#these are Not her normal proportions but. ill let it slide...

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

sundown my beloved...

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 170

170

Lance lavished Keith with extra attention as they got ready for the day ahead. Today was finally the day that Curtis was freed from his curse. Waking feeling ill, Lance kept it to himself. Keith was fighting his own dose of anxiety, coupled with lingering pain from bottoming though that had been a good 15 hours ago now. Making extra coffee, Lance had cooked a few of Curtis’s favourite foods, and comfort food for Shiro, assuming being an anchor for his boyfriend’s soul would be quite taxing on their friend. They weren’t allowed on the same floor as their friends, so Pidge and Hunk were coming with them to Platt, told by Coran to be a few hours late.

When Hunk picked them up, Lance was glad he was the one driving. Keith had hit that angry stage of anxiety, a little snappy and overly apologetic. Lance unable to keep from thinking about the house and Curtis on the drive. Hunk trying to cheer them up as he and Pidge talked tech. The house was clearly an unsaid no go topic for the day. Plans shifting to making the most of the road trip down to see Keith’s father once Curtis was up for it. Keith barely contributed. Lance ignoring safety in favour of sitting in the middle back seat with just a lap belt to be able to hold Keith close to him. Honestly having so much in his head distracted from the discomfort in his belly. A growing feeling something was wrong left him teary, though he knew he’d done everything he was supposed to be doing to keep the pregnancy progressing smoothly.

Parking in the staff parking under Pidge’s direction, Lance was hit with vertigo as he climbed from Hunk’s car, resulting in him tripping on his own feet as his left ankle rolled. Something felt very wrong. Again, he knew it was his anxiety blowing things out of proportion... Embarrassingly, Lance found himself on all fours throwing up. Keith yelling his name as if he’d been shot or stabbed, and not something as damn common as him falling over. Grabbing him around the shoulders, Lance hacked, spitting in his puddle of mess with his nose scrunched up

“Babe?!”

“I’m okay...”

“You collapsed. Do you have a fever?”

Keith smacked him in the head as he tried to check. Lance sighing heavily

“I’m fine. I tripped...”

“You...”

“I tripped. I’m okay”

Ugh. Stupid ankles. It didn’t matter how fast and how strong you were, ankles would get you every time

“We should get Coran to check you”

“Babe, I’m okay... help me up”

Keith hovered. Hunk hovered. Pidge had a bounce in her step as she led them to her office. Everything within VOLTRON was running smoothly. People going about their jobs. No blaring alarms. No one was hurt. No big bad jumped out them. He was being stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The only thing around to fear was Lance and his paranoia... and his paranoid anger loaf who’d made Hunk carry the picnic basket, then started “helping” him along as if he was old and decrepit, reducing him to shuffling along. Thank god no one else was there to fuss, his anxiety hadn’t settled as it was, now it’d decided to kick into overdrive there’d be no settling it until Keith finally stopped fussing and they could see their friends again.

*

Keith couldn’t stop thinking about Shiro. He hadn’t called him. He hadn’t wished him good luck today. He’d said nothing to his brother and he hoped his brother took it to mean he trusted things to go smoothly, and not that he was giving up before things had started.

Settling in in Pidge’s office, she shared her space with three other technicians. Keith would have gotten lost if he hadn’t been following her as she confidently led them to the lab. With his arm around Lance, he found himself torn between who to fret over more. His boyfriend who’d fallen over and then promptly thrown up, or Shiro who would acting as Curtis’s anchor right about now. Thank fuck that the fellow lab techs weren’t in at the moment, because he wasn’t sure he could keep his damn temper in check over the situation. He didn’t blame Lance for throwing up. It’d been a while since it’d happened outside... His boyfriend had spent the morning trying his hardest to be reassuring, but when his rock started crumbling, Keith didn’t know what to do. Lance kept him grounded. Lance had to be okay. Plus Lance had totally nailed him the night before and he worried the slip of his ego had somehow upset the twins. Keith had been swept up in Lance’s scent and the way his boyfriend’s body moved. He’d rushed in, over sensitised and flipped some kind of switch inside Lance. He didn’t regret it. Even with his vampire side showing, Lance hadn’t hurt him. His grip firm, without being painful, pleasure pounded into him until he had to touch himself for relief.

Now Lance was sitting in a chair Pidge stole from another technicians desk, his boyfriend rubbing his stomach as their little gremlin grabbed a case for him to rest his feet on. Keith had seen plenty of those cases before. Normally they contained things that someone shouldn’t be putting their feet on. “Dusting” her hands off, Pidge beamed

“Okie dokie, guys. Lance has decided he needed the royal treatment, but do you guys want to see my lab?”

Pidge and Hunk had showed they were they’re for them, by being physically there for them. Pidge was keeping them smiling, as she’d done at the house, using her “gremlin powers” as a force for good. Going to the house had been a sobering experience for them, and Keith had let his duties as the cool mature older friend slide by providing very little comfort to her, despite the fact both her brother and father had been held there. Leaning back in his chair, Lance nominated him

“Keith would love to. I’m going to chill here and be pregnant. Maybe think about breaking into the locker room and appropriating some toothpaste... the options are endless”

Pidge poked Lance in the back of the head, Lance swatting at her hand. How could the pair of them act so normal? Hunk seemed the only one worried outwardly. Lance letting Pidge tease him only served to annoy Keith. His boyfriend might be clumsy, yet he felt there was more going on with Lance that what met the eye

“If you’re feeling that much better, you can come on the tour too”

“I’m busy growing two humans at the moment...”

“You’re on a roller chair. Hunk can drive you”

“Piiiiidge, I promise I’ll listen, but I’m not feeling great. Show Keith and Hunk around, brag about your job. You deserve it”

There was no one there that Keith trusted Lance’s health too. Allura helping in the summoning ritual, and Keith now realising he hadn’t been worried about the two faes. He should be worried. A demon against Coran and Allura... That wasn’t as simple as a werewolf with a cavity. They could be seriously hurt if the summoning went wrong. Catching him staring, Lance held his hand out of him, Keith moving to automatically grip it

“I’m going to be okay. You’re not leaving me. You’re not leaving the room. It’s all psychosomatic from what I can tell”

“So something is wrong...”

He’d known it. He fucking knew it. Now Lance was admitting it so it had to be true

“Just a little pain in my stomach, and a little bit of dizziness. I’m fine now I’m sitting”

“You should have told me”

“I know. But I’m in the best place I can be and I’m like pretty sure that maybe it’s because I’m worrying about our friends. They’re going to be okay. Coran knows what he’s doing. They’re going to be okay and we’re all going to in relief once it’s over, you’ll see”

“But what if something’s wrong?”

“The most important thing we can do is be calm. Go check out the tech. I packed my phone, so maybe Pidge can play with that?”

Keith had forgotten about Lance’s phone. His head felt foggy from the moment he’d woken up. Too many thoughts were taxing his brain power. Crossing her arms, Pidge huffed

“I do not play. You guys should appreciate my genius”

“Trust me, Pidgeon, we do. Hunk, Bud. It’s all going to be okay. You’re allowed to be here, so you don’t have to be nervous. Kolivan isn’t here to kidnap you guys, and Coran loves you. I’m sure that engineering side of you is dying to tinker. You’ve already signed a non-disclosure, and as your amazing legal advisor I’m telling you it’s totally fine to relax”

Hunk worried his pointer fingers together

“I’m worried about you. Oh, man. I said it. Dude, are you sure you’re okay being here... You’re pregnant and pregnant people should be resting and we went to the house and you didn’t look very well then and...”

Lance gently interrupted Hunk

“Sunshine of my life, all bromo and no homo, I’m okay. You don’t need to worry. I’m older than you, remember, plus I’m a vampire. A little trip isn’t going to hurt the babies. My stomach didn’t even touch the ground. Go forth and tinker. Maybe you can swipe something useful?”

Lance liked to think he was magically easing everyone, but Keith could tell differently. He felt it, that Lance wasn’t being completely honest, yet Lance did like to stress and worry too much... He felt kind of weird being in the labs without being at work. He’d start back tomorrow, provided everything went well today. Lance had probably already thought about that too. His boyfriend being so thoroughly himself by trying his hardest to support him. Leaning down, Keith kissed the top of Lance’s head. He was being silly. He was letting his anxieties blow things out of proportion

“I’m sorry. I’m not handling this very well”

“Babe, none of us are. But we’re all not handling it well together. We’re a pack remember, it’s natural we’re worried for our family. Now, give me a kiss...”

Keith did as he was told, Lance smiling at him toothily, before continuing

“... and don’t go touching anything”

“Why not? You said Hunk could”

“Because Hunk could probably rebuild anything he broke. We have to face it, babe, we’re a little bit dumb when compared to these two. Not that you are dumb. I have no doubt you could rebuild any weapon you get your hands on, I’m just saying there’s no way I could fix a microscope if I broke it”

Keith got it. He was no wiz when it came to tech

“That’s true. We’ll be... somewhere in here, if you need me call me”

Lance slowly rubbed the underside of his swell

“You know I will. Me and our cupcakes are just going to chill”

*

Not knowing how long the summoning would take, the wait dragged on. Keith had taken to borrowing a roller chair, keeping himself preoccupied as Pidge worked on Lance’s phone with Hunk. Rolling over to his boyfriend, Lance raised his leg, pushing lightly and sending him rolling across the room. Yeah. They’d hit level of boredom. “Running” back across the room on his tip toes, Pidge pushed her chair back to stop him

“If you two keep this up, I’m going to evict you”

Lance sighed at Pidge, pulling himself up in his chair

“Don’t get snappy at him”

“Then don’t get mad when your phone explodes!”

Lance rolled his eyes, not phased by an angry Pidge

“Is it just me, or does our gremlin sound like she needs another dose of coffee?”

Coffee sounded great. Plus it’d give him something to do with hands

“I’ll go!”

Pidge huffed at Keith’s enthusiasm at leaving. He could have brought Kosmo and taken him for a walk while they waited

“Say how you really feel. You’re supposed to be helping me with the interface”

“I can’t help you until we get there”

Lance wheeled himself over to Hunk

“Hunk, the coffee nerds are fighting. Want to come get the coffee with me?”

Hunk nodded, playing along as he whispered loudly

“They’re scary when they fight”

“I know. I’m surprised Pidge hasn’t invented a Roomba that knives ankles when someone gets between her and coffee”

“Man, don’t go giving her ideas!”

Pidge pushed her chair back, crashing lightly into Lance and Hunk

“You two suck. I hope you both know that”

Lance raised his hand to ruffle her hair

“So Pidgeon doesn’t want a coffee? I guess I shouldn’t get cookies either”

“If you dare come back without cookies, I will end you”

“Many have tried. I’m having cupcakes with the last hunter who came to do just that. You might be a gremlin, but you’re facing a creature of the night”

Pidge sighed at Lance

“You’re a dramatic arsehole, you know that, right?”

“I have been told my arsehole is very dramatic and I don’t even know what that was. Hunk, do you want to come for the walk?”

“Sure... are you up for walking? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’ve rested and I need to pee. Besides, Keith is cranky. He needs sugar and caffeine”

Keith scowled at the pair of them. He should be the one going for coffee, not his pregnant lover

“Why don’t I get to go?”

“Because Pidge might need your help. We’ll be back soon, babe”

Wheeling herself back to her desk, Pidge mocked him

“Yeah, babe. He’ll be back soon, babe. Don’t worry, babe”

Pidge could pull off being a summoned demon with ease. Keith glad she was using her powers for good instead of running a top class criminal racket

“You’re evil”

“I know”

“Guys, we’re all family and we all love each other. We’ll be back soon. Babe, it’s okay. I love you and I promise I’ll get your order right”

“I know you will. Love you, too. Make sure Hunk doesn’t get lost”

What the heck was that? “Make sure Hunk doesn’t get lost”? What a time to be awkward... Lance snorted

“Pfft. I’ll make him hold my hand and look both ways before crossing the road”

Hunk groaned at them

“Why am I being treated like a kid?”

Lance smiled happily at Hunk

“Because you’re our Hunk and we love you. Pidge, do you want any real food?”

“Nope. I’ve got my own fridge with adult food and everything. You two losers go get the coffee already”

“Ma’am, yes, Ma’am”

Lance shot Pidge a sloppy salute, Pidge over exaggerating rolling her eyes at him

“Go already! Keith, why do you put up with him?”

“Because I love him”

“Acceptable answer. Okay, come over here and pretend to make yourself useful”

*

The bad feeling Lance had hadn’t left. Leaving VOLTRON the world felt warmer. The sunshine and busy streets distracting with their overness. So many people were talking he couldn’t narrow in on one particular sound. With each step away from the building, he felt better. The pains in his stomach hadn’t abated at all. Yet if something was wrong, all he could do was wait for Coran as it was. Noticing his distracted mood, Hunk held his hand, Lance smiling and he shook his head when it first slipped into his.

Unable to stop from over ordering, Hunk was on coffee carrying duty, as Lance carried the two bags from the bakery back. The pain now starting to get to the point when he had to slow down, and rest every few metres. Reminding himself he only had to make back to the next block, he tried his hardest to ignore it. It’d pass. It’d pass and the twins would be okay. He didn’t so much care for himself, he’d heal, but them... He couldn’t lose them. He’d give himself an hour. If things hadn’t improved in an hour he’d head down to the infirmary and let them poke at him.

Hunk noticed the stops, the big man slowing to a snails pace to match his. Making their way through the bookshop and into the elevator, Lance dropped the bags as he grunted, staggering into the elevator wall. Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. These... this felt like... his fake contractions but a hundred times worse

“Lance!”

“Call... Keith...”

Gripping his stomach with one hand, Lance held himself up, bent over with his hand against the elevator walls. A second wave of pain made him moan in misery

“Fuck, okay, okay, okay. It’s only a little further...”

Wetness trickled down his legs, Lance immediately panicking at the warmth

“Call Keith!”

Behind him Hunk had hit the button down to the labs, the elevator doors sliding shut. They’d only just started moving when elevator shuddered, some kind of barely audible boom causing it to shudder around them as it came to a stop. Shit. This couldn’t be good

“I can’t get through to Keith. The call won’t connect!”

“What do you mean you can’t reach... agh!”

Gripping his stomach, Lance’s knees bent, nearly buckling under the pain. A wave of something evil seemed to tear through the air, the hairs on his skin standing upright as his body erupted into goosebumps

“It says no signal! What do I do?!”

Hunk was freaking out. Lance was freaking out. He hated being trapped. He hated elevators but knew the doors would open, so ignored the discomfort of being in one. Above the lights flickered, red replacing bright white light as an alarm started ringing. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone wrong with the summoning. That was the only thing Lance could think of... fuck... fuck it hurt... it hurt so much his head dropped as he swore violently in time with the wave of pain

“Fuuuuuck!”

This couldn’t be happening. He’d done everything right. Every demand placed on him, he’d done it. He’d stabbed himself over and over with those damn injections. He’d drunk Keith’s blood. He’d eaten until he started to hate food.

Coming to his side, Hunk had set the tray of coffees down. Placing his hand on Lance’s lower back, he leaned around him

“Lance? What do I do?”

“Hunk, I need... need you to check... if I’m bleeding...”

“Wha...”

“Just put your hand on my arse and tell me if you see blood”

Hunk moved, his moved hesitant as he pulled down the back of Lance’s pants exposing his underwear. Thank god for elastic maternity pants

“N-no...”

Okay. Okay. That was good. Forcing down a deep lungful of air through his nose Lance released it slowly through his mouth

“I think I’m in labour. The summoning’s gone wrong... I need you to check the elevator doors. See if you can get them open”

It didn’t matter what floor they were on. Coran had built the place with a labyrinth of hidden stairs. If they could get out, they could get help. He could send Hunk through the car park to call Krolia, Matt and Rieva

“On it... Dude, do you want to sit? I don’t know what to do...”

Poor Hunk. Lance had to keep strong for him, but fuck... He needed Coran, like right now!

“No... no... standing... is better... fuck... fucking fuckery fuck...”

[cynicalrainbows]

Fanfiction request here!! Anne drinking energy juice and everything’s fine until later on during the show she starts to feel ill..... Aragon just wants to make sure Anne doesn’t vomit on stage....

Sorry for this being so very late, anon.

Not sure if what you wanted was Very-Soft-Aragon but...well, what you got was Very-Soft-Aragon.

She doesn’t want to cry, not on the tube, not in front of everyone, but she does. 

She can’t believe how much she’s let everyone down. She doesn’t even have tiredness as an excise- yes, she’d been tired (they were all tired) but no one else had been stupid enough to think that three energy drinks plus caffiene tablets on a two show day was a sensible solution.

It hadn’t even worked properly, that was the really frustrating thing- she’d still felt exhausted, just jittery too, and she’d barely been able to keep still throughout the show. And she’d never even considered the other side effects- she’d felt sicker than she ever had in her life,to the point that she’d had to duck into the wings during House of Holbein, for fear she’d actually throw up on stage, and on top of everything, she’d just felt so paranoid, so anxious. 

Her voice had sounded wavery and weak even to her own ears, her cocky stage-persona unconvincing. The end of her song was deliberately a bit shrill but this time, she’d sounded terrified from the first verse.

God, what a mess.

She can only imagine what the fans thought of her disaster performance, and she’s trying not to think about how the other queens are going to react when they finish with stagedoor and come home.

It hadn’t exactly been agreed that she’d leave early or that Aragon would take her home- it’s just what ended up happening. A little part of her is afraid that Aragon just wants to scold her privately, to tell her what a disappointment she is- and the thought makes the tears come a little faster.

Aragon doesn’t comment or even look at her, keeping her eyes on an advert for Kumon lessons (extremely clean looking children bent studiously over blank workbooks) but she slips an arm around her shoulders and gently rubs up and down her upper arm.

It’s unexpected but still nice. She takes a chance and lets her head rest against Aragon’s coat, lets her eyes close and the tears slide slowly down her face to her jaw, drying stiff on her skin. When she licks her lips, eyes still shut, she can taste the salt. 

She’s so very tired.

She hates you for ruining the show. They all hate you for ruining the show. She’s not talking because she hates you-

She just about manages to shut the train of thought down, with some effort.

She knows Aragon doesn’t speak for the other queens but it’s a comfort at least to feel that at least one person is still on her side. Aragon may not be talking but she keeps up her gentle movements on her arm and it soothes away the nibbling anxiety that’s never too far from the edge of her mind- no one pets angrily.

Eventually the tube shudders to a stop and Aragon unwinds herself. There’s cold air in the place of warm queen as they walk to the ticket barrier and it makes her want to cling and refuse to be unpeeled- she knows how quickly her mind can spiral if left to its own devices- but just as she’s beginning to feel herself getting shakey again, Aragon nudges her arm.

‘Ok?’

She nods and tries to smile.

‘We’re nearly home-’ Aragon says something else, something about ‘all sorted out’ but a lorry passes, laying on it’s horn and drowns nearly everything out.

‘Oh- yeah-’

Of course they’ll need to sort this out- of course that’s the priority (she pushes down her very-strong desire to crawl under her duvet and forget everything for a few hours, she tries to stop thinking about how long it’s been since she’s eaten anything, about the headache throbbing behind her eyes).

‘Should I-’ She desperately wants to show Aragon that she’s taking this seriously, that she understands how bad it is, that she’ll do everything she needs to do to make amends. ‘Do you think I should do a tweet or a video first? Or- or see what everyone is saying first, see how bad it is-?’

It will take hours, she knows how quickly comments pile up online...but it’s the least she can do-

‘What are you talking about?’

Aragon has stopped walking and is looking at her really strangely and it makes her stomach clench up- perhaps she really is angry, perhaps she really does think that she’s an attention-seeking, self absorbed, shallow, pathetic, worthless-

‘Anne?’ Aragon touches her arm and brings her out of a spiral for a moment. It’s a gentle touch but it still makes her flinch a tiny bit.

‘Just-’ Her voice is very small. ‘You said- you said we need to get everything sorted out-’

‘I meant-’

Aragon pauses and she holds her breath, waiting: her eyes are burning again and as much as she’s trying to hold herself together, a tear escapes. Stupid, selfish, attention seeking.

She’s squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for Aragon to say the words out loud- she surely must be thinking them, she just hopes she doesn’t tell all the others about how she’s still, after everything, trying to manipulate pity.

Then gentle fingers brush her cheek. ‘I meant you, you silly thing. You look awful, you need a hot shower and some sleep. And when did you last eat actual food?’

She shrugs, not meeting Aragon’s eye.

‘I knew it! Supper, shower, bed then, in that order, and no more energy drinks. At least we’re all off tomorrow, you can have a day to rest up-’

Aragon is confusing her- why is she talking as if she’s sick and deserving of sympathy, as if this whole thing isn’t of her own making?

‘But what about- what people will be saying? I ruined the show-’

Aragon is looking at her with her familiar look of fond exasperation. ‘I don’t give two hoots about what people are saying- and that’s assuming anyone even noticed anything was different-’

‘But-’

‘For all they know, you were just playing yourself a bit differently tonight- who are they to say you weren’t?’ Aragon tucks her under her arm and starts walking again- it’s a little bit difficult to keep in step but there’s no way she’s going to move away. ‘If anything, I’m sure the fans will love it-’

‘But- how could they?’

‘Remember when Jane and Anna had that bet on?’ Aragon’s voice is very certain, very assured, and she clings to that certainty- perhaps she hasn’t completely destroyed their reputation.

‘Yes-’

‘Remember how much the fans went wild for it? Remember the hashtags? And all the people begging them to keep it up? Remember how disappointed everyone was when they went back to normal?’ Aragon’s voice has fallen into the soothing cadence of a bedtime- and she DOES remember, how Jane spent a show imitating Anna’s brash cockiness, while Anna made herself temporarily vulnerable, and how fans had blown up the whole thing into a story of almost mythical proportions.

‘Do you really think they’ll think that for me?’ 

‘Of course. And if not- well, we can always tell them that’s what you were going for.’ As they get to their familiar front door, Aragon turns and looks her straight in the eye. ‘It’ll be all be ok, alright? I promise you, it will be fine.’

She can’t quite bring herself to agree, but she doesn’t want to contradict her either, settling for a shaky nod.

Aragon smiles as she digs out her key and unlocks the front door.

‘You’ll see I’m right, and when I am, I’ll remind you of it forever. You’ll be sick of me saying it.’

She gives a weak smile, that fades as she realises just how queasy she still feels. Aragon notices and tilts her head sympathetically.

‘Still feeling bad?’

She manages a nod.

‘Let's get you upstairs- you’ll feel better after some sleep. The others won’t be back for a bit-’

Standing under the shower is an effort but it’s a relief to wash off the stickiness of the day, even if she has to steady herself with a hand against the tiled wall.

Damp-haired and pajama clad, she makes her way back to her bedroom and finds the covers of her bed turned down and her curtains drawn. As she gets under the covers, she finds a hot water bottle at the foot of the bed and the thoughtfulness of it almost makes her want to cry again. Or maybe she’s just really tired and overly emotional and coming down from the biggest caffeine high imaginable.

 It’s hard to tell really.

There’s a tap on the door and then Aragon enters, balancing a tray which she sets down on the bedside table.

Water, paracetemol, a mug of soup, some anti-nausea pills.

‘Here- I know you probably don’t feel like it but you should try and have something.’

‘Thanks.’

She expects her to leave but instead Aragon settles herself down on the edge of the bed, and she finds she’s grateful for the promise of company, even if she’s still half waiting to be told off.

‘Jane texted while you were showering-’

She pauses, the glass halfway to her lips.

‘She said to tell you that they all hope you’re ok.’

It’s a surprise, for all of Aragon’s reassurances. 

‘Really?’

‘She said they all feel bad for not coming with us- she said if you’re asleep when they get in, they’ll try not to make too much noise.’

‘Oh.’ The thought warms her heart: they’re not angry, they’re not angry.’

‘They also say-’ Aragon shifts position and she makes room for her against the headboard. ‘The fans were sad not to see you at stagedoor- they were all apparently very moved by your new spin on your character…’

Aragon puts her phone down with a smile like a cat in a vat of cream. ‘What did I tell you?’

It’s such a relief, she can’t even reply- it’s all ok. She hasn’t ruined anything. It’s ok.

She leans into Aragon, all the tension leaving her at once, and lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. Aragons hands move through her damp hair- it feels good, she lets her eyes drift shut.

‘Hey-’ Aragon taps her arm. ‘No falling asleep on me until you’re properly hydrated- you don’t need to wake up with a headache-’

She knows she’s right but still- she just wants to enjoy the feeling of being able to relax properly for the first time in hours (in days) for a little longer.

‘In a minute.’ 

Her voice is muffled against Aragon’s shirt but she must have heard- her arms actually go around her properly, pulling her closer.  

Her voice is faintly amused and so very warm, so loving. 

‘Alright.’ A chuckle vibrates Aragon’s chest as she burrows infinitesimally closer. ‘In a minute.’

[emperorsfoot]

Another Hordak chapter. 

More flashbacks to his early life. 

This one with an art lesson from Hode! 

...

True to her word, Catra ordered two of her henchmen to babysit Hordak and keep him on task. They followed him when he went to the galley to retrieve more ration packets. They lurked in the doorway when he took off his exo-suit in the infirmary.

A reptilian and a satyr.

They were afraid of Hordak at first. All of the gang from the Crimson Waste was. Hordak was less of a person and more of a cryptid to them. A living shadow with glowing eyes that lurked within the bowels of the crashed ship. New-Kyle and Four-Arms said that he was something Boss Catra brought with her back from the Fright Zone. But to spite this very clear origin story, the rest of the gang still spread wild tales that he was a monster that had dwelled in the crashed ship for centuries –people did believe the ship was haunted, after all. That he was woken from his slumber by Huntara and She-Ra, and hungered for fresh blood and living flesh.

But after watching Hordak for the past couple of days, the pair decided maybe he wasn’t an immortal revenant from the bowels of a crashed vessel.

He did not crave living flesh or fresh blood. The only thing they ever saw the creature eat was the brown goop that came out of foil wrapped ration packets he found in the galley. On the off chance that he did eat fresh meat, he complained about the flavor, and remarked loudly that ‘naturally formed’ beings were obsessed with seasoning at the expense of nutrition.

He was not nearly as intimidating out of the shadows, in the light of the sickbay. He was not a living shadow. In fact, without that armor on, he was very thin. Far too thin for his height. Almost skeletal. With portions of flesh and matter all together missing from his forearms.

By the third day, Hordak’s two guards couldn’t believe they had ever been afraid of him to begin with. By the third day, Hordak’s guards had become comfortable enough with their charge to become bored with their task.

“I am Mara, She-Ra of Etheria, and I am gone.”

The reptile guard groaned loudly, frustrated and annoyed. “Gawd! Can’t you shut her up?”

From his position under the bridge console, Hordak gave a growl of frustration. The sound rumbling up from the back of his throat. It used to be such a sound would terrify any Etherian who heard it. It was dark and rolling, like distant thunder warning an approaching storm. Since being defeated by the Princesses and taken by Catra into the Crimson Waste, the sound had diminished in effect until all it earned him from the pair of Etherians in the room was an impatient glance.

“I feel like if turning her off was something he could do, he would have done it by now.” Suggested the satyr. “I mean, if she’s just starting to irritate us just imagine how irritated Tall-Dark-and-Creepy must be.”

Hordak let out another growl of frustration. He missed the days when the ignorant natives of this backwater rock feared him enough to respect him –at least while in his presence. He knew his soldiers back in the Fright Zone must have said all manner of things behind his back. Scuttlebutt was a staple of military life. But none would ever have had the gall to talk about him as if he weren’t in the room when he was very much present and in a position to hear. He did not appreciate being referred to as ‘Tall-Dark-and-Creepy’. His name was ‘Hordak’. It was the name he chose for himself upon his promotion to the Emperor’s cabinet. It was a name blessed by Prime himself when he was elevated to the highest position a clone could hold. It wasn’t just a name, it was an acknowledgment of his skills, all his hard work, of his… value to the Empire. To call him by anything else was an insult!

“If either of you sandworms think you can perform this task better than I, I’ll welcome you to try.” He snapped, not bothering to slide out from under the console. Hordak already knew they couldn’t. Prior to a few weeks ago, the denizens of this desert thought the hologram’s recorded voice were the whispers of ghosts.

There was a beat of silence in which the satyr and the reptilian just glanced at one another. They knew the were ill-suited to mechanical work just as well as Tall-Dark-and-Creepy did.

“Just make sure you are performing that task.” The reptilian reminded him. He was a little unsure of what the task was –exactly- he just knew it had something to do with repairing the ship’s main bridge computer so that Boss Catra could hear an old recording. “Otherwise it’ll be all three of us that get in trouble if Boss Catra gets mad.”

“Had my eyes but tear-ducts, I would weep for you.” Hordak scoffed, unmoved. What did he care if his guards shared the catwoman’s ire? He never wanted them hanging around him in the first place. He wanted to be left alone to tinker at his task and wallow in feelings he didn’t quite know names for.

“Hey, man, we’re just doing what we were told!” Snapped the reptilian. “I don’t see why we should get in trouble for following orders when you’re the dead-weight that can’t seem to get this act together.”

“That is because you lack discipline.” Hordak informed him. None of his brothers would ever have an attitude like that. If you were a guard, and you allowed your charge to disobey or not perform a task they were given, then you were not doing your job. It was as simple as that. If you were a Territory Captain, and your planet rebelled, then you were not doing your job.

A good soldier did his job.

A good soldier followed orders.

…

“Do you know how to hold a planet, Zero-Zero-Three?” Hode asked.

The older clone insisted on taking a shuttle down from the Vinyl Hood to the planet’s surface. Lord Hode always liked to tour the planets whenever he was away from Capitol Core. He had a keen interest in the diversity of the universe, something that couldn’t be found among the Horde where everyone looked identical to himself, thought identical to himself, believed the same dogma, held the same values. Hode said such things became monotonous and boring. Stagnant. Unmoving.

The clones of Horde Prime had no far-reaching histories, no legendary heroes or god-like idols –save for Horde Prime himself. The clones of Horde Prime had no past. Most of them, didn’t even have concepts for a ‘future’. Only one, single, unifying present. As a race, and as a culture, they were not going anywhere. They were not moving towards anything. They were fixed. Stuck.

Aliens were not like that.

Aliens had histories reaching back as far as there was intelligent life on their planets. Aliens had legends and heroes. Myths, and monsters. Stories, and illustrations, music, and dances, poetry, sculpture, fashion, architecture. Art. Aliens had art. And Hode was obsessed with it.

They walked down the wet and bloody street. The bodies had been cleared away, but puddles of blood still gathered and congealed in the gutters or on the sidewalks. The avenue stank of urine and feces, all beings voided their bowels and bladders when they died. Clearing away the bodies did not clear away the smell. In the heat of the day, the stench of blood mingled with piss and shit hung in the air, rank and thick. Zero-Zero-Three fought the impulse to cover his nasal cavity with a hand. In the heat and rush of a battle, the smell of blood and shit was exhilarating. The scent of prey. After the battle, when a soldier has stepped back from the killing edge, when they were just a normal clone again, the odor was foul and offensive.

Reaching the courtyard outside the capital building Hode stopped them, looking at the sculpture in the center of a bloody fountain.

“What do you suppose this is supposed to be, Zeor-Zero-Three?” Asked the older clone, eyes focused on the carved marble and not looking at his Force Captain.

Zero-Zero-Three glanced at his Lord. Really, he wanted to stop and examine a hunk of rock that was shaped into… “I believe it is meant to be a group of their own kind, my Lord.”

Indeed, that was what the statue looked like. Two full sized alien natives with their tentacles for arms and multiple legs. Raised, almost bubble-like ocular organs. Oral orifices stretched wide in what he assumed were supposed to be expressions of enjoyment for their kind. Below the two full-sized aliens were a group of smaller ones, their bodies not as proportional as the larger figures, their limbs shorter and thicker. Almost like how immature clones looked before they reached full maturity and were allowed out of the tank. Child aliens.

“Clearly.” Nodded Hode, not exactly annoyed with his subordinate’s superficial and obvious view of the statue. Of course, it was a group of their own kind. Species rarely put up statues of creatures not themselves outside their central governing buildings. “But what genre of group? A mating pair and their offspring.”

Clapping his arms behind his back, Zero-Zero-Three relaxed into a parade rest. Lord Hode could take hours when ‘appreciating’ aliens’ art. The Force Captain settled in for a great deal of standing, staring at nothing important, and being asked for opinions on a thing he had no opinions of.

“This would imply that they’re a binary species.” Hode continued.

“Binary, my Lord?” Like, ones and zeroes? Like the coding he used when reprograming his personal datapad and console?

“Yes, binary.” Repeated the Lord as if this explained things. “A species divided into two different sexes.”

“What would be the purpose of that?” Zero-Zero-Three found himself asking before he realized that he really didn’t care. A single species being divided sounded… problematic to him. The Horde did not have divisions –apart from those of military rank, obviously. All Horde were made the same and hatched the same. The divisions came later, after individuals were given opportunities to distinguish themselves from their brothers. When they performed well on missions, in combat, serving their superior officers. And there were levels to these divisions. Clone trooper, sub-Commander, Territory Captain, Force Captain, and Lord. There was no one-or-the-other.

“For procreation.” Hode elaborated. “Races that do not have our cloning technology must procreate by natural means, male and female combining to create a new being. Some species the mating pair only comes together for that explicit purpose and then separates soon after.” He turned his attention back to the statue. “This depiction seems to imply that these creatures do not separate after mating and raise their offspring together as a single unit. The fact that they’ve placed this statue outside their central governing building implies that their offspring and the family unit are a central object in their society.”

Zero-Zero-Three looked back at the statue again. The adults –the parents- attention focused on the younger ones –their children. “No wonder we defeated them so easily.” He scoffed. “If they waste their time with these smiling younglings instead of developing their military. One has to wonder how they managed to overthrow Captain Eight-Two-Seven at all.”

Hode glanced at him, a little surprised. “Have you never had to fight a creature defending its offspring before, Zero-Zero-Three?”

“Not that I’ve been aware of.” The younger clone shook his head.

The older clone looked legitimately surprised by that. “Parent organisms are particularly formidable when protecting their offspring. They become irrationally vicious. Societies that place a central emphasis on their offspring and the family unit are easy to conquer, but more difficult to hold.”

“Are you excusing Captain Eight-Two-Seven, my Lord?” Asked Zero-Zero-Three. Should he not have killed the other clone? He thought his Lord’s intensions were very clear. The Territory Captain couldn’t do his job, he served no purpose, he had to be discarded.

“No.” Hode assured the younger man. “Merely commenting that he did not understand the natives of the planet he was assigned to hold. Let’s go inside, Zero-Zero-Three.”

Obediently, the Force Captain lead his Lord into the building. There were still guards posted at the entrance, and the main lift. The blood that had been fresh earlier was thick and congealed now, covering the lobby in a dark green goo that squished under their boots and made uncomfortable suction sounds when they lifted their feet.

One of the clone troopers set as guard pressed the button to summon the elevator for their Lord and their Force Captain, then double checked to make sure the lift cabin was empty before the Lord and officer stepped inside. The building had already been emptied of alien natives, there shouldn’t be anyone in the lifts except for Horde clones. But Zero-Zero-Three demanded vigilance and diligence from his subordinates, and that was what they gave him. No one wanted to be the idiot who let their superior officer, or their Lord get assassinated after the battle had already been won.

Zero-Zero-Three pressed the button for the floor that held the governor’s office.

Every other window on the floor was pained in stained glass. Each one showing a different scene.

Lord Hode insisted on stopping at every one.

Every. One.

Right out the lift, was a stained glass window flanked on either side by two indoor plants –all of them splattered with dry green blood. Hode ripped a couple of leaves off the plants and used them to wipe the window clean. Then stood back to study the full picture.

The lead of the pains cut bold dark lines through the whole image, drawing even more contrast between the vibrant colors. Primary yellows, jewel-tone blues, deep crimson reds, violets, emerald hues, and energetic oranges. This one showed one of the aliens seated on what might have been the wall of a primitive castle or fortress of some kind. A sword lay on the wall next to them, but the subject’s back was to it. In the alien’s tentacles were instead a branch and a chalice.

“I suppose this one is meant to tell us these creatures prefer eating leaves and getting drunk, while neglecting warrior training.” Zero-Zero-Three announced his best guess at an interpretation before his Lord could ask. Because Hode always asked. The older clone seemed determined to make everyone else who worked under him think about art as much as he did.

Hode gave a small but nasal snort. He found the Force Captain’s interpretation amusing. “Possibly. Art is always open to the meaning of the beholder. But, I have found in many cultures, that plants have symbolic meanings beyond the physical and tangible. The branch could be an offering of peace on this world. The book, a symbol for knowledge –or the sharing of knowledge since the written word is how information is passed. The presence of a discarded weapon could indicate that these creatures believe violence should be set aside in favor of communication and peaceful exchange.”

“Pathetic.” Grumbled the younger clone. No wonder his troops defeated them so easily. It was a wonder they managed to take back their planet at all.

At each and every window, Zero-Zero-Three gave his interpretation. If he became tired of the art and remained silent, his Lord would ask for it. Then disagree with it. Lord Hode disagreed with each and every one of Zero-Zero-Three’s interpretations of the images they were examining. He looked at them through the eyes of a Horde clone. Read the colors, and subjects, and objects as a soldier would read them. He did not try and think why an alien might feel it important to depict that specific thing in that specific way.

One featured one of the natives, holding a sword in every tentacle, facing off some kind of large creature rising up out of the ocean. It was the first image Zero-Zero-Three saw of one of the natives that he felt appropriate applying the word ‘warrior’ to. Any being that looked willing and ready to take down a monster four times its size was no pathetic pacifist.

“You see, Zero-Zero-Three, no culture is without its heroes and its legends.” Hode’s tone was almost joking when he followed that stament up with, “Almost makes you wonder why we don’t have any.”

“My Lord?”

But the older clone did not elaborate.

Then they came to the broken windows. The ones Zero-Zero-Three and his troopers burse through when they infiltrated the building from the roof next door.

“A pity.” Hode lamented. The broken ones were the only windows the Lord did not pause to study.

Finally, they reached the governor’s office.

The carpet was still thick with the aliens’ blood and it squished loudly with every step they took, still wet fluid oozing up from under the mostly-dry top layer of green.

Ignoring the sound his boots made, Hode strode through the office, taking note of the frames on the walls. The art in here was strikingly different from the stained glass in the corridor, or the statue in the courtyard. Those were clearly definable as depictions of the aliens themselves. Family units, or figures from their histories or their folktales. But the paintings in the office were more abstract. Fewer colors, cooler colors, and simpler lines. Some even nothing more than geometric shapes.

Hode looked back at his subordinate.

“I don’t know, my Lord.” Admitted the Force Captain before the older clone could ask. “My abilities stop at the identifiable.”

“Simpler art is less distracting in a work environment.” The Lord explained. “The less complicated décor allows the mind to focus on tasks, and the cooler colors –blues, grays, and greens- stimulate more efficient thought. Much more appropriate for a governor’s office than the loud and heavily contrasted stained glass outside wouldn’t you say.”

That was not a question.

“Why even have art at all?” That was a question. Zero-Zero-Three did not understand its importance. It was impractical, probably time consuming to create, and did nothing but sit around taking up space. In his mind, art served no purpose. It should be discarded.

“In a clerical office setting like this, art would make them feel less pinned in.” Hode sounded very patient with his Force Captain. The kind of patience that seemed into his voice when he was losing patience. Sometimes the other clones’ lack of interest in the things that interested him were frustrating. To have such a keen interest in a subject, but have no one with which to share that interest with. Hode was quite possibly the oldest clone still living, and yet in all his years he had found no other Horde soldier he could call kindred.

Leaving the paintings on the walls, Hode strode to the desk and Zero-Zero-Three dared to hope that the Lord might actually begin the work of selecting a new Territory Captain so that they could get the heck off this Host forsaken rock and get back to the main fleet in Capital Core. The cloning crèches were in Capital Core, and they held the best medical technology in the known universe. Horde Prime reserved nothing but the best for his clones. Zero-Zero-Three felt more at ease knowing such resources were close at hand. His condition required him to be hyper-aware of his medical needs.

Hode did not sit down at the desk or boot up the terminal. Instead, he picked up a frame on the desk that had been knocked over during the battle. The image on it was blissfully free of green blood spatter. Hode held it up for his Force Captain to see.

“What do you make of this, Zero-Zero-Three?”

It looked like a simple piece of paper. Mass produced and of poor quality. Scribbled on the paper in a medium that looked like it might have been sticks of soft wax –like crayons- were messy stick figures. At least, Zero-Zero-Three assumed they were figures. One, drawn in green crayon appeared to have the four legs and tentacles for arms that the natives had. They were holding a sideways L-shaped line in one tentacle that may or may not be a representation of a burst pistol, and it was pointed at a tall and skinny figure rendered in black crayon. Two arms, two legs, a single line for a body, triangles added to the sides of the head that might have been pointed ears, and red wings framing the center line of the body. Even in the primitive and simplistic rendering, Zero-Zero-Three recognized the image of a clone trooper.

The younger man scoffed. “A crude representation of their victory over Eight-Two-Seven.”

“I child’s representation.” Hode corrected. “Probably the leader’s child, since they kept the drawing here on this desk.”

“Pathetic.” Zero-Zero-Three muttered with distain.

Hode made a non-committal noise and placed the frame back on the desk, standing upright. “Judging by the drawing, the child is probably very young. Too young to have participated in the battle. But children have a tendency to grow up, and the child of a rebel leader usually grows up to become a rebel leader themselves.” The older clone informed him. “You will need to find this child and kill them before that happens.”

“My Lord?” Asked Zero-Zero-Three, confused by the order. How could he search this planet for one small child from his Lord’s side all the way back in Capital Core? That didn’t make sense.

“You know, you never answered my question, Zero-Zero-Three.” Said the older clone by way of explanation. “Do you know how to hold a planet?”

A small stone of dread sank into the younger clone’s stomach and Zero-Zero-Three fought the urge to swallow the nerves that suddenly welled up in his throat. “That is a Territory Captain’s job, my Lord. A Force Captain’s job is to lead the troops and command the military in his Lord’s name.”

“You are a clone of our great Emperor, Horde Prime, and your job is to do what you’re told.” Hode reminded him. The words coming out in a snap that neither of them were going to call ‘frustration’. “And I am telling you to remain here and hold this planet for our Emperor.”

That was a demotion. Territory Captain was a rank below Force Captain.

“My Lord, have I displeased you in some way?” Demanded Zero-Zero-Three, desperate to understand why his Lord –whom he had tried to serve diligently and attentively- was basically banishing him to a nothing of a planet far from the capitol. Half way to Old Revena, the original Horde World.

“My pleasure was immaterial in this decision.” Hode assured him. “I am simply placing the best person I know of in a strategic position.”

“What strategy is there in demoting me to a planet sitter!?” Snarled the younger clone, more of his anger seeping into his voice than he meant. He heard it in his tone, and his volume and regretted it immediately. One did not last long by questioning their Lord and talking back. Zero-Zero-Three instantly demurred. Bowing low to the older clone. “Forgive me, my Lord, but this is very sudden and I don’t understand why.”

Was it- was it because of his defects…?

Hode pulled out the chair from the desk. A wide, flat base meant for creatures with more than just two legs. It had a tall back, but no armrests. “Sit down, Zero-Zero-Three.”

He did as he was told. Sitting awkwardly. His narrow posterior barely taking up any space in the over-wide alien chair. It made the younger clone feel small. Less, somehow.

Hode didn’t so much sit on the desk as he did lean against it, his arms crossed over his chest. “Whom do you serve?”

“The Empire.” He supplied as if this should have been obvious.

“What is the Empire?” Pressed the older clone, as if the original answer was not an answer at all.

“The Horde Empire.” Zero-Zero-Three corrected. Then paused. Remembering all their conversations about art. ‘What do you suppose this is supposed to be?’ What was the Horde Empire? Really? A collection of genetically identical soldiers, willing to lay down their lives for their Brother. The greatest technological military the universe has ever seen, all at the command of their Brother. A sweeping force of nature that conquered everything it touched in the name of their Brother. Their Brother. At the center of it all was Horde Prime. Emperor of the Known Universe. The heart of the Empire. He was the Empire. “Horde Prime, our Big Brother is the Empire. I serve Horde Prime.”

It was hard to see Hode’s expression from under his hood, but by the folds of the fabric, it looked like the older clone’s ears drooped just a little bit. Was he displeased by Zero-Zero-Three’s answer? Could Zero-Zero-Three do nothing right?

“That is the correct answer.” Hode announced. There was no displeasure in his voice. Perhaps the ear-droop was imagined. It was hard to tell with that hood up. “You will continue to serve our Emperor and Brother from here. By holding this world for him and making sure it does not fall back out of our hands.”

Now it was Zero-Zero-Three’s turn for his ears to droop.

“Don’t look so sad, Zero-Zero-Three.” Hode reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing the younger man’s face up to look at him. The red glow of his eyes the only thing illuminating the inside of his hood. It made Hode’s expression impossible to read. “You are a slow learner, but you do learn. Preform your duties here well, and you just might find yourself elevated above a Force Captain.”

Zero-Zero-Three’s eyes went wide, disbelieving. Then narrowed again with skepticism. “But the only rank above a Force Captain is a cabinet Lord.” Hode’s position. “For me to be promoted, you would have to die.”

“All clones must die.” Hode reminded him. “And all clones must serve.” A pause. “Have you never dreamed of climbing to the cabinet, Zero-Zero-Three?”

Pulling his face out of the older man’s hand, the younger clone looked down and away. He did not want to meet his Lord’s eyes when he admitted. “I never thought I’d live that long.”

Because of his defects…

“Remind me again, Zero-Zero-Three, what is your batch number?” Hode commanded.

“Sixty-six thousand six-hundred and ninety-four, my Lord.” He supplied dutifully. “From crèche number forty-two, tank number three.”

66694-42-003

“Sixty-six thousand six-hundred and ninety-four.” Repeated the older man. “You never expected to live this long, yet here you are eleven years old and still preforming admirably.”

Zero-Zero-Three flushed at the complement, the skin of his cheeks and ears coloring a vivid purple.

“Who’s to say what will happen to you before your number is called up and you go to join the All High Host? Preform your duties well and your superiors will take note of you.” Hode reminded him. “You were a sub-Commander serving under me for less than a year when I took note of you.”

The younger man flushed again. “I was so sure you were going to kill me, my Lord.” He admitted. “In hind sight, you should have killed me. I questioned you in front of the other Captains.”

“You did not question me, Zero-Zero-Three, you asked a question. There is a difference. A very significant one.” Hode was very firm in that reminder. “And it was that act that drew you to my attention. Allowed me to see that you were not just a mindless drone like so many of our other brothers.”

His ears drooped more at the reminder that he was not like the rest of their brothers. He was different. Atypical. Anomalous. “Perhaps that was my… defects manifesting early.”

“Perhaps.” Hode admitted and Zero-Zero-Three was not prepared for how such an easy agreement –without hesitation- that his defects might have been influencing him even back then. “That does not change the fact that you’re different. Ears up, Zero-Zero-Three, that is not an insult. It is a statement of fact. Of every other sub-Commander and Force Captain in that room, you were the only one who though to ask me ‘why’. That struck a chord with me.”

“Actually, I asked what the relevance was, my Lord.” Corrected the younger man without thinking. One did not usually correct a cabinet Lord of they wanted to remain happy, healthy, and alive. Zero-Zero-Three looked up into his Lord’s darkened hood, concerned that he might have just insulted his superior. But, as was usual, Hode’s expression was unreadable. Zero-Zero-Three looked away again. “Why are we speaking about our first meeting.”

“Because I’m old and I like to reminisce.” The other clone scoffed, as if this answer should have been obvious.

He stood from the desk, scooping the child’s drawing back up as he did so. He opened up the back of the frame and pulled out the paper, folded it and slipped it into a pouch of his belt. Another piece for Lord Hode’s always growing art collection. The old man did not offer an explanation and Zero-Zero-Three did not comment. Hode always took at least one –sometimes more than one- cultural artifact from every planet he visited. It was at the point now that an entire deck of the Vinyl Hood was devoted to the Lord’s art collection.

Cultural clutter.

Zero-Zero-Three did not stand. His Lord had not given him leave to.

But he did look back up at the older clone. Crimson eyes pleading, ears drooping so low they were almost brushing his shoulders. “Are you really leaving me here, my Lord?” He asked, sounding very much like a freshly hatched cadet in that moment. Like a hatchling being pushed out of the crèche. “I thought you said it would be inconvenient for you if you lost me?”

“I said it would be inconvenient if you died.” Hode corrected the younger clone. “So, don’t die. I will be very annoyed if you do.”

He moved to leave.

Zero-Zero-Three catapulted to his feet. He opened his mouth to shout at his Lord’s back, then realized he had no idea what he wanted to say.

“I do not know how to hold a planet!” He blurted out. Three times Lord Hode asked him if he knew how to hold a planet and each time Zero-Zero-Three avoided answering. Because he didn’t know how. Because he was a Force Captain, not a Territory Captain. It was not a Force Captain’s job to hold a planet, it was a Territory Captain’s job.

Hode looked back at him, the turn of his neck pulling on the fabric of his hood so that Zero-Zero-Three could see the lower half of his face. A square chin identical of his own, and thin lips pulled back in a humorless grin, displaying crimson teeth. “Then learn. You are a slow learner, Zero-Zero-Three, but you do learn.”

The younger clone chewed on the inside of his cheek. He wanted to try and convince his Lord not to demote him like this. To find someone else to stay and planet sit, so that he could remain at his Lord’s side.

“Learn about art, Zero-Zero-Three.” His Lord suggested. “When you understand a species' art, you understand that species. And if you understand a species, you can control them. It is always easier to hold a planet when the native population is under your control.”

Zero-Zero-Three looked to the side, his eyes finding an abstract painting on the wall. A background of pale cream swirls, behind a series of unevenly spaced cubes in hues of teal, and shaded in umber. He had no idea what it was supposed to be. The Horde did not make art. The clone troopers of the Imperial Horde spent their spare time on more practical hobbies.

“Alter your uniform to hide how thin you’ve become.” Hode reminded him. “And be sure to eat plenty of protein. Do not allow yourself to become any thinner.”

“You’re really leaving me here?” Why did Zero-Zero-Three feel like he was being abandoned? His Lord had given him a task, he should carry it out without question.

“Yes, Zero-Zero-Three. I am.” Hode exited the office.

Zero-Zero-Three slumped back into the alien chair that was too big for his tall but narrow body. He put his head in his hands. He was given a task. A new mission. He had his orders. He might not like them. They might have come with a demotion. But Zero-Zero-Three would preform his task as best he could.

He was a soldier, and a good soldier followed orders.

[adobe-outdesign]

Opportunities

When opportunity knocks, you have to answer.

Warnings: Some implied violence, though nothing explicitly shown

“What would you say... if I told you that you could be Alice Angel permanently?”

Susie wiped the tears from her face, smudging a thin layer of eyeliner across her cheek. “W- What do you mean? Allison already-”

“Susie, Susie. We only switched the roles around in order to boost the character’s popularity! You’re the one and only Alice, as far as I’m concerned.”  Joey drew Susie closer to him, putting an arm around her still trembling shoulders.

“You really mean that, Joey?” Susie took a deep breath to steady herself, slightly ashamed of her little breakdown. She took a lock of hair and tucked it back into place in a weak attempt to fix her disheveled appearance.

“Of course! That’s why I’m extending this offer to you before I give it to Allison. She’d work decently, but I don’t think she has half the passion for Alice’s character that you do.”

“I- I mean, I’d love to accept immediately, but you still haven’t explained what the part is.”

Joey beamed, moving to the center of the room. “Imagine a world where Alice Angel is real. Not a cartoon, not a person in a cheap suit. The actual character herself, in the flesh and... ink, I suppose.”

Joey grabbed a book off the shelf and began to flip through it rapidly as he spoke. “I’ve always said that with enough belief, you can accomplish anything. This is no exception. Why do you think I bought that machine?”

“To produce ink...?“

“Not to produce it, to enhance it! You can’t do anything with regular old ink. But this? You can meld it into almost anything, provided you sacrifice a little something in return. That’s how we’ve been making all those Alice toys.” Joey abruptly slammed his book shut, turning back to her. “So? What do you say?”

“I mean- Well, the idea of bringing Alice to life is... amazing. I can’t imagine anything better than people being able to meet her in person. And I’m sure she’d love it too.“ Susie twirled a loose piece of hair around her finger. “But I’m confused. Why do you need me for this?”

“Simple. The machine can create inanimate objects just fine, but for something living... it needs something else. Something to give it substance, life. All people have that something by default. And if we want to make Alice real, I need to use someone close to her for it to work properly. That someone is you, obviously.”

“I don’t know, Joey. Wouldn’t that... hurt?”

“Of course not!,” he reassured her, his smile just a little too big, his enthusiasm just a bit too forced. “It’s no different than going to sleep. You drift off as normal old Susie Campbell, and wake up as an angel. Everyone will love you.”

Susie sat down on the adjacent couch, mind racing. I can be Alice Angel.

"I- Well, I mean, I’m certainly interested. But do you think I could have a few days just to, you know, think it over-?“

“Of course, of course! This is a big decision for you to make. Just consider it and let me know when you’ve made up your mind,“ Joey offered, sliding onto the couch next to her and putting his hand on hers. “But I know you’ll make the right choice. After all, opportunities like this only come once in a lifetime!”

"So, what do you say?”

Wally adjusted his position on the couch. “I don’t know, Joey. Are you sure you want me for this? I’m not exactly a voice actor or animator or anythin’-”

“Absolutely! You’d be a perfect Boris. You do feel like he’s similar to you, right?”

“Well yeah, sure I do, but-”

“Then that settles it! You’ll have your own living space right here in the studio along with all the food you can eat. The only thing you’ll have to do is greet guests that come through and record a few shorts now and then.”

“Hey, hey, hold the phone here! I didn’t say I’d do it yet. Wouldn’t that I mean I wouldn’t be a person anymore? Don’t get me wrong, I like the Bendy shorts as much as the next fellow, but I have things I still wanna do. Marry someone, maybe have some kids one day. I don’t even have my own place yet! And I wanna go to Club 21 and-”

“Relax, relax! You’re focusing far too much on the little details. Think bigger! You won’t age. You won’t get sick. You’d effectively be immortal, and any injuries you did get would be healed with just a bit of ink. You’d never have to worry about rent or living expenses again, and everyone would adore you. Doesn’t that sound better than living in a dingy little apartment for the rest of your life?”

Joey moved over to the couch, setting his hand on the other man’s back. “When opportunity comes knocking, you have to answer! That and a little belief is how I got to where I am today. So? What do you say?“

Grant rubbed his temples as he slouched over the desk, staring down at the sheets of paper in front of him. 465 + 2673. He ran his eyes down the columns, adding the numbers up mentally, trying to figure out where the error was. 3721 + 287...

A knot formed in his stomach as he went back to the first page, redoing the math for a third time. If he couldn’t account for the sudden deficit, he’d be fired. Or worse, be forced to shoulder it himself.

The thought made him feel ill. Such a massive debt with no job and a blacklisting from one of the most famous studios in the area... he’d be on the streets in no time.

Or he’d have to admit that he was a failure.

Grant gave up for the moment, leaning back over the chair and putting his hands on his face as his thoughts drifted to the conversation Joey and him had had a few days ago.

The very idea of making a physical cartoon was absurd in and of itself, really. And the angel that Joey had presented as evidence wasn’t terribly compelling, seeing as it was nothing but Susie Campbell in heavy make up.

He wouldn’t have even considered it possible if it hadn’t been for Boris. He had to admit, the idea of the wolf being a person in a costume was dubious at best, given the proportions of the thing. He had even seen it consume some bacon soup at one point without any noticeable difficulty. It really was like the character had just walked right off of the silver screen.

Grant returned to his papers, trying to shove the thoughts out of his mind, but every new string of numbers that failed to add up brought the thoughts up again. The very notion of letting Joey do God only knows what to him to make him into a cartoon spider was both ridiculous and even vaguely offensive. But Boris had looked... content. Happy, even.

And if he went through with it, the debt wouldn’t be on his shoulders anymore.

Grant shook his head and returned his gaze to his final, unwavering calculation.

$48,128 short. 

"All right, Mr. Drew, I’m here. Tell me where this leak is.” Thomas looked down the hallway with a wary expression, as if imagining what kind of issue lay at the end of it.

“Thomas! Glad to see you showed up. I was beginning to worry.“ Joey motioned for him to follow him, falling in stride with the shorter man.

“I said I’d show up, didn’t I?” Thomas gave a wary look at the pipes above them.

“Only after some strong negations.”

“I already told you. I want nothing to do with you or this damn machine of yours. You’re lucky I even accepted double for this.“

The conversation stopped as they entered the room in question, the broken ink pipe above them being nearly impossible to miss. While the flow had been shut down, there was still a sizeable amount of ink dripping down the glass and creating a huge puddle on the floor.

“Don’t you have that Franks kid here to clean this mess up? It’s going to be that much harder to fix these bolts when they’re covered in that godforsaken ink.”

“He’s... no longer with us, actually. You know how it is. Life gave him an opportunity he just couldn't pass up.”

“Mmph.” Thomas had already turned his attention away from Joey, instead setting down his toolbox and selecting a large wrench from the contents.

"And speaking of opportunity-“

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

“Are you positive?” There was a degree of playful to Joey’s voice, like he expected this response and was merely going through the steps. “You should at least find out what you’re passing up before declining.“

“Don’t need to know. I came here to fix a pipe, and that’s it. I told you, I want nothing to do with this place anymore. There’s something wrong with all of this.”

“I see. Well, if you’ve made up your mind there’s not much I can do about it. Meet me in the Ink Machine room when you’re done and I’ll give you your payment.”

“Isn’t that Grant’s job?“

“Grant... also left us. There were some issues with our budget.“

Thomas narrowed his eyes, but didn’t pursue the topic further, instead focusing his attention on the pipe as Joey left the room. Two hours later, the excess ink had been cleared away and the pipe was once against securely fastened together. He threw the wrench back into the toolbox and begrudgingly made his way to the Ink Machine.

Inside the room were about fifty or so employees, all wearing Bendy masks.

“What the hell-?” Thomas turned back the door, but a few of the masked people had already moved in front of it, effectively blocking him in. Joey walked forward from the rest of the group and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him.

“Why don’t we talk about that offer again, Barley?”

“You want me to be makin’.... clothes?”

“Clothes and everything else on that list. Think you can manage?“

Shawn squinted down at the piece of paper in his hand. “I’m not sure. I’ve never made anythin’ other than the dolls.”

“It’s the same basic principal. Just mold the ink into whatever you need and the rest will happen automatically.”

“I suppose I can manage. But why do you need these thingamabobs?”

“I only have one set of clothes for each cartoon. Unfortunately, belief isn’t going to do anyone’s laundry,” Joey said, chuckling.

“And the weapons?”

“I can’t say too much yet. Strictly hush-hush. But... let’s just say there are some new creations that will be very happy to have them.”

Shawn gave him a questioning look, but simply turned his attention back to the paper. “When do you be needin’ these by?”

“Two days.”

“I can’t make them that fast! Today’s almost over, and even if I pull the entire shift tomorrow I still won’t be able to produce this much that quickly-”

“Nonsense! I made all of our friends in less time than that, and they’re actually alive.” Joey snapped his fingers. “You could do it if you had some proper motivation, I bet! See what dreams are really made of. You haven’t personally met any of the characters, have you?”

The trip to the archives resulted in nothing but ink and a few curious stares from other employees. Shawn picked up a bacon soup can off of a shelf and turned it over as Joey searched the area, already loosing his patience. “How do you lose your own cartoons?”

“They’re allowed to move around,” Joey called out, voice resonating from a different section. “I just didn’t expect them to move around this much.“

Shawn looked around the room, clearly impatient. “Well if you don’t have anythin’ to be showin’ me, I’m going to head back up to the-”

Something brushed his neck.

Shawn swore loudly and fell back in shock, clutching his neck. A giant spider was dangling on a black string before him, staring at him with pie-cut eyes. Venom dripped steadily from its pure white fangs, leaving a dark spot on the floorboards. Above him was a massive spider web, black strands strung across the edges of the room.

“See? I knew they were around here!” Joey smacked the toy maker on his back and Shawn jumped again, unaware that he had returned from wherever he had disappeared to. The spider turned and climbed back up the silk strand the way a person climbing up a rope would, perching on top of the far bookshelf.

“The- the bastard just tried to bite me!” Shawn rubbed his neck, half expecting to feel puncture wounds there, but the skin was unbroken.

“Is that so?” Joey looked towards the spider and for a moment something dark flashed across his face, but it was gone just as quickly. “Well, they obviously aren’t completely perfect, but we can try to fix that later.”

“How in the seven hells did you make-?“

“Edgar! Have you seen Barley anywhere?” Joey called, ignoring the question entirely. Edgar didn’t speak, instead stretching a middle limb out to the right with a sickening cracking noise. Shawn briefly wondered if that hurt.

“This way!” Joey grabbed the toy maker and moved to the right, the Irishman twisting around to keep an eye on the spider. Edgar turned and crawled straight up the far wall, and Shawn could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a human hand at the end of one of his legs as he moved.

The room that Edgar had been pointing to turned out to be a massive storage room that had completely flooded with ink from a broken pipe. A makeshift dock had been assembled out of what appeared to be loose floorboards, and at the end of it sat a small sailor, smoking a pipe, fishing line deep in the ink. Shawn briefly wondered what exactly he was trying to catch.

“Barley!”

Barley glanced over at them, grunted, and then returned his gaze to the inky abyss before him. His eyepatch was gone, and in its place a human-like eye sat buried deep in an otherwise empty socket. Shawn felt a shudder of disgust run through his body.

“He’s not much for conversation,” Joey said apologetically, pulling Shawn away again. “But speaking of conversation...”

“What, the items again?” Shawn allowed Joey to pull him along, still trying to process what he had just seen. He had seen Alice and Boris when Joey had introduced them to the studio, but he had simply assumed that it was make up or some sort of animatron. But these things... they were definitely alive, and something about that fact made him feel uneasy.

“No, not the items.” Joey waved his hand dismissively, and Shawn got the feeling that it was never about the items to begin with. “Didn’t you notice anyone missing?“

Shawn racked his mind, trying to recall all of the Bendy shorts. “The... little leprechaun fellow?”

“Correct! It doesn’t feel right without Charley here, does it?”

“I don’t think it would be feelin’ any better with him.” Shawn glanced over at the library, half expecting to see Edgar crawling after him, but the room was still.

“Sure it would! You can’t have the Butcher Gang without all three of them. Otherwise you don’t even have a gang to begin with. And I think I’ve found the perfect candidate for him.”

“Candidate? What are you-?”

Something clicked.

“Joey? How did you make these cartoons again?” Shawn asked, moving back away from him, things slowly piecing themselves together in his mind.

“I told you. Belief!“

“And what else?” Sweat started to drip down his back as he remembered how many employees had ”quit” the company over the last few weeks.

Joey simply smiled, and Shawn ran.

Upstairs, a few dozen Bendy masks met him outside the elevator.

[stitches-for-solo]

I Dunno About This One...

Sorry for the wall of text. This is why I need to figure out how to put in a “Keep Reading” cut.

I feel like I slept all day. Probably because essentially, I did. I’m sliding further and further back down the hole I threw myself into a long time ago, and am watching the progress I’ve made since the almost dying incident vanish before my eyes. I know fucking well enough that I’m responsible for my own actions, but little things here and there only give me a tiny bump of positivity, motivation, and energy, if anything at all. (I keep thinking of the minute payback of doing something small, like getting dressed, like taking a little bump of coke off a key, which, to be clear, I’ve never done.) To be frank, considering my mindset and the effort little things can take when you aren’t well, some days, it’s not worth it. Almost instantly, my dysfunctional brain gobbles it all up as fast as it can. Like... [insert creative comparison here, akin to a starved man who’s just been served a 5-course meal, but, y’know, creative]. In theory, if I could take all the little bits of brightness I can manage to churn out and hoard them all in one big pile, ingesting them at the appropriate time, satiating my chemical receptors, and then letting them rest, regulating the process, I would. (Depression for Dummies?) Just like my problems with alcohol and drugs, my brain is a fiend for serotonin, that instant gratification, and there’s nothing I can do about it, or any deficiencies of other neurotransmitters (dopamine, norepinephrine) I probably have. (And man is it sloppy up there in my head, which is appropriate, since I’m the epitome of messy. Unorganized. Shit is everywhere, yet I know where everything is. Yeah, I’m one of those... but it’s not dirty — don’t ever call me dirty. It’s simply a disaster to the untrained eye. I’ve actually read articles linking neglecting to clean with depression, but I’m not sure where or how credible any of the research was. It makes no difference — either way, I’m not the best at keeping areas tidy. I keep going off topic...)

Anyway, I’m really in no condition to do anything drastic that would potentially yield a more substantial “reward”. Everyone tells me to just try. Try the little things, and you’ll adjust, and before you know it, you’ll be ready for more significant things. But good things are just that — good. They aren’t fixes and they aren’t cures. And I’m not using the previous sentence as an excuse to lay down and give up. I’m just being realistic. I know too much about my own problems, thanks to my higher education. I know too much and my peers/family know too little. There’s gotta be a balance between the right actions/effort and the right medication(s), and none of that is happening for me. There’s not a whole lot I can do about my medications, besides take them. It’s apathy that’s the fucking bitch. Why did I sleep till 3pm and not get out of bed until 5pm? Because I didn’t care, you can’t make me care, and I certainly can’t make myself care. (Also, I stayed up all night and it was really cold in my house so I didn’t want to get out from under the blankets...)

Now consider this — it would be one thing if that’s all that I was dealing with. But that’s just a portion of it, and I don’t even know what is wrong with me anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just weak and make bad decisions, then blame said bad decisions on my weak resolve to even try to do the right thing. Maybe I’m just overly sensitive and I am content with wallowing in my own self-inflicted misery. After all, I get to be the laziest, most spoiled bitch I know, sometimes. Big emphasis on sometimes. But then something inevitably happens, and that sick fantasy is shattered over and over again and I have to face facts — it’s not just my personality. I think it’s normal for me to sorta gravitate towards strange things and (trying to choose my words wisely here) unique people. But unless everyone I know is hiding things from me, I sure do feel like a dysfunctional fool a lot of the time when I try to explain certain thoughts or feelings or physical responses that I have to various stimuli. I don’t mind being different. I don’t think there is anything wrong with being drawn to the macabre and unusual things. I enjoy horror movies/books and crime shows, and like researching things like diseases, old torture practices, serial killers, and the crazy shit you can supposedly find on the dark web. And yeah, I’ll cheer for the bad guy. (Kylo 🖤) None of that makes me disturbed or ill. I like normal things, too, like cats, space, sports, game shows, and the Food Network. And music is sometimes my salvation. It’s my thoughts & actions that bother me. I was driving last night and I had a pretty pathetic thought: I don’t have a mental illness; I’m mentally ill. 😶

It probably sounds ridiculous and that I’m dramatic, lazy, not trying, overreacting, making excuses, annoying or even infuriating, but I don’t share everything that goes on upstairs with just anyone. I’ve been places, and I do not want to go back. I will not go back. So I keep my mouth shut. It tends to get me no where good or anywhere fast. Which is fine; I think it’s throwing a wrench in my doctor’s attempt to properly treat me, but if I was completely open and honest, I don’t really know what would transpire and where I’d end up. And in terms of friends/family, I firmly believe it drives people away. I see it. I’m not stupid. People abandon me. They tell me I deserve better, but they don’t give me better. Maybe they just want someone else to do it. They want to know it’s happening, but don’t want to/ can’t put the effort in themselves. I know I’m not verbally or emotionally abused or mistreated, and I think I tend to treat people as they do me. I don’t yell at people unprovoked. (There are exceptions, one of which I have written about above.) I don’t attack my friends and then try to make them feel guilty about it. Sometimes I get frustrated when I get sent pictures of someone’s (boyfriend’s) brand new house for the 6th time and I have to be all excited for them, meanwhile I’m living in my little sister’s old room. Yep, I had to move back in with my parents because I got too sick to be alone and had no where else to go. My mother wouldn’t even give me my old room back. And equally as frustrating is when I have to hear for the 15th time “I put my hand in the cage, and it bit me again. This time I’m bleeding. I know something isn’t right and it has to change..” But then, it’s right back to the same. And I get it. I’ve been there. My ex ripped my heart to shreads, and not just once. And I just kept letting him hurt me, because I believed that somehow, if I just kept trying, if I just kept changing, if I just let all the shitty parts run their course(s), in the end, it would be worth it. Was it? Of course not!

It’s fucking frustrating when someone you care about is being mistreated. In fact, it blows my mind what some people will put up with, but again, I understand, because I did it, too. I think it’s a lesson everyone has to learn for themselves at their own pace and on their own time. These things aren’t teachable. And I know it’s selfish, but sometimes I get a little irritated that I end up so far down on a friend’s list of priorities when I’m only trying to help, and I feel like I could use some help, too. There’s other contributing factors and every situation is unique, of course. But when I’m just trying to be genuine and caring, even if it does come off as harsh, that sucks. But it’s life. It just makes me feel like I’m believing a heaping pile of bs, which does upset me. I’m not egotistical. I don’t need to be #1. But there’s a big difference between not being #1 and being put off to the side so the friend in question can go spend time with the someone else who treats them like absolute shit. (I need to expand on this, because it’s misleading, and I don’t believe an explanation will fit in this post. I’ve also moved things around so much, I feel like it’s not flowing properly, so I’ll be making an additional entry — in a little while. So wait before you judge or assume anything.) But I’m also not stupid. I say that a lot, but my actions must betray my words. Somehow I must be giving off the vibe that I’m an idiot. It’s painful, especially when I want to give more of myself to someone.. invest more time, energy, support, all those things, into the friendship, but the feeling isn’t mutual. I wonder what people think of me. “I don’t want anything to do with her, but she’s fucking insane so I’m afraid she might come after me or hurt herself...” I mean, I am crazy, am I not? So why wouldn’t someone think that? Especially when I’ve heard the same words come out of their mouth before, but about someone else. And I’m not just talking about one or two people here. This seems to be an ongoing theme, and the common factor is me. When I was going through rough times with my ex, I think that’s when the alienation from some of my friends started. I guess they could only take so much, and everyone has a limit, but I also think the person being hurt sees things very differently than those on the outside. I can’t do much, y’know? So I try to give advice or help, but I think I need to learn to back off. I’m scared I’m destroying the relationships with the few people I have left in my life. Sometimes I already feel a shift. Hell, I know things are different. I don’t want to lose everything I have left with my handful of friends, but I am not the type of person who can take unhappiness and paranoia and anything else negative and just squash it and keep quiet. I have to let things out, or they grow until they reach monstrous proportions and I completely lose control. As annoying as it is, I have to ask family and friends “is everything okay?” “Did I do something wrong?” “Are you mad at me?” and eventually it escalates to “What the hell did I do?” “Why are you ignoring me?” etc.. Christ, I must be fun to know.

I was kind of writing before about things that make me feel happy. Having friends made me happy, and I try, but it seems that beyond talking online, no one wants to take me up on any offers anymore. I think I burned all my bridges and trying to start all over is challenging at my age when most people have careers and families. I don’t fit in anymore, and honestly, I have a suspicion that potential dating partners my age are still single because they’re not interested in settling down. I feel like I’m going to end up alone. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Life was supposed to be so much more fulfilling and just a pleasure to live. I know everyone goes through rough patches, and I absolutely hate talking like this, but I know I was expected to be so much more than this. It wasn’t me who was pegged as the one who would make such a fucking mess out of everything. I’m in a position where putting myself out there for rejection is a bad, very bad idea. It’s damaging. But so is being alone/surrounded by people who you don’t get along with. I’m stuck; I don’t know what to do, where to turn, and who really cares. One more note about friends.. Or who I refer to as my friends. I write about them in here, and they don’t even know this blog exists. No one really checks up on me, and I know that could be for lots of reasons. I don’t tend to reach out anymore either, but it’s because I don’t really have anything to offer. One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do was to accept that my old best friend didn’t consider me his best friend anymore. I guess it’s been a while now, and I’m okay with just calling him a “friend” or by his name. But it was tough. I was so broken down about my breakup that I completely fell apart, and he really just abandoned me. I’d see all the pictures he would post on Facebook.. out hanging out with his “BFF”, all smiles and having fun while I’d stayed in bed and cried all day with no one left to go to for comfort or company. I felt so disgusting, needy, weak, insignificant, hopeless.. all this after I let him borrow a substantial amount of money because he had moved 1500 miles away and needed financial help getting home because he had decided he didn’t want to be there anymore. I was so desperate and distraught that I let him borrow.. a lot of money. And that was what I was met with when he got back. I was still alone, he never wanted to hang out because I was always so down, and I haven’t seen a dime of my money. I could go on... but I won’t. Lesson learned.

I think there’s some parts here that don’t make sense. I was copying and pasting and moving stuff around and adding/deleting things, and it’s almost 7am. I might work on this later after I get some sleep. Or I might decide it’s a waste of time cause no one reads my rants anyway. Obviously I didn’t mean to offend anyone, and I mean no ill will towards anyone I know. Like I said, there are some things I just have to get off my chest.

[schaaadenfreude]

beast

The cell phone woke Chris up. It was on vibrate, but the buzz of it against the nightstand still pulled her from her dreamless sleep. She almost ignored it, but long habit had her grabbing for it and tilting the screen to check the caller ID. It told her that Work was calling. She groaned and swiped across the screen to answer it, though she left it flat on the nightstand rather than bringing it to her still-sensitive ears. “H’lo?”

It was Sacha, the intern they’d only recently taken on, whom Chris still considered an exuberant child for her innocence. Sacha sounded, as usual, far too chipper for the ungodly early hour of just after eight-thirty a.m.  “Hey, Chris. I know you probably just got back in from your, uh, full moon stuff, but we need you to come in.”

Chris was too sleepy (and cranky) to curb her first impulse, so rather than something more diplomatic, she growled, “Y’don’ wan’ me t’come in right now.” Usually, Chris could enunciate a little better, but she was still moon-dazed and tired.

There was a pause while background noise Chris didn’t care to listen for occurred on the other end of the line. Then, in a more hesitant tone, Sacha continued. “We kinda do. A hit-by-car just came in and we’re pretty sure it’s a werewolf. Your pack isn’t… missing anyone… is it?”

Suddenly, Chris was wide awake. She sat bolt upright and snatched the phone up. “What?”

“I’ve never seen a werewolf – uh, in wolf form, y’know – in person before, but it looks like what you’ve described. Definitely not like a regular wolf. Huge. And this one’s badly hurt. Dr. Floyd is pretty sure if this thing wasn’t a werewolf, it’d be dead.”

Chris put the phone back on the nightstand, but tapped the speaker icon so she could slide off the bed and start throwing clothes on. “I need more detail than that, honey. What, who, when, how.” There was a chance this patient was a wolf she knew, slim though that was. The only werewolves with any business this close to Seattle were her pack, and all five of the others were accounted for, as far as she had known when she’d gone to sleep an hour ago.

Thankfully for Chris’ patience – rather, her notable lack thereof – Sacha got to the point. “Just got it in fifteen minutes ago, or so. I dunno who brought it in, except that they claim they hit it with their truck. Happened on the highway right near the park. They think it was coming back toward town. They loaded it into their truck bed and drove it here, since we’re the nearest wildlife rehab. Dr. Floyd did the exam, but says he doesn’t know how werewolves tick, so he can’t say much besides it’s got a lot broken and lost a lot of blood.”

“What does it look like, Sacha?” Chris managed not to snap, though mostly because she had to concentrate on lacing up her shoes. If she struggled with fine motor control still, she really shouldn’t drive…

“Prooobably 300 pounds? Maybe more, we didn’t weigh it. Colored like one of those red wolves you get back east, gray and brown. Built like everything you’ve ever said about your wolf form. Kinda like a human, but with canine legs and head and arms bigger than a silverback gorilla.”

Red wolf colors, huh? No one Chris knew, then. Which was both good and bad. She scooped the phone up and turned speaker off before tucking it against her ear so she had both hands free to unlock and open the bedroom door. “I’m on my way. Tell Jerry and whoever else is ogling that thing to keep the fuck back if it so much as twitches, okay? You too, hon. I don’t wanna deal with any of you getting tagged.”

“It looks in bad shape, Chris. I’m surprised it’s still alive at all.”

“We’re hard to kill,” Chris replied in a wry drawl. “Be there in a few.” She ended the phone call without another word and took the stairs two at a time. Thankfully, her pack-and-housemate Neil didn’t stir from her tromping around the house and letting the old door slam shut behind her.

Hauling herself into the doorless and topless Wrangler’s cab shouldn’t have taken as much effort as it did. Still, she trusted herself a lot more driving the battered old Jeep than her motorcycle, in the shape she was in. She’d fill it up with gas on the way back to apologize to Neil for borrowing his car without permission. Not that he’d mind; the Jeep had been hers, and she’d given it to him when he joined the pack so he’d have transportation.

The morning sunlight was harsh, making Chris grateful for her dark, polarized sunglasses. They made her look like a Matrix extra, but they worked. And she hadn’t bothered to put on her eyepatch before she left, so this would also stop passersby from staring. She was not in the mood to deal with that right now. It was difficult enough to check her temper in normal weekday morning traffic.

She pulled up to the clinic’s employee parking around back and wasted no time hopping out of the Jeep. Sacha was there opening the back door for her before she even reached it. The lanky intern looked down at Chris with concern drawing her shapely eyebrows together. “You look rough, Chris.”

“If you’d spent all night hunting and were subsequently called in to work, you’d look like this, too,” Chris retorted as she brushed past Sacha. The intern flattened against the wall to let her pass, then fell in step behind.

“They’re in exam room–”

“Five, yeah, I smell it. We need to get it out of an exam room, though. Too close to the public.” She adopted a quick stride that even the taller Sacha had a little trouble matching. For only being about five feet tall, Chris was pretty leggy. It helped that most of her weight was muscle and bone; she had little else, and only escaped looking malnourished by being more muscular than an Olympic athlete. That tended to happen with werewolves, though most looked better fed than Chris.

She paused at the door to the exam room to listen in, and heard only the shuffling of Dr. Jerry Floyd’s feet on the tile floor. She opened the door and had to pause again when the scents of blood and pain and fear washed over her and made her mouth water. She swayed a little on her feet, eye unfocused to bask in the prey-smells, until Jerry spoke in a worried tone. “Chris? Are you all right?”

The old veterinarian’s pack-a-day rasp made Chris pull her attention away from the hunk of bleeding meat on the exam table with a physical effort. “Nope. What can you tell me about that one?” She gestured to the exam table with a jerk of her chin without moving any closer.

Jerry stepped away from the meat while he stripped blood-coated gloves off his knobby hands. He loomed about the room like a scarecrow; overly tall, he looked like someone had taken a man with normal size and proportions and stretched him out end to end. “Without x-rays, I couldn’t tell you anything specific, but there’s a lot broken. Ribs, a hind leg, probably some fractures in the cranium, too. Given the ribs, there’s bound to be a lot of internal bleeding as well. If this was anything but a werewolf, it would’ve bled to death by now.” He gave her another concerned look. “How am I supposed to handle a werewolf this badly hurt? You heal fast, I know, but how fast? I cleaned out as many wounds as I could, but I think some of the skin closed over before I got there.”

“Secondary infection isn’t a problem you need to worry about,” Chris told him. “If its immune system is that badly compromised, it’s next to dead. Just set the big bones, and whenever it changes back, that’ll take care of the rest. Providing it makes it that far.”

“So it is a werewolf?” Sacha asked from behind Chris. She was peering over Chris’ head into the exam room with ill-restrained curiosity.

“Yep. Sacha, do you know if the kennels in back are occupied?”

“Not right now, I don’t think.”

“Go check, and if there’s anyone home, move them all to the front end. Open up the furthest kennel and set it up. We’ll stick the cub in there for now.”

Sacha scurried off to her assignment, and once the intern was gone, Jerry Floyd’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry for calling you in today, Chris. I know it’s not a good time.”

Chris flapped one hand dismissively. “No choice, I get it. M’glad you called me. This cub’s too dangerous to let y’all handle it without me.” She was even too tired to stop herself from letting that “y’all” slip.

“’Cub?’ How can you tell it’s a young one?” Jerry inquired.

Chris paused and blinked. “Good question.” She took another deep breath, mostly out of habit. Cubs smelled no different than older weres. All she smelled was blood, anyway. Well, that was the only smell she could pay much attention to; the others weren’t half so appetizing. And, after spending most of yesterday in beastform, her senses in this one seemed dull. So she gave Jerry’s interested gaze a shrug. “Context. Most of us who know what we’re doing aren’t stupid enough to run into the road when a car’s nearby. It takes a dumb, ignorant cub to pull a stunt like that.”

“That makes sense,” Jerry agreed. “Are you sure it’s safe to move this one to the kennels?”

“I’ll make sure it can’t escape. Most of the damage that’s not healed already will heal once it shifts, anyway.” Something occurred to Chris. She stepped out of the exam room to hunt down paper, and ended up with a pad of prescription forms. She scribbled a short list on the back of the sheet she tore out of it.

“You know Maddie will have my hide if she catches us wasting those,” Jerry warned. But his voice held more amusement than concern. Maddie ruled the front end of the clinic and had also taken over their account books like a domestic force of nature; Chris adored her even though Maddie annoyed the piss out of her most of the time. Especially on days like today, when she was cranky and tired and this close to taste-testing the patient in exam room 5.

“Maddie can bite me. If she didn’t want me to use these as a notepad, she’d buy us some real damn notepads.” Chris eyed the list, then added another line.

Sacha swept up to them shortly thereafter. “The kennels are empty, so I just opened the one of the far end. Got the gurney, too.”

The child was a little scattered, but a good worker. Chris handed Sacha the list. “No need, I can carry it. I just need you to run to Target and get that stuff for me.”

The list received a dubious once-over. “Wwwwwwhy?”

“If that cub survives, it’ll shift back to human and wake up hungry. Needs clothes and food. I need food too, because if I have to stand near that bleeder for too much longer without eating, it’s not gonna be pretty.” When she had a better rein on her tongue, Chris would regret the alarm that flashed across not only Sacha’s face, but Jerry’s as well. They knew she was a werewolf, but she’d done a reasonable job so far of hiding what that really meant. Hopefully, the damage she’d just done to their trust wasn’t irreparable. She couldn’t find it in herself to care so much, not when she had limited energy to expend and better things to use it on than diplomacy. She shooed Sacha out to run the errands and stalked back over to the exam room.

Jerry caught her shoulder before she could enter, and it took more effort than it should’ve for Chris to keep still. Jerry apparently noticed, because he removed his hand swiftly, though not with a jerk as though he was frightened. “Sorry. Chris, are you sure you’re okay to do this?”

“The more often I’m asked that, the less ‘okay’ I get,” she replied through clenched teeth. “I know my limits. If it gets to be a problem, I’ll step back. But you need me here to handle this. That’s why you called me in. Don’t waste my time second-guessing your very correct decision.”

Jerry relented without another protest, and Chris entered the exam room. It was still filled with the smell of blood, but the air felt different now. And the cub’s aura, which had been a dim glow of pain-color (her brain called it red) interspersed with flares and sparks of sharper distress, was lit up with a brightness that tasted of metal and turned earth. It sparked and flanged with incandescent agony that made its injuries look dull by comparison. Chris sympathized. Shifting shape was painful at the best of times. This was uncontrolled and done while injured. If the cub had been anywhere near conscious, he would’ve probably screamed.

“Shifting back already. Fucker must be pretty resilient. Jerry, could you get the doors for me?” Without turning to look at her coworker, Chris approached the exam table and slid her arms underneath the heap of twitching werewolf. The cub was scrawny for his size, but still several hundred pounds, and probably seven feet long tip to tail. Jerry hovered by the door, though, and watched Chris juggle the load without a word. He’d seen her hold down a Rottweiler not much smaller than this werewolf (and certainly more active) without breaking a sweat. She might have been five-nothing and barely one hundred pounds, but she could deadlift more than this cub with little trouble.

Dr. Laura Nesbitt was approaching another exam room as Chris waded out of five with her burden, and the middle aged woman’s eyes widened. “Need any help?” she asked warily.

“Under control,” Jerry reassured her. The dry tone to his voice indicated that he wasn’t going to forgive Chris her temper any time soon. “But if you could get someone in to clean up behind us, I’d appreciate it.”

Chris ignored them and trudged through the clinic. It would probably take the cub half an hour to shift fully, all things considered, but having her arms full of something bleeding and quivering helplessly was not improving her control at all. She needed to put the cub down and get away before she took a chunk out of the poor schmuck. Thankfully for her impatience, Jerry was at hand to open doors for Chris without her having to wait.

Once she’d dumped the cub on the dog bed in the back of the furthest kennel and closed the chain link gate behind her, Jerry spoke. “How do you propose to restrain that cub if it wakes up… violent?”

“Workin’ on it.” She stood with her feet planted on the cement floor and one hand lightly hooked through the chain links. Eye half-lidded, she took a deep breath; with it, she drew power from the earth under her feet. Most werewolves were not mages, to cast spells, though there was a great deal of magic associated with the beastform and the changes there and back. Earth magic could be difficult to draw upon. There was an endless amount of power to be had, but it did not bestir itself without much coaxing and patience.

Slowly, Chris wove the trickles of power she drew from the ground into the links of the fence and through the mortar between each cinderblock of the walls. To her aura-sight the fence and walls took on a steady glow which spread until the kennel was walled in on all six sides – walls, floor, sloping roof – by a simple shield. It would not stand up to much from the outside; it was the inside of the shield that was as inflexible as bedrock. It would block out sound and smell and even the basic aura-sense most werewolves inherited after the change. The cub would still be able to see whatever there was to see, but that was it. From all else, he would be insulated while he changed and woke.

Jerry gave the kennel a dubious look. Without the ability to sense the shield she’d erected around it, the cinderblocks and chain link didn’t look very adequate to contain a werewolf. Sometimes it was barely adequate to contain a perfectly mundane dog. But then Chris threw her fist against the fencing, and it barely rattled. Jerry’s mouth turned up and he nodded.

The kennels were outside, on the opposite end of the building to the employee parking. That didn’t inhibit Chris from hearing Sacha drive up in her tidy little red Beetle and park. “Thank fuck,” Chris growled, and strode back inside. She didn’t run, but close. Jerry trailed after her, and she pretended not to notice the flutterings of wary concern at the edges of the old man’s aura. He had good reason to be concerned. She hadn’t ever come to work like this, barely holding on to the façade of humanity she was usually able to wear.

A couple of plastic tee-shirt bags dangled from Sacha’s hands, and she immediately held them out to Chris. It took almost more self control than Chris had to bring them into the breakroom and deposit the bags on the counter, then take the time to wash her hands and arms of the cub’s blood, before opening one of the bags of roast beef. When Jerry offered her a clean coat, she managed to shrug into it without acting too much like she objected to the delay. It was a good thing there was already bread in the breakroom, because Chris figured that shoveling slices of meat into her face would probably not inspire confidence in Jerry or Sacha.

“How is the, uh, patient?” Sacha asked once Chris had demolished one of the one-pound bags of thick-sliced beef and most of the loaf of sliced bread. The bread was an afterthought; she needed the carbs, of course, but the beast in her soul craved protein. Flesh.

“He’d started to change by the time I got him into the kennel. Given the shape he’s in, it’ll probably be a while yet before he’s done. I shielded the kennel he’s in, so no sound or smells will go in or out,” Chris told the intern. It was a lot easier to hold civilized conversation now that her belly was full of meat. She hooked a finger into one strap of the second bag and pulled it over to peer inside. As ordered, generic, one-size-fits-most sweats and a pullover in nondescript gray and navy blue, as well as a pack of cotton boxers. She didn’t know what that cub looked like in human form, but her instincts said he wasn’t extraordinarily big or small.

“How do you know it’s a ‘he?’” Sacha, again, sounding curious. “I didn’t get a good look at him when he came in to tell what, uh, bits he’s got.”

Chris tapped her aquiline nose right along the old break she’d gotten before turning. That was explanation enough for Sacha, though Jerry raised a wiry eyebrow. “You could smell that under all the blood and everything else?”

“I’m used to parsing scents underneath blood and more pungent things,” she told him wryly. “If I hadn’t been trying not to sniff too hard, I might’ve been able to tell you where he’d been. At least, what kind of place he’d been in last, besides under a car’s tires.” As it was, besides the cub’s scent (which had, in fact, been masculine but not overwhelmingly so) she had gotten a whiff of pine sap and dirt, so he’d been in wilderness. The tang of motor oil had been there, too, but since he’d been intimately acquainted with a truck’s undercarriage, that went without saying.

“Now what?” Jerry inquired. He sat at the breakroom table with his hands laced together, observing her steadily. “What’s the procedure for finding a badly injured werewolf cub?”

Chris couldn’t stop herself from rubbing one hand across her face, eye burning faintly from sleep deprivation, and pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need to figure out where and how he was turned. Dunno how much I’ve emphasized this to you, but turnings are A Big Deal, capital letters included. I need to track down whoever turned him and left him to run amok.” That was all she would say in front of these people, friends though they were. They were mortals, and didn’t need to be any more involved than they already were.

“And what will happen to the cub?” That was Sacha, who sounded sympathetic.

“I’ll get as much useful information about his turning as I can, which won’t be much. Then… a lot of stuff will be up to him.” Most other packs would kill a cub not turned by one of their own. There was a good chance she’d have to kill this one, anyway, if he couldn’t gain control over his beast. But that was not something Sacha needed to know.

“So you’re going to take him home with you?” Jerry inquired.

“Only safe place for him. My packmates are civilized, but most of them don’t have the kind of control I do.” One of them did, but Teddy would also take one look at that cub and bite his head off. That lobo was of the old school, and she knew he disapproved of her keeping a pack of rescued strays. That was probably why Teddy only really respected Dominic, the only one of the pack that Chris had turned herself. She wondered if Teddy knew how much like the vampire’s bloodline-guarding that was. He’d resent the comparison.

“Control to stop themselves from what, killing him?”

 “Mostly to keep their own heads if or when that cub starts to lose it. It takes a few weeks to get used to the change – to get used to it enough to exert some control. Until then, cubs are at the mercy of the beast’s whims. They can’t change at will, which is good, but if something motivates them enough, they can do it. And when one were in the vicinity starts to go, it compels everyone else to do the same. No one wants to be stuck in fragile human form when a potentially hostile beast is around. I know I can put that cub in his place regardless of which form I’m in, so the compulsion isn’t very strong.” In that way, Teddy was also more than strong enough to school the cub regardless of his current shape. But the old man was touchy around other males, and impatient with stupid cubs. Not the nurturing sort.

Chris didn’t care if this cub lived or died, but she at least needed him to live long enough to give her information about his change. Once that happened… it would be best for her to put the cub out of his misery. The old vampire who kept his personal coven in Seattle hadn’t been pleased when she’d brought Teddy into the pack; but that might have been because Teddy was an old wolf used to killing vampires. Chris was a pup by comparison, though she had a string of vampire fangs almost as long as Teddy’s. Since many of those fangs had been taken from the heads of vampires who had been attempting a coup against the Grand Master, Andrei Markov was more tolerant of her than he was of most other werewolves. That didn’t stop him from disliking having too many so close to his den.

She could tell the old bat that it was only on his insistence that Chris settled with her little band of rescues so close. She had, in fact. More than once. But that didn’t change the fact that Sorin – her mocking nickname for the vampire, which he accepted for reasons she’d never know – could and would continue to disapprove of Chris gathering a larger pack. Tolerate her he might, but Chris was not stupid enough to think that the old vampire’s magnanimity would last if he thought she was growing to be a threat.

Thinking of Sorin as magnanimous made her snort in derision. To Jerry’s raised eyebrow, she said, “There’s no guarantee the cub will have any useful information to give me about how he got turned. Cubs and ferals don’t retain memory across the shifts, and the turning is traumatic enough at the best of times that most people block the memories. So chances are, I’m gonna be taking a ‘vacation’ soon to investigate.

“Is it really that important?” Sacha asked.

“A cub with no control was left to wander. He was heading toward town before he was hit. Care to imagine what might’ve happened if he’d made it?” Chris paused long enough for Sacha’s face to become grave, then continued. “Yeah. Bad news. There are a few things that could’ve happened: either he was turned by a feral, who’ll need to be dealt with before it causes more damage. Or, he was turned by a civilized wolf who either didn’t try, or tried and failed to keep the cub under control. That wolf needs to be shown the error of their ways, regardless of which case it is. We regulate our turnings very strictly, and part of that is regulating new cubs until they get a handle on themselves.” If they got a handle on themselves.

“And is there no one else who can do that investigation? You’ve mentioned a higher level of organization among werewolves before,” said Jerry, still with one eyebrow elevated.

“Yeah, and I’m part of it.” She shrugged. Technically, she was not a proper Conclave representative. But she was as close as an American-turned were was ever going to be, and her Conclave superior Alena trusted Chris to take care of business in the no-man’s land that was the western United States. Certainly, Chris was the only werewolf that Sorin would treat with, and that was valuable in and of itself. “So as the nearest member of that body, it’s my job. Besides, I’d go even if I wasn’t. The next nearest pack of werewolves is far enough into Canada that there’s no way this cub could have run across the border.”

Before they could ask her more questions, questions she shouldn’t answer, Chris stood and scooped up the bags. “Gonna check on the cub. If I need either of you, I’ll holler. Should be safe enough to go about life as usual. Once the cub’s fed and clothed, I’ll take him home.”

As predicted, the cub was still changing when Chris got there. The shield she’d erected blocked sound, smell, and magical signals from exiting as well as entering, so the visual cues were all she had to know how far along the cub was. From the looks of it, he was past the halfway point. Significantly smaller, with less fur. Bones poked up in ways they should not and twisted in front of her eyes, both in the change, and in the cub’s agonized writhing. From the way the cub’s mouth gaped open, he was probably crying out in some way.

She dropped into a crouch not far from the shielded chain link gate and began to dig through the contents of the tee shirt bags. She removed the tags and stickers from the clothing and withdrew a pair of boxers from their packaging, but left them on top of the bag and readied the second Ziploc bag of sliced roast beef. One pound of the stuff would not be enough to satiate the cub, but it would take the edge off so that he would be safer to transport. She had food aplenty at home and could feed the cub better there.

The thought of what waited at home reminded her of Neil, so she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. A text from him already waited.

where did you go?

She texted him back, work. cub got hit by a car. i’ll be bringing him back soon. can you behave?

It didn’t take long for Neil to reply. as in a wolf cub? tf?

yep. no clue where, when or why yet. can you handle a new cub in the house?

what do you think i am, feral?

you're manic and the moon is full.

i can handle a cub.

Neil lived with her because, even when he wasn’t manic, his control was iffy. Even Nat and Mako, who’d been turned under the same circumstances and for the same amount of time as Neil, had enough of a handle on themselves that they could live independently. Mako’s was a little more uncertain, but she lived with Dominic, who was far more stable and quite capable of keeping his wife on an even keel. But Chris didn’t have much of a choice about where to take the cub. She just had to believe that Neil was reading himself properly.

When she looked up from the text conversation, the cub was mostly done with his shift. That was impressive, considering how badly hurt he’d been. Intent and motivation also helped the change along, so unwilling ones also took much longer than voluntary shifts. She waited until the cub was completely done, however, before doing anything. She waited until he stirred from the exhausted heap he’d collapsed into.

It took a few minutes more, but the cub uncurled himself enough to look around. He trembled with weakness, but finally managed to turn enough to see her. His face was still bruised and streaked with dried blood, but by the way the whites of his eyes showed all the way around, he was pretty freaked out. Chris wished that she could leave the shield intact when she opened the kennel, but she’d used the kennel’s walls as the framework for the shield, so it was impossible to move anything while the shield was up. And even if she could, she wouldn’t have been able to get anything through it to the cub. So she slowly unraveled the shield.

As sounds and smells trickled into the kennel, the cub flinched. He looked around jerkily. There was little sapience in his face; no doubt he was still mostly beast, even in this form. But he was too injured and weak to do more than huddle against the far cinderblock wall of the kennel as Chris finally undid the shield and began to open the gate. He made a pitiful wheezing sound that was no doubt meant to be a growl.

Chris kept her posture loose and relaxed, and did not look directly at the cub or hold her body directly toward him. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” she told him, keeping her voice high and gentle. Almost a croon. She stayed just inside the gate while she dug the roast beef in one great handful out of the bag. As soon as the cub caught scent of the beef, his wheezing quieted and his eyes locked onto it intently. He pushed himself up from the floor feebly and tried to crawl closer. It would have been quality footage for a horror movie, if she didn’t see from his aura how weak he actually was. She tossed the beef onto the cement floor just in front of him, and he fell upon it ravenously. She squatted on her haunches while the cub ate.

It didn’t take long for the beef to disappear, leaving the cub licking at the leftover juices on the floor somewhat desperately. He’d forgotten all about her until she spoke up. “Are you back with us, Squirt?” He tensed and snapped his eyes to her. The growl this time was more like an actual growl, though still unimpressive.

“My name is Chris. Right now we’re at a veterinarian clinic in Renton, Washington. I’ve got clothes here for you, and if you can put them on, I’ll take you somewhere safe with more food to eat. Then we can talk about why you’re here.” He didn’t respond to the first recitation of her spiel, so she repeated it. She hoped that the cub wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t come to his senses. Killing him now would be easier in the short run, but make it a lot more difficult to figure out who was turning cubs and letting them run wild.

Thankfully, during the third repetition, sense began to return to the cub’s face. She didn’t waste her breath after that, just looked at the wall near his head and waited.

“Renton?” he managed.

“Near Seattle.” A lot of people didn’t recognize Renton unless either Boeing airplanes or Seattle were mentioned; Seattle tended to get more immediate recognition.

“Seattle… Washington? United States?” his voice wasn’t much firmer, but besides the physical weakness, there was also a note of disbelief in his voice.

“That’s the place.” His reaction made her think he was pretty far from where he’d started. He looked white, or close enough, and she couldn’t detect enough about his accent to place where it might have come from. But she was fairly certain that his native language was English. It was hard to speak a foreign tongue when you were exhausted and hungry and confused.

The cub’s attention drifted, turned inward. His face had the blank quality that shock tended to impart; only the roiling of his aura told Chris the state of the cub’s thoughts. Before he could get too caught up, she stood. Slowly, so as not to startle the cub. She reached behind herself to grab the clothing, and then tossed them lightly over to him so they landed within arm’s reach. “Get yourself dressed, if you can. Then we’ll go back to my place. I’ll feed you again, and then we can talk about why you’re all the way in Renton.” Another repetition of her spiel from before, but now he was in a better state to listen to it all the way through.

Chris turned around and went back through the gate; closing it, but not locking. She listened to the cub wheeze and pant as he struggled into the clothes. Poor thing was still on the verge of collapse. While the beef had replenished some of the protein his body needed – flesh to replace flesh – it wasn’t enough calories to replenish the energy used to heal so much, so fast. She needed to get a more balanced meal down him before he would be up to much.

Once the shuffling had ceased, leaving only his labored breath and heartbeat, she turned around again. He was still on the floor, looking boneless and pitiful. But before she did more than step back through the gate, she said, “Need a hand getting up?”

“Yeah,” he said, more in a sigh than actual speech.

It was better not to touch a werewolf who didn’t know you without their consent. The beast would bite first and ask questions later. Or never. He was no threat, but if he reacted on instinct, he was bound to lose any voluntary control he had for a while, and she didn’t want that hassle on her hands. So she moved slowly and held a hand down to the cub, waiting for him to reach up and grab it before doing anything more. Once she shifted her grip from his hand to his wrist, she pulled up until he was draped halfway over her shoulders. Then she stood, but rather than trying to help him walk, she just slung him across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

His hands clutched her arm convulsively for a moment, and she paused. “Anything hurt?”

“Lots,” he hissed.

“Sorry, Squirt. Would you rather walk?”

“No.” and he eased his grip.

She had to do an awkward side-step to get out of the kennel, but after that, the doors were wide enough to pass through normally. And the cub could keep himself in place while she freed a hand to open the doors. The fact that he was being so cooperative was a good sign. It might have been as much exhaustion as anything else, but there were many other ways he could be handling this little transition.

Thankfully, she only passed by Jerry on her way back through the clinic, and he just gave them a grave look before continuing on his way. She made it to the Jeep and managed to deposit the cub into the passenger seat without much more trouble than she’d taken to pick him up. He didn’t even object when she pulled the seatbelt across his chest and buckled him in. With no doors or roof, and as weak as he was, it wouldn’t take much to sling the poor cub right out of the vehicle otherwise.

It was only when Chris had buckled herself in and cranked the geriatric old Wrangler to life that she decided she needed a better designation for the cub than just “cub.”

“What should I call you, Squirt?”

“Squirt,” he retorted. She glanced sideways and saw the faint smile tug at his mouth. “Or Dane. Or Dan. Or Danny.”

He’d be all right if he could make smartass comments under these conditions. Chris found herself grinning. “Squirt it is.” She hadn’t purposefully started calling him that. It was her pet-name for her son, Jamie, and it tended to stick itself to the people who came into her care.

“You’re Chris, right?” he asked. His voice was still so weak that it was difficult to hear over the sounds of traffic and the wind.

“Yep.”

Silence reigned for a while longer, until Chris turned off the main road into the housing development where the pack lived. They weren’t the only ones, of course, but the development was run by Dominic’s company, and he offered his packmates much lower pricing on the ranch houses than he did anyone else. Chris knew she wouldn’t have cared to pay for the house she had without that discount. She also would not have wanted to live in that big four-bedroom, even with Neil for a permanent roommate. But that house was also the pack’s headquarters, and though the others had their own homes, it wasn’t unusual for someone to crash there for a while.

“So, we’re… going to your place?”

Chris glanced at the cub again, but his face was still inscrutable. “Yeah. Might as well give you a heads up now. Got a roommate; he’s one of us, too. Probably gonna have a touchy temper. Neither of us have had much sleep.”

Dane shot her a raised eyebrow. Chris returned it for a moment before focusing on the road. “Not like that. We’re stuck in beastform all night during the full moon, and it’s impossible to sleep, so we hunt.” Neil was also the gayest human being Chris had ever met; it didn’t stop him from flirting with anyone and everyone, though.

“Right.” Dane hunched down in the seat a little.

[imaginewithme]

Hello Neighbor : Part 2

- Y/N finally meets Newt after having lived next to him for months.-

A/N : they live in an all magical folk building

Word Count : 2000

Part 1

Surrounded by hot water and soap bubbles, you sank a little deeper in to the tub. This was supposed to be the most relaxing moment of your day but the anxiety kept building higher and higher. 

As silly as it may sound, you were worried about what kind of impression you left on Newt. You hoped that it wasn’t too awkward or embarrassing because you’d really like to get to know him. No one in the building seemed to know more than his name, sure there were rumors but they didn’t know if they were true or not. He intrigued you, there was something refreshing about the shroud of mystery that surrounded him.

You wanted to know the facts. Like what did he like to do for fun? Passions? Hobbies? You paused for a second before leaning your head over the edge of the tub and groaning. 

What were you doing? 

Were you interviewing the poor bloke for a dating game show? You were being absolutely ridiculous. You had just met him and you were already thinking about his “passions”. You ought to be thinking about how you were going to somehow get another chance to talk to him without seeming like you planned it out. 

You closed your eyes and let your mind come up with possible scenarios when a thought popped up into your mind. Did he actually go around the world and participate in illegal activities? You snorted a little, causing some bubbles to fly up in the air. Probably not. 

You cupped your hands together , isolating a cluster of bubbles in between. You didn’t expect someone as handsome as he was to invite you to chat over a cup of tea. It was kind of reassuring to have someone show interest in you even if it was only for friendship.

You wondered if you’d ever have another opportunity as perfect as that one again. Shaking your head to rid yourself of that thought, you exhaled. You were being absurd. It wasn’t like you lived right next to him or anything plus what if he was just being friendly? Offering your neighbor a cup of tea and a short chat was a normal thing to do. You were over analyzing and blowing what happened all out of proportions, not to mention getting your hopes up for something that could be nothing. 

Glancing down at your pruned fingers, you decided that you’ve soaked in the bath long enough when a loud crash emitted from inside of your flat. It was followed by a not so quiet shuffling about. 

Your heart began to race as you slowly emerged from the water. Did someone just break into your home? Trying to make as little sounds as you could, you exited the bath tub and hastily wrapped a towel around your body before grabbing your wand off of the sink. You mentally thanked yourself for being too lazy to set it on your dresser before heading to the bathroom. The noises seemed to have lessened a tad bit from the initial break in but you could still hear the floor boards creak from under the weight of whoever was there. The grip on your wand tightened to the point of your knuckles turning white. You’ve never had something like this happen to you before so you didn’t know if you were lucky or very unlucky but one thing was for sure, you were unprepared. You ran through all the defensive spells in your head as the footsteps entered your bedroom. You had your wand in your right hand as your left gripped on to the door handle. With the element of surprise on your side, you hoped that the plan in your head would work before they could even try to hit you with anything. Patiently waiting for them to walk past the door so their back would towards you when you opened it, you could hear the muffled whispering. 

Unfortunately you weren’t able to make out anything they were saying but by the tone they were saying it in, they sounded angry?

The moment they went past the door, you threw it open and stepped out. “Stupefy!” 

The figure flew forward towards the wall. The grip on your bath towel tightened as you cautiously inched closer to them. With your wand pointed directed at their head and your eyes locked on to them for any signs of movement however you failed to notice the creature flying towards you. 

A small mass of black fur leaped toward you from off to the side and the next thing you knew there were claws and angry squeaking in your face. (A/N : sorry I didn’t know what Niffler sounded like >.<) 

Completely caught off guard, the creature managed to scratch and you were pretty sure nip your face. In the confusion and panic of everything you had fell back on to the floor, your wand dropping out of your hand. As you tried your best to push it away from you, a little groaning could be heard from the burglar. Oh god, he was getting up already? Fear started to bubble up in your stomach, you had to do something or at least get out of this situation somehow. Giving the creature one final shove to the side somewhere, you noticed them already standing before scrambling to where your wand fall. 

The relief you felt the moment your fingers closed around the wood made you feel a huge lot better. You whipped around and returned to your defensive status before addressing the intruder. “What do you want and what are you doing in my flat!” They immediately raised their hands and stepped back to the wall. Before you could say any more, you noticed the familiar top of auburn hair and frowned. You guess the crook part of the rumor was true. “I’ll say it again, what are you doing in my flat, Mr. Scamander?” You narrowed your eyes at him, you were totally wrong about him.

“I-I have a very good explanation as to why I’m in your flat, Miss L/N. You see my-” You took your eyes off of him for a second to point your wand at the black haired creature that was angrily moving towards you. With a spell seconds away from leaving your lips, you found yourself immobilized by Newt. One of his hands wrapped around your wand hand while the other wrapped around your waist. He pulled your close to his body and forcibly lowered your wand. 

“Wha- Let me go!” You thrashed and kicked against his hold but couldn’t manage to free yourself from his hold. 

“Wait! Miss L/N-! I-” Newt struggled to keep you still and resorted to spinning you around to face him with his hands firmly placed on your shoulders. “Please allow me to explain! My niffler got out and by the time I noticed the little devil had somehow wedged himself into your flat. I knocked on your door, I promise that I did but you didn’t seem to have heard me. Worried about your personal belongings, I had leaped over from my balcony to yours to grab him before he got his hands on anything shiny. Nifflers, you see, are attracted to anything shiny like coins or jewelry but that’s besides the point right now. However I may have broken your sliding door but I will fix that. Please don’t hurt him, he was just trying to protect me.” Newt looked at you with pleading eyes. 

You looked at him with suspicious eyes before switching over to look over at the Niffler. If you didn’t see it pocket some spare change you had left on the floor in its pouch, you would have sworn Newt was out of his mind. By the look of it, Newt seemed to be telling the truth so you nodded. “Alright…” You lowered your wand in compliance. 

“Thank you.” Newt gave you a small smile, his memorizing seafoam green eyes boring themselves into yours. Just as fast as his smile had come it morphed into a frown and his hands rose up to cup your face. Caught off guard once again, you were going to ask him what exactly he was doing just when he ran his thumb over your cheek. Instant pain emerged causing you to hiss and pull away from his touch. “It looks like my Niffler managed to give you a few cuts.” You glared at the creature, it now rummaging through your jewelry box before making your way to the bathroom to see the damage. Checking yourself in the mirror, you frowned to see the new additions to your face and neck. Newt stepped into the bathroom behind you with a apologetic smile on his face. “May I help you with those? Its the least I could do after all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.” 

“Ok.” You tried your best to not blush as you took a seat on the top of your toilet. When Newt stepped forward and cupped your face in his hands again, you couldn’t help but notice how soft they were. Closing your eyes to save yourself from having to look him in the eyes after thinking that, you let Newt fix you up. After a few minutes Newt cleared his throat notifying you that he was done. Upon opening your eyes, you had noticed that his face was a deep shade of red. You reached out to touch his cheek. “Are you feeling ok, Newt? You look ill.” Without even hesitating, you stood up to press your forehead to his to check his temperature. 

Newt stumbled back from your sudden action and tried his best to reassure you. “I’m ok. It’s just uh-” He pressed and averted his eyes from looking at you. “I’m sorry Miss L/N, I would like to speak to you properly but in your state of undressed I can’t bring myself to look at you at the moment.” 

“You can’t look at me right now?” Confused you questioned him. 

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Miss L/N! Please don’t misunderstand me, its just I feel like it would be very inappropriate to look at you whilst you’re in a bath towel!” While he spoke, Newt’s cheeks grew an even darker shade of red. 

“Oh!” Once his words sank in, you instantly readjusted the towel while your cheeks grew to match his. “I uh-” 

“I am going to go check on my niffler, please excuse me Miss L/N!” He cut you to it and rushed out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give you some privacy. 

Great. You clapped your hands over your face in embarrassment.

“This was not how I wanted to see her again. How could you do this to me? Causing her so much trouble!” When you came out of the bathroom, you caught Newt scolding his niffler as he fixing your sliding door. He had the troublesome creature tucked under his arm while he waved his wand around with the other. “What am I doing to do now?” 

You smiled and magicked your kettle to start two cups of tea for the both of you. Despite everything that happened, you weren’t mad Newt or his niffler. Now that the and panic and adeline had passed, you thought the whole situation was rather funny and endearing. Newt was only trying to make sure you weren’t getting robbed. 

“Have some tea with me?” Newt turned around at the sound of your voice, the poor creature under his arm struggling to break free. You smiled at him, hopeful. “Maybe after putting your niffler away that is.” 

The shocked expression on Newt’s face made you laugh a little. “Are you sure? I mean after all the trouble we’ve caused you tonight, I wasn’t too sure if you’d even want to see me again let alone have a cup of tea.” 

You smiled at his consideration. “How about you tell me more about your little niffler there as we walk back to your flat, I’ll even bring the tea? Preferably through my front door and not the balcony this time?”

- The End -

What did you guys think? Please let me know! I know it was believable xD  Please don’t be afraid to send me a message telling me what you thought ♥ 

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[syao]

[Random] [Prompt] Alternate Universe

Read Time: 9 mins | Set in: post-Konoha Gakuen Den-verse

Twenty-year-old Tenten has always been an early sleeper and riser— borne of her lot as the sole proprietor of one of the oldest karate dojos in the prefecture. Her father (bless his soul) used to deem two-hour conditioning exercises as an acceptable morning ritual, after-school activity, and evening family bonding... even for school-aged children.

So hearing urgent knocks on her door at ten PM was equivalent to a midnight emergency of kaiju invasion proportions. Hence, she was a tiny bit disappointed when she peeked into the peephole and saw a decidedly normal, non-kaiju Rock Lee.

“Go away,” she grumbled, sliding the hole cover shut.

“Oh, did I disturb your sleep?”

“Do you honestly expect me to say, ‘Oh no, don’t worry about it! Come in and have tea and cookies with me?’ Because if you do, I’d have to break your heart. Like, literally. With an elbow strike.”

 “Ahahaha, Tenten, you’re such a joker!”

Grumpily, she finally managed to undo the fussy double locks and proceeded to throw the door open. “Okay, Lee, this better be good.”

“I brought Neji with me.” Lee then pointed to the long-haired male crumpled against the railing, face red. His head was bowed, causing his hair to partially cover his beautifully rare eyes. His usually crisp, starched long-sleeved dress shirt and necktie were disheveled, but she had no doubt that it was, indeed, Hyuuga Neji.

“K-Kaichou!” Tenten rushed outside worriedly and knelt before the male. “Kaichou, wake up! What happened to you?” She had to slap his cheek a couple of times before he responded with a breathing grunt.

She turned to Lee. “What happened to him?”

Lee shook his head. “I’m not sure. We attended one of his family business dinners earlier this evening. Then as usual, a bunch of women— daughters of his family friends, I guess— ganged up on him. And the next thing I know, Neji was dragging me back into the car looking like that and was asking me to take him away from the party because he isn’t safe.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Hired killers?” Their former school council president, along with his cousins Hinata and Hanabi, had always been targets of kidnappers and hired guns mainly due to the prominent family name they carried.

“I don’t think so. Uchiha Itachi’s agency is handling the security details of this evening’s affairs.”

“But he looks bad!” she cried, eyeing the state of her barely responsive friend.

 “Tenten, how rude!” Lee frowned disapprovingly.

 A vein popped on her head. “No, I mean, he looks really ill! Why did you bring him here instead of a hospital?!”

 The bowl-haired male shrugged sheepishly. “Well, I was about to, but while googling which hospital had the most impressive cuisine, I heard Neji calling your name so I figured he wanted to say hi to you or something.”

“GRAH! LEE!” Whatever sermon she had planned was cut short though when she heard groans from behind her, reminding her of a wounded lion from a savannah documentary she once saw on TV. Immediately, she whirled towards Neji and urgently grabbed his shoulders. “Kaichou! Kaichou, it’s me! Can you hear me?”

In response, he nodded and brusquely brushed her hands off him.

“Oh, wow! I think he’s back to his usual normal self!” remarked Lee.

“Kaichou!” She peered down towards his face, inspecting his unusually colored cheeks and quivering lips. “We’re taking you to the doctor! Just hang on, okay?”

“N-No.” For the first time since the whole conversation started, the Hyuuga had finally spoken. “I’m fine,” he continued weakly. “Just help me find a place to hide.”

Her brows furrowed in concern. “Hide from what? Should I phone Uchiha-san’s team?”

To which, the male shook his head vigorously, as if he had found a new source of strength upon processing the preposterous thought of an elite Hyuuga asking for protection from a “lesser” family like the Uchihas.

Lee peered at Neji, too. “Let’s stash him in your cupboard! No one will find him there! Heck, even you don’t know where it is!”

“Well now, I’m sorry if I’m no goddess of domestication.” Upon locating her body’s center of gravity, she proceeded to lift the limp body of the Hyuuga with her shoulders and neck and turned to her friend expectantly. “Let’s get Kaichou to the hospital, stat!”

“We can’t!” replied Lee. “Hospitals are very open spaces. He can’t hide there. Plus, there are lots of female nurses there!”

Wait, what? But deciding that her friend’s medical situation was more important than making sense of Lee’s logic, she asked, “So where do we take him?”

 “I have an idea!” Lee flung her apartment door open and pushed the both of them inside. She would have landed face-first if not for her lifelong training of recovering properly from a fall.

“WHAT THE HECK—” Tempers flared, Tenten was right about to lunge at Lee, but felt Neji’s body weighing her down like lead. Guiltily, she adjusted her stance to better support him, and then contented herself with glaring pointedly at the smiling bowl-haired male. “Rock Lee, what’s the big idea?! Now’s not the time for your stupid tricks! What if Neji’s dying at this very moment?!”

“Hide him in your apartment for now,” he instructed. “I’ll find a Hyuuga affiliated physician and bring him here to your place. That way, we won’t alert the media and give the Hyuuga Corporation any trouble.”

So Lee does think things through sometimes. She glanced quickly at the crimson-faced Hyuuga beside her. “Sounds good. But you better make it quick, Lee. I’ve never seen Kaichou like this before.”

“I will.”  And with that, Lee shut the door. She then heard the sound of hurried footsteps departing her apartment complex.

Tenten pursed her lips, and then darted her eyes back at the hyperventilating, flushed man beside her. After deliberating on what to do next, she got up carefully and began to make her way to her bedroom.

  “Come on, Hyuuga-sama! Just a taste!” A voluptuous pair of women crawled towards him, wearing the skimpiest fabric he had ever seen since the return of fundoshi. 

“Open your mouth for onee-sama...” They held out a bowl of chocolate brandy ice cream towards him, which seemed to have a particularly large yellow banana drizzled in white corn syrup…

“GRAH!!!” Hyuuga Neji shot up his bed like an arrow, panting heavily. Just a dream… thank god it was just a dream… He cupped his throbbing temple with one hand, eyes still shut tight. He could feel his whole body was slick with perspiration, causing his shirt to undesirably stick to his skin.

I need a shower. He decided to get up, but before he could swing his legs to the floor, he felt his feet make contact with something that felt more solid than air.

“OUCH!” The next thing he saw was a familiar brown-haired woman tumbling down the floor. She got up slowly, rubbing her smarting head. “What the heck was that… oh, KAICHOU! You’re alive!” Tenten’s eyes brightened when she saw him seated on the bed, which he now realized wasn’t his own.

“I… I apologize for kicking your head.” It was the first thing that came to his mind at the moment when he wasn’t sure what the circumstance was and why exactly it involved Tenten. One thing he was sure of was that ice cream and the scary onee-sama were no dreams at all. The party earlier...

Tenten’s cheerful voice interrupted his reverie. “Oh, it’s okay! I never had gotten hit by something like that before because I could always guard, but hey, it’s bound to happen eventually anyway,” she said, waving her hands reassuringly. “More importantly, are you okay?” she asked, touching his blanket-covered leg worriedly.

Her blanket, he realized, feeling the rush of blood within him again. Her bed.

 “I-It’s coming back, isn’t it?” asked the girl with the accursed keen observation skills. “Should I take you to the doctor?”

“No need.” He stiffly inched away from her, intent on not allowing any distance smaller than five feet between them. He may have slightly regained his wits, but judging from how his body was traitorously reacting to her presence right now, he knew he was still very much in the danger zone.

He saw her wince at his flinching reaction, but she nevertheless soldiered on with a sympathetic smile. “Does it hurt when I touch you?”

If only this terrible woman knew how she had easily set the whole entirety of him ablaze with those few, measly innocent words. “N-Now’s not a good time.”

Her forehead creased, but she nodded anyway. “If you say so. Should I get you a mug of hot chocolate?”

“NOT CHOCOLATE!”

She blinked. “Um, alright. Coffee then?”

“Ice cold, please.”

She gave him a hearty salute before disappearing in her pocket kitchen. “Hmmm… I swear I just saw that cupboard yesterday. I wonder where I was looking…” He could hear her muttering amidst sounds of pans and pots clanking.

Now’s my chance! He frantically grabbed his mobile phone, which thankfully was safely tucked in his trouser pockets. He quickly dialed Lee’s number. The latter answered on the fifth or sixth ring.

“Tenten, is it about Neji?!” Lee asked, huffing, even before he could even get a word in. “Don’t tell me… NOOOOOOO, he was such a good friend to us! He was like a brother to me—”

“I’M NOT YET DEAD, LEE!” he hissed, sneaking a glance at the kitchen. Still clear.

“Neji! You’re alive!” squealed the other party on the line.

“Yes, yes. But more importantly, why am I here?” he wanted to know. “I thought I told you to take me someplace safe without women!”

“But you were calling for Tenten so urgently in your sleep! It was really totes adorable by the way, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll gladly show them the recording on my phone—”

“DELETE THAT!” He had to fight to keep his voice down, which was a feat given the panic he was feeling right now. “Delete that or I’ll buy that curry restaurant you frequent and then burn it down to the ground!”

“How majestically cruel! I expect nothing less from our cold-hearted Neji-kun!” He heard several clicks, and then Lee’s voice came on, reading aloud the message alert box. “Do you really want to delete this file? No, but my friend insists, so yes, I’m really deleting the file. There, file deleted!”

“Thanks.” He let out a deep breath to calm himself, and then spoke again. “You have no idea what kind of trouble you caused for her. Back at the party, I was tricked into consuming sweets potently laced with alcohol and hormonal stimulant—”

“Is it a viagra cake?”

He ignored the question. “So it’s a bad thing for me to be here with her right now, alone in her apartment. I’m leaving in a bit.”

“Don’t do that!” protested Lee. “What if, while walking, you chance upon an office lady? Or a university student? Or a salaryman! My conscience can’t take it if I read about you unleashing your libido on them in tomorrow’s headlines!”

“And you’d prefer me to unleash my libido on Tenten?!” he snapped. “Are you out of your mi—” His words halted when an ice-cold tumbler of coffee was placed on the console table beside him.

“That’s an interesting conversation you’re having, Kaichou.” Tenten sat back down on her stool, an amused smile on her face.

“...I’ll call you back.” Without even waiting for an answer, Neji pressed the End Call button and nervously faced the woman. He gulped inwardly before he spoke slowly. “Tenten, I… I can explain.”

“Basically, you’ve been fed an aphrodisiac by one of your business associates’ daughters so they can carry your child and force a marriage of convenience between your families. Is that right?”

He did a double take. “How did you…” He was pretty sure he didn’t cover all that with Lee during the conversation.

“ I’m a woman. I know how our minds work. Also, you might have accidentally hit on speaker during your very discreet and super secretive phone call.”

He nearly smacked his forehead with his palm. Of all the stupidity...

“You kinda wounded my ego a bit back there, though,” she continued in a light-hearted tone. “I know I’m not the most feminine gal out there but—”

“HUH?! I don’t understand.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Forgetting that I’m a woman, too. I mean, how else can you explain what Lee said about you looking for me right after you stated that you can’t hang around with a woman?”

 His mouth hung open at hearing her conjecture.

She got up from her stool and moved to the foot of her bed, where he still sat frozen. “But Kaichou, you’ve been so good to me. Back in high school, you kept the girls’ karate club open even when I was the lone member. Then after years of not meeting, you recognized me right off the bat when I barged into your corporate office to negotiate our land lease. And when your family bought off the land our dojo is leasing, you hired me as a security specialist in your company because you learned that I was an orphan with nowhere to go.”

Her brown eyes twinkled warmly. “So really, if an outlet for desire is what Kaichou needs to feel better then I will gladly do my best… if you will have me, that is.” With that, she unbuttoned her top and pulled it up her arms, revealing the modestly sloped valleys cushioned by her gray sports bra. She reached for the waistband of her pyjama bottoms next.

“You’re terrible at this.”

“K-Kaichou!” she gasped when he suddenly closed the distance between the two of them in a flash. His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath fanning her face.

“You’ve got some nerve to act like it’s no big deal.” He grabbed her trembling hand and held it out in front of her face. “You’re clearly shaking like a leaf.”

She bit her lip in embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I won’t, sorry!”

Sighing, he gently placed her hand back on her lap, but didn’t let go of it. “When I take you to my bed, Tenten, it’s on terms that we both consented to,” he continued earnestly, looking straight into her eyes. “Not because you owe me anything, or that I was under the influence of anything. Did I make myself clear on that?”

“Y-Yes, Kaichou.”

“Also, then and now, never once did I not look at you as a woman.”

Her eyebrow cocked instantly. “Even in my karategi?”

“That’s my favorite look of you.” Well, second-favorite now, he thought as he clandestinely regarded how breathtakingly sensual she looked with her bare shoulders and cotton bra.

Fighting off the surge of the white-hot heat radiating within him yet again, he contented himself with lifting her hand to his lips— just as the front door banged open.

 “Neji, fret not, ole buddy! We’re here to save you now--WHOA!” Rock Lee’s eyes widened at the sight of the couple. Behind him, the only medic readily available that he could trust— Haruno Sakura— whistled, sounding impressed.

“For what it’s worth. it’s not what you think,” said Neji, his face darkening in ire.

“Sure. sure. Oh, are we in the way?” asked Lee teasingly.

But before he could reply, Tenten had spoken up.

“Yes. Yes, you are,” she replied with a grin. Feeling his stunned gaze at her, she beamed back at him.

“Duly noted.” Lee closed the door behind him with a smile, leaving the two in their own little world for the evening.

 THE END