were almost completely off the bridge when you heard it. You paused, straining your painfully human ears. The sound of mocking laughter trickled up from below you, the area beneath the bridge where there was a brief segment of cement that met the river and bank like a makeshift pier. Frowning, you moved closer to the edge and heard it again, this time discerning two separate voices laughing, and a third groaning. Alarm coursed through you and you hurried to the end of the bridge where it joined land, hopping over the railing and running down the brief grassy slope to the bank.

You rounded the edge of the bridge and froze, eyes taking in the scene before you. Two males stood before you, one restraining a third struggling figure while the other alternated between punchin,g them and dragging a glinting object over their body, laughing all the while. Was someone getting mugged right in front of you? No, you thought, alarmed. They’re taking too much time, they’re being cruel. They’re hurting them for fun.

Just when you thought you couldn’t get any more shocked, or any angrier for that matter, the male closest to you spoke, sibilant and mocking. “That’s right, you filthy stray,” he spat, leering closer. “Look how well you take this blade, huh? It’s like you were made to be beaten, sliced up. Look at those pretty bruises and all that pretty blood. We’re going to leave you here to die, and that pretty blood will be everywhere.”

The figure being restrained snarled and spat something back at the first male, causing him to recoil before growling back. “That’s it, you filthy rabbit, we’re going to give you what you deserve—“

Unable to take any more and incredibly angered by the scene before you, you marched right up to the people before you, shouting, “HEY! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

The first figure spun around, an angry look on a face that could have been called handsome before you’d known about the ugly truth of his person. His face changed upon seeing you, a mocking smile falling into place.

“Look at this, little bunny,” he jeered, twirling the knife in his hand as you stormed up to him. “Someone’s come to play—“

“Fuck off!” you hissed, wasting no time and closing the distance between you to draw your fist back and punch him square in the face.

The impact had him stumbling back a step in both pain and surprise, knife cluttering to the ground as his hand whipped up to clutch his face and he cried out. He’d stumbled near the edge of the cement. “You bitch!” he snarled, voice nasally and blood dripping down his face as he attempted to stem the flow.

You didn’t give him another second to deliberate on how he was going to handle you, quickly moving to land a forceful kick in his gut, successfully propelling him back into the river. He landed in the water with a loud splash. His friend called out in alarm, dropping the figure in his arms and rushing at you to avenge his fallen comrade.

You turned, the angle allowing you to deliver a swift elbow to the side of his head. He let out a noise of pain, crumpling when you adjusted your stance and kneed him forcefully in the gut. While he was on his knees you leant over to pick up the forgotten knife. You first priority right now was getting these assholes to leave, and you had a feeling violence and threats were the only things that would register in their brains.

“Now, you listen to me,” you said lowly, voice promising something unpleasant as you pointed the knife at him. “You will leave, and you will leave now. If you ever come back here, or I ever catch you harming someone else like this again, you won’t live to tell about it. You understand? Now get your friend, and go.”

The male before you glared, but it was all bluff as he scrambled up and ran over to the bank to collect his friend. You watched them hightail it out of there, making sure they were well and truly gone before you threw the knife far, far away. You wouldn’t actually kill them if you saw them, that was just a bluff as well. You were generally a nonviolent, peaceful, easy-going person, but boy had these guys really pissed you off. You never thought you’d see the day where you would actually use the things you’d learned in those martial arts lessons your mother made you take, but they’d actually come in handy and you were grateful for the first time ever that you’d taken them.

A groan from your side brought you back to the present. You spun around, eyes wide as you focused on the figure that had stayed crumpled on the ground after being dropped. You immediately moved forward, halting suddenly as a threatening noise reached your ears.

It was a male that lay before you, curled into a pained ball on the concrete. You gaze fell upon his ears, long and rabbit-like, and sudden understanding dawned upon you. Oh. So that was why that jerk had called him a bunny. Slowly, so as not to appear any more threatening than you already had, you lowered yourself into a crouch before the hybrid, trying to assess just visually how bad the damage to his body was. Bruises and cuts littered the skin that was visible to you, and he was clutching his abdomen where the men had cut his shirt open and dug the knife in, blood seeping through his fingers and painting his hands, inky in the low light. Anger filled you at the fact that people had done this at all to someone else, let alone a hybrid.

When you returned your gaze to his face you found he was glaring at you, face scrunched in a mixture of pain and hostility. You needed to get him some medical attention, but you could already tell he was going to be anything but cooperative.

“You’re hurt,” you stated simply. “You need help, so please let me.”

The hybrid tried to shift away on the concrete but instead ended up curling tighter into a ball in pain. “No.” he ground out, dark eyebrows drawn together in a glare as he tried to resist even though he wasn’t in much of a position to do so. He had a nice voice, even when it was painted with such hostility. “Go away. I don’t need your help, human.” He spat out the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, and even though you couldn’t blame him you still felt a little insulted.

“You’re going to bleed out and die if I leave you here. I don’t want that on my conscience— and I want to help. Stop being stubborn.” you said, a little torn between being gently persuasive and the urgency you felt about getting him patched up as quickly as possible.

He looked like he was about to deny the current condition he was in again when a sudden boom filled the air, the brontide from earlier looming closer, an ever-persistent threat. It was going to storm soon and both of you knew it. With the rain you’d had before, this storm was going to bring worse, and you sincerely doubted the bridge’s ability to provide adequate shelter from the weather.

You met his stubborn gaze imploringly, observing as he glared a bit harder before simply closing his eyes, too proud to say out loud that he had acquiesced to your wishes.

Relieved he had finally let you help you immediately moved forward and, as delicately and gently as possible, assisted him from his position on the ground. He leaned heavily on you, and you could already feel the impeding exhaustion in your bones. Letting out a breath, you began moving out from under the bridge.

. . . . . . .

In the end it hadn’t been the weather that had caused you to call a taxi for the short distance back to your unit, but rather your sheer inability to sustain this boy’s weight long enough to make it home. You had no idea how he even weighed so much when he looked so thin, and especially since rabbit hybrids tended to be of a smaller, more cutesy stature, which was partly due to genetics and partly due to sick human preference.

You’d rushed inside your home after paying the taxi driver, who hadn’t even asked why you had a bleeding rabbit hybrid with you in the backseat, and hurried to place the hybrid down on the bed in your guest bedroom. Making sure he didn’t move for a second, you then retrieved the first aid kit and other medical necessities you’d collected over the years. He looked exhausted when you returned, but was stubbornly clinging onto consciousness, probably because he didn’t trust you and didn’t want to let his guard down around a stranger, let alone a human. You didn’t blame him, he’d literally just been abused by two of them.

Kneeling beside the bed, you organised your supplies before looking up at him, finding his narrowed gaze on you. You almost jumped but managed to refrain, instead informing him that you were going to start treating his wounds, and that it would probably hurt. He simply turned his head away, but you took it as a sign to proceed and so you did.

Most of the cuts were small and easily treated. You remembered hearing once that hybrids healed faster than humans, so you weren’t too worried about them. There was a particularly long gash down his thigh, and across his right hip from the belly button. There were also some grazes, but those two were the worst you could see besides the bruises that mottled his light, golden skin. You took care of the small cuts over his arms first, trying not to wince with him as you disinfected them and placed a plaster over the particularly bad ones.

He still had his hands clutching his abdomen where the gash near his hip was, and you reached a hand over, hovering for a second. It seemed to be bleeding less, but still definitely needed to be taken care of.

“I’m going to treat the big cuts on your abdomen and thigh now, okay? I’m not gonna lie, it’s gonna hurt, and I’m really sorry but we need to get it fixed up, ok?” you said softly, gauging the hybrid’s reaction. His eyes met yours for a second before he nodded, frowning. You gently moved his hands aside from the cut and placed them on the bed beside him, watching as they immediately fisted the material beneath them.

Grabbing the cloth and warm water you’d brought in with you, you wrung it out a bit before lifting it and bringing it to his abdomen. He tensed before it even touched his skin, grip on the comforter tightening and abdominal muscles tensing, which only caused him more pain. He hissed, immediately releasing the tension in his body at the abrupt, burning pain it seemed to elicit. “Fuck.” He cursed lowly, eyes screwed shut.

You bit your lip, deciding that it might be better if he had a distraction while you did this.

“What’s your name?” you asked softly, watching his face for a reaction. He opened his eyes to glare at you weakly, and you resolved to try again. You began gently cleaning the wound on his abdomen, moving your gaze from his face so he felt less pressured. “I’m y/n.”

There was silence as you continued delicately cleaning the wound and wiping the blood from his skin, having to rinse the blood from it and wring it out again several times. After a couple of minutes you heard his voice from beside you.

“Jungkook.” Was all he provided, eyes averted. His fists still clenched around the comforter every time the cloth ran over his wound but the distraction of sorts seemed to be working.

You smiled at him, pleased at the cooperation. You asked him his age after a minute of silence, and he begrudgingly responded that he was nineteen. You finished cleaning and covering his wound, moving onto the one on his thigh. You tried to clean and treat that one as quickly as possible. The hybrid was trying as hard as he could to stay awake, even though you could tell he was exhausted.

“Okay, Jungkook,” you spoke softly, trying to sooth him just a little. “I’m almost done. You’re almost all fixed up.”

You didn’t get a response, not that you were expecting one, and simply continued dressing the wound as best you could through the cut in his pant leg. The only reason you’d been able to patch up the other cut on his abdomen without asking him to remove his shirt was because those men had literally torn the material open with the knife. You’d have to find some clothes to give him after this.

He had been silent longer than you’d expected, and once you finished applying the dressing to his thigh and stood up you saw why. He was asleep, fists still loosely clenching the comforter but face absent of pain. You were surprised he’d allowed himself to fall asleep, but at the same time you figured he simply passed out from exhaustion, unable to keep himself awake any longer. As quietly as possible you tidied up the supplies you’d brought in and returned them to their places, disposing of the bloody rag. You doubted you’d be able to salvage it at this point.

You knew he’d probably be uncomfortable in a number of different ways when he woke up, so you went and retrieved the men’s t-shirt and sweatpants you’d bought specifically for lounging around comfortably and lazily in your home on Sundays (luckily clean since it was Saturday and you had yet to use them this week). You placed the folded articles of clothing on the night stand next to the bed and retrieved a glass of water to place there as well.

You didn’t think there was anything else you could really do without overstepping boundaries, so you switched off the light and closed the door gently. You’d see in the morning how he was feeling and if he disliked you any less.

. . . . . .

As it turned out he did indeed still dislike you just as much as the night before. At least, it seemed like he did, if the way he was glaring and growling at you from the bed was any indication. You hadn’t even entered the room yet, standing in the doorway with raised eyebrows and a towel in your hands.

“Good morning,” you simply said with a small smile, trying to ameliorate the tension in the room somewhat. “I know you probably feel gross and sore, so I brought you a towel. Feel free to have a shower, it’s just down the hall. You can use the clothes I left there, hopefully they’ll fit well-enough for now.”

He stared at you, less hostility in his eyes now but they were still narrowed at you. His ears were angled back. You offered another smile, placing the towel on the end of the bed before moving back towards the door.

“I’m going to make breakfast, feel free to join me after you’re done.” You offered, before turning and closing the door, leaving him to his own devices for the time being. You’d make something nice, with fruit and stuff, so maybe he’d be a bit more comfortable with you. You should have the necessary ingredients.

It was as you stood before your open pantry, however, that you realised you’d forgotten to stock up this week and so you did not, in fact, have the necessary ingredients. To be fair, you’d been studying, so you’d been living off cup noodles in the first place and hadn’t really had a chance to re-stock your food supply with healthy things like fruit, and vegetables. This did pose a problem however. You literally had no food to make breakfast. Groaning, you went and grabbed your jacket and wallet. There was a café down the road and it looked like you’d be making a prompt visit.

. . . . . .

Half an hour later you returned, slightly out of breath and carrying breakfast for you and the hybrid you’d taken home the night before. Opening the front door, you rushed in, shivering a little as you slipped off your boots and shuffled over to the table, placing the items in your arms down.

“Where did you go?”

You let out a brief yelp, startled by the sudden voice from behind you and jumping a little where you stood. Spinning around you found Jungkook standing a little behind the doorway into the living/dining area, looking tense and ready to bolt if you did anything suspicious. You blushed a little, partly because he looked really good in the clothes you’d left, and partly because you were embarrassed that you’d have to say that you forgot you didn’t have groceries and had to go and buy breakfast from a café.

“Um,” you began, unsure how to word it to make you sound like less of an idiot. “I actually, uh, forgot I didn’t have any food, so I, uh… I had to go get us some breakfast.” You offered a sheepish smile at the end.

He gave you a look like he didn’t know whether to believe you were actually that dumb or just playing an elaborate trick on him. That was fair, you couldn’t believe it yourself.

Turning back you retrieved some plates and started unpacking and serving the waffles, cream, sugar and berries you’d bought from the café, taking the smoothies out of the cup-holders. It was honestly a miracle you hadn’t dropped or spilt anything on the way back.

Pleased with your serving skills, you placed one plate with the necessary cutlery at one end of the table and yours at the other. You figured the poor boy would probably be more comfortable with more distance between you. Excited to eat, you slipped into your chair, tapping your feet on the ground like a little kid as you looked to Jungkook and gave him a smile.

“Please, sit.” You gestured to his plate when he made no move to sit down. He still stood slightly behind the doorway. “I did buy it for you as well. I hope you don’t mind waffles.”

He seemed sceptical, but started moving slowly towards the table nonetheless. You heard his tummy rumble softly and tried not to laugh, watching as his face went pink and he quickly sat down, glaring at you. You smiled as innocently as you could, gesturing for him to eat before promptly digging in yourself. You were actually so hungry before, you’d really struggled to make it home without eating it one the way.

He seemed to watch you shrewdly for a minute before picking up his own cutlery and starting to eat. He took a tentative bite at first, nibbling the waffle a little before deeming it ok and taking bigger bites. You watched as he grasped the smoothie you’d placed near his plate, sniffing it a little before taking a small sip. He seemed to approve and you looked down and stuffed some waffle in your mouth to hide your small smile, proud you’d chosen things that he liked.

The air was a little tense still, slightly awkward, until it was broken by Jungkook’s stomach again. You looked up to see his plate clean and his face pink again, his eyes averted. You were a little surprised at first but then remembered where you’d found him and realised he mustn’t have had a solid meal for a while.

“Do you want the rest of mine?” you asked, pushing your plate forward in offering. His eyes flew to the half-finished waffles, cream and berries on your plate, ear twitching in temptation. “You can have it, I’m not that hungry.”

That was a fucking lie and you felt a bit of yourself die inside as he took the plate and began finishing your portion, but if it made him happier and more comfortable, it was worth it, even if you’d now be hungry until lunchtime when you finished the last of the cup noodles in the cupboard.

He had a tiny smile on his face as he ate the last berry, the plate now just as empty as the first one. He leant back with a soft sigh, ear twitching in what you could only guess was content. He closed his eyes for a second, sniffing slightly, before opening them again and smiling a little at you. “Thank you.”

You were a little taken aback, considering just this morning— not even a full hour ago— you’d opened the door to his room and he’d been growling at you in hostility. But if he’d decided to change his attitude then you weren’t going to question it.

It didn’t stop you from being immensely happy however. “You’re welcome!” you beamed, clasping your hands together on the table. “I’m glad I got something you liked.”

He seemed to let some of the tension in his body go, apparently deeming your company safe enough for now. “It was… good.” His large, doe-like eyes met yours. “Thank you, really.”

You literally felt your cheeks turn pink, unable to stop the big smile from stretching your lips. He seemed surprised, looking away for a second and you could have sworn you saw his cheeks glow pink too. There was silence until you remembered that the cute hybrid before you had actually been injured, and that was largely why he was here right now.

“How are your wounds?” you asked, trying not to sound too abrupt. “Are they healing okay?”

The hybrid nodded, a hand subconsciously coming up to cover the wound on his abdomen. “They’re healing.” He answered simply, averting his eyes.

You nodded, looking at him for a couple of seconds. “Jungkook,” you began. “Can I ask you something?”

The bunny tensed, gaze whipping back to you and narrowing. At the suspicious look in his eyes you added, “You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. I’m just curious is all.”

He held your gaze for a couple of moments more, before looking to the side and nodding a little.

“Why were you under that bridge?” you asked softly, eyes searching his face. “How long were you there?”

Jungkook worried his bottom lip with his slightly large bunny teeth before letting out a soft sigh, keeping his eyes averted. “Because I ran away. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” he ran a hand through his hair, mindful of his ears. “I don’t know how long I was there. A long time, I guess.”

You nodded, the information making you sad. “So you still have nowhere to go?” you asked, trying to phrase it as delicately as possible.

Jungkook simply shook his head in response, biting his lip again. You didn’t know how fresh the wound was so you refrained from asking anything else about that, opting instead to offer him something that had been on your mind since last night.

“If you’d like… you can stay here.” You said, observing his face. He was surprised, gaze whipping to meet yours, eyes wide. “You won’t owe me anything, and you’re not obliged to stay or do anything you don’t want to do. But… you can stay here. I’m happy to share my home with you.”

His mouth had fallen open slightly, eyes staring at you in shock. First, you’d helped him when he’d been in a dangerous situation, then you’d taken him home and patched him up. This morning you gone and bought a fancy-looking breakfast and let him have most of it, and now you were offering your home to him? This was quite possibly the nicest anyone had ever been to him in a long time, and he was past the point of doubting your sincerity. No one could fake the earnest care and kindness he saw in your eyes as you looked at him like that.

You watched as tears began to bud in the corners of his eyes before he quickly realised they were there and wiped them away, sniffling and trying not to let any more form. He couldn’t help the big smile that was pulling his lips, a stray tear escaping against his will. “Really?” he asked, furiously wiping the tear from his face as though denying its very existence. “You’ll really let me stay?”

You nodded, smiling softly as you stood and grabbed a tissue, moving over to hand it to him. “Of course I will. As long as you want and need.”

The bright smile he gave you and the happiness in his eyes was something you never wanted to forget. . . . . . .

“Kookie, I’m home!” you called, closing the door behind you with your hip since your hands were occupied with the food you’d brought back. It had been a good month or so since you’d found Jungkook and the hybrid had successfully wormed his way into every crevice of your heart. You’d quickly found out that he wasn’t actually a hostile, grumpy hybrid— he was just acting defensive because he hadn’t been sure whether to trust you or not. He was actually quite possibly the cutest, sweetest, most adorable hybrid, let alone person, you’d ever met. He always came up to you for cuddles, rubbing his face against yours and hugging you. You’d even noticed he had the tendency to nibble on pretty much anything. You figured it was a feature of his rabbit DNA. He’d even subconsciously nibbled on your hand when you were cuddling on the couch and watching a movie one time, an event that left both of you a blushing mess.

He had grown more comfortable with you than you suspected he had with anyone else, yet he still hadn’t told you exactly why he had been under the bridge that day. However, you believed he would one day, and so remained patient.

“y/n!” his excited voice was heard from the direction of the living room. “y/n, hurry they’re having a superhero movie marathon!! Hurry, hurry, hurry!!”

You laughed, slipping off your shoes and carrying the Chinese food into the living room. Jungkook was huddled up in the corner of the couch, grinning like a little kid with his cute bunny teeth, wrapped securely in a blanket. You joined him, laughing a little when he immediately flocked to your side, gazing down at the food you’d placed on the table in delight. He leant and nuzzled into your shoulder, ears tickling your face.

“Yess!!! You got my favourite!!!” he cheered, grabbing a plate and serving up some of his favourite dish. You did the same, smiling when you saw the movie on screen.

“Iron Man?” you asked, eyeing the bunny. “They’re having an Iron Man marathon?”

He nodded happily, nibbling on his food since it was still hot. “Isn’t it great?! I love this channel.”

You laughed, agreeing with him and settling into the couch once you’d placed an adequate amount of food on your plate. You both leant against each other as you watch the movie and ate in amicable silence, only broken by one of you telling the other snippets about your day. Jungkook leant his head on your shoulder and you lifted a hand to run your fingers through his hair soothingly, smiling when he let out his happy little bunny-purr.

The first Iron Man movie finished relatively quickly, and soon you were onto the second one. You noticed after a while, however, that Jungkook wasn’t watching anymore, gaze off to the side and distant.

“Kookie?” you queried after a couple of minutes of watching him stare into nothing. He seemed to jerk back to the present at the sound of your voice, turning so his gaze met yours, doe-like eyes wide. “Are you alright?”

He swallowed before averting his gaze again, resting his head as it had been before on your shoulder. “Yeah… just thinking.” He mumbled, staring at where your empty plates sat on the table. You wanted to ask more but he beat you to it.

“y/n, how much do you know about hybrids and the hybrid industry?” he questioned suddenly, gaze meeting yours.

You were surprised at the question that had come out of nowhere. “Not much.” You admitted, shifting to face him a little better. “Why do you ask?”

He bit his lip, looking away for a second. “You’ve never asked, or pushed me to tell you why I was under that bridge, even though I know you’re curious… and I really appreciate it. But… I think I’m ready to tell you now.”

Your eyes widened and you turned completely, giving him your whole attention and waiting for him to continue.

“I told you I ran away… and that’s true. I did. Except it wasn’t from my owner, it was from the last shelter I went to.” Jungkook took a deep breath. “I’ve been… returned a lot. Everyone that adopted me didn’t see me as a person, they saw me as a pet, and I hate that.”

His fists clenched the blanket that was around you both. “They always adopt me because they like the idea of a cute bunny hybrid, and I’m meant to be adorable and submissive and the perfect little pet.” His nose scrunched up. “In the end they returned me for a number of reasons. I’m not as small as a bunny hybrid should be, not as cute. I had a habit of nibbling on their things, and I was too stubborn and wilful. They wanted a pet and I didn’t let them treat me like one.”

You felt your heart hurting as he spoke, but sat frozen at his words. He looked you in the eye. “Sometimes hybrids get homes that are genuinely good, but that’s usually not the case. You would have heard by now what hybrids are usually used for.”

A lump was present in your throat as you nodded. That much you knew. He looked away. “Not all of the owners that adopted me wanted that. Some did, but some just wanted a pet, the symbol of wealth hybrids tend to represent. Especially rabbit hybrids, since we’re so rare.”

“…Jungkook…” you managed to whisper, hands grasping his. He continued.

“Hybrids don’t have any rights. There are some laws meant to protect us, but they’re flawed. I was sick of being adopted by people that would never see me as anything more than my animal counterpart, and sick of being shuffled from shelter to shelter where most of the staff didn’t treat us any better. I wanted to be free of it but there was no way to do that without legally belonging to someone else, so I ran away. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself a home, let alone one where I was free to do as I please and be my own person. I have you to thank for that, y/n. So really…”

His eyes held yours captive as he smiled. “Thank you, y/n, for everything. If it’s okay, I want to stay here forever. I want to stay with you, because I’m happy here, and you make me happy. So thank you, y/n.”

You couldn’t muster the words to speak as you stared at him with wide eyes, lips parted in surprise. You heart ached in an unfamiliar way, but you also felt strangely happy. Jungkook grinned at you and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you tightly and nuzzling his face into your neck.

“You’re welcome, Kookie. I’d do anything for you, of course, you can stay as long as you want. You make me happy too, and I’m glad you decided to stay.” You found your voice, holding him close. You felt him smile into your neck.

He continued to hold you until a particularly loud sound from the TV broke the moment, which caused him to pull back and lay down, pulling you with him. “We’re missing the movie!” he exclaimed, tugging you closer so you could cuddle properly and still see the movie. “Look, y/n this is the best part!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at how he’d gone from a serious adult to a little kid excited to watch his favourite movie in the span of a couple of seconds. “You’re right, Kookie. This is the best part.”

. . . . . .

Jungkook had been acting strange lately.

You were finishing your bathing routine in the shower as you pondered this. After initially opening up to you of course he had become more affectionate and adorable, but lately, this past week in particular, he’d been touchier and clingier than ever. He followed you around like a lost puppy whenever you were home, a part of him always touching you at any point in time. After a particularly bad storm the other day he’d requested to sleep next to you in your bed and you’d let him. He hadn’t moved back to his room since and every morning you woke up to an adorable hybrid cuddling you in his sleep, nose buried in your neck, hair or shoulder while his arms were wrapped around your waist.

Considering you’d been having a lot more skin-to-skin contact lately, you’d also noticed that his temperature seemed to be much hotter than usual. As well as that, there were times he seemed to be in a daze, eyes hazy as he stared at nothing. Frankly, you were a little concerned, but weren’t sure how to ask him what was going on with him. Was he sick? You didn’t know, but you were determined to find out soon. You absolutely did not want him becoming horribly sick when it could have been avoided.

You finished your shower and dried off, getting dressed quickly. It was winter and usually you would wear long pants and a long shirt, but rooming with Jungkook had you wearing summer pyjamas to bed just so you didn’t overheat when he cuddled you at night. His temperature really had risen lately. Should you call a doctor? A hybrid doctor? You actually knew one, but you didn’t know if he would take well to being called outside of work hours. You shook your head. Scratch that, he was your friend. He’d just have to deal with it. You resolved to call him later.

Emerging from the bathroom, you made a beeline for the bedroom, not even surprised when you walked in to see Jungkook already making himself comfortable underneath the comforter. You rolled your eyes, unable to help the smile on your face.

“You gonna go for a shower tonight, Kookie?” you queried, hanging your towel up. When you didn’t get a response you turned around, finding him curled up in a ball where he lay. Soft noises came from him and alarm seemed to shock you suddenly into movement.

“Kookie??” you moved over to him quickly, pulling the covers back and searching his body for the cause of his pained whimpers. “Kookie, what’s wrong?!”

“Hurts,” he groaned, clutching his stomach not where his wound used to be, but over his waist. “y/n, it hurts.” He whined, nudging his face into your hand when you used it to feel his forehead. You gasped. His skin was scorching hot and clammy, your hand coming away moist from the sweat almost pouring off him. Oh no, he was definitely sick.

“Kookie, where do you— oh!” you were cut off by Jungkook suddenly lurching to the side and off the bed, stumbling out of the room and towards the bathroom. You hurried behind him, the sound of retching reaching your ears and causing your own stomach to tighten in worry. Jungkook was bent over the toilet bowl, panting a little as he retched some more every couple of seconds. You quickly moved over, placing a hand on his back and using the other to hold his dark, floppy ears out of the way. Soon he managed to go more than a minute without gagging and he leaned back after flushing the toilet, closing his eyes against the harshness of the light above him.

“Are you okay, kookie?” you asked softly, brushing hair damp with sweat away from his face, your other hand holding his ear gently and rubbing soothing circles into the fur with your thumb. “How are you feeling?”

Jungkook groaned a little, leaning against you. “Better,” He mumbled tiredly. “It doesn’t hurt and I don’t feel sick anymore. My mouth tastes gross though.”

You let out a small laugh at that, helping him up so he could brush his teeth. You questioned him again but he assured you he felt much better, even adding a bright smile that seemed to convince you. After he was all cleaned up you both went back to the bedroom, Jungkook falling asleep quickly with you in his arms and you following soon after, mind filled with thoughts on what to do next.

The following morning you’d been reluctant to leave for work, but after Jungkook had assured you what seemed to be a thousand times that he didn’t feel sick anymore and was okay, he’d managed to persuade you to leave. You did need the money, considering you were feeding two people now.

That didn’t stop you from worrying the whole time you were at work, however, even if Jungkook had seemed a lot better and told you he was better before you’d left. You were still worried, and so decided as you made your way home to call your friend.

He picked up on the third ring. “y/n? How come you’re calling? Usually you only check I’m alive through text.”

You laughed slightly at his jab, before responding. “It’s good to hear from you too, Yoongi. I need your help with something.” You answered honestly and simply.

He was silent a moment before his voice reached your ear once more. “What is it? You sound uncharacteristically serious.”

You smiled a little before it fell from your face. “I need your expertise. I took in a hybrid a couple of months ago that I found under a bridge, and recently he’s been acting a little strange. I think he might be sick. Last night he vomited but he said he felt better straight away afterwards, and seemed okay this morning. I’m still worried though.”

Yoongi was silent for a couple of moments. “Are there any other symptoms?” he asked finally.

“Yeah, his temperature has been a lot higher. Last night his skin was scorching and he was sweating a lot. And I don’t know if it counts, but he’s been a lot clingier lately.” You informed him, trying to think of all the things you’d noticed had been different about Jungkook lately.

The male on the other end of the call hummed in thought, and you could hear the sound of a pen scribbling on paper. “You found him on the streets, you say? Under a bridge? How old is he?”

You nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see it for a moment. “Yeah, he’d been there a while. When I found him there were some jerks beating him up but I took care of them. He told me he’s been adopted and returned a lot, shuffled from shelter to shelter and he finally got sick of it so he ran away.” You were nearing your home, in a couple of minutes you’d be there. “He’s nineteen.”

“So a lot of exposure to stress and stressful environments.” Yoongi mumbled to himself, only just loud enough for you to hear. “And he’s old enough.”

You waited patiently as he considered what could be wrong with your friend. “Do you think it’s possible that when he was with some of his previous owners they may have made him take suppressants?” he asked bluntly.

“I-I don’t know,” you stuttered, surprised at the question and wondering what heat suppressants had to do with anything. “I haven’t ever asked him, but from what he’s told me about them I wouldn’t be surprised if they had.”

Yoongi hummed in thought. “A hybrid’s natural heat cycle can be affected by many things. The stress of jumping from home to home, shelter to shelter constantly, before ultimately living on the streets, alone would be enough to derail it and cause him to miss his heat. It’s kind of similar to how women can miss their period if they’re stressed. But if he’s taken suppressants in the past then that will have also had an effect on the cycle.”

You were about to ask what he was alluding to when he cut you off. “From what you’ve told me it sounds like his body has deemed his environment safe enough to resume the cycle, this bout of sickness is probably his body getting rid of past toxins in order to restore itself and the cycle back to natural working order. I doubt he’ll get sick again, but if he does it won’t last long.”

You were at your front door now, sliding the key in and unlocking it. You entered, opening your mouth to thank him when he cut you off once more.

“y/n, if it is his cycle resuming itself, then you should know that the sickness isn’t the end of—“

You suddenly stopped listening to him, another sound having reached your ears. Was that… a whimper? Was Jungkook in pain again?!

“Yoongi, thank you so much for your help but I gotta go.” You said hurriedly, already moving the phone away from your ear. “Thank you, bye!”

“y/n, wait!” you heard before you abruptly hung up on him, placing your phone and bag down before rushing further into your house, following the pained noises.

You found yourself in front of your bedroom, the door slightly ajar. Worry coursed through your veins as you pushed it open gently. “Kookie? Are you okay?”

The door swung open to reveal Jungkook curled up on the bed, completely naked save for the sheet strewn haphazardly over some parts of his body. He was facing away from you, shivering a little and sweating profusely, his fluffy tail revealed to your eyes for the first time and twitching with every laboured breath he took. Your face flushed pink as you moved forward, trying not to stare at the parts of him that were exposed.

“Kookie?” you called softly, worry colouring your tone. His dark bunny ears twitched at the sound of your voice and he whined suddenly, twisting in the sheets. You moved over to his side, seeing his face scrunched in pain, eyes hazy as they met yours.

“Oh, Kookie.” You whispered, placing your hand against his cheek.

“y/n,” he groaned, hand coming up to clutch at yours desperately, holding it against his cheek. “Hurts. It hurts. I should have known what it was but it-t’s b-been so long since I last had it I didn’t think I ever would ag-gain.”

You were smart enough to piece together the current scene before you with the information from Yoongi before. “Kookie, is this your heat?” you asked softly, stroking the side of his face with your thumb.

He whined, nodding as he pressed his cheek into your palm. He shivered a little and you noticed his thighs clenching slightly. You were now struck with a new dilemma. What did you do?

“Kookie, do you want me to go get someone? Do you want me to find another hybrid, or—“

“No!” he whined, panting a little. “Don’t want. Don’t want someone else.”

You were a little confused then as to what he wanted. You’d heard from Yoongi before that going through a heat alone was incredibly painful for a hybrid, that they needed someone else to help ease it. What was he intending to do? For a heat, compared to what you’d heard from Yoongi, this seemed to be really severe.

“Then what do you want Kookie?” you asked, “What can I do to—“

“Help me?” the hybrid before you asked with a groan, hazy eyes seeking yours. “y/n, please can you… can you help me, please?”

You didn’t know what to say to that, only brought back to the present when he groaned again. “y/n, please… only want you to h-help.”

You didn’t think you could say no to those eyes or that voice even if you wanted to. “Okay, Kookie, how can I help? What do you want me to do?”

Jungkook whined, his other arm coming to clutch at your shirt and pull you closer. “Touch me, please.”

You obliged, slipping off your jacket and crawling onto the bed next to him. He shifted, rolling over to face you better and you were confronted with the sight of a desperate, sweaty, panting Jungkook and his straining, swollen length before you. You tried not to show how shocked you were at his large size, instead focusing on the situation at hand. The stains on your sheets and his body indicated he’d been trying to take care of it by himself before you’d gotten home, but apparently it wasn’t working for him anymore.

He choked on the loud moan that forced it’s way up his throat as you dragged your nails gently down his abdomen before wrapping a hand around his swollen length, using your thumb to spread the precum at the tip. His thighs tensed and his back arched a bit at the sensation, eyes screwing shut and pretty lips gaping open.

Your face was burning a bright red as you stroked his member, your other hand coming to move along his side, feeling the muscles tense underneath his skin at your touch, before using it to flick gently against his nipple. He gasped, whining as his hips bucked up slightly into your movements. His hands fisted the sheets and he panted as you moved your wrist, the sensation of another person’s touch instead of his own nearly causing him to see stars. You noticed his thighs were shaking a little and moved your free hand to massage the sensitive skin there, before getting an idea and moving your hand around to squeeze his cute bunny tail.

He cried out, gasping and moaning loudly, a sound that went straight between your legs and caused you to shift a little where you knelt on the bed. Good lord this boy was doing things to you.

Jungkook was already so worked up and desperate for release that it didn’t take long after you quickened your pace for him to gasp, moaning loudly as he twitched in your grasp and his hips bucked. “y/n I c-can’t—“

He couldn’t even finish his warning before he came with a loud, guttural groan that sent shivers down your spine and heat straight to your core. Your own legs tensed as your thighs rubbed together involuntarily. Jungkook lay there for a second, panting as he tried to recover.

“Kookie, you alright?” you asked softly, shifting to crawl forward, your legs parting in the process. He nodded, opening his mouth to respond before he sniffed suddenly, eyes growing wide as he looked at you in surprise. You gave him a confused look. “Kookie—?”

He sat up suddenly, hands finding your shoulders and pressing you back and to the side until you lay where he had been, his body above you and his hips between your legs. His eyes were still wide with surprise but his pupils were dilated as he sniffed once more. A boyish smile stretched his lips before he leant closer to sniff your neck, pressing small kisses there before pulling back again. You didn’t doubt he could hear your heart racing right now.

“y/n,” he nearly purred, looking proud. His ears twitched cutely. “You’re aroused, and wet. I can smell it.”

You were absolutely mortified as he leant down to sniff your neck some more, pressing more small kisses to the skin that had your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. You couldn’t help the small, breathy moan that passed your lips as he began sucking and nibbling gently on your neck, your hands coming up to grip his shoulder and thread through his hair. “Kookie, this is your heat.” You gasped. “We’re meant to be focusing on you.”

He smiled against your skin. “We are focusing on me, I want to do this. I’ll be okay for a while, long enough to make you feel good too.”

You opened your mouth to protest some more but he stole your words with a kiss, plush lips pressing against yours and moving in such a way the only thing you could manage was another moan. The sound went straight to his crotch and he groaned before pulling back, licking his lips in satisfaction. You were a blushing mess beneath him. But you were wearing too many clothes.

He frowned at the plain white blouse you wore to work, gripping the sides before ripping it open with a firm tug. You gasped softly as the buttons popped and flew everywhere, eyes wide. He made quick work of your remaining garments until your upper half was entirely bare before him, and he leant down to press a soft kiss over your heart. He grinned at you and you knew he both felt and heard it racing beneath the skin.

Before you could protest Jungkook moved his head and, without warning, enveloped a nipple into his mouth. You gasped loudly, partly out of surprise and partly because of the white-hot pleasure that had shot to your core at his action. His soft ears brushed against your throat as you threw your head back and he continued to suck, kiss and nibble in such a way it had you wondering if he’d actually done this before or he was just naturally talented.

His other hand came up to balance his ministrations and you gasped again, biting your lip so you didn’t moan as embarrassingly loud as last time. He wasn’t content with that, however, and promptly nipped the sensitive skin to get the noise he wanted. It worked, a gasp flying from your lips and your fingers tightening involuntarily in his hair, tugging it gently. He was surprisingly cheeky for someone who was begging to be touched not so long ago. Although, you supposed, his heat had been eased somewhat, if only for a little while.

Releasing your nipple with a soft pop that sent heat to your cheeks, Jungkook flashed a grin before dipping his head down and trailing small kisses and nibbles down your abdomen. He was halted by the hem of your work pants, but ultimately undeterred as he simply undid them and pulled everything on your lower half down in one go, leaving you completely bare and causing you to squeak in surprise at the cool air hitting your soaked core.

You could tell when his nose caught the scent of your unmasked arousal as a deep groan climbed up his throat, sending shivers down your spine once more and causing you to rub your thighs together. You could tell his heat was beginning to affect him again as you noticed the sweat beading on his forehead and his breath coming in slight pants.

Jungkook gazed at you with unabashed desire in his darkened eyes, taking in every aspect of you where you lay before him, willing and ready. He looked like he wanted to devour you and at this point you wouldn’t have wanted less.

Nose twitching and ears tilting back so they were out of the way, Jungkook gripped your thighs and gently parted them, moaning as he took in the full sight and scent of you. It made his mind even hazier with desire than it already was from the heat, and he wasted no time in nibbling his way down your thigh before delivering a kittenish lick to your clit.

You gasped, nearly mewling at the sudden sensation, your hips twitching involuntarily beneath him. His arms came underneath your legs to wind over your hips and hold them down, causing you to let out a breathy moan at the pressure. His fingers pressed into your sensitive skin as his licks grew longer and firmer. You were squirming under his ministrations when he moved one hand back to run his finger down your glistening slit, causing you to jerk with a gasp, hips rolling slightly. You felt heat beginning to coil in your abdomen as he switched from broad licks to gentle suckling on your clit, finger dipping into your heat teasingly. You couldn’t believe the moan that came out of your own mouth, hips straining slightly against his grip.

Needing to find something to hold your hands went to his head, fingers of one hand threading in his hair and the other grasping his ear and tugging gently, rubbing the base where it met his skull. He moaned into your clit, causing you to let out your own noise of pleasure and tighten your grip unintentionally. Jungkook pressed his finger in completely, curling it up before pulling out to begin gently fucking you open, leaving you a panting, moaning mess beneath him. He gradually added another finger, then another, curling them and brushing firmly against that spot without fail every time. You were rapidly growing closer to your high, breaths coming quicker and fingers tightening in their grip around his hair and ear. Jungkook moaned into you as he felt you tightening around him, quickening his movements to get you to your high faster.

That coil in your abdomen wound tighter and tighter, your limbs trembling and eyes screwed shut as you gasped. “K-Kookie I’m—“

You cried out as he curled his fingers while nipping your clit gently with his teeth, free hand rising to tug your nipple at the same time. The pressure snapped and your back arched off the bed in pleasure, Jungkook holding you down as your juices flooded his tongue and he lapped them all up. He continued even after you slowly came down from your high, refusing to release you until he had cleaned up every last drop, at which point you were oversensitive and wriggling to get away from the sensation.

He pulled away, licking his lips in the most sinful manner you had ever seen, and smiled brightly at you before allowing his head to fall and rest on your thigh as he waited for you to come back down. After a minute or so you shifted so you were leaning on your elbows, limbs still trembling slightly. You took one look at him to see he was sweating and panting again, the effects of his heat having returned full force and leaving him pining painfully for release once more. He had to have been in pain again, probably for a while, but he was waiting for you to be ready before he continued. You felt affection swell in your heart for the hybrid before you.

“Oh, Kookie.” You murmured, lifting a hand to brush his cheek. He whined at the touch, nudging into your hand before shifting himself so he hovered over you, hips nestled between your thighs and his length grinding against your core. Your back returned to the bed and he placed his arms either side of you, one hand finding yours to thread your fingers together.

You could tell he wanted to continue, observing the slight trembling in his form as his body and instincts urged him to move and he resisted for a little while more.

“y/n,” he started, voice shaky and thick with desire. “Are you sure? If we continue now I don’t think I can stop…”

You leant up to deliver a swift kiss to his soft lips, nodding. “Of course I’m sure, Kookie. Now come on, I know it hurts more the longer you wait.”

He smiled at you softly, grinding his length against you as he dipped his head down to rest in the crook of your neck. Both of you let out a shaky moan at the friction, your own hips rolling up to maintain the sensation. He delivered a swift kiss to your neck, suckling gently before pulling back and adjusting his hips. You echoed his soft moan as his tip brushed your entrance, his body trembling as he tried to stay gentle and careful.

“Kookie, don’t hold ba—ah fuck!” your words cut off into a loud, mewling moan as he thrust in suddenly, filling and stretching you in such a way that you forgot how to think for a second, only able to produce small gasps at each miniscule movement he made. He let out a long, guttural groan into your neck, the sound shooting straight to your core. You nearly saw stars as he pulled back, easing out of you before his hips rolled forward and the both of you moaned once more. He began to build a steady rhythm. Your fingers clutched him tightly, one hand rising to rub his ear and the other reaching for his tail. He yelped, and the resulting forceful snap of his hips into you nearly made you scream his name for the whole neighbourhood to hear.

“Oh my god, Kookie—“ you could hardly form the words as he began pounding into you faster at the encouragement, one hand gripping your hip tightly to keep you in place. The sounds he was making causing heat to rush to your face and even more pleasure to rush to your core. You could tell as he slowly lost more control. He nipped your neck with his teeth and you cried out, tugging on his tail and ear and earning yourself a loud moan and a particularly forceful thrust of his hips.

You could hardly keep up with the sensations in your own body, unable to even keep track of the noises coming out of your mouth. You felt that familiar feeling building up in your abdomen with each thrust into your tight heat and couldn’t help but clench your thighs tighter around him, not used to this much pleasure at once.

“y/n,” came a deep groan from your neck, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to—“

He cut himself off with a loud moan as you shifted your hips to meet his harsh thrusts, clenching around him to urge him on to reach his high. You felt yourself growing closer as well and couldn’t help the lewd noises escaping you. Jungkook lifted his head, dazed eyes staring into your own as he gave you a cheeky, hazy smile before shifting his hand from your hip and—

Your body jerked as you cried his name loudly, all the tension in your abdomen releasing at once as you came hard, Jungkook’s fingers still rubbing your clit as pleasure swallowed you whole. The sensation of your walls clenching around him so tightly was more than he could take and he gave a few more powerful thrusts before his hips stuttered and he joined you in your high, moaning your name into the skin of your neck and clutching you tightly.

Slowly you were brought back to the present, Jungkook having flopped to the side and pulled your body close to him while your thoughts had been elsewhere. He was lazily tracing patterns on your skin with his fingertips. You could feel exhaustion beginning to creep into your bones but felt sated, more satisfied than you ever remembered being before.

Jungkook sighed happily, nuzzling into your neck from behind and pulling the covers over you both before cuddling closer and causing you to giggle slightly. “How are you feeling, Kookie?”

He hummed, his nose trailing gently down the column of your neck. “Amazing. I didn’t know heats could feel like this. For the first time ever I’m glad it goes for a couple of days.” he murmured, voice soft and sleepy.

You hummed in agreement, eyes slipping slightly closed before they shot open in alarm as his words fully registered in your brain.

“A couple of days?!”

You didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified.

#jungkook x reader #hybrid au #hybrid jungkook x reader #bts scenarios #kpop scenarios #hybrid!au #bts hyrbid au #request #rbuns #my work #smut #fluff #I HAVE SINNED #ENJOY IT QUEEN <3

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maynardlewis · 4 years ago

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ellebeebee · 7 years ago

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There Thou Goest Also

Part 4 of 4: Culling Knife

One | Two | Three

First PoE work, and I wanted to examine my Watcher’s spiritual growth over the game’s events. Sharp, a folk death godlike from Vailia, has a complicated relationship with Berath. Expect self-indulgent backstory and vigilante world building.

2086 words, f!Watcher & All The Friends She Made Along The Way, (no pairing), teen rating by AO3

On AO3

She dreamed dreams not her own.

She dreams through decades of quiet heat in this quiet, hot, and harsh land with its black sea. Of leaving, finally, to find the last part of herself. She returns from the city with a husband and a seed in her belly, and she is more content than she has ever been. She has seen the departures of these people of the yellow pastures in their white shrouds, and seen their arrivals in their bloody cauls. She dreams dreams of her warm mahogany skin and her husband’s rich twilight. Their mingling, and what they can bring forth.

She dreams of bed pains, of unimaginable pain between her thighs, and dizziness that spins the world until it is unmade. She can see the individual threads of her husband’s sleeve gripped between her fingers. She sees beyond him the strange eyes of a sheep-headed woman, the vertical pupils full of galaxies and adra gleam and a threshold-- the final threshold, and the very first. The culling knife glows dull bronze in the candlelight.

Her daughter’s skin is purple, not brown. Her head is not covered in black fuzz, but hard cartilage. But she has never known such beauty, and she has never felt so content.

She dreamed that she fulfils her portion, and the next life is--

When she woke, Mother knelt beside her.

“Your mind called to me, Watcher. The way they used to when they needed me at the Bell.”

Sharp pushed up on her elbows from her bedroll. It was still mostly dark. The emerald foliage radiated cold and damp all around them.

“No,” Sharp said. “It was my mother. I do not know how, but I felt some sort of… trace of her soul.”

The adra chimes rang far away and very close all at once. “Her body struggled but her soul did not.”

“That is what my father tells me often. Did you-- did you see the culling knife?”

She was quiet. “I have felt it enough to know it. Even all the molding of her mind could still fail to save a mother in the end.” She paused. “The child was protected first. Always.”

“But you did not… Nevermind,” she turned and studied her. “Did you ever… bring forth one like me?”

Mother’s hands weaved ringing with a harder melody than usual. The white adra awash in blood-- too much blood. Small embers you could touch but not feel.

“Once,” Mother said. “The babe fell into my hands like an ashen spark. Precious and mewling and healthy. A perfect light in the deep dawn.”

“And the mother?”

Her hands slowed in their circles, and the chimes sang a mourning knell.

Sharp looked out and watched the leaves go translucent against the tenuous light. Their veins of yesterday’s sun spread into jade lace. When she finally looked back, Mother had drifted away unseen.

She fell to her knees with the heavens beneath her, limitless stars and brushstrokes of divine color. She did not fall or fly or float. She just existed. And the words spoke to her; true speaking that had nothing to with sound or expression or language. She had not known truth before. She’d come close to it, tried to create it herself from the scraps of shadows in the world. But she’d been blind to the obvious.

She realized she’d already known it, all along.

The glittering expanse of Teir Evron revolved around her.

Edér tamped down on the fill in his pipe’s bowl. He hummed vaguely to himself, sticking it in the corner of his mouth for a cold draw. His hands patted down the pockets of his breeches and his waistcoat for a light. As he found his little tin of matches, a breeze rushed through the Celestial Sapling’s enormous tree. Thin switches ran and whipped against each other, and an ominous lament groaned somewhere deep within the trunk.

He waited a moment until the wind passed and struck his match. The light burned against the night, fragile and small. Some campfires burned in the district below, and watchfires dotted along the walls and in the hands of patrolling guards.

Edér leaned against the railing and nursed his pipe into fine smoking form; he took so long fiddling with it the guard changed once and a ruckus had broken out down in the bar and been smoothed over.

He drew on the deep acrid taste spilling from his bowl and breathed white tendrils into the dark.

“You are not asleep.”

Despite himself, he jumped. Sharp stood behind him. She’d come from the group’s rooms out onto the platform and its exterior rope ladder to the forest floor, conveniently away from the eyes and ears inside the inn.

“I’m bettin’ you already knew that,” he said.

She shrugged, and gave him a look. Well, not really a look, because, you know-- the whole no eyes thing. But sometimes she got this certain set to how she faced you, a certain tiny tilt. There was the ‘Edér, shut up!’ tilt, the ‘Hiravias, shut up!,’ the ‘Durance, shut up before I shut you up!,’ and of course the ‘Eh, Pallegina, what is this word in their pigshit language, eh?’

This tilt was more along the lines of… What are you really doing here?

Edér shrugged. “I had a feeling.”

The dark blanket on the huts and paths flicked with the indistinct forms of hunters and merchants returning to their homes, climbing the hillocks to the other districts. He felt the air shift as she leaned against the railing, too. He offered her his pipe. She accepted, and took a long and slow pull on it.

She breathed smoke into the night, and then turned the pipe around in her hand. “You laced this with whiteleaf?”

He nodded. “Just a touch.”

Sharp handed it back to him, shaking her head. “Not tonight.”

“You still up for that powdered snowcap when this is all done?” he said, patting his hip where he usually carried it on his absent belt.

“Yes.”

Her tone didn’t curl up in amusement, though. She stared down at Twin Elms. Edér took a few bitter drags and let the silence expand around them.

“I guess you’re decided then, huh?” he said.

She turned to him. His eyes had long adapted to the murky darkness, and he could see she was all geared up in her leathers and softest boots, gloves tucked into her belt. Her blades hung silent at her sides.

“So you know?” she said.

“I think we’ve all figured on it for a while now.”

“And what do you think of it?”

Edér tapped a boot quietly. “Well. I’m not gonna say anything about that hat of yours. I kinda fancy keeping my own head not bit off. But I don’t think you should go getting yourself tied to one cart your whole life just because some tree ladies and Hiravias say you should.”

“But you are saying something about it then,” she said

He shrugged, and felt her watching him.

“On this, my thought has not changed,” Sharp said. “What I do has nothing to do with being-- godlike.” She bit around the word like a sour fruit. She tapped her head-growth. “This is some trick of nature. You think the gods, who control the heavens and the seas, death and life-- you think they spare more than a passing sneeze of thought for a single kith? Even if I say, I serve this god now, it will make no difference to them beyond their vast plans. It does not make me special.”

Edér nodded. “That’s the thing about faith, huh? Sometimes don’t feel like ‘faith.’ At all. Sometimes it feels like dog-paddlin’ in a big ocean of mud, all alone. Doin’ your best to keep your head up. And you wonder if you’re going the right direction. If you’re strong enough to keep fightin’ the doubt.”

He nursed the pipe again. Sharp remained quiet.

“And there’s no knowing,” Edér said. “There’s just… a feeling.”

And she had a tilt that he didn’t know too well: a release of tension and rounding of her straight shoulders and a near stillness in the constant whirl of her smoky tendrils. He didn’t have to hear it from her to understand; he didn’t even know if she had the words to say. Heck, he didn’t really either. She believed in this.

Sharp stepped back from the railing and him. That predator’s stance was back in her shoulders and limbs, and she pulled her gloves on.

“I have done bad things in my life,” she said. “I do not know if I can atone. And I do not know if what I do in the future will be more of the same. But I have to believe it. I have to believe the path and the guide I follow is the right one.”

She flexed her gloved fist thoughtfully. Edér’s thumb ran over the smooth wood of the pipe bowl. She turned to him.

“I am going,” she said. “I will be back in the morning.”

“Alone? You don’t want some help?”

“No,” she turned and a curl pulled at her lips. “I want to do it myself. Beside, do not insult me. Two little assassinations? It is piece of cake.”

“Hey, look at you! Getting your sayin’s right.”

“Hey, Edér. Go fuck yourself. Did I get that right, too?”

He laughed, a little too loud, and she shushed him before disappearing into the night.

She made it through Breith Eaman and through Iovara’s teachings without slipping under its tide. She cut down Thaos, and squeezed her “answers” from his soul without succumbing. She faced the machine-- a neat and symmetrical ending to how this whole clusterfuck began-- and she felt the weight of thousands enslaved to the enormous mechanical fruit of a dead people’s avarice and gluttony and vanity. She nearly drowned in all of those souls, and she wondered if she was already overwhelmed by such a small drop of the cycle, then how was it the gods carried all that had been, all that are, and all that would be. A vast and utterly incomprehensible sea.

She did it, even with Iovara’s words, and it felt right. And she tried to remember Edér’s words: a feeling.

That was all she needed. And she felt it, until the greatest relief washed over her and weakened her to sleep’s beguile.

She made it up to the surface, and out of Twin Elms. She made it through the goodbye's to the handful of companions departing directly after her great mission’s success. She even made it all the way back to Caed Nua without falling to it.

But when she found a quiet and empty spot at the top of the tallest tower, an unseen bolt struck Sharp, clear through her heart.

She gasped and leaned into the stone wall, clutching at its coolness. She shuddered and did what she hadn’t in a long time-- she can not cry, exactly. Whatever was the mechanism for her sight, it did not function the same as others’ eyes. It was a rhythmic spasming of the muscles that crushed her lungs and her throat, making her gasp and piercing her again and again and again with pain.

She felt naked. Stupid and foolish that she had so quickly bent the knee to a god-- a, a thing that had never been real.

But what was real? She hated Aloth for his quick acceptance of it and his high-ground rejection of a make-believe authority. She hated Edér for tempering his constantancy. If even he…

She tried to remember her mother, covered in birthing sweat and lying in her deathbed, and how she had so clearly seen the glean of the culling knife. She tried to remember the suspension in the heavens and the certainty she’d felt each time a soul slipped like silk between her fingers to be spun again on the Wheel. She tried to remember that feeling in Sun in Shadow.

She pulled herself together. The remainder of her companions departed. She lingered in the library more, read more. Petitioners and visitors came and went, coin passed through her hands. Time continued on, even if she had uncovered a great revelation. But if she commissioned a new cloak embroidered with a stylized skull and ewe horns tangled with a common farm knife and a wheel-- well. It was something.

She would never know. She could only feel.

#pillars of eternity #fanfiction #my writing #lol yea so i keep meaning to post this but u kno #life #i kinda struggled w the ending bc as much as i love a happy ending #i dont think this could or even should have a happy ending #so its #idk if its bittersweet maybe more like a deepening awareness of how complex faith can be #or how simple #the contradiction of it i guess

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gymwrites · 8 years ago

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Second Thoughts: A Fan Sequel to First Times

[Author’s note: My deepest apologies for the huge wait. Here’s Part I of the latest and longest ST chapter (it’s pretty much the equivalent of two chapters). I recently lost someone very close to me and have been going through the motions these past few weeks. It made finishing this chapter a real struggle, but I hope it doesn’t disappoint. I will post Part II within a couple hours. Thank you Anons and everyone for all your messages, it’s really amazing to feel the love from such kind and supportive readers. I have every intention of finishing ST :) As always, any thoughts, feels, songs or suggestions would be really appreciated. Love, Kai.]

Links to: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (Part I), Chapter 5 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part I), Chapter 6 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part III), Chapter 7, Chapter 8 (Part I), Chapter 8 (Part II)

Chapter 5: Impossible (Part I)

The second thought Aly Raisman has when the back and forth swinging of the gym door comes to a creaking halt... isn’t really a thought. It’s not quite a feeling, either. Rather, it’s the scary absence of both thought and feeling. A numbness that steals its way into the dull hollowness left by a sudden, ripping away of hope.

Her thought preceding this not-quite-thought-nor-feeling was just as dismal.

That’s that then.

Aly keeps still. Doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t breathe. As if staving off the next intake of air might somehow delay the fact that she’s standing in the dead quiet of a ghostly gym. Very much alone. She closes her eyes, feeling the blood in her veins slow to an uncomfortable, sluggish pace.

Thinking there was a way back to London had been about as crazy as thinking billions of years could be undone and the universe folded back into a single, infinite point.

The realization that some things when lost, are lost forever, seizes Aly with a suffocating force. She drops the now meaningless piece of paper to the floor and buries her face into her hands, taking in sobbing gulps of air. Each new ragged breath cuts her deep, each sharp as an obsidian blade’s edge.

None so sharp as the parting words the Russian had left her before walking out, without a single glance back.

-----

“Ya tebya lyublyu.”

Aliya trembles, hardly believing what she just heard. A confusing cocktail of dismay and joy explodes somewhere deep inside of her. She’s waited for those words for so damn long, dreamt about them so often, part of her thinks they’ve been cruelly conjured up by her imagination.

Yet there she is. Aly Raisman, holding out her heart towards Aliya, shining hazel eyes creased with uncertainty.

The Russian directs her entire willpower towards not throwing herself at Aly, partly in a wild rage - why did she wait until freaking Rio to do this to me?! - and partly in pure, unadulterated longing. Her hand automatically comes up to press down on the left side of her chest, where a throbbing pain is growing.

Gesturing towards the crumpled list still clutched in Aly’s nervous fingers, Aliya manages to stutter out, “You. Russian.”

Aly quickly lowers her eyes, her already flushed cheeks deepening to a dark wine red. She awkwardly scuffs her shoe on the gym mat.

“I know. I know it was really bad.”

“Aly.” Aliya utters a sound that’s halfway between a cry and a soft whimper. The self-consciousness in the girl’s tone makes her desperately want to draw closer and grab Aly’s hand and press it to her lips and tell her it was the most adorable, breathtaking thing ever. But the stubborn, rational streak in her forbids it.

“I meant what I said, Aliya,” Aly says, her voice trembling. “In Russian. In English. I’ll learn to say it in every other language if I have to. I would say it in Hebrew, but that might be just as bad as because I’m really rusty. Although to be honest, it’s probably impossible for anything to be worse than my Russian.” Her words, clearly not coming out as articulately as she wants them to, dies on her lips.

The American’s signature rambling is every bit endearing as it is distressing for Aliya. She waits, unmoving as a statue, pulse racing with the frightening velocity of a runaway freight train.

“What I mean is,” Aly swallows down a lump in her throat, “I love you. In every language. In every way.” The slow, fiery intensity of her words makes Aliya’s heart swell up to fill her entire ribcage.

“Would you give me another chance, Aliya? Will you have me?”

Yes. Yes times a million. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.

They’re the answers that sit, right there on the tip of Aliya’s tongue, begging to jump off of it. They’ve been there ever since she first caught the strangely captivating way the girl laughed with her eyes, the easy kindness she wore on her sleeve and charmed everyone with, without even knowing it. How could not being with Aly ever be right?

It’s true; Aliya had learnt to live the last four years without her. There started to be days where she wouldn’t hate the sun for peeking up over the horizon. At times, it even felt like she was beginning to enjoy herself again. But by every measure that mattered, she hadn’t really lived. Life passed her by without Aly searching her out like she was the only star in the sky. It didn’t count when she wasn’t wrapped in Aly’s arms, an impenetrable shield against everyone who ever judged Aliya and tried to tear her down. Her days dragged on without Aly’s kisses, especially the ones that felt like small drops of warm lava blazing a trail down her body...

Shivering, Aliya swallows back tears and watches anxiously as Aly takes a cautious step forward, the girl’s gaze unfaltering and deliberately reassuring, as if wary that Aliya might bolt at any second. Time stops being measured in minutes, instead surging forward in furious heartbeats and terse breaths.

Aly takes another step. Then another. The closer Aliya lets her get, the more she can detect faint stirrings of hope in the American.

Hope.

Aliya involuntarily tenses up. A chill flashes through her, crawling up her skin and causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end.

Her naturally suspicious nature had always treated hope as a dangerous thing to hold onto. But it wasn’t until Aly cut her off four years ago that she was completely vindicated for doing so. Never in Aliya’s life had she been raised so high, only to be brought crashing back down by a dizzying disappointment that left her sick to the core.

Aliya is suddenly, jarringly reminded that little has changed. Some supernatural force would always draw Aly and her together. It was straight out of one of her favorite stories she had read as a child, about a couple Fate had mischievously joined together with an invisible red string. It didn’t matter where on earth they were born and died; they would always find each other again and again, in a never-ending cycle of reincarnations. In this life, though, she and Aly couldn’t keep meeting every four years, falling for each other again every four years, and breaking each other into pieces every four years. Sooner or later, they had to confront the fact that they were both tied to their home countries in ways they couldn’t or wouldn’t change.

What had changed was that they weren’t wide-eyed teenagers chasing their Olympic dreams for the first time anymore; the same ones who didn’t think through what would happen once the Games concluded. Aliya knew it all too well. If they didn’t get off this collision course, there would eventually be nothing left of them to break.

“Aliya.”

The nearness of Aly’s voice exhaling her name snaps Aliya back to attention. Only two or three tiny steps separate them.

Shit.

Her eyes still anchored on the girl’s perfectly framed face, Aliya takes in a deep breath. As she does, her heart sinks. “Raisman, we cannot.” Her voice catching in her throat, Aliya forces it out more vehemently. “I... cannot.”

Aliya watches Aly’s brown orbs cloud over in confusion, then comprehension, and finally hurt. She really wishes things were different, wishes her common sense and the fear and the memories and the pain weren’t so ingrained in her. But stumbling backwards, barely smothering the protesting parts of her begging she give into her raw emotions just one goddamn time, Aliya wrenches her gaze away.

“Take care yourself. Please.” Her last words come out colder than intended. They’re brashly polite, to the point of clinical. They had to be, if she was going to do this with any sort of decisiveness.

Before Aly can say anything to change her mind, Aliya abruptly wheels around and powers away from the girl she can have, but never hold.

Only when her back is safely turned, when she’s forced her way out of the building and is blindly careening down the concrete footpath under a dark blanket of stars, does Aliya allow the hot tears to rush down her face.

-----

“You did it. You did it, Aly!”

Mihai’s usual contained self is gone, replaced by an unrecognizably ecstatic coach jumping up and down on the lime green carpet. Aly watches, a small grin curled at one corner of her mouth as he puts on a very public display of fist pumps and wild arm waving to celebrate her second chance at an all-around Olympic medal.

Soon, she finds herself wrapped in one of his giant bear hugs, the kind that sweeps her off the ground and constricts her breathing for a number of seconds. As soon as Mihai sets her down, she’s immediately swamped by her teammates; Simone, tears gathering at the edges of her eyes at being one step closer to Olympic hardware; Laurie, giving everyone high fives, still in shock over how the crowd - most of them not even American - had chanted her name the moment she stepped into the stadium; Madison, her enigmatic smile expressing tempered delight at finishing with the highest qualifying score on bars.

And Gabby.

As Mihai enthusiastically lifts her arm up in a gladiator salute towards the cheering USA section of the stands, Aly catches Gabby’s eye over his shoulder. The 2012 all-around champion flashes her a big smile. The sparkle in her look conveys something that sets Aly’s mind a little more at ease: Enjoy this moment. You deserve it.

Aly returns the smile faintly, a little relief spreading through her. All week, she had both anticipated and dreaded this moment.

Qualifications had turned out as good as Team USA could have hoped. Still, at the back of Aly’s mind lurked the unpleasant prospect that either she or Gabby would have to swallow the bitter pill of missing out on a spot. And now, she had to deal with being proud enough of her achievement so as not to seem annoyingly modest, but not so proud as to seem completely insensitive to how awful Gabby must be feeling.

Extracting herself from the flurried mess of hugs and congratulations, she makes her way over to Gabby, who has discreetly gone to the side and is bent over removing tape from her ankles.

“Gabby, I...”

Straightening up, her teammate turns to face her. As soon as she catches the turmoil on Aly’s face, Gabby reaches out and pulls her in for a heartfelt hug.

“Als, I know. I know what you’ve been worrying about. And I’m telling you now, don’t. I’m happy for you.” Gabby emphasizes the next word by giving her teammate a light squeeze on the shoulder, “Really. I know you would be just as happy for me if - well, if things had turned out differently.”

Aly winces. Clasping Gabby’s hand with her own, she says with a fierce certainty, "It could have just as easily been you. It was all luck.”

The girl shakes her head. “Hey. You deserve it. You were amazing today. There’s no luck in this. And there won’t be when you and Simone wipe the floor with everyone else at the final.”

A tiny smile finally breaks on Aly’s face, but the unfairness of it all still weighs heavy. Gabby had come in as the third greatest gymnast in the world, and she wasn’t going to get her shot at defending her Olympic title. “How are you feeling?” she asks softly, feeling the inadequacy of the question.

Gabby looks down, spreading her fingers and inspecting each one distractedly. “I’m okay, I think. Well, I will be.” Glancing up, she lets a bit of the regret holing up inside trickle through in her features. “I really wanted this. But then, we all did,” Gabby says in a resigned voice. Without warning, she shifts the direction of the conversation. “How are you feeling?”

The careful, searching tone in her voice lets Aly know she’s not just asking about the upcoming team and all-around competitions. Thrown by the question, Aly gives a near imperceptible shake of the head, her tongue feeling like it’s just become glued to the roof of her mouth.

‘Raisman, we cannot. I... cannot.’

Seeing the hidden pain surface in her friend’s eyes, Gabby wordlessly nods in sympathy. The girls share a quiet moment together, bittersweet that the incredible feat of making back to back Olympic teams had to come with such mixed emotions. Aly wants to express how grateful she is that Gabby’s there with her - out of everyone, she knew most why getting to Rio had meant so much - but they get hurriedly herded back towards the rest of the group.

Martha wants to debrief them right away.

It didn’t matter that they had finished almost a record-breaking ten points ahead of the next best team, China, and in all likelihood would take out the team gold even with several falls. There would be no time for resting on their laurels. A no-nonsense post-qualifications meeting would take place in one of the small backrooms. Martha would go over every tiny detail that went wrong (not much, really, but she was sure to find something), and they would get the same pep-talk they always did: You girls have done this a million times. Just treat the next competition as you would any other training session. Left unsaid was that the next competition will make or break the dreams of an entire nation, as well as the one you’ve had since you were five years old.

As Team USA prepares to march out of the stadium in formation, Aly can’t help wondering if Aliya had caught their qualifying round on one of the live cable channels. She wonders what she thinks of the fact that they’ll be competing in the all-around together. Most of all, she wonders if Aliya had noticed her not entirely coincidental choice of floor music.

Then she remembers the loud, scraping noises the gym door had made when Aliya stormed past it, as if she couldn’t bear to be with Aly for one more second. She recalls the way Aliya had told her to ‘take care’, the way you tell a distant second cousin you don’t remember the name of to take care as they board a plane to god knows where, because really, who cares?

The smile Aly has from seeing her teammates chatter excitedly about how they had totally dominated qualifications falls from her face.

She tries not to think about how there’s no reason for Aliya to care about anything she does anymore.

-----

Twenty minutes to go until warm-ups for qualifications begins, and Russia’s gymnastics team captain is nowhere to be seen.

Masha is frantically trying to pull the younger girls together, even as she fights down the familiar flood of nerves welling up within. Melka looks like she just ate a can of worms. Dasha, for her part, is facing the corner of the dimly-lit foyer muttering some kind of Orthodox mantra meant to help calm her down, but it’s only setting everyone else on edge. The only girl who doesn’t look like a walking catastrophe just waiting to happen is Seda. That’s because she’s wondering whether the eggs benedict from this morning’s breakfast will make an encore appearance on the menu tomorrow.

She really, really hopes it will.

Grebs, staggering under the weight of no less than five large red-and-white duffel bags slung around his neck, beckons for them to start making their way down the athlete’s tunnel. Frowning at the four girls milling around, he snaps his head automatically towards Masha.

“Where the hell is Aliya?”

Masha sighs exasperatedly. “I’m not her handler, I don’t know! She must have stayed behind in the locker room. I think she was having trouble adjusting her leotard.”

Grebs narrows his eyes. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nope. No, she’s fine. I’ll get her.” Masha gives him her best no-of-course-she-isn’t-pining-over-a-rival-team-captain smile.

“Well. You better find her right now. They don’t kid around with warm-ups. You get your thirty seconds at the exact time they say so, and then they literally bring out a firehose to make sure you get off the apparatus.” With an air of gruff impatience, Grebs ducks out again.

Muttering under her breath, Masha wraps an arm tightly around Melka, now staring into space with frightened eyes the size of watermelons. She grabs her own personal backpack sitting in the middle of the floor and slings it on her back.

“Seda! I have to head out with the others. You run and check the locker room for Aliya. Chyort, that girl could blow up the moon and still get away with it. Tell her to hurry!”

Nodding, Seda hands over the rolls of spare tape in her hands to the stressed out second-in-command and rushes in the direction of the mostly empty holding area. The other gymnasts were already congregating near the mouth of the tunnel, where they would be introduced by the booming voice of God and enter the imposing stadium to thunderous applause and more cameras than most of them had ever seen in their lives.

Breathing heavily, Seda reaches the wide hallway where the locker rooms are located. She pushes open a heavy wooden door to her right and pokes her head in. “Alka?”

No answer. Not that she was expecting one.

Once inside, Seda frantically scouts the locker room, her shoes squeaking on the gleaming white floor. Rows upon rows of puke-green storage lockers spread out in front of her like a regimented forest that’s been stripped of all its leaves and colors. Weak light filters in through the paneled windows lining the tops of the walls. There's the odd used towel strewn on the floor, and the chirps of a small sparrow unwittingly trapped inside somewhere.

Seda feels a line of sweat form on her brow. But before she starts to properly panic, she walks in on Aliya, seated alone on a narrow wooden bench wedged in between the very last row of lockers. An audible sigh of relief escapes Seda.

Dressed in the same sparkling red and blue leotard as the rest of the team, Aliya’s jacket is zipped up tight around her neck, her bun done up perfectly without a single out-of-place hair. She doesn’t appear to be doing much except staring at the ground, dense eyelashes obscuring nearly all of her velvety, unfocused gaze.

“Grandma, we’re warming up soon. We have to go. Now.” For some reason, Seda finds herself speaking very softly, the way she would to a frightened baby rabbit.

After a long stretch of unpunctuated silence, Aliya looks up at Seda. She briefly makes eye contact and acknowledges the girl’s presence, but then sinks back into her own little world, looking straight through Seda like she isn’t even there.

Worried, but familiar enough with Aliya’s moods to let her come around in her own time, Seda slows her breathing down. And waits.

Finally: “Can I ask you something, Seda?” Aliya is distant, like she’s speaking from a place far, far away.

“Da. Of course. Anything.” Seda steps towards her team captain and sits down next to her. A mental clock ticks loudly in the back of Seda’s mind, but she ignores it. Trying to force this conversation to go any faster would only have the opposite effect.

When Aliya doesn’t respond, Seda glances sideways to check if she had heard her. She notices how tightly Aliya’s hands are gripped together, tight enough for her knuckles to have turned completely white.

“Alka? Are you okay?”

“Why do we put ourselves through all of this?”

The question catches Seda off guard. “All of... this?”

“This.” Aliya waves an arm in the space behind her. “Years of hard training. Just to come here. To compete.” Her sentences come out short and dulled, like she’s been drained of all the energy to speak in more complete ones.

Seda takes a moment to collect herself. Aliya usually asked these questions without expecting any kind of specific answer, since she almost always had decided for herself what the answer should be already. What she really needed was someone who wouldn’t pretend like they knew what she needed to hear.

Wisely, Seda chooses to keep her answers short and sweet. “Because we love gymnastics.”

“Isn't it to achieve something great, something that makes our country proud?”

Seda chews thoughtfully on her lip. “Both. Because we love it, and because we want to make our country proud.”

“So if we love something a lot, we’ll do anything for it?” Seda detects a faint hint of bitterness in Aliya’s voice.

“Yes...” Seda slowly begins. She’s unsure whether Aliya is still referring to gymnastics, or something - maybe someone - else. The Russian captain had returned to their suite late last night, without saying a word about what had happened between her and Raisman. Judging by how reclusive she had been since then, Seda guessed it hadn’t been good.

“And if what you love hurts you?” The bitterness is unmistakable this time. Almost accusatory.

In her mind, Seda silently replaces the ‘what’ with a ‘who’. “How do you mean?”

“We get hurt all the time. From where we are now, in Rio,” Aliya reaches out her right hand to mark an invisible point in the air, “all the way back to when we started training...” Her left hand travels in the opposite direction, as if drawing a horizontal timeline, until her arms are stretched out wide. “How many injuries have we all had in that time? How much have we sacrificed just to end up with broken bones and backs?” She sounds positively angry now, her sentences streaming out much quicker.

Seda hesitantly says, “A lot.” Even now, Seda knew that Masha’s back injury was giving her hell. She would eat a stick of burning dynamite before complaining about it in front of any of the coaches, though. It was the Olympics. You put up, you shut up, and you did what you’ve been trained to do.

“Then why do we keep doing it?”

“Because getting hurt is part of it.” Seda answers without thinking. She says it like she’s saying the sky is blue. There’s no moral tinge to her statement, no attempt to persuade Aliya that this was something she should just accept. “If it wasn’t worth it, we would have all become... I don’t know, accountants.” Seda wrinkles her nose. "I'm terrible with numbers."

Taken aback, Aliya stops to consider her answer. After a long pause, she lets out a low unexpected laugh. “Accountants.” Aliya repeats the word like an inside joke only she knows the punchline to.

Seda gawks at her with wide eyes. What had Raisman said to ruffle their normally unruffled team leader? Was this the part where Aliya walked out on them just before qualifications, to protest how ridiculous it was that gymnastics had taken so much of their lives, but seemingly given so little in return? Surely, she wouldn’t...

A crazy grin now on Aliya’s face, she suddenly pulls Seda in for a big hug, her chin coming to rest snugly atop the younger girl’s head. Aliya closes her eyes, heaving in a deep sigh and then exhaling it in a big huff.

“Alka?” Seda’s voice is muffled against Aliya’s jacket. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Oh Seda. You never say anything wrong.”

Releasing the girl from her embrace, Aliya swiftly gets on her feet. She unzips her jacket and stretches a muscle in her neck, before grabbing a still puzzled Seda’s hand and pulling her up. Like a switch has been flipped, Aliya seems to have suddenly returned to her usual, commanding self.

“Come on. We have a job to do.”

As she faithfully follows her unpredictable team captain out of the locker room, Seda decides - again, wisely - not to over analyze whatever the hell it was that just happened.

-----

Aly couldn’t have stabbed any more holes into the sad piece of lettuce on her plate if she had tried.

She’s slumped uncomfortably in one of the plastic seats in the huge cafeteria, lost in a hard-won moment of solitude after dinner. Very few other athletes remain, having retired early to their bedrooms, or gone outside to lounge on one of the many lawns to wile away the humid summer night.

The other girls had headed back to the apartment for a covert celebration of their success at qualifications earlier today. With two days to go before team finals - and despite Martha’s constant lectures about the ‘creeetical’ importance of a healthy diet - there was plenty of time to ingest a decent amount of smuggled chocolate and Doritos without serious consequences.

It had taken some wheedling and a little help from Gabby, but Aly had finally convinced her adrenaline-pumped teammates to go on ahead of her. Promising she would join them shortly to help restrain Simone from carrying out her vow to consume an entire party bag of M&Ms, she just needed some time alone to get her feelings in order.

Aly was caught in a fix, a weird twilight zone. She was still one hundred percent committed to winning - it was the Olympics, after all, the pinnacle of any athlete’s career. At the same time, she was fully one hundred percent demotivated, because no Aliya meant nothing. It all meant nothing. Didn’t it?

She taps her fork irritably against the food tray. The team final was coming up soon. She had to be all there for the girls. Her duty towards them far outweighed any personal issues she was dealing with. She just needed to get out of this funk. But how? How was she was going to get over the fact that Aliya -

“Hi. Did that lettuce murder your entire family?”

A cheerful, teasing voice with a lightly melodic accent - it sounds European, but not French or German, or any of the usual suspects and certainly not Russian - rings out from behind.

Aly twists in her seat to search for the source of the strange question. Her surprised eyes find Eythora Thorsdottir, the Dutch gymnast making waves in the gymnastics world with her impeccable sense of artistry and fresh takes on a fairly straitjacket code of points. The girl’s long, dark hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail that travels a good way past her shoulders. She’s wearing a snug, bright orange jacket with a stark blue zip. On anyone else but the infamously photogenic Dutch girls, the outfit would probably be unflattering, like a tanning job gone terribly wrong.

“I’m sorry?”

Aly thinks she heard something about the lettuce committing murder, but she’s not sure because no one really says things like that to a stranger, right? She finds herself shifting under the intensity of Eythora’s graphite grey eyes. They hold a sharp but friendly sort of intelligence, like they’re trying to figure out something complex. The high cheekbones and ivory paleness of her face bring out their shapeliness even more.

Eythora points a slender finger towards the tattered, hole-ridden lettuce. It does look a bit like Aly has been exacting some kind of gruesome revenge on it.

“It’s something we say back home, but,” she shrugs apologetically with a tiny smile, “I think it loses its funny-ness - if there is such a word - in English.” The girl taps her chin thoughtfully. “Or more likely, no one else would find it funny, even in Dutch.” Her English is flawless. The precise way she pronounces and rounds each vowel is makes the language sound more charming, more soothing than usual.

Glancing at the lettuce, Aly laughs embarrassedly. “Oh no, that’s - you’re good. If anyone can appreciate a weird sense of humor, it’s me.” Her eyes widen in horror at the implication of the words she just uttered. “Not that your sense of humor is weird! Just... just mine.”

Eythora tilts her head to the side, a steady gaze fixed on the stuttering American.

Face burning, Aly hurries to leave behind the cluttered chaos of words tumbling out of her mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you before. I was zoned out, thinking about…” She pauses and flicks her eyes guiltily downwards, because she suddenly remembers all the times Martha had grilled into them not to interact in such close quarters with rival teams at this crucial point in the Olympics, “… team finals.”

Signaling her understanding with another smile, Eythora doesn’t seem at all fazed by Aly’s slight hesitation. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but could I join you for a little while? My girls are still out at some all-you-can-eat restaurant, but I decided to stay here. Annoyingly,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes, “I’m vegetarian. And they serve meat there like - how to say, water uit de kraan. Water, from a...” Unable to recall the word, Eythora makes a motion in the air with her hand, like she’s twisting a faucet.

“A tap?” Aly offers. Eythora gives a satisfied nod as Aly’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “Wow. Your coaches let you go out during competitions?” She might as well have said that dinosaurs still roamed the earth.

The girl chuckles, bemused by the question. “Of course. Training and stressing out twenty-four seven don’t really help us do well. Don’t you think?”

Nodding her agreement, without saying if Team USA went to an all-you-can-eat before their meets were over that Martha would personally flay them alive, Aly gestures towards the empty seat opposite her with a bashful wave of her hand. Eythora responds with a wide grin, but instead pulls the chair closest to Aly and settles herself into it.

“I’m Eythora, by the way.” They don’t really need a formal introduction, but ingrained manners and the realization that this is the first time they’ve spoken to each other one-on-one prompts Eythora to extend her hand.

Aly reaches out and gives it an awkward shake. “I’m Aly. You didn’t have to... I mean, I know who you are. Your gymnastics is amazing. I’m a huge fan.” As Eythora’s eyes light up at the unexpected compliment, Aly ducks her head shyly. “Although it seems I’ve been saying your name wrong this whole time.”

“Really? How have you been saying it?” Eythora angles forward, lips curled up in anticipation.

After a little coaxing from the other girl, Aly finally sounds out ‘Eythora’, with an extended ‘e’ and a rolling American ‘r’. It’s not terrible; it’s the way a lot of people unfamiliar with the elven-like intricacies of the Dutch language say it. Still, Eythora catches the trepidation in Aly’s expression and bursts into laughter, the kind that breaks into a thousand pieces and skips all over the place.

Aly turns bright red.

Noticing the flustered change in her complexion, Eythora hastens to add, “That’s pretty good. Most people find the sounds in Dutch really difficult to get right at first. It gets better with practice.”

Aly has half a heart to tell Eythora that based on her track record with new languages, she highly doubts it will get better. A stab in the gut, and then the fleeting memory of Aliya backing away from her like she might be contagious, reminds her of how disastrous the last time she attempted to speak a European language had been. She swallows hard and quickly changes the subject. “You and your team did really well today in qualifications.”

Smiling widely, Eythora thanks her. “It’s kind of crazy. We haven’t had a national team in the Olympic finals since 1976. The press is going a bit wild at home.” With the first hint of shyness since the conversation began, Eythora clasps her hands together and says, “Your team blew everyone else away, as usual. It was awesome just to compete with you in the same division.”

Aly looks at her lap. She’s never been good at dealing with compliments, other than to acknowledge them humbly and promptly throw the spotlight back onto the other person. “Thanks. I’ve always enjoyed the routines you girls come up with, though. There’s something about your choreography that makes it really exciting to watch.”

Eythora’s eyebrows draw together in a slight grimace. “We try. Today, I didn’t do so well with my floor exercise. I messed up my last pass.”

“Don’t worry, it happens to all of us.” Aly’s reassuring tone elicits a grateful grin from the other girl. “I know your national program is huge on dance elements and execution. It really shows. If I could do spins and turns as well as you all, I’d die of happiness.”

The corners of Eythora’s eyes crinkle in delight. “I like your choreography too.”

She says it so warmly, it makes the American blush again. Aly wonders why it is she’s blushing so much. Then she kicks herself for overthinking. This was a completely normal conversation between two gymnasts with mutual respect for one another. It was a welcome reprieve in such a nerve-wracking setting as the Olympics.

“It’s okay. I’m not really a great dancer, but I get by.” Out of self-consciousness, Aly reaches a hand up to smooth her hair down. “Sylvia, my choreographer, helps me out a lot.”

“Why do you say you’re not a great dancer?”

“Oh... just...” Aly flounders. Her hand stops mid-sweep, falling to her side. She struggles to come up with anything else besides, ‘because I’m not?’ No one’s ever really asked her that before. Nor is she used to having astute questions so casually fired back at her. It’s also odd that she doesn’t mind the probing, even though she barely knows the girl.

Aly twirls the fork contemplatively in her hand. “I’m super clumsy. I was definitely born with it, but it might also have something to do with growing up really self-conscious, I guess.” Reading the surprise on Eythora’s face, she continues quietly, “I got teased a lot.”

“Who would tease you?” Incredulity breaks through in the girl’s voice. “And even if there were people stupid enough to do that, what could they possibly find to tease you about?”

Aly laughs, touched by Eythora’s instant, wide-eyed indignation. “Trust me, the kids I grew up with said all sorts of things that got to me. About my body, about my muscles being too big, about my two left feet. But all of that made me stronger. And made me who I am today.” She looks reflectively down at the floor with a rueful smile. “Still, dancing’s never felt natural for me.” Her stint on Dancing With the Stars had boosted her confidence in that department, and she used her visibility to speak out against body shaming every chance she got. But underneath the layers of self-affirmation she had built up over the years, there would always remain a part of her that feels she falls short of the world’s idea of an ideal gymnast. Even if in reality, there is no such thing.

Eythora is silent for awhile. Her thoughts remain hidden from Aly, who’s concerned she might have said too much. The girl’s slight build, perfect bone structure and approachable demeanor make Aly wonder if Eythora has ever been seriously teased in her life. She looks like the girl that becomes class president by default, because she’s the only person practically everyone likes.

“So, are you good friends with Aliya Mustafina?”

It’s an innocent question, but the totally left of field reference to Aliya startles Aly. The fork clatters to the plate. Her pulse starts uncomfortably pounding in her ears. How does she know? Who else knows?

“We’ve known each other for some time. We compete a lot against each other... Why do you ask?” Aly rushes her words just a little too much.

“I saw the both of you walking together outside in the Village the night before. I waved, but I don’t think you saw me.” Eythora looks intrigued by the American’s reaction. “It just seemed like you two know each other really well.”

Feeling panicky, Aly blurts out, “No, we just - sometimes we run into each other, that’s all. Aliya was giving me a few pointers on um, bars. She’s really, really good at bars.” Aly plasters a weak smile over her face, kicking herself mentally. And suddenly catches a glimpse of the giant digital clock mounted on the wall behind them.

“Wow, I didn’t realize the time. I’m sorry, but I should go. My team’s expecting me.”

Aly gets to her feet reluctantly; she really does have to split, but the timing now makes it seem as though she’s dodging further questions about Aliya (in all honesty, she probably is). There’s another reason for her reluctance; she’s actually enjoyed chatting to Eythora. There’s a likeable quirkiness about her that had helped distract from the twinge of losing Aliya for good. Up until the last few moments, anyway. She just hopes all her awkwardness hadn’t left the girl thinking she’s some sort of neurotic mess.

Though they’re technically rivals, Aly wishes Eythora well with her whole heart. “It was great seeing you. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again. Good luck with the rest of the competition.”

Eythora stands to see her off. “I hope the bumping into each other will be soon. Very soon.”

At that, Aly leans in for a friendly hug, partly to hide the flush she feels rising on her cheeks again. Catching a sweet citrusy scent on the Dutch girl that reminds her of early spring, she feels Eythora return the hug with a surprising familiarity, her hands coming up to touch Aly’s waist for the briefest of moments. The girl’s ease at striking up a friendship with someone she’s only talked to for less than twenty minutes makes Aly think Eythora might do really well running for Prime Minister of Netherlands one day.

Stepping back from the hug, Aly picks up her plate - still containing that fateful piece of lettuce - gives Eythora a last sheepish smile, and leaves.

-----

The second thought Eythora Thorsdottir has as she watches Aly Raisman make her way to the cafeteria exit causes an irrepressible smile to spread across her elegant features.

Her first thought was how adorably Aly had managed to trip over a chair on the way to a cafeteria bin. She had then clumsily tried, but failed multiple times to stuff the plate into the bin’s opening. It had been too full.

Despite her interest in Aly’s connection to Aliya Mustafina, particularly after the girl’s cute, bumbling explanation of their appearance together the night before, Eythora had chosen not to dig any further. She had only mentioned Mustafina to steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic of childhood bullies, but it seems talking about the Russian had inadvertently caused even more discomfort.

Plucking up the courage to approach Raisman had paid off in a big way. Eythora still can’t believe that conversation, and that hug, actually happened. She had hidden it well, but it was surreal to have talked with the American she’s harbored a bit of celebrity crush on ever since watching the Fierce Five take out team gold in London.

She knows she looks like an idiot, standing there frozen in the middle of the cafeteria. All her suspicions had been confirmed. It was the natural glow the girl had, the way her teddy-bear brown eyes spoke kindness in more ways than words ever could, a tangible solidness in her character she’s never felt before in anyone else.

Aly Raisman is every bit as fascinating - and beautiful - as Eythora suspected she would be.

#raistafina #fanfic #second thoughts #first times

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