#to mean. she’s like damn we went on this trek to an all knowing rock lady and my destiny just got stolen? the fuck.

[trollbreak]

FOURTH time is the charm lol

[“An ex-goddess, hm? Is that why you’re wasting your time drinking cheap vodka in a locker room, when you know it’s not going to do much? Or are you hoping for the blood loss to carry your weight, here?”

The woman bares her flat teeth at them, and Pyrric tilts their head. It’s hard to find someone intimidating when she lies in pieces before you. Harder still when you know that neither of you can do too much damage to the other in any reasonable amount of time.

“Is it the reason you’re getting yourself killed weekly, because the crowds pay better at the end of the week? Or maybe it’s the reason you’re baring your teeth like they could actually do anything that matters. Please, talk down to me some more while you’re still halved. I’d like to see how much you can try to puff up like this.”

The woman rolls her eyes and grabs her pants by the belt loops to pull her torso closer together, and the flow of blood only slows a little. Pyrric is almost certain those pants are going to be ruined. A shame- that orange would make for a lovely dress color, if Dari would consider dying her own clothes. But she’s made it clear enough that she’s not looking to make friends. Another shame.

“…Are you the yellow who’s fuckin’ the freak? Keeps killing you for the shits and giggles? ‘Cause gee, what a high fuckin’ horse you’re on, bleeding for some rich someone or other… gods. Leave it to the bug people to make the weird ones.”

Pyrric leans down, turning her head to be eye to eye with Dari.

“Is that my reputation now? I’d have hoped it was something kinder… but if that is the case, I’ll not have you ruin Daemia’s for it. She’s divine, in a way you’re never going to know. Not anymore. You did say you used to be a god, yes? Who do you pray to, when you die? At least the things that made me were kind enough to take my scars, to dull my p-“

They have more to say, but Dari spits at them, and they’re sputtering, staggering to catch their balance. Whatever landed in their eye doesn’t burn, per se, but they don’t want to leave it there. They might have to ask Daemia to help them with that, at the end of the night.

They’re already going to need some time with her to feel at home in their own form again… they hate when someone gets under their skin like this. Anger doesn’t suit them.

“Fuck off. You said you wanted to make friends, yeah? A fat fuckin’ success that was- do me a favor and get the fuck out. Bet I can get Junie to get you banned, if you wanna push your fuckin’ luck.”

Pyrric doesn’t know why they had expected anything less abrasive… Dari has a reputation of trying to get on people’s nerves. But at least this wasn’t a wasted trip, they have some information that a few friends will be more than happy to have, in case the empire ever reaches her home.

They stand back up with a deep breath, smoothing out their skirt and adjusting their hair around their shoulders.

“Fine. Have fun stewing in your misery, Dari… and if you want to try to find a way to cope better, I’m sure Junie can get us back in touch.”

Another breath, and they put their smile back on. It’s so much easier to be cute than to be angry… they’d like to lean into it until it feels right again.

“And have a lovely rest of your night!”]

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher  higher  higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din��please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything  shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

[waytoeden]

1.3: Where No Man has Gone Before

**note: i am aware that this is not the third episode & technically the 2nd pilot; but i’m just going with how amazon prime orders it ✋🏻

saw someone refer to this one as “the episode where they fight god with a rifle” which is hilarious and accurate

“have i ever mentioned you play a very irritating game of chess, mr spock” cute

“one of my ancestors married a human female” you mean your DAD spock??

their tan uniforms make me so uncomfortable pls put spock in blue!! put scotty in red!!

“flash the bridge” pls don’t

jim forgetting the name of this female officer??

ugh uhura, and mccoy aren’t here?? what’s the point then

a g-g-g-girl?? (this is my dad & i’s running joke whenever a new woman appears on star trek tos)

“improving the breed, doctor? is that your line?” gross

and then when she isn’t into him she’s a “walking freezer unit”

jim standing as close to spock as he can <3

i love it when they have to throw themselves around the bridge - gary rolling on the floor

“god’s in his eyes??? nah he’s just got contacts in don’t worry about it”

did the light hit them because they have a higher ESP rating?? or is that just coincidental?? and how did they make sure they hit the right ones??

the mansplaining

ugh the sick bay beds aren’t even sparkly??

okay now i’m thinking mccoy decorated sick bay himself and brought the sparkly beds when he joined the crew

for some reason jim doesn’t strike me as “a stack of books with legs”

“with almost a hundred women on board, you can do better than that” man dr. dehner is hot what are you talking about??? also jim has been up spock’s ass this whole episode

NO SEXUAL ADVANCES IN SICKBAY

“lady doctor” he can’t just say doctor huh??

even the conference room looks weird - the wooden table??

she’s mean to spock nvm she’s not hot anymore

spock’s right?? i feel like this is irresponsible of jim

“at least act like you’ve got a heart” CHRIST KIRK

“we’re talking about GARY” reminds me of the way they talk in the clone high episode where they introduce and kill ponce in the same episode

HOW IS HE STANDING UP IN THE TRANSPORTER?? HE IS UNCONSCIOUS

as if this force field is going to stop him

the phasers look so weird

damn it spock in the time you took to say that sentence he changed back

did they steal those control panels from the base on the planet?? edit: they did indeed

PHASER RIFLE!!

spock walking in with the phaser rifle is so funny

“what makes you right and a trained psychiatrist wrong?” i’m with spock here fuck psychiatrists!

“hit that button” (dramatic music & zoom in)

“haha i sure hope theres not a wire coming up to choke me i’m not even gonna look behind me to check WUH OH”

spock didn’t even get to use the phaser rifle :/

“there was some morning light. they were headed across the valley to the pointed peaks” very poetic description there doctor

the phaser rifle looks so stupid LMAO i’m so sorry

kirk slithering up the rocks again

YOU CAN SEE A HAND PUSHING THE ROCK

“let there be food” i don’t think that’s the quote gary

also gary is the funniest name for a god. just the most mundane name

ADAM & EVE METAPHOR ADAM & EVE METAPHOR

“above all else, a god needs compassion”

WHY DID HE ROLL ON THE GROUND?? unnecessary

“man you don’t even know my middle name :/ not that good of a friend” jkjk i know his original name was james f kirk i just think it’s funny

i really can’t help but laugh at kirk’s grunts he sounds like steve from minecraft

and the in pain™️ pose

KILL HIM

how did his shirt get ripped open?? really it went from one shot with his shirt intact and then the next it’s completely ripped off his shoulder

kirk’s huge ass microphone next to his chair

spirk <3

the message…man can’t be god…or something like that

OKAY AND ALSO WE DONT FIND OUT WHO WAS ORCHESTRATING THIS?? WHY THE LIGHT ONLY HIT THE TWO PEOPLE WITH HIGH ESP RATINGS?? WHY THEY FUCKING TURNED INTO GOD?? HELLO??

[slutsofren]

Danger Days Chapter 5: Skylines and Turnstiles

summary:  arriving at the University of Eastern Colorado, things start pointing to an unwanted direction

warnings: little allusions to anxiety and awkardness, everybody is finally getting along (kinda), mild sexual tension,  reader is fucking horny

word count: 3,116

read on ao3 here / danger days masterlist

You had been zoning out for about the last hour, only starting to pay attention as you saw the familiar red brick walls of the university. Joel had been droning on and on and on about football and the rules of the game, teaching it to Ellie and she lapped it all up excitedly. If there was one thing you had grown to love about the girl, it was her passion for knowledge, especially of the old world.

As they talked, you recalled your adventures the past month, thanking the stars it was a rather smooth journey to get here. The three of you only encountered one group of hunters that weren’t much trouble and they were rather well stocked on supplies and food, keeping you all fed for a few days longer.

The two horses were doing well too, the long trek didn’t seem to bother them as much as you originally worried. Made the journey much smoother and shorter than you accounted for. When you all left Jackson, it was only October, now it was maybe halfway through November. You were making pretty good time on your schedule. 

“I don’t see a glass building,” Ellie told you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“We’ll need to get to the center courtyard of the campus. You’ll see it from there, it’ll look like a mirror made of glass.” You raised a hand and pointed through some buildings, vaguely gesturing the way.

You led them into an area of the campus that led to the science center. But Joel stopped you and dismounted, giving Ellie the reins, “Stay, Callus.” After a couple feet of walking away Joel asked her, “What kind of a name is Callus, anyways?”

He goes around, searching the area for either troubles or supplies, grumbling about the name Ellie gave the horse.

“Not my fault you forgot to ask Tommy his name,” Ellie jokes and jerks her thumb at you, “Or that she didn’t know it either.”

“Hey, don’t bring me into this, kiddo. I’m just buddies with my dear Whiskey here,” you pat the neck of the black horse. He gave a little huff beneath your fingers and shook his head, enjoying the attention. “Besides, Cherry is the only one able to tell the difference between all of them.”

Joel gives you a faint smile as he reaches for the bit on Callus, guiding him through a gate into the middle of the campus that you waited by.

After being in such close proximity to each other, the two of you began warming up to the other. Of course, you still chucked snide comments at him, often calling him an old bastard when he’d piss you off or do something snide. He would reply in kind, calling you a brat and threatening you to behave.

Needless to say, that awakened a little fantasy you totally didn’t need of the man, eliciting some rather vivid dreams when you slept. Hinting that maybe you were unfortunately in need of a good orgasm to get it all out of your system once and for all. Being out in the middle of fuck-all nowhere made that kind of difficult.The mental imagery alone kept you up most nights on your watch while you kept an eye out as the two rested. Regardless, Joel had been a gentleman towards you, apparently all that southern charm was genuine but he was still a broody asshole most days, never once hinting he saw you in such a way despite how often you’d catch him staring.

Ellie on the other hand, took to you rather quickly. She would ask you question after question about California, FEDRA, what to expect with the Fireflies at the lab, what you were like before the outbreak. She was intrigued about life pre-cordyceps virus, it was as if it was a fantasy to her.

Well, you admit, you supposed it was. She was born after the virus took hold, she never got to experience the things you and Joel did in the world before.To go to a zoo, a concert, gossip with friends about who likes who in school. The only thing she knew was to keep fighting, surviving, and running. Despite how cheerful and passionate she could be about her comic books or absorbing as much knowledge as she could, you were saddened that she never got the chance to be normal.

As much as you tried to keep some things private during her lengthy questionings, you knew her curiosity was blinding. She meant no harm, likely going to you for these questions seeing as Joel was completely shut off from his past, not that you blame him. You couldn’t imagine what he experienced from what Tommy had told you before.

Ellie looked around on the horse, “So, these places… people would live here and just study? Even though they were all grown up?”

“Yeah, study, party, and find themselves. Figure out what they wanted to do with their lives,” Joel replied. He let go of the leather strap and motioned for you and Ellie to stay where you were as he walked towards what looked to be like a loading dock and began searching.

She repeated Joel’s last sentence about finding themselves, possibly turning over the idea in her mind, after a few moments of silence of both of you watching Joel she turned to you, “Did you ever go to college?”

You shook your head, silently telling her no. “I was too young when shit hit the fan, but I would explore these buildings and take the books that were salvageable. Read them when I had the time. Tried to educate myself however I could.”

“What would you have studied if you went?”

“I don’t know,” you think. Suddenly you remembered some of your favorite books that you had stolen from these very buildings. “I really liked reading the history books that I found here. Maybe I would have done something with that. Or maybe,” you ponder, “maybe I wouldn’t have liked history if not for the whole world fucking ending.”

Ellie considers this for a moment. Then, from the corner of your eye, you watch Joel disappear behind a corner and you turn towards her, “What about you?”

Ellie scrunches her face in thought. “Art. Or maybe music. I like being creative.”

You smiled at the idea, “Ellie Williams: Comedian, Artist, Rock Star.”

Ellie smiles widely and the moment is cut short by Joel announcing somewhere above you. “There was a look-out here,” his voice calls down.

Both of you look up and see Joel leaning over a concrete railing on the second floor. “That’s a good sign,” Ellie says to him, then she looks at you and asks quietly, “Right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. You furrow your brows and begin to bite on your bottom lip, unsure of what to make of things. It’s unlike them to leave a look-out abandoned. Now that you’re thinking about it, you’re pretty damn positive you’d have come across somebody by now.

You try to get your facial expressions back in check, not wanting to worry Ellie or even Joel by making them feel like something is vastly wrong with how this looks. Before, when you were with the militia group, there were armed guards practically on every roof of this campus. They were always checking in with each other, making sure none of the infected or even hunters penetrated the walls. It wasn’t always secure or even practical, more lives were lost that way but it helped protect the lab.

You’re pulled away from your anxious thoughts as you spot Joel. He takes one last look around then comes down from the loading dock and gets back on the horse he’s sharing with Ellie and looks to you, gesturing his hand out in front of him. “Lead the way.”

You give Whiskey a little kick and he takes off, jumping over a concrete barricade then leading them up some stairs and under some ornate arches and pulling the reins to the left. With a motion of your hand you point to the science building in the distance, “There it is. The one with glass walls.”

Ellie looks over his shoulder and huffs a surprise, “It really does look like a glass mirror.”

Unfortunately there was a locked gate between the group and your destination. “Question is, how are we gonna get through here,” Joel thinks out loud.

After looking around it seems the only way forward is through the crumbling buildings. Joel dismounts from Callus once again and led you both through a broken wall on the left that led to the inside of the old library.

“How many people you think are there? Fireflies, I mean,” Ellie wondered.

“Reckon it takes quite a crew to run that operation,” Joel looks at you.

You nodded at both of them idly, “Yeah, when I was here we had at least a few dozen, maybe more. I kind of kept to myself.” 

“You think there’ll be other people my age,” she asked, not letting her eyes look up towards you.

“I do.”

The three of you approached another locked gate inside the building, essentially cutting off both the library and the rest of the hall you were in from each other. Joel pulled on the handle and it creaked open, Callus and Whiskey both shuffled and whined, making you and Ellie shift on them.

“Woah, woah, woah, what is it boys,” Joel tried to calm down the horses.

Your attention got pulled away when you heard a shriek and Ellie said, “Sounds like runners.”

Joel looked back behind him then forward at you, “Stay together. I’ll go check it out.”

“Joel, no wait,” you try to argue as you dismount but he closes the gate behind him.

“Stay with her,” he tells you. “I don’t want the horses or her runnin’ off again.”

You give him a hard look that he mirrors, neither one of you wants to budge but the look in his brown eyes make you waver, finally caving into his demand. “Stay alive, you stubborn old bastard.”

His lips twitch, hints of a tense smile wishing to creep on his face. He puts his hands up on a calm gesture as he removes his backpack, removing the shotgun from it and pocketing a couple extra rounds as he stands back up. “I’ll be right back,” he says your name softly, his voice deep and rich, “I promise.”

As he walks away, you inhale a deep breath and your heart is beating. You’ve come to hate it when this happens, not that it did much. Whenever the three of you found yourselves in a tight situation with the infected, you each carried on with taking them down. You hated this, hated that he felt the need to do this on his own.

It fuckin’ sucked waiting.

Just as you were working yourself up more, you heard five consecutive shotgun blasts. Then silence. Ellie must have noticed your worry because she announced loud enough for Joel to hear, “Hey, I was thinking… I would’ve wanted to be an astronaut.”

“That a fact,” his voice rang out in the distance, echoing off the library walls.

“Yeah, can you imagine being up there all by yourself? Would’ve been cool. I’m just sayin’.”

You opened up the gate, leading Whiskey inside the library, still simmering with whatever the hell you were feeling. Ellie trotted her horse past you to another gate, this one opening with a panel and leading back outside to the courtyard on the right.

Faintly you could hear presumably Joel starting up a generator three times and then panel next to the gate lit up. You pressed the button, opening it up then went back to Whiskey, jumping up into his saddle.

Joel came back down the steps and grabbed the reins to Callus and his eyes fell on you, “Told you I’d be right back.”

“What about you? What’d you want to be,” Ellie asked him.

Joel looked away, focusing on something in the distance as you all walked out the opened gate. He scratched at his beard and admitted, “Oh… well, when I was a kid I used to want to be a… a singer.”

You raised your eyebrows and gave a small laugh, Ellie did too. “Shut up,” she said jokingly.

“I’m serious.”

“Sing something”

“Ah, no.”

“Come on, I won’t laugh,” she begged.

“I don’t think so.”

You watched as they both bickered over this, Ellie even tried to pull you into the conversation, saying your name, “Come on, tell him we won’t laugh!”

“Maybe he can treat us after a successful creation of the cure,” you compromise. Joel turns to you and ponders.

“We’ll see.”

The three of you make your way down the steps, then turning to the left, continuing your trek to the science center. Ellie gets Joel's attention, “She said she wasn’t sure what she would have done.”

“Is that so?”

You shift your weight on Whiskey, “Yeah. I mean, I like history now but back then? I didn’t really have a plan after graduating high school. I didn’t really click with anything, y’know?”

He absorbs that information and ponders. “Yeah, I get it.”

The silence took over and whatever anxiety you had was lessening yet amplifying the closer you got to the building, still wary of the fact you hadn’t seen any sign of the Fireflies aside from the abandoned look-out. Joel got back up on Callus as you approached the center of the school and together with Whiskey, jumped over another barricade.

The view in front of you was a much larger campus courtyard, with a giant fountain in the center decorated with a statue in the middle of it. Ellie was the first to notice a small group of bright orange monkeys and cooed at them as they chattered and swung around the clearing.

“That was kinda awesome,” she said as they swung away into a nearby building.

You smiled at her reaction and asked, “First time seeing a monkey?”

She nodded and repeated, “First time seeing a monkey!”

Atop the two horses, you all keep looking around searching for a sign of life but finding nothing. Leading you all down another outside corridor. Joel offers, “Maybe these guys like to keep a low profile.”

Ellie, now sounding less energetic, half-heartedly agrees.You bank right, vaguely remembering where to go when she points to a wall to the left. “Hey, look. Fireflies.” When you turned to look, you noticed the old wall tag.

“Yeah, it was to help point the way to the building we were in, in case new recruits got lost or something like that,” you tell her.

You pull into another corridor that is also blocked with a gate. To the right of the wall is a painted sign, saying ‘disconnect generator when not on duty’ in bold white letters.

Together, each of you gets off Whiskey and Callus and attempts to lift the gate to find it won’t work. The damned thing wouldn’t budge. Joel grumbles, “Probably have to find the generator.” He walks to a barricaded doorway to the right and peers around it then kneels. “It’s gotta be through here.”

“Joel, you are not going by yourself again,” you tell him.

He looks over his shoulder at you and cocks an eyebrow at you. The two of you, once again, locked in this damned game. He sizes you up with an intense stare and he already knows he’s won. You groan loudly, “If you die in there, just remember I told you so, old man.”

“Watch Ellie, you damned brat.”

He turns and crawls under the barricade, giving you a bit of a nice show of his ass before entirely disappearing. You roll your eyes to yourself as you turn back around, standing near Ellie and the two horses.

“So,” she starts.

“So?”

“What’s going on between you and Joel?”

It was so unbelievably hard to keep your face in check, to keep your internal screaming from etching your facial expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Ellie.”

“You both look like you want to fucking kill the other in their sleep.”

“That’s because I do.” Amongst other things.

You cross your arms in front of you, mindlessly showing your defensiveness on the topic and definitely not trying to tell the obviously fourteen-year-old who has never had the sex talk about how your body is screaming with alarms to get dicked down by the first person you see. Mentally scolding yourself for your predicament. How dare he.

“That’s just Joel,” she says. “He’s always like that.”

“He needs to learn how to work as a team or else we’re all going to end up dead, or worse.”

Gunshots cut the conversation short, the two of you ducking close to the ground, both pulling out weapons. It was difficult to tell where the shots came from because the two of you were still in a tunnel but you whisper-shouted, “Joel!”

Nothing but eerie silence responded to your call, settling in your bones. It took everything you had in you to not bolt and look for the man but both you and Ellie looking around for any sign of him. “Son of a bitch, this is exactly what I was talking about,” you groan frustrated.

Seconds ticked by that dragged into forever-long minutes. You weren’t a nervous person on missions, always trying to stay hyper-focused but truthfully, you don’t know how you’d handle the return journey with just Ellie.

Before you could work the nerve to go search through the maze of dorms, Ellie notices him before you, “Joel! Are you okay? What happened in there?”

“More infected, I’m fine,” he shouts, exiting a door from the far left, as he runs over to where you and Ellie were standing still, waiting for him.

“Here - come open the gate!”

As Joel pulls the generator to the wall to plug it in, Ellie tells him, “Holy shit you’re lucky you came out of there alive. She almost ran in after you.”

Suddenly you felt like you couldn’t breath under your coat as you gave Joel a sheepish look. “I didn’t want to have to explain to Tommy that I got his brother killed, alright? Don’t let it get to your big head, cowboy.”

Joel raised a brow at you then grunted, resuming to kickstart the generator to power the gate. It came alive kind of loudly but you resigned, only to mount your horse again choosing to ignore whatever Joel or Ellie could be thinking.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

Camping double date with Miphlink and the Yiga Husbands??

This is a TERRIBLE idea. Why? Because Kohga loves to live like a king, so camping is something he HATES. Unfortunately, Sooga got to pick the double date idea, and he LOVES camping. So, let's go!

 "We could've gone sunbathing on a beach. Could've even gone to the shores of Zora's domain. But no. You just. Had to pick the FUCKING woods!"

Sooga chuckled as he checked the sturdiness of the tent. Mipha and Link often went on double dates with them(to show their support), and the four of them took turns on where to go. It was Sooga's turn, and he picked a camping date. Not JUST a camping date, but a camping date up on Satori fucking mountain. It meant they had to fucking HIKE. And Kohga was hating EVERY moment of it. It must’ve been obvious, given the fact that Mipha was staying with him as Link and Sooga lead the pack. Sooga was grinning as he walked backwards, clearly not trying to sound giddy.

“Master Kohga, this is a nice change of pace, is it not? The smell of trees, the plentiful resources? It’s lovely. I mean, not as lovely as you, but still lovely.”

“You’re using flirts to keep me from going home.”

“Is it working?”

“...kinda. But don’t push it.”

Sooga nodded. Him and Link were having just a ball during this little trek, and it was JUST because of that, that Kohga wasn’t making him pick him up. Mipha chuckled, lightly nudging Kohga.

“Do be patient. Love is full of that. I’m sure he appreciates being out here.”

“He better, I’m taking all his future turns.”

The climb was slow, exhausting, and Kohga was SO goddamn happy when Sooga and Link started to unpack their things, ready to set up camp. It was near the top of the cliff, and a number of trees decorated the rocky land. Kohga sat down on a log, groaning. Kohga wasn’t in bad shape, but hiking was just AWFUL compared to working out at home. Dirt, animals, all of it just sucked to him. He’d MUCH rather be working out at home (Kohga could name other ways he could work a sweat with Sooga).

“Why THIS spot? There’s BARELY any stable ground, and these trees barely leave us rooms for the tent.”

Sooga nodded as he finally undid all of his prep work.

“It’s true, but this spot is special, I swear. Now, if you’ll excuse us. Link, you first?”

Link nodded, and started to clear the trees and bushes. Not all of them, but enough to give them actual stable land to pitch tents in. Kohga watched as Link and Sooga chopped the trees, tossing them in the corner for firewood. Mipha chuckled as she sat next to Kohga.

“Hey. At least we can watch the boys do a little bit of labor.”

Kohga gave her a bit of a side eye. Mipha was really starting to know him.

“I mean, true, I do like watching cute guys do hard work. Think Sooga’s showing off for me?”

“Absolutely.”

They both shared a bit of a giggle, and immediately Kohga felt just a bit better. Even if a fuck ton of bugs kept hovering around. They both finally finished, pitched their tents (one for each couple, for privacy of course), and Sooga immediately started to make a fire. He was pretty good at it, getting it ready and roaring just when Kohga was starting to lose patience. Sooga patted the dirt from his hands, and walked over, grabbing Kohga’s hand and kissing the back of it.

“I left some food for you in the pack, but I’m going to catch something more...lively. I will come back in a moment.”

He turned to Link, who was already starting to unpack the food bags. 

“Link, keep an eye in my stead. Precious cargo here.”

Sooga walked off to god knows where, and Mipha smiled her precious little smile.

“He loves you very much. I can tell.”

“Yeah yeah. Makin’ me trek all the way up here, all sweaty and shit. He loved me, he would’ve picked an ACTUALLY good trip.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Mipha, I love ya, but stop being right about things.”

Link even seemed to smile about that, bringing a bunch of bananas over to Kohga. At LEAST he packed him something good to eat. Link helped a bit too, going to a nearby tree to pluck some fresh durian fruit. Link gave them both fruit as he tended to the fire, and Kohga SAW that swoon on Mipha’s adorable face.

“Hey, I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“You swooning over your man, you little minx!”

Mipha stammered, but as Link looked over, shooting her a wink, she knew she had been had, hiding her face in her hand, and trying to hide at Kohga’s side. Kohga laughed, shaking his head.

“You two! Got it SO bad! It’s precious! You two really deserve to be together.”

Mipha peered past her hands, to make sure Link wasn’t looking anymore, before looking back up at Kohga.

“Well thank you. Father appears to think so, as does Sidon. Can I uhm...tell you a secret?”

“Shoot little red.”

Mipha covered the side of her mouth with her palm, keeping her voice low.

“I made Zora armor for Link. I’m planning on giving it to him this week.”

That was Zora lingo for ‘marriage’ essentially, and Kohga nearly jumped off his seat, hands thrown about wildly.

“YOU’RE SERIOUS?!”

The sound of his scream made Link miss his shot, about to shoot a bird for dinner. Upon missing, he turned to scowl rather heavily at Kohga, who muttered an apology. When he turned away, Kohga finally found his heart back in his chest, rather than his throat.

“You’re gonna get MARRIED?”

“I’m planning on it, yes!”

“Mipha, lil’ red, I love you to bits, but you’re SO young! How could you want to get married NOW?”

Mipha turned to look at Link, gently cocking her head in a loving, adoring fashion.

"I'm certain I'll never find another for me. I adore him with all my heart. I want to marry him. Very, very much. Do you...not think it's a good idea?"

"No no! I mean, great that you wanna settle. It's great. I fully support you both. I just...the idea of getting married is weird to me, I guess. But I mean, so long as I get to be the best man."

"That's my brother."

"Okay fair. What about flower girl?"

"Riju."

"Ring bearer?"

"That's Midnight."

Kohga threw his arms in the air, in total disbelief. 

"Who's Midnight?!"

"Link's horse."

"...That's actually super cute."

"Isn't it? If it helps any, you can help me pick my wedding outfit."

"Deal."

They both shook hands, satisfied with the deal. Kohga held onto her hand for a moment, clearing his throat.

"But uh...don't tell Sooga, yeah? He's wedding crazy, and if he hears you're gonna get hitched, he's NOT gonna let me hear the end of it."

"End of what?"

They both turned to see Sooga, carrying an entire honeyvore bear over his shoulder. Kohga should've been surprised by his man carrying a whole ass bear like a sack of flour, but he really wasn't.

"Nothing. See you got dinner."

"I did. I was going for a mountain goat, but this one didn't seem to know how to behave. I trust Link has been taking care of you in my stead?"

"Totally. Cut us up some fruit like a good boy and everything."

Kohga pinched Link's cheek as he came over, eager to show his arms full of freshly killed pigeons. Sooga chuckled, rustling Link's hair.

"Quite the provider you have here, Mipha. Should you two marry, I can assure you'd never go hungry."

Kohga tried not to groan. Marriage ALWAYS came up with his ass. It seemed to make Link a bit nervous too, as his face turned dark, and he went back to tending the fire. Mipha giggled into her palm.

"Thank you, Sooga. That's sweet of you to say. But I'm not looking on proposing here and now, so."

Sooga shrugged as he started to cut through the animal's hide, getting it ready for the flames.

"The future is fickle. Who truly knows?"

There was a smirk in his tone, even Mipha seemed to catch onto it. Kohga rolled his eyes. The idea of marriage was so ridiculous to him. Being tied down to one person forever? Fucking ONE piece of ass forever? Not his thing. But hey, he wasn’t Mipha. He scooted over next to Sooga as soon as he put the meats over the fire.

“Sooga, how much longer till it’s ready, you think?”

Sooga chuckled. His Master LOVED to eat, and while he was no chef, he could cook some good, fresh meat over a campfire. He cut a piece of the meat, showing Kohga just how raw it was.

“It’ll take a good minute, Master. Unless you’d like it raw, then I can serve you a piece now.”

Kohga stuck his nose up at it, and Sooga, for some reason, found his face so charming.

“Who wants to eat raw ass-”

Link snatched the piece from his hand, stuffing it in his mouth. Kohga sighed.

“Right. Link. The guy that will actually eat ANYTHING. You remember the time he just, ate some fucking rocks?”

“I recall, yes. Yet, he makes a VERY good fish pie.”

“Hey. Bad enough we HIKED here, don’t you even bring UP fish.”

Sooga gave a light shake of his head, even as Kohga smacked at his tit. He was lucky he was fine, else Kohga wouldn’t put up with his nonsense. They spent a good moment in idle chit chat (how restoration to kingdoms were, recent training practices, new dishes, the usual stuff you’d talk about with folks you more or less considered family), before Sooga handed Kohga a healthy plate of food. Fried wild greens, and spiced meat skewers (Kohga ALWAYS had Sooga bring goron spices whenever they went out. Kohga put it on EVERYTHING, especially meat). Kohga helped himself, digging into his meal hungrily. Sooga was a shit cook in a modern kitchen, but when it came to spicing and cooking meat out in the wild, Sooga was damn good enough. Juicy insides, and a nice, crispy outside. Him and Link didn’t talk as much, in favor of eating ravenously and enjoying their meals.

“Sooga, you don’t like goron spice?”

“Not especially. I always give my portion to Kohga, who loves it. But I prefer mine lightly salted. And I'm not the only one, it seems."

A raven seemed to trot over to them, eyeing Sooga curiously. It welcomed the slices of meat Sooga tossed its way, and Sooga noticed Kohga’s look of interest.

"Birds always did seem to like me, for whatever reason. Watch."

Sooga brought his hand down, and almost immediately, the bird jumped into his hand, eyeing everyone curiously. Kohga leaned over and lightly poked its head, making it squawk.

"Huh. That's why Revali thinks you're hot."

Sooga shook his head, as if something smelled. 

"I wish you hadn't told me that. Makes me wish birds hated me."

"What if it was Teba?"

Sooga took a moment in hesitation, before lightly nodding.

“I like Teba.”

“EVERYONE likes Teba, can’t say I blame you here.”

Sooga gave the crow another scrap of meat, before motioning for it to leave, which it did, but not before looking back at Sooga once more. Mipha handed her plate to Link (who always ate whatever she couldn’t finish), before softly nodding.

“That’s honestly quite charming. I’m personally really good with fish, though it might be a Zora thing.”

Then the most odd thing happened. Link put his plate down (with food STILL on it), and nearly leapt towards Mipha, clearly excited. She seemed surprised for a moment, before chuckling.

“Oh, you want me to show them, don’t you?”

Link nodded again, wildly. Mipha held onto her head fin, and the spots on her skin seemed to glow, which seemed to glow brightly as the sun soon seemed to die down. 

“Woah. Since when could you do that?”

“Always. It’s made to attract fish, bugs...Hylians.”

Link was just enthralled in her spots, fingers carefully brushing against her skin. She sat there, as flattered and flustered as a young princess could be, while Link just sat there, adoring her like something out of a story book. Sooga looked down at Kohga, who was enthralled with them both. With the moon gracing the sky, now was just as good of a time as any.

“Master Kohga, I think these two need a moment of privacy. Could I...show you something?”

Kohga nodded, quietly helping them sneak away. This somehow ended with Sooga leading Kohga god knows where, covering his mask with his hands.

“Sooga, why can’t I just close my eyes?”

“You peek.”

“I won’t this time! Maybe!”

“Relax, Master Kohga. We’re almost there. Now, be silent.”

Kohga stopped talking, and just trusted Sooga to guide him. He was about to take another step, when Sooga stopped him in his tracks. His voice was in a hushed, low tone.

“Open your eyes.”

Kohga did just that, and couldn’t believe his eyes. Blupees. Blupees , surrounding a lake, littered in cherry tree petals. They all sat there, hopping about, grooming their long, orange feelers. They hadn’t been noticed yet, and it was incredible. Some sipped at the lake water, some seemed to hop amongst the piles of petals. Kohga kept his voice low, in disbelief.

“You...knew they’d be here.”

“I did. This trip was the perfect opportunity to show you something as beautiful as you are. I take it you’ve never seen them up close?”

“No. Only in books. They’re...so different in person.”

Kohga took a step forward, making a branch snap. They thought it had been the end of it, when one of the blupees turned to look at him. But then, it chose not to run. Rather, it hopped right to Kohga, standing on its rear legs and eyeing him curiously. Kohga glanced at Sooga, before looking back towards the creature.

“Thought they were skittish?”

“They’re supposed to be. Unless they consider you not a threat.”

“W-hey! I’m plenty threatening! Go on, get!”

Kohga knelt down and pointed at it, only for it to bump against his hand, and snuggle into it like a stray cat. Kohga grumbled in a mixture of confusion and amazement, before another blupee walked over. Then another. Then another. They all scattered about him, clearly fascinated and eager to rub their little faces against him. It made Kohga fall on his ass, trying not to step on them. Sooga knelt down to him, ever ready to be of assistance. Though, it seemed the only thing his master was in danger of, was getting a permanent scowl. He chuckled.

“I don’t think they find you too threatening. Foolish creatures, honestly.”

“I should be making these bunnies shake in their boots dammit.”

Kohga raised a hand in accusation, before a blupees seemed to fall right into it, desperate for a good petting. Sooga took a small step forward, careful not to spook them, before he clunked his mask against Kohga’s.

“You...never cease to amaze me, Master Kohga. You’re incredible. These creatures thrive on purity. I can only imagine how much of it is in your heart.”

Kohga scoffed, playfully pushing his face away with his hand.

“It’s nothing like that, these things are just dumb. But… this is sweet. YOU’RE sweet. And as much as I hated the hiking, the bugs...this was nice. I don’t ever think I’m going to forget this, Sooga.”

“So I did good for my turn?”

“Good enough to try again, yes. God you’re so dumb and pretty.”

Sooga chuckled. He parted his mask, as well as his master’s, and was about to lean in for a kiss, when suddenly a shadow peered over them. Both of them jumped a bit, scaring a few of the blupees. Kohga stood aghast at the creature, while Sooga looked stiff.

“Is that...the Lord of the Mountain?”

“Yes. Aka, one that brings curses upon the land it walks.”

Sooga brought out his weapon, and aimed it right between its faces. The creature stared at him, before slowly walking past Sooga, and stopping right in front of Kohga. It slowly brought its head down, right into Kohga’s lap. It looked at him with it’s intense, bright eyes. Kohga looked unsure of what to do, before he slowly, carefully, brought his hand right next to his face. Kohga motioned wildly with his free hand, totally in disbelief.

“I’m petting it! I’m THIS cool! Can you SEE this?!”

The Lord seemed comforted by his hand, eyes lidded as Kohga’s hands nestled and scratched at it’s fur. It was brief, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression in Sooga’s mind. The creature pulled away after a moment, before dipping its face into the water, taking a sip. Then it took a step towards Sooga, and promptly spat water at his face. With a snort, and a stomp of it’s hoof, it turned, and started to graze within the water. Sooga turned to look at Kohga, who was trying VERY hard not to laugh.

“Pffft! It spat water at you! Holy CRAP, he does NOT like you!”

Kohga lost it at that point, pointing at Sooga and just losing himself in laughter. He only stopped once Sooga knelt down, and held his hand in his own.

“I’m. So in love with you, you couldn’t even fathom it-”

“This shit again.”

“Say the word and I’d be your husband IMMEDIATELY.”

Kohga groaned, using his other hand to smack his forehead. It wasn’t entirely Sooga’s fault that he was so lovesick though.

Not when the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, got to pet the Lord of the Mountain.

[faorism]

needing the au to drop wherein i can commit to writing a historical au,, because since i first watched the db cooper job my mind went straight to OT3! OT3! OT3! (unlike with the van gogh job, since i aint playing with that fucking lieutenant)

one day maybe one dayyyyy i will sit down and i will write the ot3 into that episode's story. so, it'll be the backgrounds for the characters in the flashback (so, stephanie ritter, steve reynolds, and reggie wilkins), but with the necessary personality adjustments (parker, eliot, and hardison respectively). basically, vintage ot3 with some hot as hell aesthetics and secrets and avoiding as much as possible producing copraganda.

so. my thoughts. what i see happening. and this got super long so im throwing this under a cut. and for ease i will call them by their modern day canon names except when making a point.

first, general thoughts about the characters.

and so: steve to eliot. nothing much here on the surface. eliot still volunteers, too much an indoctrinated white man to have been forcibly drafted. so its still one man gone to war. one man come back. eliot would had been noticed early in training for his ability to pick shit up, and they teased at maybe sending him to a special unit. maybe they do, or maybe they don't because they just need to funnel fuckers to the jungle. the vietnam invasion was a terrorist imperialist venture and there's no romanticizing from me about anything done being at all valorous or special or brother-in-arms'y. and eliot commits war crimes under the american stars and stripes instead of just to keep moreau's champaign running. but also maybe moreau is eliot's superior. he certainly would have been rewarded for this ruthlessness. (eliot of course strove to impress moreau because there aint an eliot spencer who wasn't that man's dog at some point, i!!!! dont make the rules). eliot's friend died and eliot's gone off to carry out his wishes and moreau lets him because he Knows eliot is gonna come back. whether its to come back to the same squad, or follow him into deeper spy shit for the military, or to fuck off and go private. then eliot meets parker.

now. stephanie to parker. beth plays normal so well im mad at her, but there's something edgy and strategic about stephanie that i think parker can grab onto. i feel that maybe she was kind of a thief still, but there's more realism to this world so archie wasnt a super secret spy with lasers to practice with, but just a guy with sticky fingers whos a little bored and wants a protege. parker is good really good at what she does, and not having to deal with lasers makes me easy. but she's into scams that are less grifts and more Catch Me If You Can slight of hands. she's always looking for easy money (she was into lifting cars at one point! literally she follows where the crime is). she's doing something in an airport and someone tries to recruit her as a flight attendant because she's got the Look. and yall, flight attendants? that shit was like being a model and an astronaut and a time traveler back then. and according to a teacher i had, who once worked as in the f.a. union, those ladies back in the day were rad and queer and free spirited and runnnnning shit. i think, yes, it's a Job which i think we might resist placing parker into. but! of the jobs, at the time, i really see her rocking it during the time period. (also come on, the opportunities to swindle distracted people of their shit would be endless. they would just think they dropped their stuff in the airport! not that it was stolen.)

finally, reggie to alec. i think hardison will be the hardest to translate. even tho i admittedly listen to a lot of true crime podcasts, i dont know much about fbi life and also definitely don't know about it historically. part of me desperately wants to put him somewhere else even if it does have to stay within the fbi. i might cheat and make him like a Q(uartermaster) to 007/00s like in james bond, and he's like UGH this is horrible god i hate working for the fbi but they will give me funding so...... anyway, here's this totally cool [radio term]. that said, if hardison is stuck in the fbi, why he ends up there is that he is a fucking savant when it comes to research and the man can put together a presentation like no one else. that white man gets all the credit for profiling but it was hardison who goddamn was the google of the microfilm days. reggie felt super square but that might be because he had to deal with mcsweeties db cooper shit day in and day out for years. hardison is more himself. and definitely still a nerd. alec would be into dime fantasy novels and comics and ham radios and oh god he also would be into star trek like the original star trek as it came out and he would be into the zines yes! yessss. omg. also he plays a mean arcade cabinet. but he's mostly well adjusted but lonely. his colleagues dont appreciate him because fbi esp during that time were fucking wilding out and racist as hell aaaaaand im sorry im srry im trying so hard to have fbi hardison make sense but also! acab. ANYWAY.

second, the relationship

i think it would be fun to play with what it means to have parker/eliot start off first and bring in hardison afterwards. (if white collar is your thing, it would be like this canon divergent ot3 fic wherein peter burke is the last to join in.) i feel they would be Super Intense esp since they are carrying this big ass secret. kind of broken and dysfunctional and there's the passion and the commitment, but i think there's also a tenderness that's super hard for them to achieve? and i think there's a way that hardison plays such an important part in who they are and how they are. like, sure i think parker/eliot would have joy but they won't have levity. they would have compassion but they won't have gentleness.

eliot meets hardison after being recruited by nate. i think they get close because while nate and eliot have an interesting and compelling mentorship/friendship, nate is still eliots superior; sometimes its nice to complain about your boss, as hardison will say to eliot to try to make friends. i think hardison and eliot would become legit friends and not just work buddies because they are just not cut out of the same cloth as the rest of their colleagues. they grab beers after work. after hard days, hardison cajoles eliot into going to the arcade. they are friends. real real truly deep best friends, in a way hardison didn't think he could have with a fed and eliot didnt think he would have after his friend died. but also? they are like "buds" who are buds who are desperately tryna to cross any lines because there's a.... tension? an UST between them they dont know what to do with.

parker meets eliot by way of a "lets have my friend for dinner, he's a blast." and immediately immediately hardison is like... wow this woman is beautiful but like, really attracted to her personality. and parker things hardison is kinda dorky but cute dorkie? anyway, they have a puppy love situation growing. and it keeps growing until bam. eliot and parker are like. are we into alec???? fuck we are aren't we.

i think stephanie and steve would never tell reggie (even if somehow they were to be a thing). but parker and eliot? hell yeah they tell hardison. eventually. after a while. sooner than maybe they should. the tension if they should say something is one of the things that build up as UST between them for so long; parker and eliot know they are carrying this huge thing. two huge things. eliot being db cooper and also their massive crush on him.

if i could control myself to stick to a pwp, it would be another christmas. maybe the christmas nine (more?) years down the road. the damn snow grounded hardison's flight back to his nana's, and parker and eliot hear this and invite him over. the egg nog gets flowing and parker eventually is like,, fuck this. and comes onto hardison. and hardison would be like wow wow what but... idk, free love and swinging were In The Thoughts And Minds Of The People. he still checks in with eliot who is like. her body, man; i aint gonna tell her what to do. and for a sec hardison is like, man is this a cuck situation? i guess i can be for it but also...... aint mad if i aint alone. and eliot is so grateful and idk. i just want them all to be happy and having fun and no one to be left out. and yeah i am kinda brushing over a lot of the racial politics which, in a more developed fic rather than a pwp, would definitely need to be brought in; but idk that needs to just be in the bedrock of whatever plot is going into this.

it takes a lot of maneuvering of their lives but they make it work and eventually hardison is a keeper of eliot's secret too.

(apart from the historical aspect, another reason i probably won't actually write this is because i know myself. i would want to do worldbuilding. i would follow eliot and alec to their jobs, but i wouldnt want to write outright copaganda. the grit/realism i would be comfortable with would take a level of research i dont think i can commit to. but if someone wants to take this up or if you figure out a way around this issue, pls do i wont be mad)

[rainbow-glare]

Alright so guys this is my first written series. it's of star trek so if you guys find mistakes please don't come after me. And enjoy.

Summary:

Jim Kirk is captured by an unknown species and he has no idea where he is but he makes some unexpected discoveries in there and make some new friends and meets some old ones.

Warning: There will be mention of torture (I mean guys get use to it), and blood.

Part 2 new revealation

Jim's pov

So it's been a few hours and she just went to sleep.

Ok, now I am getting impatient. I want to ask her Questions... alot of them

Like how did she get here and how long has she been here. Honestly the crazy part is that the crazy fucking no mouth people didn't come here.

The door creeks open.

"Shit I spoke to soon" jim says out loud.

They come near Jim and drag him out of the cell. He saw Emily stir awake and look at him. A few more came in and stood beside Emily. Jim really didn't want to know what they were going to do to her.

They drag him out of the cell. And took him to the torture room as Jim started calling it.

They started to torture him. While he is being tortured. He likes to think about his family and crew. He thinks about those awesome chess games with Spock. And bones screaming at him for getting that paper cut. Hehe. He laughed at there last one.

He sreamed in pain when they cut into his skin.

"Fuck you" he sreamed at them. They didn't even budge.

He remembered how Uhura would be screaming at him when she would be learning to perfect the Klingon after their last in counter with them. And when sulu and checkov  playing rock, paper,scissors when they would get board of just sitting on their chairs looking at scans. And who can forget Scotty. Poor guy was always screaming at keenser to not mess up the warp core and kill us all. And Carol he would think of her when he was alone cause he loved her and didn't think of her when he getting tortured.

When They were done with him and they draged him back to the cell.

When he got back there he saw Emily with a few tears in her eyes.

She immediately wiped them and looked down of her lap.

Jim didn't ask Any questions about what happened to her.

He sat down and waited for her to speak. After a while she finally said

" Your pretty brave. I like that but they don't. They want to see u scream in pain " she paused for a moment " don't talk back at them and scream sometimes. They let u go quicker "

Jim just froze for a moment. How does she know all that he thought to himself. He knew he had to ask her now.

"Look I didn't want to ask u but how long have to been hear for "

"Five years" she said

Damn that took him off guard five years Jim couldn't think of being here for a month and she has been here for 5 years.

"Ok... And how did u get here" Jim asked.

She looked down. Idiot Jim thought to himself. she clearly doesn't want to answer that and then why did u say that.

" I don't want to... But something tells me that I can trust you " Emily replied.

Jim felt good that she was starting to trust him

" I... Am from a family called the Richards. We are family of blood  and we don't accept people who are not our own " she paused.

Jim knew she was fighting with herself to tell him.

" Hey hey u don't have to tell me if u don't want to okey... "

Emily smiled "no I want to so I will."

Jim nodded

"I.... My mother had a one night stand with someone making me a not so pure daughter and for that reason my father hated me and my mother was relatively normal compared to my father. I had many siblings but the ones that treated me normally were my older brother John and my other sister kira. I don't know what had gotten into them but my parents decided to sacrifice me to the black sea and kill me to make the bloodline pure again."

Jim was shocked

"Anyway I will continue so they just said that they were gonna take me to a vacation place and since my parents had never treated me like their own I thought they were going to and as u can y see that didn't go so well and ended up going and before they were going to sacrifice me my sister kira gave me an oxygen mask and told me to wear it as soon as I got into the water I thought she had gone crazy but that's what ended up having my life and I ended up on shore where these people captured me and tortured me for 5 years"

Jim could not believe his ears. He didn't know what to say.

Alas he said

"I am so sorry"

"Ehhh... I have gotten used to it" Emily said.

Jim looked down.

[vonahalv]

Wait - That’s a joke. Right?

This deal couldn’t have gone worse. The thought played over and over in her head as she was crouched down behind her cargo crates. She heard blaster fire and smelt burning hair.  That last shot was too close for comfort. 

“Damnit.”  Waiting for a stop in the blaster fire, she chanced a peek up over the crates. I don’t see him.  Sliding back down to the floor, she yelled, “Bowdaar, where are you?!”  His growling cadence reverberated from across the room.  He was under fire himself and couldn’t move in her direction.  From her right, a strong voice rang out, “Do not worry Dali. I have observed a pattern in their fire. You will be alright.”  

She turned in the direction of his voice and saw him striding confidently in her direction.  “Dezzak?! What are you doing here - I thought you were staying on board.”  The air around him shimmered, a sight she had become used to after all of these years.  He was pulling the Force around him as a shield.  Flashing her a smile as he settled behind the crates next to her, he replied  “I was, but then I felt something was going terribly wrong. Looks like I was right.”

“I am so damn happy to see you.”  Bowdaar growled the same from his position and Daliett pointed behind her to the left.  “He’s hunkered down behind those crates.”  Dali took a moment to appreciate the quiet strength he radiated and looked into his beautiful violet eyes.  “Well - Get us out of here cream puff.”  She loved seeing the exasperation on his face at the nickname she gave him years ago.  “Dali, how many times do I -”  his retort was cut off as a thermal grenade landed nearby.  She looked at him and shrugged.  

Dezzak closed his eyes and moved his hand.  The grenade lifted, and as if with an invisible hand, was thrown back in the direction of the attackers, blowing up not two seconds later.  Dezzak pulled Dali to him and she felt the familiar warmth of his arms, drew in the smell of his soap and let herself forget the chaos for a second. The explosion rocked across the room, but where the two of them sat, everything remained intact, another Force shield keeping the two of them safe from the raining metal.

Bowdaar growled from behind them and Dali rose, turning, and using this opportunity, began firing at the pirates across the room.  Dezzak walked forward, calmly, pulling up crates and throwing them at those attacking them.  Bowdaar provided cover fire for Dezzak, ensuring that anyone looking in his direction would not be doing so for long.  Within moments, it was over.

“Is everyone alright?”  Her voice rang out across the now quiet warehouse.  Dezzak and Bowdaar both gave their affirmation, but Dali noticed that Bowdaar was nursing a wound.  “I’ll get you patched up at the ship Bowdaar - let’s get what we came for.”  Dezzak walked over to the highly decorated crate the pirates had been guarding.  He opened it and peered inside.  “It’s all here, blossom. We have retrieved what we came for.”

She walked up beside him and held his hand.  “Thanks for the rescue. You’re my hero.”  He looked down at her and smiled. “You say that every time.”  As she looked up at him, and before her brain could catch up with her heart, she threw her arms around his neck.  “It’s because it’s true every time.”  And with that she stood on her toes and kissed him.  

Bowdaar stood there, speechless. He watched as she kissed Dezzak, and as Dezzak wrapped his arms around her waist and let her.  Finally.  A creaking of metal and a falling piece of scaffolding brought the three of them back to the reality of the moment, and both Dali and Dezzak broke apart.

“Um.  Um.  I’m… Uh..We should go.”  Dali blushed and bent to close the crate before turning on the suspension so they could float it out to the ship.  “Right. Yes. We… uh….I’ll scout ahead to ensure we’re safe on the way back.”  Dezzak turned and began the trek back toward the ship.  

Bowdaar took up pace near Dali and growled quietly.  And all she said in reply, and for the remainder of the journey back to the ship was, “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s about time.” 

The next two days on the ship were awkward - for everyone but Bowdaar.  He seemed to walk around with a permanent grin on his face and laughed anytime Dali or Dezzak had to pass by the other in a corridor or in the break room. The laughing did not help the mood, and at one point Dali seriously considered punching him in the same wound she had just recently patched up.

Dali spent most of her time in her work room.  Since she had gotten Dezzak to see the fun in nicknames, he had been trying some out on her.  It’s all here, blossom.  That was new, and she liked it.  As she worked, she thought about him and everything they had been through together.  She remembered the chagrin on his face when he told her he had to approve Jalak and Cina getting married.  The blush she brought to his face on Corellia when she asked for a kiss as payment for her work.

And most recently, the way he felt when he held her in that warehouse.  She picked a pink flower from a plant on her desk and added it to the other flowers, roots and leaves in her jar.  Soaking it all in alcohol, she covered it and decided to go speak with him.  

For his part, Dezzak attempted meditation, reading, pacing, even watching some of his favorite historical documentaries.  While it helped, everything would crumble when Bowdaar would chuckle as he walked by.  The chuckle reminded him of the kiss, of how she felt when his arms, which have a mind of their own apparently, wrapped around her waist.  

He thought of the times she had patched him up and how her fingers felt against his skin, and the way she cried for him when he shared parts of his life that had caused him pain. 

He rose from his meditation pillow and decided to go speak with her.  

As each of them came out of their respective rooms and turned down the hallway, they saw the other already headed in their direction.  

Dali blushed, stood her ground and gave a small wave.  Dezzak blushed, stood his ground, and gave a small nod.  Tension crackled through the air, and the ten feet between them felt as if it could be a mile wide.  They both spoke at the same time.

In a very rushed and apologetic tone Dali started with, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t…” and at the same time Dezzak said, “ I was thinking I’d like to repeat…”

The two of them stopped and Dezzak said, “You first.”  

A minute went by as she processed what he could have been trying to say.  She took a step closer to him as she asked, “What do you mean you’d like to repeat -- repeat what?”  Her question had a teasing tone to it, one he was still getting used to. “I’m not sure I can call up a firefight on demand, you know.” She paused.  “Or was it the two days of awkward silence we’ve endured?”

He noticed she deliberately left out the kiss, and he knew enough of her by now to know this was the joke.  Now, he could turn the tables on her.  “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.” and he turned to return to his room.  He was rewarded with a sigh, and finally understood the joy she took in exasperating him.  After he had moved a few paces he heard, “Wait. That’s a joke, right?”

He laughed and turned to find her right behind him.  He was regularly surprised with how fast and quietly she could move when she wanted.  Wasting no time, she threw her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed him.

[shabre-legacy]

Nyaisa’s final Coruscant Scene

I technically should have written this scene after the rest of Nya’s Ord Mantell and Coruscant story, but it was in my head and wouldn’t leave so I could write anything else. So here it is. Takes place just before she leaves Coruscant for Taris. 

Warnings for: Verbal abuse and minor violence towards a partner. Most of the language is below the cut. (doesn’t get away with the behavior)

The walkway between the senate and the nearest Coruscant spaceport was long. Had it always been this long? It hadn’t seemed so the last three times she’s made this trek, but still...Nyaisa couldn’t tell when it had gotten so kriffing long. She moved with purpose. They might not have to run this time, but that didn’t mean they had time to waste. 

Her squad followed a step behind. Jorgan on her right, sniper, experienced, good instincts, tough and uncompromising, but willing to give advice, very grumpy. Ikhirr Jhasis walked to her left. Same training as hers, a frontal assault and search and destroy specialist. also a sergeant, good friend from the academy, Cathar, efficient, good-natured, kind, tough, likes pranks, dislikes Jedi. 

Both these men answered to her; which she still found strange. Only a few days ago she’d been a sergeant and a new transfer. Now she was a lieutenant and CO of her own spec-force squad. One with a seemingly impossible reputation to uphold, as if she needed more challenges. She’d do it of course. This wasn’t a matter of can or can’t. It was a matter of duty. Even if she couldn’t, she would. 

As she crossed the interior of the hanger, she noticed a familiar face waiting for her. Nordan Allgard, an army lieutenant and her boyfriend of 3 years, currently on leave on Coruscant before shipping out to the outer rim in 4 days. 

She had prepped a message for him during her shuttle ride and sent it as soon as she set foot on the planet. Nya told him about her transfer and promotion, her new command and new CO, she’d even told him that she would be on Coruscant. Thank the stars for secure intra-military communication. She did make sure to note that while she was on planet, it was for debriefing and work and she wasn’t sure how long she’d be here or if she’d have time to see him. No point in getting either of their hopes up. 

He hadn’t responded. Days of running around Coruscant, rescuing the senator, making their way back, all the meetings she’d had to attend. Days he’d had her message and no response. He hadn’t ignored her like this in years. 

It was a bit odd and out of character for him to come to see her off on a mission at the spaceport. Nevermind how he found out she was headed here in the first place. That was secure spec-ops details. Not available to the regular army personnel

Part of the appeal for both of them was that they understood each other. They both had their own reasons for being soldiers and they both understood that for the other and for themselves, the job would always come first. It had been that way since their academy days. It made what time they were able to spend together all the more special.

Honestly Nyaisa knew how lucky she was to have found Nordan. As a soldier, she was fantastic, but as a person, well, she could acknowledge her faults, she was difficult. She was arrogant and cold and brusque. Her time in the refugee camp had given her abandonment issues, Mirial, a hero complex. Not knowing her father meant she had massive daddy issues. Add to that the fact that she was obnoxious, talked too much, had no sense of humor, an awful temper and an obsession with weapons and thus with death and frankly, she was surprised that Nordan had stayed as long as he had. She’d probably never find anyone else that would put up with her and her moods. 

He was standing in the doorway of the hanger between the lounge and her ship. Coruscant’s sunlight dripping through his auburn hair to shine like pure gold, and making his face tattoo fade. He looked every bit as handsome as he ever had. But there was something off with him. Something in the glint of his dark eyes she could barely see, something dark in the crumpled way his uniform sat, in the way he stood rock still, face hard set as they approached. She’d only seen this look on him a few times, he was furious. 

She didn’t have time for this! As much as she wanted to sit down with her lover and let him talk about what had gone wrong this time, and fix it, and comfort him. She couldn't. The mission was too urgent. 

She altered her path slightly. Moving just enough she’d be able to squeeze his shoulder as she passed. She knew Ikhirr enough to know he’d move. 

However, instead of letting her pass by when she approached without slowing. He stepped directly in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. “We need to talk now.” He said, his voice low and angry in a way that had never been directed at her before. His eyes scanned her face, pausing briefly at the new, still healing scars across her jaw and neck. Instead of concern, there seemed to be almost disgust. When had he become this angry at her? What had she done wrong this time?

“Sorry Allgard, no time, I’m on duty and shipping out.” She spoke sharply, but was careful to have no edge to her tone. No use in making this worse, but hoping to remind him she was working, and spec force, and in front of her squad and other soldiers littered around the hangar. 

“We’re talking NOW!” he growled at her. 

She narrowed her eyes. She put up with a lot from him because she knew he loved her, but this was crossing a line and delaying a General’s orders. 

She didn’t have time to waste on anything unnecessary. She barked quick orders over her shoulder. “Jhasis, get onboard, stow your gear and start running inventory in the galley and medbay. Jorgan, start those preflights. I want off the ground soon as control clears us. Start inventory on the armory soon as we lift off. I want full reports by the time we hit Carrick.” 

Her men, ever professionals, saluted quickly and stepped around heading towards the ship. As soon as they were a few steps away, Nyaisa lowered her voice and started to step away herself. “I don’t have time today, Nordan. Garza gave orders and they’re time sensitive. We can talk later, but right now I have to go.”

As she stepped past, he grabbed her arm, yanking hard. Nya was pulled to a halt and harshly spun around to face him. “You bitch.” He spat “Do you know what you’ve done? How much you’ve humiliated me?”

“The only thing I’ve done is be exceptional at my job and get a promotion. If you’ve heard otherwise, someone’s lying to you. Let go of me!” She yanked her arm away and glared at him. What had gotten into him?

“Do you even understand what kind of shit I put up with from you.” The anger, the hate in his voice, he could be nasty sometimes, but he’d never spoken quite like this. She must have really screwed up somewhere. “I mean, I let you stay with the army training, I let you join ground troops instead of taking an administerial position where you belong, because it made me look good. My family, their friends, I could introduce my army girl and we were the very picture of republic loyalty. But this shit. This is too damn much.”

Was...was he seriously angry she got promoted? And Let her? She’d joined the army herself, she went where she was ordered and fought where she was ordered, what part of that was ‘let’? 

“What the..” 

“Shut up and listen!” He roughly cut her off before she could even reach the middle of her sentence

“I let you go around like you’re so good and so tough, when you’re really just a pathetic bitch who tries too hard and everyone knows it. And this is how you repay me? By running off and getting into the most famous squad of the republic?”

He was...He was actually angry about her transfer to Havoc! And where had all this venom and cruelty come from. She knew he liked to show her off, but she’d thought it was because he was proud of her. And these nasty comments. It wasn’t the first time he’d said such things, but never with such hate in his voice. He just wanted to help her become better. This was something else and it was starting to make her angry.

“Then to top that, you just couldn’t accept that I was the better soldier. You had to try and one up me, again. You just had to get yourself a promotion and a command. Do you even comprehend how humiliating that is?”

“You’re out of line, Nordan. If you have a problem with my success that’s your problem, not mine.”

He growled again and took a step closer to her, using his height to try and intimidate her. “I told you to shut up. I’m not done. Now, on top of everything else, which I might have been able to forgive eventually, you decided to go and disfigure yourself with those hideous things” he gestured roughly at her new scars. The ones she’d gotten surviving an imperial ambush while deep inside an imperial base, alone and betrayed. While yes, they were a little ugly, new scars always were, she wasn’t ashamed of them. Soldiers got scars, that's just what happened. And while the memory of the circumstances still stung, she was proud of them. They meant she’d survived something that should have killed her, and that was something she refused to let Nordan make her feel bad about. Why did he always try and make her feel bad about everything she did?

 “HEY!” He reached out and grabbed her jaw, shaking her head roughly. She knew her squad had stopped and started watching the moment he’d raised his voice and the other soldiers were staring too. “Pay attention when I speak to you.” He forced her head to look directly at him instead of off to the side, where she had been staring so she could think. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to go back to the oh so special General Garza.” The disdain that dripped from his voice on her name was unnerving. “And you are going to resign your command effective immediately, you’re going to resign from the army completely. Then you are going to go to my room at the Cantina and we’ll see if I feel like forgiving you.” 

Nyaisa was done. Somehow, his attempts at giving her orders, pulling her from the job that was her life, forcing her to abandon everything else that meant anything at all to her, the things for which she’d dedicated her entire life, it broke something. She could see him for what he was now. A bully and a weak man who’d spent the last 3 years desperate to control her. “NO!”

“Excuse me!” the look in his eyes darkened more, if such a thing were possible. 

“I said No. I will not resign. This is your problem, not mine. I have a mission I’m going back to. We will talk about this later.” She’d have some strong words for him, but he needed to cool down first. A few hours and he’d realize how foolish and inconsiderate he was being. She was sure of it. Then they could talk about his behavior and his control issues. 

Crack!

Her head snapped to the side as a stinging pain exploded across her face. He had slapped her! He had straight up backhanded her across the face! Not only did he dare to raise a hand against her, but he’d done it in public! In front of other soldiers! In front of her squad! The men who were supposed to take her orders! Fury like she’d rarely felt exploded across her chest and as he raised his hand to strike her again and likely yell at her, she acted. Grabbing his arm as he swung, she spun him around and jammed his arm into a lock with just enough force that she knew he’d feel it. He’d know he was a single movement away from broken bones. She leaned in close and spoke loudly enough for those on their feet starting to hear, for her squad that had rushed back towards her to hear. “You do not get to hit me. You do not give me orders. We are done. You come near me ever again for any reason other than a direct order from a superior and you will face a lot worse than an armlock. I am not your toy. Never have been, never will be.” She shoved him away from her, hard enough that he stumbled forward and fell as she turned and holding her head high started towards her ship. 

“You alien whore!” She could hear Nordan spit behind her. “How many people did you spread your legs for to get that promotion. Did you fuck Tavus that first night or did you at least wait a day.” 

Nyaisa could feel the tension around her as she passed Jorgan and Jhasis. She saw Jhasis’s fists clenched out of the corner of her eye. He was ready to beat the man. One more insult and the rules of military interactions, rank and his rather impressive self control would cease to matter. “Jhasis, Jorgan, fall in.” She strode to the ship and opened the door. Focusing only on getting inside and out of the gaze of these soldiers, away from Nordan. She could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She thought he’d loved her. She just had to hold it together enough to get off the ground and make the jump to hyperspace. Then she could close the bridge. 

“How long did it take you to hit your knees for Garza, bitch? You…” As the door opened, Nordan cut off his sentence. She turned to see the two Cathar striding away from Nordan who was again lying on the ground, this time holding his nose and glaring as they walked up and as she stepped aside, they moved silently onto the ship. She stared for another moment as Nordan lay there on the ground holding his nose surrounded by the other soldiers staring at him in disgust. How had she ever thought of him as anything more than a pathetic worm with apparently massive issues? And as much as it hurt, she knew she’d be glad to be rid of him someday. She turned her back and left him in the hanger as she stepped inside, walking quickly past her boys. The tears pressed harder against her eyes. She moved around the corner and started to the bridge, quickly wiping at her eyes for the second she was ahead of them and out of sight. “Get to work, I want off the ground in five.” She’d handle this when she got a little privacy. How she was so stupid to fall for him, the aftermath and reports she’d have to file for what had happened, all of that could wait till they hit hyperspace and she’d left this disaster far behind. 

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter AU- 15

Masterpost

“Sooooooooooo.” He drew out the word in the hopes that by the end of it he’d have a conversation.

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Lambert snapped at him.

“I know. But fishing is way more fun than stone repair. Besides I haven’t gone swimming in a while and it’s starting to eat at me.”

“It’s the middle of fucking winter.” They both pulled their jackets a little tighter around them.

“Some of my forms are insulated enough that its not actually a problem thankfully.”

“Which one’s the best? That way I know which one to skin you for.”

“You didn’t skin me that first night, you’re not going to skin me now. Especially since I’m the warmest person in the keep.”

“Right now you look colder than me.”

That was true. He was cold. That dragon form ate through his – well Ciri’s- magic like a pack of starving witchers. He wasn’t sure that he felt colder than he did before but it certainly seemed like it.

“How much further to the damn lake?”

“She’s getting close.”

Ciri was ahead of them. Well out of hearing range for him and probably her but not Lambert. He suspected at least. But he could still hear the melody of her song. Cautious. Eager. Excited.

The snow crunched under their feet and he finally thought of a conversation. “I haven’t actually met that many other witchers.” Lambert snorted. “Is your friend from a different school or did they just not want to come back for winter?”

Lambert stopped and growled at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He took a step back. Lambert took a step forward.

“The night you arrived? When you almost skinned me? You remember that right?”

He’d been camped outside Ciri’s door. She was having nightmares. He could hear it in her song. But they said he was being overprotective- Overbearing even- going to her every time she had a nightmare. So he was camped outside her door. Her white wolf ready to wake her if they became intense enough she’d bring the keep down around them.

Then Lambert had arrived.

Covered in snow from the dangerous trek up the path and exhausted and swinging.

“The fuck did a wolf get in here!”

He shifted out of the way of the blade at the last moment before jumping into human. “Geralt’s bard! I’m Geralt’s bard! Please don’t kill me!”

His stance eased but he didn’t put the sword away.

“That’s not Geralt’s room.”

“No- no you’re right. That’s Ciri’s room. His- Geralt’s child of surprise.”

“Oh I bet Eskel loved that.” He slowly eased the sword back into its sheath. “And you’re sleeping outside it because?” He didn’t let go of the blade.

“She has nightmares.” And he didn’t want her to bring the keep down around them if they got out of hand. “Why would Eskel have a problem with it?”

“That’s weird. None of your fucking business shifter.” He stalked off. The scent of him still tickling at his nose.

A smell that had changed the next time he’d smelled Lambert.

“You smelled different. Like another Witcher. Which I thought was just you but you don’t smell like that normally and not for nothing but you witchers all have a rather distinctive smell.” Like death and destiny. Heartache and heroics. Also onion. It was rather distinctive. “So I didn’t think your friend was human.”

Lambert shoved him into a tree. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

He blinked. “Alright then?”

“Don’t fucking mention him again shifter. Got it?”

“So it’s a him!” He chirped. “Promise not to mention him ever again!”

Lambert shoved him. Turned sharply and stalked off.

“So he’s not a wolf witcher then?”

“What did I just fucking say.”

“How’d you met? Was it on a hunt? Do you work together? They say two can live as cheaply as one which I haven’t found to be entirely true but that might just be since Geralt can’t live off bird seed so.”

A knife was pressed to his throat. “Don’t. Fucking. Mention him again.”

“Alright. I just thought you might want to talk about your friend.”

“I don’t.”

“I’d just be very sad if I couldn’t talk about Geralt all winter. So I thought-“

“You thought wrong.”

“Okay.” Lambert eased off and with one more glare hurried toward the lake.

He followed quick at his heels. Lambert shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“His name’s Aiden.”

“A lovely name.”

“Fuck off.”

“Lambert the lake’s frozen!” She called out when they arrived. “I thought we were fishing!”

“We are.” He passed her a bomb and lit it. “Better throw that quick.”

She did and he pulled her behind him as Lambert shielded them with quen when the ice shattered.

“Well that’s certainly quicker than drilling a hole.”

He grinned. “I think so.”

They huddled next to the hole. Lambert directing Ciri how to set the bait.

He stared at the water. His skin itched.

He dove in.

Above he heard them yelling mutedly. He swan through the water. A fish darted past him.

He chased it.

Chased it up and up and up and-

Right past the hole.

He popped his head out. Chirping his annoyance.

They stared at him blankly. He grabbed the net and pulled it into the water. Lambert grabbed the handle before it slipped under, cursing his confusion.

He dipped back under. Chasing a fish right into the net.

After a few attempts of course.

“That works.” Lambert said pulling the squirming fish out of the water.

He chirped his approval and caught them a few more.

Then he got bored.

He dredged the bottom of the pond, carefully avoiding the sharps that occasionally lined the muck.

And then he found it.

The perfect stone.

He pulled it from the muck. Speared his way from the depths. Scampered onto the shore.

Held it up for their inspection as he chittered its praise to them. Explaining exactly what made this stone perfect.

It’s the smoothness you see. And the color. The color and the shape and the size. Yes see this is the perfect stone. You must agree. I mean. Look at it!

They both stared at him. Heads cocked.

“Do. You want us to throw it?” Lambert asked. Face scrunched in uncertainty. “Geralt mentioned throwing sticks. Is that like this?”

He held it closer to his chest. NO. HOW DARE YOU EVEN SUGGEST SUCH A THING. THROW MY PERFECT STONE! HOW DARE YOU!

He raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s? Very nice?” Ciri suggested.

He nodded. Turned it over in his paws. It was very nice. The shape the color the-

A small patch had dried and it was. Rather less impressive.

He set it down and dove back in.

This next one. This one was actually perfect. Yes. This one was.

But the shape was.

He dove back in.

Again.

Again.                      

Again.

Ag- “Jaskier we should head back soon.”

Her hand stopped him from jumping back in. He looked up at her. Her cloak had a light dusting of snow. When had it started snowing?

Couldn’t let the pup get cold. He stepped away and shook dry as Lambert readied their haul for transport.

“Are you going to carry all those back?” He asked, motioning to the. Well rather sizeable pile of stones.

He shifted. Pulling the cloak tighter around him as the leftover moisture froze against his skin. “No I suppose not. Sometimes my instincts just get the better of me.”

“Otters collect rocks?” Lambert cast the stones a disparaging look.

“No. Its. It’s about finding the perfect clam breaking stone. Not. Not that I have any real idea what that would look like.”

His teeth were starting to chatter. Probably not a good idea to stay in this form much longer.

“You’re just trying to find the perfect stone?”

“More or less.” He agreed with her.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Felt,” Feels. He internally corrected. “Important.”

She frowned before digging through the pile herself. Selecting one.

“Here!” She dropped it in his hand. “The perfect stone!”

He looked at it. The small oblong shape of it. The mottle in its color. The way it fit in his hand.

“You’re right. It’s perfect.”

 He paced the length of Geralt’s room. Flipping the stone in his hand. Waiting.

He didn’t know why he was waiting. He’d taken Ciri to bed. Left the witchers to their family time. Because he was tired after nearly freezing on the trip back from the lake.

Yennefer had agreed to come. She’d be here soon.

The thought didn’t fill him with dread.

He paced the length of the room. Flipping the stone in his hand. Waiting.

He really wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. What he planned on accomplishing. What instinct he was feeding.

He went over to the mirror. Pulled off the cap.

It was filling out quicker than he’d expected. It still wasn’t good. But the sheered sections seemed to have grown quicker while Ciri’s magic had warmed his chest.

His ears were cold though so he put it back on. Adjusted it until it looked perfect.

And then after too long had to give up and settle for nice.

He paced the length of their room. Flipping the stone in his hand. Waiting.

The fire was lit. The bed was made. He straightened the pillows anyway. Then he felt very silly because he’d never much cared for made beds. Preferred them ruffled and nested and smelling like them.

Which this bed did. Unlike all the beds at the inns. This one was theirs. Smelled like theirs. When he was in a form that could actually distinguish such things anyway.

The perfect stone. He didn’t know why that was so important. Why he’d scoured the lake looking for one. Why even hours later that instinct still rooted itself so firmly in his mind.

Yennefer was coming. He really didn’t think it would be a problem.

But his mate had loved her once. Or. Or something. She’d been something to him once.

Which was fine. She’d been something to him too. He didn’t know what she was now.

She probably didn’t either.

He looked at the perfectly made bed and hated it. Jumped on it. Shoving pillows and blankets and furs every which way.

“Jaskier?” He shoved the blankets around. It wasn’t right. Something about it wasn’t right. “Jaskier.”

He looked up to Geralt’s face. Grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bed.

That was better.

He rearranged the bed.

“One of my instincts is going haywire and I don’t know why. Just. Indulged me?”

Geralt took a pillow and laid down on his side. Watching him. “Lambert said you pulled up half the lake today.”

“It felt important.” He readjusted one of the blankets. Fixing a wrinkle he didn’t like.

“Is this an otter thing?”

“I don’t know!” He threw up his hands. “I’m not an otter and I’m not a dragon and I’m not a wolf and I’m not human and I don’t know how to be any of them!” He yanked on the awful cap with both hands. Stone still pressed into his palm.

“A Jaskier thing then.” He didn’t turn around to look at him. Still kneeling in the bed. “What’s upsetting you?”

He looked at the bed. Felt the stone in his palm. “This beds just ours right?” He let go of the cap. Rolling the stone in his fingers. “Even when Yennefer arrives?” The words started and they didn’t stop. “Because you agreed to be mates and I know you didn’t really know what you were agreeing to just like how you didn’t know what you agreed to when you bonded with me and I’d really like to know before Yennefer arrives if I’m going to need a different room because I can’t. Griffins mate for life and I can’t. I can’t-“

Geralt pulled him down into his arms. “This bed is just ours. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m nervous about Yennefer too.”

“You should be.”

“Hm.”

He turned the stone in his hands. Turned over in the bed so he was facing Geralt.

“Got you something.” Geralt hm’d his interest. “The perfect stone.” He said opening his palm for Geralt’s inspection.

“The perfect clam cracking stone?”

“I don’t actually know what that would look like. I’m not a very good otter.”

“It’s very nice Jaskier.”

“I found a bunch of stones and then Ciri picked this one out. So it’s perfect.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Do you want it?”

His face twitched. “It’s your stone.”

He looked at it. His gut was twisting anxiously for some reason. “Do you want it?”

“Jaskier what are you really asking?” Geralt was studying him. He wasn’t sure either. “Is. Is this how otters propose?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really an otter.” He looked at it. Turned it in his hand. “If it was would you take it?”

Geralt took his hand and guided it, guided the stone to his lips. “Yes. I would.”

“Oh.” He watched Geralt press his lips to the stone. His breath warm on his hand. “Do I need to ask Vesemir before?”

“Why would you need to ask Vesemir?” His face curling in amusement.

“For his permission to marry you? And I suppose I’d need to ask Ciri too. It’s only fair.”

Geralt leaned forward and kissed his brow. “You can ask them in the morning. Why don’t you ask me now?”

He bit his lip. “Well maybe you need to ask. I’m the viscount. Maybe I need to be properly courted.”

“You’re a viscount?”

“Well I was. At one point.”

“Do I need to court you?”

“I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“Your answer.”

Geralt smiled. “Maybe you should ask the question.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?”

He took the stone between his fingers. “Gladly.”

[hyperpsychomaniac]

Who Says You Can't Go Home - Chapter 5

Darkwing Duck (90s series) fanfiction

Sequel to my recent fanfic The Other Side of Me

Summary: Down on his luck, the Negaverse Launchpad crashes at Launchpad’s parents looking for help. Launchpad, who has avoided visiting his family since he started working with Darkwing, returns in a panic to ensure his double isn’t causing trouble. And then it gets awkward.

Chapter 1

***

“Why aren’t the rivets with the rivet gun?”

“Because they’re fasteners. Not a tool. And you think you’ve got it hard? I think he’s arranged the sealants by… viscosity?”

“Viva what?” Launchpad slammed the doors to the tool cupboard he’d been riffling through, and moved onto the next. Despite the organisation of their parents’ hanger, finding the right parts they needed, without leaving anything behind and as quickly as possible, proved a challenge. “And what ever happened to using chewing gum?”

“Wrong viscosity. Hurry it up. We’ve got to get out there, rivet back up the strut, seal the wing and let the sealant dry…”

“It can dry as we tow it. This would be easier if we could just bring it straight back and fix it in the hanger.”

“Do you want to explain what happened?”

Launchpad gritted his teeth. “Finally, fasteners! And no, I don’t.” He jammed his hand into the box containing the right sized rivets, and pulled out a fistful. A couple bounced out and found their way into nearby containers. He stepped back and pushed the rivets around in his hands, counting to make sure he had enough along with a couple spares. “I wish you’d never convinced me to fly through that damned canyon.”

“You flew where?!”

Launchpad spun around and threw himself back into the cupboard, slamming the doors closed behind him. The entire thing rocked under the impact of his weight. Inside, the clatter of hundreds of airborne fasteners bounced around and off the metal walls. The rivets he’d held scattered across the floor.

Ripcord McQuack’s gaze trailed one of the unfortunate rivets across the floor, then snapped back up to Launchpad. “You went to… the canyon?”

Loopey sidled up beside him. “Told you. Deja vu.”

“Launchpad! Answer me!”

“I… yes?” What else was he supposed to say?

Ripcord’s chest heaved. “I told you kids you were never allowed to fly there.”

“Dad, calm down,” said Loopey. “We’re not kids anymore, remember?”

“Then how come I find you two riffling through everything like a couple teenagers and creating a mess?”

Launchpad exchanged a look with his sister.

“Launchpad!”

“Why am I the one getting yelled at? We just had a… minor…”

Ripcord looked around the hanger. “Loopey, where is your plane?”

“At the bottom of the canyon. Its fine,” she said quickly. “We’re just going to have to tow it out.”

“You’re here for five minutes and you take your sister…”

Loopey pushed past her brother. “Launchpad didn’t take me anywhere. I’ve been to the canyon before. You know, when I come and visit and go out flying by myself and decide where I’m going like an adult is supposed to?”

Ripcord swallowed hard. “You’ve… Launchpad could’ve, you could’ve… don’t you think I told you not to go there for a reason?”

“Yes, but what reason?” Loopey threw her arms out wide. Launchpad let her talk. She was getting through to Dad a lot better than he would’ve. He was taking her more seriously too. Launchpad should’ve been mad but he just wanted this to be over. “You’ve told us not to go there, but you have never, ever, told us why. We’re adults now. If you don’t want us to do something just tell us the reason. We’ll listen to you. But you can’t expect us to do what you say, with no explanation.”

“Okay, fine, I’m overreacting. Just tell me what happened.”

“I broke a strut on the canyon wall. We figured we…”

Ripcord paled. “What?”

Launchpad wasn’t letting Loopey get in trouble for this one. He stepped up and put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Dad, it’s not her fault. I got too close on top of her; she didn’t have room to move.”

“You were right on top of each other? What the hell were you doing in there?”

Launchpad swallowed. “Racing.”

Ripcord squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “You have no idea how stupid that was. Anything goes wrong in there and there is nothing you can do…”

“That’s not true. Loopey landed the plane just fine, and…”

“Enough! Just forget it. If you’re going to act like children, you’re both bloody grounded.”

Launchpad rolled his eyes. “You can’t actually ground us anymore.”

“Want to bet? I’m not talking about sending you to your rooms. I mean literally. These are mine and your mother’s planes. We decide who flys them. And for the rest of this visit that doesn’t include either of you.” Ripcord stomped over to the jeep and began rearranging the tools the siblings had already haphazardly packed. “Don’t worry about your mess. I’ll clean it up myself.”

Launchpad felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he kept his beak firmly shut. He was way too old to be grounded. But arguing would just make him sound even more childish. He was done with that for this visit.

Beside him, Loopey folded her arms across her chest. She also looked a little flushed. “What the actual heck? We’ve all flown in tight spaces plenty of times before, done dangerous stunts... And I thought I’d never have to hear another grounded pun again.”

Launchpad watched his father rifle through the jeep with his back to his kids. He was going to go get that plane all by himself. However bad he was reacting, that wasn’t his fault. And however innocent it had been, racing through that spot had been pretty dumb. “I’ll go out with him. It’s kind of my fault.”

“Not completely.”

“I know,” he smiled at his sister faintly. “Speed demon. Go on, don’t worry about this. I should spend some time with him anyway.”

“Thanks, big brother. Good luck.”

Launchpad sidled over to his father. “Dad, I’ll come with you. You’re going to need help.”

Ripcord straightened, rubbed at the corner of his eye, then turned to face his son. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You want to fly like a maniac, that’s your business. But when you’re flying with someone else you’ve got a responsibility for them too, especially if they’re family.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Do you want my help or not?”

Ripcord swallowed. “It’s going to be a long drive. Sure you want to spend that amount of time with me?”

That look in his father’s eye. It was trying to be anger, but there was something deeper, more desperate. He’d definitely put this off way too long. “Yeah, Dad.”

***

The jeep bounced and rattled across the dirt track as they started the trek out to the canyon. Ripcord drove, one hand on the steering wheel. He was the first to break the silence. “I should probably let you know, Gosalyn was mucking around with… Launchpad… she hit her head. She’s okay!” he said quickly, when Launchpad jerked up from his slouch in the passenger seat. “I’m pretty sure her dad can take care of her. Just thought you should know.”

Launchpad huffed. “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s done it. What did Launchpad do?”

Ripcord shrugged. “Whatever it was he felt pretty bad about it. He wouldn’t have meant to hurt her. Kids… stuff happens… it’s not his fault.”

“As long as she’s okay.”

“You really care about those two, don’t you?”

Launchpad groaned. “We’re not dating!”

Ripcord smirked. “I know. I think your mother does too. But can you blame her? You’ve been so secretive.” The smirk slipped from his beak. “Me and your Mom, we’re sorry for lying to you. It’s just that we haven’t seen you in so long. And you’ll talk to your Mom on the phone. But you always seem to manage to hang up before I get there. And, well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something anyway and I wanted to do it in person.”

“I’m not trying to avoid you. It’s just… complicated…”

Ripcord glanced across at him, and Launchpad dropped his gaze to his lap. His father smiled faintly. “It’s okay. I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s going on.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.” How was he supposed to tell his parents about Darkwing Duck? He had to tell them something. But he hadn’t talked to DW about this, so he didn’t even know what would be okay to share. He didn’t want to put his friend in a spot. He had his secret identify for a reason.

“Launchpad, I get, it really, I…” Ripcord huffed. “Okay. You don’t think it was weird for us having a guy that looked exactly like you crash onto our doorstep, bleeding and begging for help?”

The Negaverse Launchpad. It was certainly a safer topic. “Yeah, what happened to him?”

“He crashed in here with a broken arm, near exhaustion. Told us, once he’d woken up, that he’d gotten involved with air pirates. He was a bit of a mess. When he woke up he was throwing punches at doctors and I thought I was going to have to sit on him or something. Until your mother calmed him down. I guess he didn’t expect us to take him to a hospital and all that attention actually scared him. Since he left Saint Canard he’s just been butting around, not knowing what to do with himself. He didn’t just come to us because he was hurt. He was at the end of his rope and he needed someplace where he’d feel safe, with people he knew he could trust.”

Launchpad had set him up with a plane but then he’d left him to his own devices. Those two weeks they’d spent together, his double had been an wreck for most of it, as he’d progressively worked up the courage to tell him more stuff about Negaduck. He’d only started to pull himself out of it once the plane had started to come together. It had been naive to assume he’d be alright out here by himself. “I told him to stay away from Saint Canard. I guess he thought he had no place else he could turn. Guess I didn’t help him as much as I thought.”

“Son, he can’t stop talking about how much you helped him and how you made him that aeroplane. Its weird, one moment he’s trying to fight your mother’s plants, and then he’s getting all excited about that scrap heap you built. You helped him plenty. But he was on our doorstep, hurt… I think, at that point, seeing him like that, we…” he gulped, then shook himself a little. “We thought of you. We just went into full blown parenting mode. But after, well, we started asking questions. He told us about the Negaverse.”

Launchpad nodded. “And Negaduck?”

Ripcord’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Oh, yeah. And Negaduck. I tell you, if I ever get my hands on that manipulative piece of work…”

“Dad, do not mess with Negaduck.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Follow what I’m saying here. Launchpad explained where he came from. That he’s your twin from another universe. He told us he works for Negaduck, and that Negaduck is the twin of Darkwing Duck, you know, infamous vigilante from Saint Canard.”

“Yeah…”

Ripcord sighed. “He had to explain how you guys met. Launchpad, I know you’ve been flying a plane for Darkwing Duck.”

It was everything he’d been trying to figure out how to explain and he hadn’t known how to tell his father and then it was just… done… over… and… he still didn’t know if too much had been revealed. Launchpad sunk into his seat and put his face in his hands.

“That’s why you haven’t come to visit, isn’t it? Look, I get some of its got to be secret stuff. But if this Darkwing Duck has been bullying you, or…”

“Wait, wait,” Launchpad jerked up in his seat. “He only told you that I worked for Darkwing… that’s it?”

“That you were his pilot. I think he caught on pretty quickly that we actually had no idea that’s what you were doing. So, yeah, that’s all he said. And I get that there’s identities that need to remain secret, assuming you even know that…”

Some of the tension left Launchpad���s shoulders. The Negaverse Launchpad had to tell them something. He should’ve figured that. But it looked like he’d been smart enough to keep Drake out of it. His parents knew about Darkwing Duck. They just didn’t know he was also living with the guy and doing his groceries.

“Launchpad, look at me.” His father grabbed him by the shoulder, his fingers digging in, and the jeep rumbled to a halt. “You don’t have to share everything about this. It’d be the same if you were working for the government, or any other place where there might be confidentiality agreements, or… we don’t expect that of you. But I just want to know one thing.”

Launchpad put his hand over his father’s, if only to loosen his grip. “Sure, Dad.”

“The whole Negaverse thing, there’s parallels to it.”

“You mean how everyone’s opposite?”

Ripcord shook his head. “No. Not opposites. I see a lot of you in that other Launchpad. I think you did as well. And, I guess that’s why I’m worried. You and Launchpad. Negaduck and Darkwing. You’ve both worked for them. But, some of the stories Launchpad has told me about Negaduck…”

“He told them to me as well. I know.”

“I just want to know if Darkwing has ever hurt you. Because if he has I’ll pack up my shotgun right now and…”

“What? No…” Launchpad pulled back. “he’s not Negaduck.”

“He hasn’t forbid you to come see us? Or just made you feel that you can’t? Or threatened to hurt you if you reveal to much about him, or… anything, Launchpad, you just have to tell us.”

“Dad, I said no!” said Launchpad, a growl creeping into his voice. “DW’s a good guy, and besides, he’s my friend. He’s difficult, and he’s got an ego, but he’d never do anything like that.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything about working with him before?”

“He never told me I couldn’t. I just… I never brought it up properly with him.” Launchpad slumped back in his seat as he heard his own words. Yeah, DW was difficult. And any conversation about him telling his parents anything would result in DW stressing out, probably overreacting a bit, but… he would eventually come around. And he would’ve told him exactly how much information he was comfortable for his sidekick to share. He’d never actually stopped him. In fact, every time his mother had called, Drake had always pushed Launchpad to talk to her.

“Oh. Okay.” Ripcord put the jeep in gear and pulled off. After a few moments, he spoke again. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk to your dad about what you’re doing anymore. But, we’re still proud of you, okay? Even without the superhero sidekick stuff. Drake and Gosalyn… being a single parent is tough. The fact you’re helping Drake around the house, and being there for Gosalyn, not a lot of people would do that. And after how bad the other Launchpad hurt you,” he reached out, and gently squeezed Launchpad arm, “to still go and help him when no one else would, that took a lot of guts.”

Launchpad rested his head against the window, unable to look at his father, and watched the rocks and withered trees rumble by. Sure, he’d been there for Drake, and Gosalyn, and the other Launchpad. But he hadn’t tried hard enough to just do something as simple as have a difficult conversation with DW, so they could get their story straight, and he could come see his Mom and Dad.

“I just… wish I didn’t have to lie to you to see you. I miss you.”

Launchpad squeezed his eyes shut tight.

***

The doctor arrived within half an hour, pronounced Gosalyn ‘mostly fine’, and then told them to keep an eye on her and not let her nap until it was evening. Then Mrs McQuack pulled Launchpad aside and asked him what had really happened. He told her the truth. About the potato gun anyway. He wasn’t really lying, leaving out Negaduck. Negaduck hadn’t had anything to do with what happened to Gosalyn.

Birdie patted him on the shoulder and told him he needed to ‘be careful with that thing’, especially if he was playing with a kid, and that maybe it was best if he left it alone until the Mallards left. Heck, she’d been angrier about her stinking rose bushes. But that was probably more to do with the mood he’d been in at the time.

Truth be told, Launchpad had expected everyone’s reaction to what he’d done to Gosalyn to be much worse. Even Drake, though he’d been shooting him glares all day, had eventually left him alone in front of the television with his daughter. Although, Launchpad was pretty sure that was because he’d finally got stressed out sitting with his daughter most of the day, and couldn’t take watching the cartoons she’d pronounced were the only sure fire way to keep her awake.

It was the longest, most stressful afternoon of Launchpad’s life. And not because Gosalyn kept trying to bully him into bringing her snacks. Negaduck’s ultimatum hung in his mind like heavy fog. It wasn’t that he was conflicted about the choice he had made. He just wasn’t sure he was strong enough to pull it off.

Launchpad tapped his foot on the ground; he needed a cigarette. Mrs McQuack had been trying to get him to cut down and the one he usually had in the morning had lately been enough, but not today. Besides, he’d left them all in a heap outside his shack after Gosalyn had startled him.

“You’re as bad as Launchpad.”

“I am Launchpad.”

“No, I mean the real one. You’re shaking the whole sofa.”

“I’m keeping you awake.”

“Hello, that’s what the cartoons are for?” Gosalyn waved at the television.

“This drivel? It’s unrealistic. You hit a cat with a hammer it doesn’t make little stars, it just…” Launchpad folded his arms with a harrumph.

Gosalyn leaned forward to check no one was in the next room, then lowered her voice. “You’re worried about Negaduck. We should tell Dad.”

“We can’t. Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of it.” Launchpad stood to his feet. It was nearing sundown; Negaduck’s decision time. But first, he was going to collect some tools from the hanger. He’d give Negaduck his decision alright, and he was going to make it bloody clear.

Gosalyn glared up at him. “I should come with you. But I still feel a little dizzy so it might not be a good idea. Just be careful. If you get hurt, I’m going to be mad. And if you take too long, I’m telling Dad. I don’t care what I promised.”

Launchpad waited for a second. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m going to do?”

“Is what you’re going to do appropriate to tell a kid… oh, are you going to hit him with a bat or something, or just punch his face in? Or, you know, worse?”

Launchpad huffed and rolled his eyes. “I meant about… he asked me to join him. He wants me to kill your dad. Which I already tried to do once.”

“But you were different then. And you told me that story…”

“I could’ve been lying.”

“I don’t think you’re smart enough to make up a story like that.”

“I…” Launchpad’s shoulders sagged. “Aw, kid. You know how many faces I’ve smashed in for calling me stupid?”

Gosalyn stood up on the sofa so she could look him in the eye. “I know he’s hurt you. But you can still beat him.”

Launchpad swallowed hard. Damn this kid. “How do you know that?”

Gosalyn grabbed him by the collar. “I know because you’re Launchpad McQuack! And you’re not going to let anybody hurt your family!” Her beak was pressed almost to his, and she glared into his eyes so earnestly, almost angrily.

Launchpad’s gaze hardened. “Cover for me? They won’t be suspicious. I do this sometimes; wander off at night.”

“I’ve got your back.”

“Good on ya, kiddo.”

Launchpad made his way over to the McQuack’s hanger. A crowbar was always a good go-to. But maybe he should find something bigger, and sharper. You never knew with Negaduck. Sometimes it didn’t matter what weapon you had.

Inside, the lights were on. Launchpad made his way straight to the tool board. At first, he’d found the place nauseatingly tidy. But after helping the McQuack’s out with some repairs, he had to admit, it was nice to be able to find stuff. That would’ve been the last thing he needed today, stressing about digging through tools when he just wanted to grab what he wanted and go deal with Negaduck.

There was the ping of metal on metal. Launchpad spun around and brandished the crowbar.

“Oh, Launchpad, sorry, I thought you realised I was in here.” Loopey sat on the floor, surrounded by a half dozen containers filled with bolts and fasteners. The noise had just been her pegging a bolt into one of the half filled containers, and it was absolutely ridiculous that it had startled him. He really was on edge. She jumped to her feet, picked her way amongst the containers, and came over to him. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to chat.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Loopey frowned at the crowbar. “Now, what are you doing with that?”

“Er…” He’d almost forgotten that most people in this dimension didn’t routinely carry around weapons, and here he was waving a crowbar in the McQuack’s daughter’s face. Still, most people in both dimensions wouldn’t bounce right up to him when he had a weapon in hand. “Um… was going to knock some… heads off flowers. Sometimes I need to blow off steam.”

“Ah,” said Loopey, as if that had been a perfectly rational answer. “Just don’t mess with anything in Mom’s garden.”

Launchpad winced. “Yeah, I’ll only make that mistake once.”

She had her arms folded, looking at him, trying to figure him out. She seemed far too calm. His own sister would’ve been swinging her fist in his face, just like the last time he’d seen her.

“You burned your planes? For him.”

He’d caught her fist. Laughed.

“I am so glad Mom and Dad aren’t here to see what you’ve become.”

“They were weak. Negaduck isn’t.” And then he’d thrown that punch right back.

Loopey lightly brushed his sleeve. “Hey, you okay?”

Launchpad shook himself. He had to deal with Negaduck. But he wanted to talk to Loopey. It was just like what he’d felt with Gosalyn; he wanted to connect with her. It wouldn’t make up for anything with his own sister. But, shit. He missed her. “Er… what are you doing in here anyway?” Launchpad waved the crowbar towards the containers.

“Launchpad crashed into the cupboard, typical, and messed them all up. But he’s out with Dad and…” Loopey rubbed at her arm. “We crashed one of the planes. They’re out there now to bring it in… and… well, Dad seemed a bit upset. I didn’t want to leave this for him to clean up. So, you got a spunky little sister over in this Negaverse place?”

One who hated him so much he’d never be able to speak to her, like this, again. “We haven’t spoken in years.”

“Oh. What about your parents?”

Rougher around the edges then the McQuacks he’d spent the last two months with. Still good people, by Negaverse standards. He and his sister would’ve never hit each other like that when they’d been alive. You only fought if you’d both agreed you were sparring, because a family had to have some way to blow off steam when they were pissed at each other. Other people? Fine. If you knew you needed to smack them one you just did it. But not family. They were your backup, your protection. You treated them with some respect. “They’re dead.”

Loopey winced. “Oh, did this Negaduck guy…?”

Launchpad shook his head. “Nothing to do with him. The Negaverse is just a rough place.” And he’d actually been angry with them, just for not being tough enough to take on the air pirates that had challenged them for their air space. It had been ridiculously immature of him, and he’d figured that out, as he got older, before he even left the Negaverse. When things had come to a head, two planes had taken down nearly a dozen pirate fighter planes between them, until the pirates finally shot down the Negaverse’s Ripcord McQuack. And then Birdie McQuack had flown her plane straight into the main engine of the pirate airship and brought the whole thing down with her. What his parents had done had been borderline legendary.

But they were still dead. And Launchpad had decided that was because they hadn’t been strong enough. Despite how much they relied on and protected each other, when they’d been outnumbered, it wasn’t enough. Allying in yourself to just anyone, no matter how much you trusted them, was not enough. You needed to ally yourself to someone strong. Like the guy who had singlehandedly brought the chaotic and dangerous Negaverse to its knees and declared himself its ruler.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re Mom and Dad didn’t even know me. But they’ve been everything I needed right now. Them and your brother…” Launchpad gulped at the lump that had risen to his throat. Negaduck hadn’t given him the safety he’d been looking for. How he’d treated him had been a poor exchange for his protection. Then he’d come over here. And the McQuacks may not have had the strength he thought he needed, but they’d given him what Negaduck never had and didn’t ask for anything in return. Apart from refraining from ripping up their garden.

Now Negaduck was here to take that all away from him. Launchpad’s fist tightened around the crowbar.

“They’re pretty great, aren’t they? Look, if you want to talk some more, you don’t have to go assault plants. You could help me, er…” Loopey’s shoulders slumped. “Sort fasteners.”

Launchpad forced a smile. “Raincheck?”

“Pft. Coward.” Loopey blinked as she caught herself. “Um, sorry. I talk like this to my brother all the time. You realise this is very confusing, right?”

At least he wasn’t the only one getting mixed up feelings about his actual family mixed in with the ones he was starting to develop for this one. “Yeah, I get it. But we can talk later. I really just need to… blow off some steam.”

“Later.”

The Gator was parked outside. Launchpad swung himself in, grabbed the seatbelt, then let it slide back as he remembered he wasn’t riding with Mr McQuack. He put the machine in drive and tore down the hill as fast as he could.

They might not be his family. But he was attached. And for once, that no longer felt like a weakness. If only he’d worked that out back in the Negaverse with Gosalyn, and with his sister. He may have blown his chances back home, but he would not fail this time.

Negaduck was going to pay.

***

Chapter 6

[aion-rsa]

My Universe: BTS & Coldplay’s Sci-Fi Music Video Explained

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BTS and Coldplay went fully, gloriously sci-fi in the music video for their collaboration, “My Universe.” In the new music video, released at midnight on September 30th, the two bands exist in a futuristic reality where music is forbidden. In spite of the ban, and with the help of a space DJ, the groups come together for a high-energy, galaxy-spanning performance of their new song.

The “My Universe” music video/short film is directed by Dave Meyers, an American filmmaker best known for his commercials and music videos, which include MVs for artists Drake, Ed Sheeran, Pink, Normani, Ariana Grande, and many, many more. High-concept, genre-driven music videos are par for the course in the visually immersive world of K-pop, but are less common in western music videos, which (save for some outliers, like Janelle Monae’s funky, political sci-fi adventures) have more “grounded,” realistic aesthetics, even when they skew fantastical. A great example of the latter is Harry Styles’ “Adore You” video. Also directed by Meyers—it has a speculative fiction premise in which Styles has a literally blinding smile, falls in love with a fish, and is able to power his sailboat using the winds of his jarred yells, but keeps its visuals down to Earth to tell its fairy tale-like story.

“My Universe,” on the other hand, embraces the science fiction aesthetics of working class space operas like Space Sweepers or Guardians of the Galaxy, with some (and I mean this as a compliment) Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century thrown in for good measure.

Rebellion is a popular theme in the space opera subgenre, and it’s one that “My Universe” embraces. The video is set in an intergalactic future in a place known where all music is banned. Three different bands—BTS, Coldplay, and a fictional alien supergroup called Supernova7—who live on three different plans defy the ban to create music together via hologram. They are hunted by The Silencers, who enforce the no-music status quo.

Most importantly, the music video doesn’t prioritize either Coldplay or BTS’ worlds. While we may visit Coldplay’s dry, graffitied planet first, where we first meet BTS in their holographic forms, we also go to BTS’ industrial-dystopia home, where Coldplay visits as holograms. The music video’s best moment, in fact, comes when we follow a flickering, holographic V from Coldplay’s planet back to his own, where he—and, with him, the six other members—bloom into more tangible form.

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The design and CGI for the video is impressive and varied, though a little too busy to fully appreciate the stunning outer space visuals, Tron-esque spaceships interiors, and alien planet-scapes. The video includes visual callbacks to the official lyric video for “My Universe,” which is beautifully designed to feature the multi-colored English and Korean-language lyrics zooming through space. The colors and premise are also reminiscent of the video serial that was part of BTS’ Muster Sowoozoo Concert in June. In the story, the seven members of BTS make their way across an alien landscape in a camper van, searching for a safe place to meet ARMY. While the Sowoozoo serial was much cozier and more chill than “My Universe” video, I’d love to hear some good head canon about how these videos exist in the same fictional universe.

What Does the “My Universe” Music Video Mean?

Both the “My Universe” song and music video have a pretty broad, easy-to-get-behind concept. The love song is about a relationship that transcends boundaries. Thematically, the idea of coming together across divisions or differences is particularly poignant when performed by bands from different sides of the planet. This is reinforced by the decision to include Korean-language lyrics in the collaboration. BTS has proven themselves more than capable of singing in English. Three of their latest hits—”Dynamite,” “Butter,” and “Permission to Dance”—are all sung fully in the English language by the Korean band. However, BTS and Coldplay chose to feature Korean-language elements as an integral part of the collaboration, emphasizing the multicultural nature of the song and its message.

The music video doubles down on the theme of people coming together despite distance and differences. In it, BTS and Coldplay (and, OK, alien supergroup Supernova 7) are excited to collaborate. Together, they make something beautiful and special that brings them joy despite the seemingly dismal worlds that surrounds them both. Here, the enemy is not difference, but a mysterious, totalitarian force that has banned all music. Personified by “The Silencers,” this antagonist can be broadly interpreted by the societal prejudices that can sometimes keep up apart, but also by a pandemic that has made the most basic rituals of togetherness more complicated. It doesn’t seem a coincidence that the fictional versions of BTS and Coldplay featured in this video are unable to be together in person. It’s a representation of the forced physical distance that has come to define much of the past few years. It’s why seeing the bands find a way, despite their harsh reality, to share a joyful experience so damn inspiring.

While the visuals of “My Universe” may be intentionally futuristic, the ability to play together across vast swathes of space is not. Just last week, Coldplay and BTS performed as part of the Global Citizen Live event. The bands were in two different countries—Coldplay in NYC, and BTS back home in Seoul—but came “together” on stage. The seven members of BTS were featured as holograms on a backdrop as Chris Martin sang both English and Korean-language parts of the song. (The Korean-language rap sections performed by Suga and J-Hope were pre-recorded.) Coldplay notably traveled to Korea to record “My Universe” during the pandemic.

“My Universe” Music Video Ending Explained

The breakout character from the “My Universe” music video is arguably DJ Lafrique, played by actress Joe Diao. DJ Lafrique is the character who is able to bring Coldplay and BTS together, across the universe. She is the most powerful figure featured in this story, and her rebellion comes at a high risk. At the end of the video, The Silencers find DJ Lafrique’s ship, which is making the intergalactic jam session possible. The Silencers’ power up their Death Star-like weapon in preparation to take out DJ Lafrique. However, BTS and Coldplay are able to buy her time by rocking out even more intensely (as you do); she powers up her hyperdrive and blips away before The Silencers can silence her forever.

The ending works for the video; it would be jarring to watch a music video featuring BTS that doesn’t end with a message of hope. The Korean band’s full name, Bangtan Sonyeondan, can be translated as “Bulletproof Boyscouts,” and the group has always seen it as one of their primary missions to act as a buffer between young people and the harsh stereotypes and pressures they face. While the group has always worked to be a balm in a harsh world, this has especially been the case since the outbreak of COVID, which has brought with it unprecedented mental health challenges. In the wake of the global crisis, BTS has worked to be a comfort to their global fandom, known as ARMY. When they released album “Be” in November 2020, member Jin said during the accompanying press conference: “Our goal with the music on ‘BE’ is that it can be a comfort to a lot of people … If many people can relate to it, I will be really thankful.”

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What did you think of “My Universe”‘s science fiction concept? Let us know in the comments below.

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[tae-cup]

Welcome To Wonderland | JHS Oneshot

Inspired by: Anson Seabra’s “Welcome to Wonderland”

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Summary: You’ve spent the last five years down the rabbit hole, lost in his eyes, now, you only see him in your dreams. 

Warnings: N/A, ANGST, but also lots of fluff!

Word Count: 6.3k (honestly the most I’ve written, I don’t know how or why this got so long).

A/N: Should I make this a series??? I’m really tempted. stay safe, wash your hands, and please help me gain motivation to do life. 

Sneak Peak: “We all have to grow up some day, Hoseok. You can join me or stay here in your cruel little fantasy.”

Other: Masterlist

Dancing through a dream Underneath the stars Laughing 'til the morning comes Everyone that leaves has a heavy heart Oh, Wonderland I love 

“She’s criminally insane.” The doctor spoke to your mother, tapping her pen against the clipboard as if you couldn’t hear her. They stood outside the small room’s door, though it felt more like a jail cell. Your mother spoke in a hushed whisper, as if she didn’t want to admit that her perfect daughter was going insane. It wasn’t even your fault! 

“What do you mean?” Your mother’s voice was incredulous. 

“She’ll be here until she’s deemed stable.” You could almost hear the smile on the cruel doctor’s face. “Don’t worry, we’ll get those silly little illusions out of her head soon enough.” 

You cringed, hands going to your head. You shut your eyes, shaking your head violently. No, no, no, I don’t want you to take him away from me. Memories of the handsome Mad Hatter filled your mind. He would tip his hat and wink, smiling his signature smile. There was a hint of madness in his eyes, but it was always your kind of madness. 

Five years. They said you were gone for five hours. Five years, you were gone five years. Your insistence had them worried, but your screams as they pulled you away from the woods were what brought you to the institution for the criminally insane.

The light seemed so harsh compared to the magical land of wonderland. The sunlight beat you down in the pure white room, reflecting off every surface and making your eyes hurt. You shifted on the hard bed, throwing your forearm over your eyes in an attempt to escape your fate. 

You heard your mother’s heels clacking away farther down the hall. There was a rapping at the door. When you didn’t respond, the door slowly opened. The doctor filed into the room along with two other nurses. One nurse held a metal tray with a small plastic cup and a glass of water. The other had a needle filled with clear liquid. The doctor had a clipboard, her lips were pressed into a thin line, a displeased look on your face. You scrambled away, pulling your legs to your chest as you pushed yourself into the farthest corner of the bed. 

“Y/N.” The doctor dropped the kind tone she had with your mother. Her words were cold, calculating. “You have been diagnosed as criminally insane, thus, I will need to run some tests. These drugs are to help you sleep without those little...dreams of yours.” 

“NO!” You cried out, rocking back and forth slowly. “I don’t want them to go away, please.” 

The doctor sighed, tapping her clipboard with her pen. She stepped aside, gesturing to the other nurses. The one with the tray had blonde hair and a stern expression. The other nurse may have the needle, but you were more terrified of the one with the tray. Her face mimicked the queen of hearts in ways you never wanted to see again. The nurse with the needle had a warm smile, just like the cheshire cat. Subtly unsettling, but not entirely creepy. 

“Honey, these will help you sleep.” The blonde explained, a lack of emotion to her voice. It was unnerving. 

“And what’s that?” You shakily pointed to the needle. 

“Just a little something to take away the dreams.”

You tensed immediately. 

“I’m not taking that.” You said quickly, your eyes darted between the nurses and doctor. “I’ll take the pills, but I refuse the injection.” 

The doctor stared at you blankly. She had never had a patient who flat out refused medication and in such a firm way. This girl would look to be absolutely sane if it weren’t for those hallucinations. The woman finally conceded, dipping her head and shooing the cheshire cat nurse out of the room. You decided to refer to her as Cheshire in honor of your unlikely friend. 

 The other one would be referred to as Queenie in regards to the mad queen who gave you hell in wonderland, but was ultimately a force of good. You found that you missed even her, that fiery devil. 

You swallowed the two pills and then curled back up in your corner. Your hands went over your heart, frowning at the dull ache in your chest. 

~Welcome to Wonderland ~Look where you're at ~Maddest of hatters ~The Cheshire Cat ~Magical cabins and lovely white rabbits with clocks

5 years ago

“Mr. puffles?” You called out to the stubborn cat, blue dress swishing behind you. You bent down, not caring about the dirt as you searched the bushes. There was a quiet meow that sent you farther into the woods, away from the brilliant manor. There was a soft melody, a ringing in your ears. It was enticing, it called to you. 

You found yourself wandering deeper into the woods. You felt this pull, a tug, a push, to venture farther into the darkness. The sun was beginning to set. While usually you would feel anxious to be out in the woods alone as it got dark, you found yourself drawn in more. You felt perfectly safe like nothing would harm you. It was a silly notion, but you were known to follow your impulses. 

There was a rustle in the bushes and you saw the shadow of a cat’s tail before it slipped away. 

“Mr. Puffles?” You called again. The smallest meow came from your left. You raced after it, grasping the flowing ends of your dress in your hands. This was a hunt and you refused to trip unnecessarily. 

“Ugh! You tricky little fur demon.” You cursed, pursing your lips. As the woods fell silent, you turned in a half circle, realizing how dark it had gotten. Then you realized that the woods were massive and you could no longer see any feasible path. You turned in circles, chuckle madly to yourself. This must be some cruel trick; to lure you out on your curiosity and then leave you stranded. Somehow, you didn’t feel scared in the slightest. 

There was another rustle, but then it was followed by several others. You trekked slowly after the noises, careful of your flats that were your only footwear. 

“Hello?” You whispered. The noise still echoed loudly against the peaceful forest. You didn’t feel out of place in these woods. 

“Hello.” Your voice echoed, but it sounded more masculine. 

“Who are you?” You felt the hairs on the back of your neck raise. 

“Who are-” The voice said back, far away and distant. Then you heard the crackle of leaves behind you. You turned to see a tall man step out from behind a tree. “-you?” He said clearly. 

In his eyes you could only see darkness and perhaps something else. His hair was draped over one side of his face, the rest covered by a red velvet top hat. His suit jacket was also red velvet and his pants were a dark black. 

“Where did you come from? How did you get over there?” You cried, scrambling away from the intimidating man. He had a wide smile on his face and you couldn’t help thinking he looked extremely handsome. 

“Magic.” He splayed his white gloved fingers. There was a spark of mischief in his eyes. You wanted to step closer, examine him, but you stayed where you were. 

“What’s your name?” You bit your lip, looking around at your surroundings as the forest slowly gave away to the darkness. 

“Now, now, sweet rabbit, you’ll find out soon enough. First tell me yours.” 

“I’m-” 

You were cut off from speaking to the mysterious man when a voice called your name. You whipped around, eyes searching the forest. You were sure no one had followed you in or even seen you leave the manor. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. There wasn’t something right about that voice, though you clearly could place it as your mother’s. Your mother would never dirty her dress to come out looking for you. 

“Do you know who that is?” The man tilted his head, a frown adorning his face. He looked puzzled, but there was something akin to fear that seemed to shake his body. He looked on the fritz, maybe a little crazy. My kind of crazy. You thought pleasantly to yourself. 

“No, well, yes.” You murmured. This man made you feel safe, whatever was out there, did not. Yes, he had just magically appeared, but once again, you felt that tug. You gave in this time, more scared of whatever was calling your name behind you. Something that isn’t your mother. You stepped closer, cringing as you heard the loud crack of twigs beneath your feet. The man looked amused at your attempts to stay quiet, though he eyed the treeline warily. 

“What do you mean, no and yes?” He raised an eyebrow. 

You stepped close enough that you were less than an arms reach away. Thoughts of your cat subsided and even thoughts of that thing acting as your mother drifted away. His eyes were like deep whirlpools of emotion with the glint of madness, insanity. You felt your breath taken away as you peered into his eyes. You could tell he was experiencing the same thing because he sharply inhaled. 

“I mean, mystery man,” You said quietly, suddenly looking behind you, sensing something watching, no, stalking, you. You gently grasped his sleeve and he automatically moved to let you in closer. He felt this inexplicable urge to protect you, to touch you. He had attraction to other people before, but never this intensely. “That thing, out there, may sound like my mother, but,” You gnawed at your bottom lip. “It is not my mother.”

He took in a deep breath. Those damn parasites always crawled through these woods. The man nodded, velvet hat shifting on top of his black hair. 

“Dream catchers.” He murmured, then he cursed as he saw a movement. He turned to you, grasping your hands tightly. He leaned in, breath fanning across your face. “Love, you and I need to run.”

Your heart beat quickened. “Run? Run where?” You whispered softly, already feeling adrenaline pumping through your veins as the crackling in the woods came closer. 

“Would you like to go on an adventure, rabbit?” He looked at you with such fondness that you found yourself nodding before you could think. “Good.” 

Then there was a loud howl a little ways away. The man’s eyes widened, intertwining your hands and taking off in the other direction. You held back a squeal as he dragged you along. Your legs pumped to exhaustion as you tried your best to keep up with his long legs. You studied him, taking your mind off the creature’s huffing behind you and the lungs struggling for breath inside you. 

The man had handsome features, truly beautiful. A sloped nose, high cheek bones, cupid’s bow shaped lips. His back is strong, legs long, body slim. Absolutely enchanting. You fought the blush creeping up your face. Now is not the time. 

“What’s-What’s your name.” You huffed, struggling for air. He only then seemed to notice your plight. He looked behind you before slowing down to a walk. He took a turn, ducking behind a rock. Then you noticed you were surrounded by a bunch of random stones all surrounding a hole in the ground. You craned your neck, seeing a never ending pit of darkness. The moonlight illuminated only a few feet inside and the dark seemed to go on and on. 

He sharply inhaled, tugging you to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you, trying to shrink your two figures behind the rock. There was a scampering sound and you hoped your heart wasn’t beating as loud as you thought it was. Blood rushed through your ears, chest rising and falling. You tried to calm your breathing. He glanced down at you worriedly as you clamped your hand over your mouth. The steps stopped and you heard a sniffing sound. After a few tense moments, it disappeared howling and scampering deeper into the forest. 

You let out a shaky breath and the man frowned at you. 

“Are you alright?” He gripped your shoulders tightly. 

“I’m...I’m okay.” Your voice was far too timid to properly convince him and you knew it. You cleared your throat. “What’s your name?” You asked firmly. 

“Hoseok.” The man, Hoseok, smiled widely. He didn’t seem out of breath whatsoever and you fought to keep from whining. It was so unfair that he was beautiful and fit. He was taller than you, your eye level coming up to his nose. 

“I’m Y/N.” You breathed, fingers curling in and out. “How did you find me? Why am I here?” 

“There hasn’t been a true visitor to these woods in years.” He chuckled. “And I brought you here, to the edge of your world and the start of mine,” He gestured to the hole in the ground. “Because you’re like me. You don’t belong in the above world and you haven’t for a long time.” 

You took a step back. He smiled painfully at you. 

“God, you’re here to murder me aren’t you?”

“If I wanted to murder you, I would have left you to the dream catchers and not saved you.” 

“Oh wow, that’s re-ensuring.” You grumbled. He chuckled at that. Hoseok then grasped your hands. 

“You said you wanted to go on an adventure. Join me, where you belong.” His voice was hushed, his words almost intimate. 

“And where do I belong?” 

“With me.” Then he cleared his throat when you flushed a bright red. “In wonderland.” He amended. 

“You’re insane.” 

“Only the best kind.” He started tugging you towards the hole. “I see it in your eyes too. Come.” His words were like a command. 

It wasn’t like you had anything to go back to. Your father wanted you to get married, your mother was a controlling witch. Your siblings were such good children, always following the rules and accomplishing great things. 

“Okay.” You relented. What harm could there be in a little fun? You bent and tied your dress ends around your legs to create some weird pants-dress-combo. 

He flashed you a winning smile. 

“Follow my lead.” He tipped his hat before stretching his arms and jumping backwards into the hole. You shrieked, scrambling to look over the edge. He laughed, then he disappeared, the scream cutting off abruptly. 

“Hoseok?!” You called, your voice bouncing off the walls of the hole. Silence. The wind whistled in your ears. You found yourself backing away from the hole, your fear taking over. Then you heard the low growl of something behind you. The dream catchers. You looked between the beast before you and the hole behind you. Only one held certain death. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

You took a few steps back and then leapt into the hole, your screams ripped away by the wind rushing past your ears. Suddenly the wind stopped and you felt yourself floating. Down down down to the ground like a soft caress. 

“Y/N, I got you.” 

You recognized that voice, drifting into the arms of someone waiting. The person is warm, the person is nice, the person is safe. Your eyes flew open. 

“Hoseok!” You cried, tears slipping out at the familiar face. You flung your arms around his neck and he stiffened suddenly before awkwardly patting your back. 

“Are you alright? You were gone for a while.” He set you down, now back to your usual weight. “We were scared you weren’t jumping.”

“It was only a few seconds.” You huffed, tilting your head in confusion. “And what do you mean we?” 

You stepped back and he chuckled, moving aside. “Welcome to the family, Y/N.” 

Five sets of eyes were on you. Five smiles widened at your sight. And five new people became your family. Another lingered in the background, white armor shining.

~Welcome to Wonderland ~Where should we go? ~There's a tea party along down the road ~Make an appearance and maybe they'll sing us a song 

Four Years Ago

“Hoseok!” You shouted, running around the house, throwing open any cupboards you saw. 

“What?” The mad hatter’s voice called from outside. You didn’t respond, furiously searching for the tea set you wanted to use for today’s daily tea party. You heard a huff of annoyance and a sly smile made its way onto your face. 

“What.” The voice was closer and you already knew he was standing in the doorway, probably leaning in the door frame with a wicked smile. 

“Did you see that tea set, the one with the cherry blossoms on them?” You said innocently. You turned around and, as always, he took your breath away. 

“Yeah, they’re over here.” He reached over you. If he noticed you gawking, he didn’t mention it. He was wearing that red velvet suit that he had been wearing when you first met him. It was still by far his most dashing look. You had seen him in every color of the rainbow, but red always suited him so well. He took down the set and placed it on a tray. You tried to take it from him, but he dodged easily. 

You gave a little shout, annoyed at his foolishness. “Hoseok! Just. Let. Me-” 

You struggled to grab the tray back, but he simply turned the other direction, marching out of the kitchen. He smiled and you pouted, following him sullenly. 

“Be patient, my little rabbit.” He set down the tray and you both went about setting out the cups and saucers. You had been living with Hoseok the past year and things had gone better than okay. From smoking with the caterpillar to escaping the rage of the Red Queen, you had your handful of adventures. You made an effort not to mention the Red Queen however. 

Hoseok always went cold, his gaze hardening, whenever you brought up his dear friend. 

“He wasn’t always this way, you know?” He looked away sadly. “Maybe he would have even come for tea if he could gain the sanity.” 

“What happened to him?”

Hoseok turned to you, thinking for a moment. “You know how things makes sense to you and I down here?”

You nodded. 

“Well, he wasn’t...he wasn’t meant to be down here. His truth, is up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, to your old world. “He accidentally fell in as a teenager and Wonderland doesn’t treat those from your world kindly. He’s been losing sanity for a while.” He sighed. “I’m surprised he held on for so long.” 

“So he’ll return to normal if he goes back to my world?”

“That’s the theory. We’ve tried to convince him, but he was too far gone, screaming about ‘off with their heads!’ and painting roses red. Then he shunned us, saying if we ever came back to dethrone him, he’d have our heads.” He shook his head sadly. “What’s heartbreaking is that he was completely serious. If you looked him in the eye, you could see he’d gone completely insane.”

Wonderland was a scary place, but the way it worked made sense to you. You glanced anxiously at the clock that was always set three hours ahead. It was almost time for your guests to arrive. 

Yoongi, the Cheshire cat always arrived early in comparison to the Caterpillar known as Jin. Then the others would file in. Jungkook, the white rabbit, was always off about being late, despite being perfectly on time. Then Namjoon, the march hare would try his best to calm down the youngest. Jimin, the ever divine white queen, would arrive exactly on the dot. The usual commotion occured. Yoongi was grinning devilishly at Jungkook, fanning the fire of chaos. Jungkook was bouncing off the walls with energy, stammering about being late. Namjoon pressed a hand to Jungkook’s shoulder to calm him down and started giving a stern talking to to Yoongi. Jin hung back, either high or tired, one or the other. You chuckled at the madness, the ruckus feeling like home. 

You frowned at the clock. Your special guest should arrive any minute and you didn’t want to overwhelm him. It was a stupid idea, really, but nonetheless, he had replied ‘yes’. You ushered the boys into the backyard. They all settled into their usual spots. Hoseok at the head, your seat reserved to his right, Yoongi appearing in the spot to his left. Next to Yoongi, Jimin took his place and Jin sluggishly sat next to your empty spot. Usually, you would also sit, but you had more important matters to attend to. You knew that if Hoseok, or any of the others for that matter, had known of your plan, they would have stopped you. 

Namjoon took a place next to Jungkook beside Jin. 

“Rabbit?” Hoseok looked at you expectantly. It was a Wonderland rule that you can’t start the tea party until all members have sat. “The tea’s getting cold, what’s wrong?” 

You shifted uncomfortably. Should you tell them? You glanced behind you. Through the sliding glass doors you could see a figure walking to the door. The steps were slow and purposeful and you knew who it was. Your guest. You took a deep breath. 

“Sorry, hatty,” You mumbled. “But I have another guest.” 

“Another-” Jin started, suddenly pulled from his quiet state. 

“-Guest?” Jimin finished, a pretty smile on his face. 

The boys exchanged a look. Jungkook had stopped moving around restlessly and Jimin’s smile seemed forced. Even Hoseok looked perplexed. 

“Who is it, dear?” Hoseok finally asked. There was a loud knock on the door. You sheepishly rubbed your neck. 

“Ah! They’re here.” You rushed to the front door, slamming open the glass sliding doors harshly. 

You opened the door. 

The Red Queen stepped into your living room. 

Some might wonder why you called him the Red Queen. You could never explain why, it just made sense. That was Wonderland logic, after all. 

“Taehyung.” You dipped your head a little. You had actually met him before he went completely insane, just once. Now that he was standing in front of you, he didn’t seem insane at all. He seemed normal, in fact, maybe a little tired. He flashed you a small smile. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Y/N. It’s quite the honor.” His voice was deep and soothing. 

“They might be a little surprised, I didn’t tell them you’d come.” You and him had met once before. That’s when he was still sane. 

“You seem to be far from home.” A smug voice said behind you. You turned so fast you almost sprained your ankle. You studied the tall man in front of you, his lips pressed together to form a tight smile. Maybe even then, he was struggling with sanity. “What brings you to Wonderland? You certainly aren’t from around here.” 

You smiled, feeling at ease around him. 

“I’m from the other world, technically, but Wonderland is my home now.” You leaned against the railing, gazing up at the stars. The night sky was always fascinating in Wonderland; a plethora of colors painting a dark canvas. 

“Interesting.” He murmured, taking a place beside you. “People here refer to me as the Red Queen, but you can call me Taehyung.” He shifted to look at you and you tore your eyes away from the beautiful sky to view a beautiful man. 

“The Red Queen, hm?” You tilted your head a little. You remembered Hoseok’s warning. To stay away, he’s unstable, with the ability to be more insane than any other Wonderlandian. However, as you stood next to him, he didn’t seem threatening in the slightest. “I like Taehyung better.” 

He lets out a laughed, propping his elbow up on the railing and tracing the carvings with his finger. “You sound just like Hoseok.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I live with Hoseok so I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

His eyes widened slightly. “So you’re the girl he won’t shut up about.” He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “If he’s told you anything about my sanity, he’s right.” 

You were taken aback. “What?”

“Yeah, it’s true.” He sighed, turning his attention to the sky. “Listen, you need to help me, if I’m ever past the point of sanity.” 

You nodded slowly at his words, wondering why he was seeking your help, but you knew you would do everything in your power to help him if he so needed it. 

Maybe it was already happening? To him, there were more colors than there actually were. To him, all the white roses were mocking him and needed to be painted red. To him, people looked better without their heads. 

There was an audible scraping of metal chairs through grass. Hoseok immediately went to you, tugging you away from Taehyung. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed in your ear. 

“Mending a bond that needs to be mended.” You shrugged. “Maybe you could convince him to go back.” 

Hoseok sighed, dropping your wrist. The others glanced around. Jungkook was shaking. 

“Y/N. You need to be more carefully. I thought I already went over how he won’t listen, it’s too late for him.” 

“I’ll go back.” 

Your hushed whispers stopped instantly. Taehyung shifted uncomfortably, smoothing his casual clothes down absentmindedly. 

“It’s my time.” Taehyung stepped forward. “But please let me have tea with you first.” 

“Hey! It was an accident!” Jimin cried, sending the table into hysterics. Taehyung had his signature boxy smile on and Hoseok felt his heart clench. It had been so long since they’d seen that. Still, you could tell something was different about the younger boy. He had this hollow sound to his laugh and some of his smiles seemed forced. 

“Taehyung.” You interrupted the conversation, cringing at how quickly the mood changed. No one had dared interact directly with him, or when they did, they would refer to him as ‘Queenie’. 

“Yeah?” His voice was soft. 

“Is something wrong?” 

There was a long pause. Then he let out a shaky breath and the table stalled, waiting for him to start. 

“Of course.” He mumbled. “I’m leaving behind my family.” His head sunk low. 

You frowned, heart beating out for him. You understood his feelings. You felt your heart cracking at the mere thought of leaving Hoseok and the others. You gently reached across the table, and it was a bit of a stretch, and intertwined your fingers. 

“I know, Tae, but this isn’t where you belong. You belong up there.” You looked up towards the sky. “It tears us apart to see you doing this to yourelf, please.” You whispered. 

He looked away, ashamed. “I’m fighting everyday. Is it so wrong to just want to be with you guys?”

“We belong to different worlds, Tae.” Hoseok stood and walked over, crouching beside the boy. “It’s time to go home.” 

Taehyung began sobbing, breaking down the facade of the immortal queen and Hoseok held him, wrapping him into a tight hug. You felt yourself coming undone as well, tears streaming down your face. No one could replace him, there would always be a hole. 

“I love you guys.” He whimpered. Then a bright light overtook your vision and he was gone. 

You were stunned, confusion twisting your features, your nose red and eyes puffy. 

“There is no way to leave wonderland, you have to truly be ready to let it go. That’s why I said it was too late for him.” Hoseok sighed, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. He was going to miss that kid. Then he went over to you and kissed your forehead. “Don’t cry, love, he’s where he belongs now.”

Three Years Ago

“How’d you sleep?” His voice was muffled from where his face was pressed into your back. 

“Good.” You croaked, having just woken up. You turned to face him. “But I slept even better with you.” 

Hoseok immediately reddened, burying his face into your neck. “Rabbit, you can’t do this to me, I just woke up.” He chuckled, the vibrations against your neck making you hum. 

It was a lazy morning. In Wonderland, Hoseok’s job was to make sure the daily tea parties were going smoothly, it was his business. The earliest client he had was supposed to be at 10 A.M. 

You glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall, waiting for it’s ear piercing screech that notified you that it was time to get a move on. five minutes. 

You began to move, preparing yourself for the loss of his warmth. He groaned. 

“Wait.” He slurred, still drowsy. 

“Hatty, love, you need to get up in five minutes.” You brushed your hands through his hair. 

“I still have five minutes.” You felt him frown against your skin. With a chuckle you pull him away and caress his cheek with your hand. 

“I love you, you know that?” You kissed his nose. He laughed a little, moving to look you better in the eye. 

“I love you too, my little rabbit.” 

It was mornings like these that made you want to stay in Wonderland forever. Mornings like these made you wish to be nowhere else but in his arms. It was mornings like these that made Hoseok want to kiss you silly. He wanted to keep you by his side forever. You belonged here, with him. He didn’t know what he would do with himself if you left him, if anything happened to you. To put it simply, he was helplessly in love with you, and so were you with him. 

Lost in each other’s gaze, the soft morning sun shining through the curtains, you resisted the urge to kiss him again. You leaned in, he leaned in. You shut your eyes, he shut his. Then the cuckoo clock screeched its way through the quiet. 

With a groan, he rolled onto his back and you giggled. He sighed loudly. “Can’t we just get a new clock? It sounds like someone’s being murdered every morning.” He shivered and stood, the sheets shifting. You missed the warmth already. 

One Year Ago

“I don’t understand.” His voice was hollow. “Where are you going?”

You were walking down the dirt path looking up at the sky, searching for a fissure, a seam, any sign of the world above. 

“Hoseok.” You turned on your heel, almost bumping into his chest when he pulled to a sudden halt. “How did you find me? You said that you couldn’t leave unless you truly wanted to and even then if you tried to come back, you’d get lost, unable to come back.”

His smile was pained, hand reaching out to brush your cheek, but you took a step back. 

“Magic.” He murmured weakly. 

“Oh stop with your stupid magic.” You spat. Over the past two years things had changed drastically. A seed of doubt had been planted a year ago and now it had blossomed. “You’re a grown man, are you not?” 

“Yes.” His expression was blank and that was so much worse than anger or sadness. You crossed your arms. 

“I want to go back.”

His face dropped. “No, no, no. Y/N.” His voice shook. “Come on, let’s talk about this. You belong here, you’ll go insane, like Taehyung, if you go back now.”  He reached out, grasping your wrists before you could pull away. 

“Hoseok, how long have you been lying to me? Did you know?” 

“Know?” 

“This place is dying because of me. I don’t belong here, you used your ‘magic’ to trick me into feeling safe! Like a total creep!” You were in hysterics. “I’m going insane.”

“Join the club, rabbit.” His lips quirked into a small smile, but you could tell it was forced. “And I swear I didn’t do anything, who told you this?” 

“That doesn’t matter!” It was that damn white knight. “If you didn’t do anything, and if I belong here, why the hell do I feel like I’m going fucking insane!” You shouted, tugging at your hair. 

“That’s just a general side effect of Wonderland.” He stepped forward, you stepped back. It was like a cruel dance. 

“We all have to grow up some day, Hoseok. You can join me or stay here in your cruel little fantasy.” You said bitterly. 

You wanted to cry. This isn’t how you wanted it to end. You wanted to slip out while he was asleep, leaving him with good memories. He woke up when you accidentally bumped into the table in the dining room. You didn’t belong here, not anymore. The man you loved was standing here begging you to stay, but your gut was screaming at you to go. Something had changed in Wonderland and you were blaming it on yourself. The white knight had whispered dirty secrets and cruel words while Hoseok was unaware.

“I’m sorry.” You choked out. Then you saw light starting to take your body away. “Wait! Wait no! I’ve changed my mind!” You cried out, trying to stop the slow burn. Hoseok’s eyes widened. 

“No..No, this shouldn’t be able to happen. Wonderland should listen to your cries.” He rushed to you as you sank to the floor, begging yourself to stay in Wonderland, to stay with him. He held you as your body turned to golden dust. He stayed there, knowing this was the prophecy. This was what was supposed to happen, but he didn’t know it would be so soon. 

“Why is my time up, why is my time over with you?” He sobbed out in anguish. 

“You can see her again.” 

He stood, looking around for that stupid white knight. 

“You can bring her back, she can be with you. You just need to sacrifice something, something precious.” 

He watched the shining white armor appear out of thin air. Hoseok narrowed his eyes, swiping at the tears rolling down his face. 

“How?”

Present

His eyes were like galaxies. His smile is as bright as the day. His face is fading from memory. The pills washing away the details. Cured. You’re almost cured.

You opened your eyes. Cold light filtered through the tall and slim window in your room. It reminded you of a jail cell. You were propped against the door as the night before came reeling back to you. You had clawed and screamed at the door, begging not to be drugged up again. 

You don’t understand! I want to see him again, let me have these memories! You sobbed. 

The nurses smiled sweetly, like a parent listening to their child ramble on. 

You surveyed the claw marks on the door, almost proud of your work. Then you stood sluggishly. Every day you found less and less motivation to get up and move. You could barely remember his name. 

Then you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. You went to the window and peered out. There was someone out there, waving frantically. You tilted your head. He looked familiar, but you weren’t sure if you should trust him. 

“Y/N!” How does he know your name?

You wanted to turn back around and go to sleep, slipping into the serenity of your memories, trying desperately to make those touches real again. You started to turn away and the man started shouting louder. When you turned back around, he was gone. Great, now you were actually going insane. 

The door clicked open and you didn’t turn around. 

“Hurry up and just inject that stuff in me already.” You sighed, utterly defeated. 

“I’m not here to stick any needles in you.” 

Your eyes widened, turning around at the familiar voice. You just couldn’t put your finger on it. Who was he? 

“Who are you?!” You cried, scrambling across the room. The man looked oddly hurt. 

“See, this is why you’re not meant to be here. It’s making your mind fuzzy. I’m Taehyung, also known as the Red Queen.” 

What? 

“Why are you a queen when you’re a guy?” You tilted your head. 

“Oh, Rabbit, what did they do to you?” He sighed. “This used to make sense to you.” He grasped your arm. “Please, there’s someone here to see you.” 

“Who?” You narrowed your eyes. 

“Why don’t you just follow me?” He had this spark of mischief in his eyes and you couldn’t say no. 

Down the stairs, sneak around the corner, avoid the guards. Easy. Soon enough, you’re outside, the short gates that circle the gardens being the only thing separating you from freedom. 

“Taehyung?” You suddenly remembered. The boy seemed overjoyed and he nodded excitedly. 

“Yup! That’s me!” He glanced back at the building. “They took me there too. There’s something about that building...anyway!” 

He hurried ahead. “Wait here.” He said, jumping over the fence and running to the treeline. Then you saw him. 

As he stepped out, your breath caught in your throat, a strangled cry leaving. He was a beautiful as the day you left him, did he not age? He was possibly even more handsome. His eyes lit up when they saw you and you could see his glistening eyes. 

“Hoseok!” You flung out your arms and he ran to them. You sat down, divided by the tiny fence as he embraced you, tears slipping out. 

“I thought I lost you, oh god.” He managed to choke out, tears staining your white gown. 

“Your hat.” You pulled away, viewing his empty head. You had never seen him without it on except in bed. “What happened to it?”

He shot you a pained expression before shrugging nonchalantly. “Not sure.” 

You brushed his odd answer aside, too happy to see him again. Everything was flooding back to you, every touch, every whisper. 

“But how,” You caressed his face in your hands, fingers pushing back any stray hairs. “How did you get here?”

He pulled away, smirking and splaying his fingers like he did when you first met him. 

“Magic.” 

If this was a dream,

then at least I’ve got

memories for when morning comes.

A/N p.2: Yes a series? Yes? No? Maybe so? Let me know! Comments and feedback really help motivate me to continue publishing stories for all you lovely people <3!

[twdeadlysins]

My Girl

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2,858

Summary: During a hunt with her boyfriend, the reader is left alone for a brief moment. And in that short span of time, she’s fighting for her life with no sign of surviving. 

Requested by: @leej2468​ #17 - “This is going to hurt.” #82 - “I trust you.” - Daryl and the reader are on a run and something went wrong. The reader is injured with a dislocated shoulder. 

Warnings: season 2 spoilers? fluff, injury, dislocated shoulder,  the usual walking dead violence, language and such with possible typos. 

Author’s Note: I’m sorry if Daryl seems a little out of character? He does, but then he doesn’t to me. I mean... he’s so comfortable with the reader especially since they’ve known each other for years so like it makes sense??? Also, I don’t think is the greatest, but it’s what I came up with :/ Anywho, I hope you all enjoy the fic nonetheless!! 

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

Masterlist in bio 

Hearing them crunch beneath you, the rest of the colorful autumn leaves gracefully fell down around you as you trekked in front of Daryl. The sun was bright as hell, giving you a substantial amount of warmth while a gust of breeze would travel your way every so often. During this time of year, it was a tad colder considering winter was just around the corner which meant extra layers to wear, hunting and going on runs almost everyday to stock up on supplies… and snow.

“Dixon, I can feel your eyes on me,” you teased before you turned around to see him with a big smirk on his face, not ashamed he had gotten caught. You and the hunter were very close before the apocalypse, best of friends even though you harbored a crush on him. Merle would tease his brother about making a move or tell you guys to shut up and just kiss already. Sometimes he would even take it upon himself to flirt with you, but it was just all fun and games. Later on, Daryl had told you it was to make him jealous, a part of Merle’s stupid plan to get you two together. In the end, you two had finally admitted your feelings at the farm after Daryl came back with an arrow in his side. Merle would be proud that his little baby brother finally got the girl.  

“Gotta nice view.” You snorted and shook your head, stopping in your tracks to walk in sync next to the archer who stared at you, amused. Your hands brushed together, the both of you thinking the same thing as you intertwined them. Daryl brought your linked hands together and pressed a soft kiss, smiling as he did so, looking at you while you giggled. He was a big softie even though he denied it every time, but you both knew you were right, hell even the group teased him about it. 

“I hope we can bring back something good because the squirrels we caught aren’t going to be enough,” you brought up after a few minutes of silently walking. Daryl tugged on the rope of squirrels on his shoulder while he rubbed your hand with his thumb, trying to comfort you. 

“Hey, we’ll be fine. We always find a way.” You were still worried, but you nodded nonetheless. Winter was coming and the group was going out on runs everyday to stock up on can goods and other supplies, so you didn’t have to go out of hibernation as Carl liked to call it. You and Daryl were the ones in charge of hunting and occasionally going on runs as well. Squirrels and other small animals were the only thing that you guys saw and caught, but you needed more especially since Lori was pregnant. You needed a deer or something. One deer could last you a couple weeks to a month, maybe less considering you had a whole group to feed, but maybe more if you rationed properly. 

After an hour of endlessly walking through the woods, you had snagged two rabbits and a squirrel. You were disappointed, so Daryl suggested another hour before you guys would head back and maybe you could get a deer heading home. You highly doubted it, but you were damn hopeful. If not, then you’d be out there tomorrow.  

You and Daryl came at an impasse, the path you were sticking to was interrupted by a steep hill that lead down to a shallow river. The both of you decided to go along the edge, still hopeful that you’d find a deer. Maybe a deer was drinking some water? Wouldn’t that be something. 

“Do you remember the way back to the place we’re staying at?” You rolled your shoulders and readjusted your grip on your compound bow, feeling tired and stiff from all the walking you had done. You had been hunting for roughly two hours and the thought of retreating back ‘home’ for three more hours exhausted you. You were definitely making Glenn rub your feet and massage your shoulders when you get back. 

He playfully scoffed and gave you a ‘of-course-I-do’ look. “Hey, I just thought I’d ask, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t remember.” Your boyfriend shook his head with a smirk before striding ahead, making you groan since your feet were killing you. You were usually fine with all the hunting and traveling, but you weren’t used to doing it every single day for hours on end, especially with bouncing from one location to another. The farm became your safe haven and you were hoping to find another one. 

“Daryl,” you whined. “My feet are killing me, can we-” Daryl whipped around with his finger over his chapped lips, signalling you to shut your mouth. Any other time, you’d question him, but considering you were in the apocalypse and trusted him, you kept quiet and halted your movements. Your brows were furrowed though, letting him know you were beyond confused. Was it walkers, people? 

The hunter quickly motioned for you to come to him, so you carefully stepped beside him. He pointed in front of you, over your shoulder, and at first you couldn’t see anything, but then you squinted and saw the bushes move. Your eyes widened as you let out a breathless chuckle, smiling at the sight before you… a deer. Since the mammal was a little bit far, you could only see their head peeking out of all the greenery, chewing on their meal as they scanned the area. 

“I’m gonna go get that deer, ya stay here,” Daryl whispered, earning a nod from you before he went in the direction the deer was in. Since he was capable of catching a deer alone, you took the opportunity to sit down near the edge of the hill and rest. Setting down your bow, you untied one of your boots to massage your foot. You closed your eyes at the sensation, moaning to yourself and enjoying the sound of the stream flowing beneath. You stretched your leg and went to put your shoe back on before soothing your other foot, but suddenly footsteps and growls could be heard from behind you. 

You hurriedly unsheathed your dagger from your ankle holster, discarding your shoe, and whipped around to see two walkers very close to you and another making its way over. Mentally cursing yourself for letting your guard down, you stabbed one in its skull, struggling to keep the other away from you, but it kept nabbing onto your parka. As you were about to withdraw your blade, you took a step back to get away from the dead, but your foot never made contact with the ground. 

You tumbled down the hill, hitting numerous branches and rocks with the walker not far behind. Instinctively, you covered your face with your arms and grunted at the harsh contact your body was suffering from. A shriek left your lips, the hill had hills within them like a roller-coaster or a series of waves, making you pop fly up before hitting the ground hard. Something struck your shoulder, making you wince as you rolled down further, finally coming to a stop in the water. 

The calf deep water was ice cold as you struggled to get up, the excruciating pain in your right shoulder preventing you from doing so easily. You couldn’t sit there and clutch onto your injury, you had to fight for your life first. Not knowing where your other knife had gone, you searched frantically for something to aid you in killing the walker that was coming towards you. The third walker that you had almost forgotten about was rolling down the hill, so you needed to find something quick. 

As you were sliding backwards with your injured arm hugging your torso, your hand hit something big and solid. Gripping the object, you gave the creature a blow to the head once it stooped in front of you, and it fell over along with the rock that slipped from your grasp. You panicked and went to reach for it, but the last walker had gotten on top of you. Despite the pain, you wrapped one hand around its throat while the other tried to fight off its hands, not wanting to be ripped open like Dale. 

This was it. You were going to die. You were going to die and never see your family again- never see Daryl again. He wasn’t too far away from you and he would blame himself when he would find your lifeless body. You wanted to scream his name, but you couldn’t… nothing audible would come out. The inevitable was about to happen, but you kept fighting, you weren’t about to give up even though your thoughts were. The walker was growling and snapping its jaw, inching closer and closer as you grew weak in fending it off.  

All of a sudden, an arrow was staring just inches away from your face, sticking through the walker’s eye, making yours widen in shock. Tears streamed down your face as you shoved the dead weight off, hearing your name and quick paced footsteps splash the water coming towards you. Daryl kneeled beside you and set his crossbow down before you immediately wrapped your uninjured arm around his neck tight, trying not to have a panic attack. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and cried, feeling him secure his arms around your waist even tighter. You were soaking wet, but he didn’t seem to care. 

After a couple minutes, you loosened your grasp and withdrew, feeling a pair of hands on the sides of your face. The archer’s piercing blues were glossy, scanning your features and he rubbed your tears away with his thumbs. Your hands went to hold his wrists while your lip quivered, trying to hold back your cries. 

“I… I couldn’t call for… for you. It wouldn’t… it wouldn’t let me,” you choked, motioning to your throat. Daryl shook his head and embraced you once again, whispering that it was alright, that you were safe now. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, your shoulder was killing you and you let out an involuntary wince causing Daryl to quickly retreat with worried, apologetic eyes.  

You instantly caressed his cheek. “It’s okay, just my shoulder. It’s fuckin’ killin’ me. I think… I must’ve dislocated it.” 

“Here, lemme see.” Whimpering in pain, you shrugged off your jacket with Daryl’s help. You were wearing a black long sleeve shirt that was low cut, exposing the top of your chest. Your boyfriend only had to move the fabric near you shoulder a tad before seeing your bone was, in fact, out of place. 

“Uh, I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” you mumbled, grimacing at the sight. Daryl was quiet, so you glanced up to see him already staring at you with sympathetic eyes that were also nervous. Him biting his lip also being a dead give away.

“Do ya trust me?” You furrowed your brows and frowned thinking it was a stupid question. Of course you did, you’d put your life in his hands, hell, he saved you from that walker just mere moments ago. 

By the look on your face, he knew you thought it was stupid to ask, but you were going to hate him for what he had to do next. “Just spit it out, Dixon. I’m in a lot of pain right now and will be for weeks. Not to mention I’m soaking wet and not in the good way.”

Daryl softly chuckled, but it quickly dissipated when he softly grabbed your wrist that was cradled against your chest, with both of his hands, making you swallow thickly. “This is going to hurt.” 

“I trust you,” you smiled even though you weren’t looking forward to what he was about to do. 

He slowly stretched your arm out in front of you and began to bring it towards him, pulling until the ball of your arm bone would go back into your shoulder socket. You bit your lip hard and shut your eyes as he continued to tug, which made you lean back so you didn’t go forward. Suddenly, you heard a pop followed by a sensation, it still hurt like hell, but it felt normal.    

 Daryl shrugged off his winged vest before peeling off his leather jacket and brought his knife up to it. You hurriedly placed your palm over his hand that gripped the bladed weapon. “No, Daryl, just use my jacket. Besides, it’s wet and I can’t use it.” You lifted the black material and offered it to him.

He shook his head and pointed at it with his knife. “Nah, it’s ya favorite jacket, just gonna use mine.” 

“But that’s your only jacket.”

He looked down at his jacket and huffed as he peered back up at you. “Yer stubborn, ya know that?” He gravelly said, snatching your parka in a jokingly manner, making you smile and nod. 

You watched in bewilderment as he meticulously cut up your jacket and maneuvered it around your injury, the perfect makeshift sling. Honestly, you didn’t pay attention to how he managed to put your arm in a sling and knot it, you couldn’t help but stare at him the entire time in awe. You thought you were going to faint when he wrapped you in his jacket despite your protests. 

He sat back and stared at his work satisfied. “It feel alright? I can readjust-” 

“It’s perfect.” You leaned over and pecked his lips, brushing some hair out of his face, staring into his orbs with tears brimming your own. “Thank you.” You weren’t just thanking him for creating your sling, but for saving your life… for loving you. 

The archer shook his head with his hand on your thigh, rubbing circles and knowing your appreciation had a deeper meaning. “Ain’t gotta thank me, gotta take care of my girl.” 

Butterflies flew crazy in your stomach and you could feel your heart almost pound out of your chest. His girl. You don’t think you would ever get over the fact that he was yours and you were his. 

Daryl tapped your thigh, pulling you out of your trance before standing up, offering his hand to the only one you could use. When you accepted, his attention went down to your feet and by his befuddled reaction you followed. “Where’s ya shoe?”

You nervously chuckled, wiping your eyes before they could release tears. Scratching the back of your head, you glanced over to the ground above that you were once on, averting your eyes away so he wouldn’t notice. Oh, but he sure did. He did a double take, catching on and glared at you, waiting for an answer. 

“I may or may not have…  taken my shoe off ‘cause my feet were killin’ me which then led me to get jumped ‘cause I wasn’t payin’ attention like an idiot,” you confessed rapidly with a small voice, shutting your eyes to prepare yourself for the scolding he was about to do. When no words were spoken, you cautiously opened one eye to see him with a tiny smile. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” You questioned, tugging his jacket tighter around your frame.

Your boyfriend shrugged, his smile more evident before he grabbed his crossbow off the ground and began to walk across the river. Having no other choice but to follow, you huffed. What a tease. “So what’s your plan, smart guy?” 

“Walk down the river ‘til there’s an easier path ta the top. I’m gettin’ deja vu just bein’ down here n’ we ain’t gonna try climbin’ with ya bein’ all crippled. 

You rolled your eyes even though he was right. There was no chance in hell that you were going to be able to get back up there regardless if he helped you or not. “Crippled my ass. I could still put up a fight,” you mumbled grumpily, imagining yourself whooping some ass one-handed. “Also, that reminds me… my dagger’s up there in a walker’s skull.”

“Alright macho girl, we’ll get ‘em along with our food. I dropped everythin’ ta slide down and getcha.” 

You scoffed at the nickname… wait, food? FOOD! Your near-death experience and detour made you forget why you were out there in the first damn place. “Wait a minute, what happened to that deer? Did you get it?” You sped up to walk alongside the archer, excitement and hope flooding your features as you grabbed onto his arm, waiting for his face to show any sign of an answer.

He continued to walk as if you weren’t there which earned a tug on his forearm and a plea for him to spit it out. Daryl peered down at you with a smirk and with that you snaked your arm around his neck from the side to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“I can’t wait to tell everyone I got hurt ‘cause I fought off a bunch of walkers to get the deer before they could,” you proudly said, skipping in front of a very confused Daryl.

“Aye, don’ ya dare!”

Taglist:  @jodiereedus22​ @sourwolf-sterek32​ @haleypearce​ @gruffle1​ @lonewolf471​ @dashesoflipstick​ @aristocracy-y​

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 15)

There is a relief that comes with the knowledge that her journey is almost through and what a painful and hellish journey right to the very end. She hurts all over, in and out. But it doesn’t matter because the pain can’t follow her where she is going. She certainly hopes that it can’t.

Seicho blabbers on and on behind her but she is far past listening or caring. The stories had been nice, those little gestures and soft words… They aren’t enough.

They aren’t enough and they sting as much as they help. It should be TyLee speaking them. And even if it had been, she wouldn’t have deserved them. She doesn’t deserve help now and so she won’t take it.

“Seriously. Slow down.”

She hastens her pace if for no other reason than to push a message through.

Her belly rumbles and her throat begs for something to alleviate the dryness. She doesn’t have time to attend these needs. They are trivial anyhow. Null and pointless. The volcano is so close that she can taste sulphur and retribution on her tongue. She thinks that the two might share a taste.

She isn’t sure that the lava will be enough to cleanse her spirit and the demons that plague her emotions. She is lost, lost beyond finding. Beyond salvation. She is scared. Scared and alone. Scared and determined.

.oOo.

Tuya passes her a bowl of tentacle soup. TyLee doesn’t mean to be rude but she crinkles her nose. “Can I get something less...uh…” she jabs at the little suction cups, “tentacle-y?”

Tuya laughs. “Arctic hen or sea prune stew?”

“Oh either one of those would be great.” She smiles. “Arctic hen sounds good though.” Mostly she just wants to smell the fire that it will be cooked over. She can’t help but miss the Fire Nation at least a little especially on the nights when the wind whips merciless flurries at the walls and the arctic fox-wolves howl.  Fire smells cozy. It smells like home. Not that Tuya hasn’t made her feel like she is at home still.

It has been more than wonderful to learn about domestic life in the tribes. It is as cozy and mundane as the glacier was chilling and grand. She thinks that she likes the simplicity of bundling herself up in heavy furs--so long as she doesn’t think of the hunting it took to get them. Though she has come to respect the hunters and their rituals.

She tries to imagine herself snuggled up with a new lover by the fire but she can only picture Azula and Mai. Despite it all, she misses them too. But she doesn’t miss the way that they made her feel when it got bad…

“I said, do you want some seasoning on your arctic hen?”

“Oh!” TyLee exclaims, “yeah, that sounds nice, just a little though. Too much seasoning tickles my nose.”

Tuya laughs, “you remind me of my twin.”

“You have a twin?”

“Yatu.” She smiles. “He went out with the last hunting party, they should be back soon.”

“Do you think that he could teach me about hunting?”

“You want to hunt?”

TyLee shakes her head vigorously. “Oh no, I could never bring myself to actually do it. I just wanted to learn about some of the hunting rituals.”

“I’m sure that he’d like to do that, he loves talking about his hunts.” She hands TyLee a platter of arctic hen. “Now enjoy your meal and I can tell you some of my favorite folktales.”

TyLee grins. “I have a few from the Fire Nation!”

She takes a bite. The arctic fox-wolves howl into the storm, one long and drawn out call after the next. And, later on, when she lays her head back and really listens, she swears that she can hear the arctic lights singing.

.oOo.

It is so close now and her feet are so sore. The woman hasn’t paused once since leaving the ruins, not to sleep, not to eat. Seicho has had walk and eat at the same time, nearly stumbling several times.

And now their trek is almost finished. The volcano looms overhead jagged, burnt black, and sinister. A hateful mound with a simmering core. Seicho’s stomach flutters with anxious anticipation.

“Can we slow down?” Seicho asks again, huffing and panting. She is drenched in sweat and ready to topple. She doesn’t know how the woman can manage, especially since she hasn’t eaten or drank a thing. Either the woman is used to this sort of thing or she just doesn’t care at all. Or maybe she is just so frighteningly distraught that she doesn’t feel anything but whatever torments her.

Seicho has a fear of her own, a distress of her own. A yelling, yowling demon and the woman is rousing it awake. She is digging up dark treasures that she isn’t aware of at all. She is carrying the skeletons to the surface without even realizing that there are bones in her hands.

The shadow of the volcano falls over them. It sends a chill through her entire being. She very nearly laughs. She has to, afterall, the whole endeavor has been one big joke. She has a feeling that the woman thinks so too. She has a feeling that the woman has a lot of unsavory opinions despite everything. They reach the foot of the volcano and Seicho reaches her breaking point.

“You think that I don’t know what this is?!” Seicho damn near shrieks. “You think that I don’t know what this whole quest has been about?”

The woman stares almost blankly at her. There is a glimmer of resentment or annoyance.

“I know that you think I am, but I’m not clueless.” She bunches her fists. “It was all...it was all bullshit! The ruins, the spirit, of course you didn’t even want to check them out! You’ve never even been in this jungle before.”

The woman turns around to continue her stride. But Seicho has reached her limit, she has reached several of them. She grabs her by the shoulder and turns her around. “You just played along to appease me so that you can…” she gestures to the volcano. “Chara, my sister, she did the same thing. She didn’t ‘just not come home’ one day. I saw her swim out into the ocean…” Her voice breaks, falters. She is shaking. “I told my parents that I had no idea what happened to her because I knew how they would feel.”

For a moment, she thinks that the woman will change her mind. She shakes Seicho off of her and makes the final few steps to the base of the volcano with a renewed vigor. She watches the woman take the first few steps onto it and resents the earthbending ancients who had carved a convenient little staircase into the volcano’s rim.

“Go ahead!” She shouts. “Stairs or not, it’s a long climb. You won’t even be able to make it to the top.”

She isn’t deterred. Seicho hadn’t expected her to be, she has been nothing but persistent and stubborn. But it doesn’t matter, when a body is spent, it is spent. Especially if the mind that inhibits it is twice as exhausted.

She follows the woman up the stairs, she has to give her credit, she makes it a little more than halfway up. She topples and Seicho nearly goes with her. She braces herself against the rocks and heaves her back up. She removes her pack and has herself a real meal before lifting the woman up and beginning the daunting trip back down. With luck, they will be a good distance from the volcano by the time she wakes up. With luck, Seicho will be able to handle whatever fit she will throw upon doing so.

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: DS9 Fanfic: Caitlin’s Story

Not only has A Star to Steer Her By wrapped all of Deep Space Nine, but your podcast hosts are also celebrating our fifth anniversary of bringing you through all of Star Trek! As a treat, we’ve concocted DS9-themed fanfic stories and teleplays in our much-celebrated “Tales from the Holodeck” series that you can listen to us cold read here (this one starts at 2:53). Read on for the transcript of Caitlin’s Opaka-Damar story below, featuring a whole new take on the series finale!

[images © Paramount/CBS]

Caitlin’s Untitled Story!

By Caitlin

Random picks: Kai Opaka, Damar

The bipedal humanoid grunted with displeasure as his shovel hit something hard. “Damned lava rock!” he cursed, pulling a pick from where it swung at his belt and kneeling. “Every damn time I think I’ve made progress…” He braced himself and took a firm swing at the as yet unseen rock, using all of his strength - 

- and the pick shattered, a bright light emitting from below.

“What the devil - “ He shrank back, falling onto his buttocks and looking on in terror. “What witchcraft is this?!” He looked around for his companions, yelling, “Darv! Grekon!”

The two other men approached, shovels resting on their shoulders as they approached. “Triev! What the hell is that?” asked one, Darv, as he jogged up.

“Don’t get any closer!” said the one called Grekon. “The Kai should see this.”

* * * *

“I don’t blame you for being scared, my friends,” said Kai Opaka warmly, a warm smile crossing her broad face. “Such a thing has almost certainly never been seen Ennis or Sol-Ennis before - truth be told, I’m not sure how it came to be here.”

“But, what is it, your Eminence?” asked Triev, fear assuaged but replaced with distrust.

“This is what the Klingons would call a time crystal,” said the Kai, reaching out with a shawl-covered hand to lift it from the ground. “It is very special, very powerful, and must be put away where it can do no harm. I will store it in my quarters under lock and key. And who knows. One day, the prophets may reveal their purpose in sending it here to me.”

* * * *

Opaka woke from her dream with a start, and sat bolt upright in her simple cot. 

“My lady, what is it?” came the gentle voice of the former Kai’s trusted servant, Saline.

“I’ve had a vision! For the first time since I arrived here, the Prophets have reached me! And they have shown me what I must do,” said the Kai, rising from her bed and moving to her modest dresser. “Come, girl, help me put a few things together - the fate of my entire home quadrant could rely on my actions of the next few days!”

The confused girl rushed to do as bidden, with a murmured, “yes, m’lady,” and helped the Kai gather her few traveling necessities into a bundle. As she did so, Opaka crossed the room to the one lavish item in her home - a small, elaborately decorated box, tightly locked, its contents hidden from view. She drew a leather cord from under her robes, revealing a series of small keys. 

“I must ask for your complete silence, child,” the Kai whispered. “The mechanism in this box needs concentration and precision - an incorrect step in the unbinding process could cause the entire place to go up in an explosion you cannot imagine.”

The girl’s face paled as she watched the Kai, gently inserting key after key, twisting them each to measured intervals, her hands quick and meticulous.

As the lock sighed and released, the Kai kissed the keys and whispered, “thanks be to the Prophets for their guidance!” Before removing the box’s contents - the time crystal.

* * *

“But you eminence!” protested Triev. “How will you get there? And how will you return? And how will you keep us from all dy-”

“The Prophets work in mysterious ways!” the Kai said hurriedly. “Besides, with the aid of a Time Crystal, surely all will be well. Now never fear - since I’ll be using the crystal to stop the flow of time on this planet, I’ll literally be back before you even realize I’ve gone!”

* * *

She watched from the shadows as it all played out, saying a silent prayer to the Prophets for their guidance. 

WINN: Dorra tolka bre tri pah wran. Kosst Amojan, come to me! I await you.

But the wraith did not want Winn, and threw her against the rocks. Passing her by just as the Prophets have, thought Opaka.

The wraith went straight for the prostrate corpse that was once Gul Dukat, and entered him. An instant later, Dukat’s eyes opened, blood red, as he returned to his Carassian appearance.  

“No!” cried Winn, her hopes of being the chosen of the pah wraiths dashed, truly a woman with nothing left.

DUKAT: Did you really think the Pah wraiths would choose you to be their Emissary? Soon the Pah wraiths will burn across Bajor, the Celestial Temple, the Alpha Quadrant. Can you picture it? A entire universe set in flames, to burn for all eternity. The Prophets have sent me a gift. Their beloved Emissary, sent forth like an avenging angel to slay the demon.

SISKO: I should have known the demon would be you.

DUKAT: Go on. Kill me if you can.

(Sisko's rifle is thrown out of his hands.)

DUKAT: You'll have to do better than that, Captain.

(Dukat zaps Sisko with an energy bolt.)

DUKAT: This is too easy. That's it. Come closer. That's it.

(Sisko punches Dukat. And again. No effect.)

DUKAT: Now bow to me. I said bow.

(Sisko is pushed to his knees.)

SISKO: You are pathetic.

DUKAT: Then why are you the one on your knees?

SISKO: First the Dominion, now the Pah wraith. You have a talent for picking the losing side.

DUKAT: Benjamin, please. We've known each other too long. And since this is the last time we will ever be together, let's try to speak honestly. We've both had victories and our defeats. Now it's time to resolve our differences and face the ultimate truth. I've won, Benjamin. You've lost.

SISKO: The Pah wraith will never conquer anything. Not Bajor. Not the Celestial Temple. And certainly not the Alpha Quadrant.

DUKAT: And who's going to stop us?

SISKO: I am.

DUKAT: You can't even stand up.

WINN: Then I'll stop you.

(Winn raises the Kosst Amojan above her head, and it vanishes to reappear in Dukat's grasp.)

DUKAT: Are you still here?

WINN: Emissary, the book!

(Wraiths surround Winn and she bursts into flames.)

DUKAT: Farewell, Adami.

It is now or never, thought Opaka, it is time to save the Emissary, and the Alpha quadrant!

“That will prove to be your final error in judgment, Dukat.”

The Cardassian whirled around, his red eyes blazing, and a look of shock overtook his usually confident features. “Kai… Opaka? No, this can’t be, you’re dead -”

“I’m afraid reports of my death are greatly exaggerated,” smiled Opaka. “A sentiment you won’t be able to share for much longer.”

Dukat threw back his head and laughed, though the fear still shone in his eyes. “Such arrogance, to think you stand a chance against me. Do you still foolishly cling to your precious prophets? Your Emissary is on his knees, trembling, before me, and I have made easy work of your hypocrite of a Kai - what do you intend to do?”

“It isn’t the Kai you should be concerned with, Dukat,” said a familiar voice.

It couldn’t be - that pathetic little worm would never dare speak to me like this...Dukat thought, mind racing wildly. He turned, shock clearly written across his reptilian face, and saw -

“Damar! How?! You… you died!” gasped Sisko, his mouth agape.

“The Prophets have seen fit to give me a gift - a new life, to give in service to Cardassia…. And to Bajor,” said Damar. It was then that Dukat noticed the bright blueness of his eyes, the energy radiating off of him. 

“DAMAR!” he cried, as the other man -  once his second in command, his right hand man, a mentee and comrade in the fight for Cardassian supremacy - stood before him, hands outstretched, power gathering at his fingertips. “You fool - you think you can defeat me?”

“What began on Deep Space Nine will be finished now,” said Damar. “And this time, Winn won’t be here to stop you.”

The Kosst Imogen threw back Dukat’s head and laughed gutturally. “We shall see who will be stopping whom!”

 The two squared off, beams of energy shooting from their hands - Dukat’s was a sickly blood red, and Damar’s a pure blue beam. The sacrifices that had been made for the Kosst Imogen had made them strong - too strong, perhaps, to be beaten by the Prophet inside of Damar. 

Kai Opaka prayed then her most earnest prayer - for a Prophet to take her and allow her to assist Damar in the fight. A flash of light, and she was face to face with Sara; she did not know that this was Sisko’s mother, but she knew she was face to face with a powerful force. 

“Sulan,” she said. “I will help you to provide aid during this fight. We had not foreseen this, but perhaps this is the best way.”

Opaka felt power unlike anything she had ever known filling her body, and she found herself next to Damar, not sure of how she had arrived there, but with her body moving seemingly of its own accord - of the accord of hte Prophet! - to join in the fight. 

Blue energy flew from her hands to join Damar’s, and the two of them pushed against the Pah Wraith, feeling him start to slide back.

“NO!” cried Dukat. “No, this cannot be! This cannot be - ahhhhhhhhhhh!” Even the Kosst imogen was no match for the power of two Prophets. The once-Cardassian plummeted over the side of the cliff, disappearing into the flames below.

As quickly as they had entered, the Prophets left Opaka and Damar, and the two collapsed - one back to the peace of death, the other into the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

Opaka awoke in the familiar setting of her home, Saline standing over her. “My lady, you’ve returned to us!”

“Wha - How did I get here? How long have I - “ Opaka halted mid sentence, as she was taken by another vision.

“You have done well, Sulan,” Sara, again, stood before Opaka. “We wish to reward you… what can we give you that would make you happy?”

“To serve the Prophets is all the reward I need,” said Opaka. “But… it would mean the world to me, to save the inhabitants of this planet, and return to my home - return to Bajor.”

“As you wish,” said Sara. “So it shall be. Return to Bajor, and serve once again as our Kai. Help to guide the Sisko and prepare him for what the future holds.”

—

For more DS9 fanfic, check out Jake, Chris, and Ames’s stories from this round of Tales from the Holodeck! And be sure to keep listening to new episodes every Thursday on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and praise the prophets, my child! They work in mysterious ways.