#whisper from the scrap heap

[mrpenguinpants]

See you, space cowboy

— Parting words at the end of the day.

— Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Imbibitor Lunae, Dr. Ratio + Luocha

[Masterlist]

The title is from Cowboy Bebop. I used their "Parting" voice lines if anyone was curious. Ignore how I'm using a Kafka gif for a fic with only men. I promise this is still a "genshin" blog.

Jing Yuan

"Mmm, rest well... My apologies. There is still some work to be done and I can't see you out personally."

You blink at him before you narrow your eyes and give him a judging stare. Your fingers reach out to curl around the sleeve of his uniform, giving it a small tug that he willingly steps into despite his earlier words. He doesn't try to hide the amusement in his eyes, even letting out a soft chuckle that makes your lips downturn into a frown. Jing Yuan reaches up, smoothing the crease between your eyebrows before resting on your cheek.

"It's obvious that you're tired. You should rest for a little bit more before you go back to work," you lightly scold as you give another weak tug for him to return to your shared home. Another chuckle escapes him as he places his other hand on your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles through the fabric for a few seconds to attempt to appease you. "It's been a while since we've shared a meal together..."

Jing Yuan's eyes soften yet he politely removes your hand attached to his sleeve. This time he avoids your gaze, the disappointment flowing heavy in the air, when he shakes his head and steps back.

"Next time, I promise," he whispers, squeezing your hand to hopefully convey his sincerity. "I'll take a day off as well. I heard that our Trailblazer friend has restored Aurum Alley back to its former glory. I'm sure Yanqing would love to join us as well."

You seem to mull over it in your head. To trade one night for a full day is tempting, plus Yanqing has been running himself ragged given the recent events. It would be nice to have a break where it can just be the three of you without any military or political weight hovering above you.

"...fine. But if you break your promise, I'll sic Mimi on you," you pout at him, twisting your hand from his grip to poke him in the chest.

"I...shall plan accordingly then," he laughs awkwardly because he knows you will follow through with that threat. He still has the scratch marks on the walls as proof. Playful or not, Mimi is unfortunately an overly heavy lion.

Blade

"Go. When the mara strikes, you don't want to be next to me."

"Is that what you say to everyone who tries to help you?" you huff as you carefully bandage his wounds, the white bandages seeping red slowly as you wind them around his torso. Despite the sarcasm dripping from your tone, he can tell you're genuinely angry with him this time. If it were anyone else, he would shake them off to leave, but when you look like you're two breaths away from bursting into tears, so he can only take a deep breath and let you bandage him up.

"They'll heal. They always do," he says after a moment of silence. Alas, his attempt at comfort does nothing but make you more stressed. He winces slightly when you pull too tightly on the bandage, the gauze scrapping against his gash that's already stitching itself together again.

"I know, so shut up already," you spit in an attempt to save face, and he decides to offer a bit of kindness by not commenting on it, "I'm not doing this for you."

He knows. You used to be an ordinary medic before the Stelleron Hunters recruited you, and you incidentally had to switch careers to something more violent. But old habits die hard, and this small bit of control helps to ease your worries. Even if it's only by a small margin. Your weakened hold lets the bandages fall into a heap on your lap as your shoulder shag. You press your forehead against his shoulder just slightly above where his wound is already rapidly healing into another scar.

"Can't you be more careful?" you sigh into his shoulder, a smear of red on your cheek that you both ignore. Blood will wash out.

"I'm sorry," he replies. He won't lie to you and say that he'll try. For as much as the mara controls him and his emotions, he wills them away for a few seconds.

Dan Heng

"Time to turn in already…? Thanks for the reminder. It's easy to lose track of time in the archives — before you know it, a whole day's gone by… See you tomorrow."

You have to stifle your laugh lest you make Dan Heng more embarrassed that he kicks you out of the room to save some dignity. Even though he says all that, he hasn't once lessened his hold on you for you to actually get up and leave. If anything, his arms around your waist tighten so you're practically molded into his chest. To be fair, you had lost track of time as well. After the recent adventures and running everywhere, it felt nice to settle into Dan Heng's lap and waste a day away in the archives, just basking in each other's presence. No crazy hunter trying to stab Dan Heng or overactive mara-struck enemies attempting to decapitate you. Just the hum of the machines and the warmth of company that neither of you are ready to leave so soon.

"You know...technically it's already "tomorrow" since it's 2am. We could just stay here," you muse as you tilt your head up to look at his unimpressed expression. The longer the two of you stay up, the worse the rest of the day will be from the lack of sleep. Plus it's not healthy to stay up to reset a sleep schedule.

"You know we can't do that. Besides, you might be comfortable but this shelf has been digging into my back for the past few hours," he sighs, shifting his body to prove a point further.

"10 more minutes," you bargain.

"2," he denies flatly.

"5?" you try again.

"2." He stares you at with a frown.

"3!" You stare right back with a cheeky grin.

"...fine."

He hides the fond smile into your hair as you cheer on gaining a single minute.

Dan Heng • Imbibitor Lunae

"It's getting late, I won't be staying up much longer. Sleep well."

You have to stifle your amusement less you make Dan Heng recede even further into his shell, but you can't help but think it's kind of cute how awkward this dragon can be sometimes. The way he stands so stiffly and not at all relaxed for sleep, how his eyes are staring at anything but you who is standing right in front of him, coupled with the uneasy way he says for you to "sleep well.". As if he's questioning if it's okay for him to say something so casually despite all the time you've spent in each other's company. Dragon horns or not.

"Much longer...huh. And pray tell, how many minutes does that equate to again? It's kinda hard to tell when I'm talking to an infinite respawn glitch," you tease, lightly punching him in the shoulder makes Dan Heng crack a tiny smile. You mentally pat yourself on the back for that little win. Ever since the Astral Express concluded its journey on the Xianzhou, the new dragon had been walking on eggshells around everyone.

"You're talking too much to that hacker girl. That's not how the vidyadhara reincarnation works either," he sighs but the tension is gone from his shoulders. If you're able to joke about it then you're not mad at him lying about his origins, even though you haven't been in the first place. "But I will return to the Archives with the system hour."

You spare a glance at the clock. It'll be midnight in another 20 minutes. Has it really gotten that late so quickly?

"Alright, but if I check the data bank and there are new entries, I'm kicking your door open mister," you place your hands on your hips as you gesture two V-sign fingers at your own eyes, then at him. "Good night Dan Heng. See you in the morning.".

Dr. Ratio

"Another day has passed. If your problem still hasn't been solved, is it possible that the problem is you?"

He tilts his head to the side gracefully as you hurl your pen at him. The cheap plastic breaks on impact and leaves a smear of ink that you'll have to clean up unless you want another stain for Dr. Ratio to insult you for. Perhaps you can use his name as a tax write-off? It's the least he could do for you with how much attitude you put up with.

"What if my problem is you? If you didn't dodge then I wouldn't have to waste so many precious pens," you counter as you reach for the white cloth hanging from his waist to use to mop up the ink. One that has Ratio slapping your hand away with his stone booklet. He even dares to wipe at it with a handkerchief, as if touching your skin is equivalent to touching trash, rather than offering it to you!

"Ow! Geez, you really don't hold back. I wasn't going to actually use your clothing!" you fake sob as you nurse your poor hand close to your chest. It doesn't hurt as badly as you're making it out to be. You've seen Veritas throw chalk at his enemies and leave chalk-sized holes in them. "Besides, it's not like I can do anything about my "problems". [ Rahu ] isn't the easiest place to investigate..."

Your body slumps in as you think back on how little progress you've made with that strange planet. Diamond has been kind enough to not assign a deadline but you can feel the quiet disappointment every time you report that you don't have anything new to share each month. Maybe Veritas is right. Maybe the problem is you.

"Which is why you've been given the role. The numbers written on a stats page or monthly reports do not measure the trial and error of someone's pursuit of knowledge. Very few scholars I know would be capable of continuing for the sole purpose of finding the truth. Surely you're capable of seeing that? Unless I've severely underestimated your intelligence," Veritas states as if it were a fact. He reaches to take your hand, giving it a once over to see if he has truly hurt you. His words bring a small smile as your heart swells at his encouragement as you squeeze his hand back.

Luocha

"Have an early rest. I'll keep watch here."

It's the last thing you hear before your eyelids droop close and sleep takes you under. Your body slumps against Luocha's side, his hands already out and ready to catch you, before he gently maneuvers you so your head rests in his lap. He hums humourlessly as he combs through the strands of your hair, a bit of dirt clinging onto the ends. He'll have to tend to that later.

"I wonder what someone like you dreams of," he contemplates although he doesn't expect an answer. Your face is the picture of serenity as your chest rises up and down slowly with each breath, completely dead to the world. You're far too trusting of him, even his first meeting on friendly terms with Dan Heng hadn't made that man lower his guard. Sure, they had been on the same team but Dan Heng would constantly look behind him as if he was waiting to get stabbed in the back by Luocha's sword. Yet here you are, fast asleep in his lap and entirely defenseless.

A loud buzzing sounds from your pocket that Luocha reaches for to check, you're not going to be awake to answer it anyway.

"What considerate companions you have," he muses as Dan Heng's caller ID flashes on your phone before his call gets sent to voicemail. It's truly a blessing that all phones operate under the same system programming as he holds down the power button, effectively shutting the phone and other potential distractions silent. Under the artificial night light, when it's just the two of you here, no one can see the secret smile on his lips. Nor the possessive hold he has on you.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || Your Child Says Something Inappropriate

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - July 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

Chan had been looking forward to the weekend barbecue for weeks, you had gone all out on planning it together and even made sure all of the kids were entertained so the adults could relax. You wanted it to be perfect for him since it was a rare chance to hang out with his best friends, eat some good food, and catch up on life. 

"You okay?" You whisper to Chan as you place a soft kiss on his cheek, his hands busy as he attempts to set up the grill. Your six-year-old son, Rhys, was running around with the other kids, a bundle of energy and curiosity.

"Perfect, everything is perfect." He breathed out, kissing your cheek quickly. Chan flipped the burgers and turned to Changbin, who was recounting a hilarious story from their trainee days.

"Remember when you snuck all that food back to the dorms in your pants?!" Changbin laughed and you started to giggle, watching as Rhys came pouncing over to you.

"Hey, Dad!" Rhy's voice rang out, cutting through the noise. Chan turned to look at his son and couldn't help but smile at him.

"Yeah, buddy?" Chan called back, expecting another excited observation about the bugs he’d found or the cool fort he and the other kids had built, or even about the rocks he now had a growing collection over in his bedroom. Rhy's eyes were wide, and he wore a proud grin. 

"I told my friends what you said about Uncle Hyunjin's car!" he announced. You and Chan stared at each other, your eyes widened as you felt your stomach drop, you already knew that Chan was flipping through his mind to figure out what he'd said. 

"You said it's a piece of shit and should have been scrapped years ago!" The whole garden went silent as Hyunjin started to laugh a little, ruffling Rhys' hair with his hand and smirking over at Chan. 

"I've said worse about the heap of junk, don't worry about it." By now Chan was burning a bright red colour and it wasn't because of the barbecue below him.

"Me and you are going to talk about bad words," You told Rhys sternly, taking him into the house.

MINHO:

Minho and the boys were gathered in the living room, the aroma of pizza and wings mingling with the sound of laughter and the latest action movie playing on the TV. It was their monthly guys' night, a tradition they had maintained since Minho had moved in with you, it was the same night you would spend with your own friends. Cassian - your youngest son of seven years wandered into the room, his curiosity piqued by the laughter and commotion. The boys each greeted him and Chan reached out to ruffle the young ones' hair,

"Hey, buddy, you want a slice of pizza?" Jisung offered, pushing the box close to him but Cassian shook his head, his eyes twinkling as he glanced over at Minho. Minho smirked back at him and nodded his head,

"Actually, guys," Cassian began, glancing at his dad for a moment before turning back to the seven men who were now watching him, expecting to hear a story about his day,

"my dad says none of you has any idea how to pick a good movie." The room fell silent for a split second and then erupted in laughter. Changbin feigned a hurt expression, clutching his chest and grunting loudly as he laid back in the chair. 

"Oh, really? Your dad thinks he knows better, huh?" Minho leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk as Cassian got onto the seat beside his dad and ate a slice of pizza with a giant grin on his face. 

"Hey, don't blame me. The kid has a mind of his own." He smirks, high-fiving Cassian, Felix grinned, pointing at Minh. 

"Yeah, right. We all know where he gets that from." The room burst into laughter as they started to debate what movie was better, none of them ever settling on something they could all agree on.

CHANGBIN:

"Who's idea was this?" You groaned feeling the sun practically melting your skin as you lay in the shade. For some reason the boys had thought it would be a good idea to head to the beach, bringing their kids and your own to have a barbeque,

"I believe it was Changbins," Minho smirked as he turned to your husband at the grill. You were about to say something when Lily - your five-year-old - started yelling for you both to look over at her

���Daddy! Daddy! Look what I made!” she exclaimed, pointing down at a small sandcastle, with a flag on it. Your heart beamed as you watched how proud she was

“That’s awesome, sweetheart! You’re really good at this.” Changbin chuckled, Lily practically beamed at the praise and you turned to look back at the others.

"NOOOOO!" The cry practically screamed out of your daughter as you turned around to see the sandcastle now crumpled into the sand,

"Piece of fucking-" She yells and you drop your bottle of water, too stunned to even talk. Changbin's eyes widened, and he shot up, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

“Lily! Where did you hear that word?” He panicked, kneeling down in front of his daughter as you nervously looked at the others. But Lily looked confused and a little scared by her dad’s reaction. 

“From you, Daddy. You said it when you were talking to Uncle Hyunjin last time.” Changbin started groaning as he shook his head for being so careless when it came to throwing words like that around,

“Oh, uh, did I?” he stammered looking at you as you practically glared at him, silently letting him know he was in trouble later. 

“Well, that’s not a nice word, Lily. We shouldn’t say that, okay?” Lily nodded and Changbin let her go,

“Okay, Daddy. I’m sorry.” She whispers, kissing his cheek softly as he smiles, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her,

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Just remember, some words aren’t for little kids, okay?” She nods before running back over to the sand and starting to work on another sandcastle.

"I'm in trouble later, right?" Changbin asked as he leaned down to give you a kiss.

"Very much so," You smirk, kissing him again before sending him back to work.

HYUNJIN:

Hyunjin had been looking forward to this for months, ever since it had been announced that he could bring his son in to work he'd been planning what the two of them were going to do all day. Everyone was pretty excited to see Jamie in the work place, he was Hyunjin's youngest son and full of energy all of the time.

“Hey, Jamie,” Changbin called out, wrapping his arms around Jamie and picking him up.

"Wanna see what we've been working on?" He wriggles his eyebrows as the two of them walked into Changbin's studio and sat down at a huge desk. Jamie had always loved watching the boys work, even told you he wanted to be "just like daddy" when he got older and even did the dances...well, attempted to.

Hyunjin walked into the room as he watched Jamie, a huge headset on his head as he listened to the son, even pushing some buttons despite them doing nothing.

"God I love him, he's so curious.” Changbin bellowed out, looking as Jamie pushed the volume up before pulling the headphones off.

“Thanks, Binnie. He’s been looking forward to this all week.” Hyunjin chuckles, but as the room turns calm, Jamie suddenly questions,

“Dad, why does everyone say ‘work is a pain in the ass’?” Hyunjin grunted as he realised he must have heard what he'd said the night before to you,

"This is easy!" Jamie yells making everyone chuckle, Changbin had officially lost it and was laughing into his hands while Hyunjin groaned and walked closer to him to lecture him on bad words.

JISUNG:

"You're basically being forced against your will," Jeongin laughs as he, Jisung and Seungmin all walk into the mall, exchanging a look with each other but their eyes landed on Jisung's daughter. She was clutching his hand tightly and giggled 

"Whatever my princess wants, she shall get." Jisung laughed looking down at Emma who was buzzing with excitement.

“Ready to shop, kiddo?” He asked, smiling down at her as she jumped up and down on the spot, her eyes widened.

“Yeah, Dad!” Emma replied with a yell, the boys groaning as they followed the birthday girl.

They wandered through various stores, chatting and enjoying the relaxed atmosphere as Emma looked through all of the clothes for something she wanted. Jisung was in the middle of a conversation with Seungmin about the latest release they had coming out when they decided to check out a new gadget store. As they walked in, Emma tugged on Jisungs sleeve.

“Daddy, can we look at the toys?”

“Sure, sweetie,” He said, leading her towards the toy section and letting go of her hand. She rushed through the toys looking through all of them when suddenly, Emma’s voice rang out loudly and clearly, cutting through the hum of the store. 

“Daddy, this toy is a piece of crap!” The world seemed to stand still as Jisung felt his stomach twist and his throat dry. Bending down to her level he looked at her nervously,

“Emma, where did you hear that word?” He panicked and Emma stared at him, confused as to why he looked so upset,

"Mummy said it last week," Jisung smirked to himself, knowing he was going to get to lecture you later

"Well, we'll have a very long talk with Mum about that later, but don't say it again,"

FELIX:

"This is a dumb idea," You mumbled to Felix as he watched the kids run around together, You were all having a picnic out in the sunshine today with all of the kids. Something you weren't sure was the best idea since the kids weren't getting along all that well. Just last week you'd have to split up a fight between Chan's son and yours,

"Everything is going fine," Felix whispered as he looked at you, he knew how anxious you were about it, but your thoughts were interrupted by your daughter yelling over at you both,

"Daddy, Daddy! Look what I found!" Penelope exclaimed, holding up a shiny rock. You and Felix beamed at her, your hands holding onto the rock as she placed it into your hand,

"That’s great, baby. It’s very pretty." You giggled as Penelope smiled hugely at you, but just as quickly as the smile appeared it disappeared,

"Rhys said that the rocks are shit," The rocks slipped from your hands and onto the blankets at the mention of her brother's name followed by a curse.

"Penelope!" Felix yells softly, bringing her into his arms as he starts to beg her not to say it again. The boys all hide their smirks as you go to find Rhys and give him the same lecture.

SEUNGMIN:

Seungmin and Felix were babysitting tonight, well, Seungmin was looking after his own child and Felix was babysitting, Seungmin was running around like a headless chicken trying to clean as quickly as possible before you came home.

"Hey, Ben," Felix called out, 

"Which superhero is your favourite?" He chuckled, Seungmin thanked him for distracting him long enough while Seungmin cleaned the paint from the floor, scrubbing as hard as he could to lift the stains. Ben looked up with a serious expression, holding up his toy. 

"This one! Captain Marvel!" Felix grinned, pulling the toy and showing it off proudly. 

"Great choice! Captain Marvel is awesome." Seungmin smiled, watching his son interact with his friend, each of the boys was like an uncle to him but Ben was always closer to Felix than anybody else. 

Suddenly, Ben's action figure slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. Without missing a beat, Ben blurted out, 

"Fuck it!" The room went silent. Seugmins eyes widened in shock and he stopped scrubbing the floor and he felt his face flush. Felix winced, hearing the word fall so carefully from the little boy's lips.

"Where on earth did you hear that?" 

"Dad said it yesterday when he dropped his phone," Ben said, clearly not understanding what was wrong with everyone in the room. Seungmin quickly got up and traded place with Felix who began to scrub the floor. 

"Okay, buddy, but that's not a nice word to use. We should try to say 'oh no' or 'oops' instead, okay?" He looked at Ben who was now blushing and looked to be on the verge of tears.

"Okay, papa. I'm sorry." He nods his head, hugging him from the side,

"Now none of us will tell mum, right?" He asked both Ben and Felix - who was smirking from the floor.

"Promise." He winks making Ben laugh,

JEONGIN:

You knew this part was going to be a good idea the second your friends had invited you and you'd begged Jeongin to let the kids stay at home with a babysitter but he'd insisted on letting them come. 

"Emily!" You yelled out for her to come and eat but she ran straight past you and after her cousin while giggling wildly. The fizzy drinks she'd consumed finally getting to her. 

"Innie, go collect your daughter," You whine at him,

"She's your daughter too," He laughs, kissing your cheek before chasing after his daughter.

"Not when she's misbehaving," You grumble as Minho walks up to you, smirking as you glare at him. 

"Aren't you glad you bought her?" He teased you lightly, but as you were about to come back with a comeback Emily's voice rang out, loud and clear, cutting through the pleasant chatter. 

“Mommy says Uncle Minho's girlfriend drinks too much wine!” At that point you wanted the whole world to stop and eat you so you wouldn't have to deal with it. Minho's eyes darted over to you as Jeongin finally grabbed Emily and covered her mouth,

“Kids say the darndest things, don’t they?” You said, forcing a laugh as Minho chuckled deeply. But you were mortified, you hated that your words had been so easily spread.

"She's right," Minho's girlfriend laughs, nudging your arm softly to let you know it was all good between you both but it didn't stop you feeling shit.

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[betweenstorms]

Where Ghosts Linger Obsessed!Simon x fem!Reader

In honor of both kinktober and spooktober, I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone to write something darker. Imagining Simon in this twisted scenario wasn’t easy, but I wanted to push the boundaries and see where it would take me. Hope you enjoy this eerie little experiment!

TW: contains themes of obsession, depression, alcoholism, violence, child abuse, self-harm and non-consensual behavior. It includes dark psychological elements and emotional distress. Please read with caution.

London. Fucking London.

A city that thrived on misery and despair, where the air was thick with the stench of piss and where Simon Riley found himself suffocating in his own personal hell. He hated the crowded streets, the gray, lifeless sky, and the dirty rain that seemed to wash away any trace of hope. London was a festering wound, and Simon was stuck in it, rotting from the inside out.

His apartment was a reflection of that rot. A shithole in Southwark that was as neglected as he was. The landlord didn’t give a shit about it, and neither did Simon. Why bother? This place was a bloody tomb, and he was just another fucking corpse waiting to decompose in it. The walls were stained with years of filth and smoke, the paint peeling off like the skin of some dying beast. He lived in dirt, where he belonged, surrounded by the remnants of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

The medals on the shelf, once a source of pride, now sat gathering dust, their shine dulled by time and indifference. A painful reminder of who he had been, and who he would never be again. He’d been an elite soldier, a protector, a fucking weapon. But that life was over, dead and buried just like the people he’d failed to protect.

Now, he was nothing but a broken-down wreck, a ghost haunting the ruins of his own past.

How pathetic.

It had been a year since the army had tossed him out on his arse, like a piece of shit they couldn’t be bothered to flush. ‘Early retirement’ was the official story, but Simon knew better. He’d seen their looks, heard their whispers. They thought he was broken, fucked in the head. And they were right. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the undying rage that simmered just below the surface of his inked skin, ready to explode at the slightest provocation—they were all signs that something inside him had snapped. And it had.

The day Johnny died, the last bit of humanity in him had died too.

All that was left was anger, grief, and a deep hatred for the world and himself.

The military forced him out after he nearly killed a rookie during a training exercise. He could still hear the bone breaking, still feel the flesh tearing under his bare hand. It had taken four men to pull Simon off, and even then, he’d been like a rabid dog, snarling and spitting, desperate to finish what he’d started.

After that, there was no saving him. They gave him some bullshit about ‘rest and recovery,’ about how he needed to ‘take time for himself.’ But he knew what they meant. They wanted him gone, out of sight, out of mind. Another broken soldier thrown on the scrap heap, just another casualty of a war that never really ended.

Most days, he was angry. So fucking angry that it felt like he was burning from the inside out, like his veins were full of liquid fire.

He’d go out looking for something, anything to let the rage out before it consumed him. He’d pick fights in pubs, in alleys, in abandoned sites, anywhere he could find some poor bastard who looked at him the wrong way. It didn’t matter if he won or lost either.

On the days when the anger wasn’t there, he felt nothing.

Just a cold, hollow emptiness that left him numb and disconnected from everything. Those were the days when he couldn’t bring himself to leave his soulless flat, when he’d sit in that creaky old armchair and drink himself into oblivion with cheap whiskey.

Those were the days he feared the most too—the days when he didn’t care if he lived or died, when the gun in the drawer seemed like the only way out of the endless nightmare.

Something always stopped him before he could pull the trigger.

Maybe it was cowardice, or maybe it was some small, stubborn part of him that still clung to life, even though he didn’t know why. Whatever it was, it kept him going, kept him trapped in this limbo of existence. He would get up, go through the motions, take his pills, and try to convince himself that tomorrow might be different, even though he knew it wouldn’t be.

Sometimes, he tried to fight it and hold on to some semblance of a life. He’d wake up at dawn, like he used to, force himself to shave, to shower, to eat. He’d try to follow the old routine, the one that had kept him sane during all those years of deployment.

However, it never worked. He’d been a soldier, a man with purpose, but now he was nothing. Just a useless, sick in the head, broken piece of shit, abandoned by the only thing that had ever given his miserable life any meaning.

To ease the pain, he walked during the night and slept through the day. The only time he could find any peace was under the dark sky, the only time the voices in his head quieted down, even if just for a little while. Sometimes he was drunk, stumbling through the dirty streets like a wraith, barely able to keep himself upright. Other times, he was sober, the cold night air cutting through the fog in his mind, sharpening the edges of his thoughts. He wandered the shitty, empty streets of the worst parts of London for hours, sometimes until the sun started to rise, trying to outrun the demons that haunted him.

It was on one of those nights when he saw you for the first time.

It was a cold, damp night in October, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you feel like you would never be warm again. He was sober, or maybe he just felt that way due to the cold, because for once his mind clearer than it had been for a seemingly endless year.

His father’s face flashed before his eyes, twisted and angry, the same expression the bastard always wore when he was about to beat the living shit out of him. Simon could almost feel the blows, the sting of the belt, the sharp pain of a fist connecting with his ribs. He’d learned early on not to cry. Crying only made it worse. So he’d learned to take it like a man, to bury the pain deep down where it couldn’t touch him. But that pain had never really gone away. It had just festered, turned into something dark and ugly that had followed him his whole life.

And then there was the memory that haunted him most of all.

The day he’d come home to find lifeless bodies in his childhood home, his family slaughtered because of him. Because of a bloody mission that had gone sideways, because he hadn’t been fast enough, smart enough, good enough. He’d dug himself out of a grave with a fucking rotting jaw, only to find his brother, his dear mother, his baby nephew—all of them dead, butchered like mere animals because of him. He will never forget the sweet, nose-wrenching stench of corpses and blood that filled the house.

That was the day Simon Riley had died.

The day Ghost had been born.

He was so lost in these thoughts that he almost walked right past you. How could he do that?

Walk past you.

Oh you. You were standing under a rusty streetlamp, the rain forming a mist around you that caught the orange light in a soft, golden halo. For a moment, Simon thought he was seeing things. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought, and the whiskey he’d downed earlier was playing tricks on him. Because you didn’t look real.

You looked like something out of a dream. A hallucination.

You were dressed simply, in clothes that were too thin for the cold weather, but Simon barely noticed. It was your face that held his attention, the way the light played across your skin, making it glow against the backdrop of the city. Your hair was wet, locks sticking to your cheeks and shoulders, but you made no effort to brush them away. They hid your eyes for a moment before you shifted slightly, looking down at your phone and he saw them—eyes that seemed to stare right into his pathetic soul.

For a seemingly endless moment, Simon just stood there, staring at you, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.

You didn’t belong here, in this ugly, rundown part of London, in the middle of a miserable night. And then, out of the blue, a sudden, crazy thought flickered through his broken mind.

Maybe you were waiting for him.

The thought was absurd, ridiculous even, but it latched onto Simon's twisted mind with the tenacity of a pitbull, refusing to let go. Maybe you were there for him, a bloody angel in the midst of this wretched city, just standing there in the piss-poor rain as if you didn't belong to the same shitty world that had turned him into this... thing.

This broken, hollow shell of a man.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of desperation that clouded his better judgment, but it didn’t help. The sight of you had triggered something deep inside him, something he hadn’t felt ever. It was like a spark had been ignited in the pitch-black darkness of his mind, a tiny flicker of light that he was terrified would go out if he didn’t hold on to it. Maybe it was the booze still swirling in his body, maybe it was the years of torment and guilt twisting his brain into knots, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop himself from believing, if only for a moment, that you were meant for him.

He took a step closer, the soles of his black boots splashing in the cold, dirty puddles on the pavement, but you didn’t seem to notice.

Simon’s pulse quickened, his breath shallow and uneven as he moved closer, his steps soundless despite the wet pavement beneath him. He surveyed the area with practiced eyes. The street was empty, a desolate stretch of asphalt and crumbling brick, lined with decrepit buildings that looked like they hadn’t seen a lick of care in decades. There were no people nearby, no signs of life in the windows above.

Just him and you, alone in this forgotten corner of the city.

You were still oblivious to his presence, lost in whatever was on that bloody phone of yours. He watched you, hazel eyes narrowing as he considered his next move. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Part of him just wanted to get closer, to see you more clearly. But there was another part of him, a darker part, that wanted more.

Simon moved closer, every step deliberate, controlled.

He felt like a predator stalking his prey, his military training coming back to him in full force. It was second nature to him now, the way his mind cataloged every detail, every possible threat or escape route. He had been trained to hunt, to go for the throat, to eliminate, and those instincts were hardwired into his core, impossible to shake even after all this time. The lines blurred in his mind, his thoughts tangling up in the memories of past missions, of dark nights spent creeping through hostile territory, of the adrenaline that surged through him when he was on the hunt.

For a brief second, Simon could almost hear his old captain’s gruff voice echo in the hollow of his mind—a special forces operator’s worth is tested in blood. The words twisted in his chest, cold as the barrel of his rifle, his breath catching in his throat. A phantom touch grazed his shoulder, and for a heartbeat, he could almost feel Gaz there—tapping lightly to signal the breach. His brother, always at his side. But no, not anymore. He must be a lieutenant now...

Simon blinked hard, forcing the ghosts back into the shadows.

He focused on you instead, the only anchor left in the storm.

Just as he was about to take another careful step, a sharp, sudden sound shattered the stillness of the night. Your phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through the silence like a knife. Simon froze, instinctively ducking behind the wreck of an old, rusted car parked at the edge of the street. Your lovely voice was tinged with frustration as you spoke. It was quiet, almost too quiet, yet it clung to the air with a strange sweetness that made his breath falter.

In that moment, something in him shifted—like a taut wire snapped loose, vibrating through his chest. It was an obsession born not of choice, but of instinct.

“Derek? Where are you?”

Derek.

Simon’s stomach twisted at the sound of the name. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, hot and vicious, as he imagined that bastard leaving you out here, alone in the dark, like you were nothing. You were too good for this shithole. And Derek, whoever the fuck he was, had left you, you out of all people, stranded.

Simon’s hands clenched into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking as he fought to keep his temper in check.

“No, I told you I didn’t know this area,” you said, pacing back and forth, the anxiety clear in your every movement. Your tone was sharp, but beneath it, however, Simon could hear the fear creeping in. “No, I’ve been wandering around for an hour! I’m lost, Derek, and this place is creeping me out. I don’t know where I am. Help me, please."

Simon felt a surge of protectiveness, mingled with fury.

Of course you were creeped out. You should be. This was no place for someone like you. You were lucky, though. So damn lucky that Simon had been the one to find you, that it wasn’t some thug or worse, some twisted bastard who’d see you as easy prey. Oh no, you were safe with him, even if you didn’t know it.

Safe from everything except him.

“I don’t care about the discount in the pub, come on,” you huffed, your voice trembling a bit, now tinged with a note of desperation that made Simon’s chest tighten painfully. “The guys will understand, I’m sure. Please, just come and help me.”

Simon could almost hear Derek’s response in his head—a lazy, careless dismissal, maybe a drunken laugh as he waved off your concerns. The thought made Simon’s blood boil.

Derek didn’t deserve you.

Didn’t deserve to be anywhere near you, didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. You were precious, an angel in a city full of demons, and that bastard was too fucking stupid to appreciate you. If Simon ever got his hands on him, he’d make sure Derek knew exactly what kind of danger he’d put you in. He’d break every bone in his worthless body, make him pay for every second you’d been left out here to fend for yourself.

“I told you I couldn’t come tonight, but you insisted, so I did,” you continued, your voice growing more strained with every word. “I need your help. Please, come and pick me up. I’ve got work in the morning, I don’t feel really good and I really need to get home. What? Yeah, I’m a little bit tipsy, so what? I’m lost. Please.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as he listened to you, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. You were begging now, practically pleading and it made his skin crawl.

You shouldn’t have to beg. Not for something like this.

You deserved better, so much better. You deserve someone who would move heaven and earth to keep you safe, to make sure you were never in a situation like this in the first place. Simon wasn’t good for much anymore, but he knew how to protect. He knew how to take care of those he cared about—he’d spent his whole life doing it, even if it had all gone to shit in the end.

But Derek clearly wasn’t that man.

Simon could hear the frustration in your voice as you asked, “You called a taxi? Really? You couldn’t just come?”

There was a long pause, and he could feel his heart beating faster, his muscles tensing as he waited for your reaction.

When you finally spoke again, your voice was much softer, much resigned. “Okay. Fine. We’ll meet tomorrow, then.”

You ended the call with a deep sigh.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the ground, your shoulders slumped in defeat. Simon watched you from his hiding spot, his mind racing. The deadly fury he felt toward the pathetic excuse of a man you were speaking with was almost overwhelming, but underneath it, there was something else—something darker and more insidious. A need to be the one you turned to, the only one you could rely on. He wanted to be the one who took care of you, who made sure you never had to feel this way again.

But he couldn’t just walk up to you, not now. Not yet. You were too vulnerable, too raw, and he didn’t want to scare you off. He had to be careful and had to find the right way to approach you. You needed to see him as a protector, not as a threat. His mind was a mess of emotions, the anger, the need and the sick sense of possessiveness all tangled up together. He couldn’t let that control him. He had to be smart about this, had to play it right.

Simon took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly.

He had to be smart about this, had to think like the fucking special forces operator he once was.

The shadows of his old life clung to him, and in the quiet of his mind, he could almost hear Price’s voice barking orders—to scrape up every damn thing he could find. That was his mission now, wasn’t it? To know you. To learn your name, where you lived, where you worked, every inch of your life, mapped out like terrain before a strike. It was the instinct that kicked in, something so ingrained it almost felt like muscle memory.

Johnny would have definitely teased him for his honest mistake—“forgetting the basics, Lt.,”—his voice mocking, lighthearted, but Simon couldn’t let this slip through his fingers. He needed to know everything. You were his target, but not to eliminate.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you from his hiding spot. The rain continued to fall, pattering against the metal roofs, but Simon barely registered the cold droplets soaking through his clothes. All his focus was on you, every nerve in his body attuned to your slightest movement. You stood there, alone and vulnerable.

He inched closer, moving with the same precision and silence that had once made him a ghost on the battlefield.

Despite his size—broad shoulders, heavy muscles that made him look more like a walking tank than a man—he moved with an eerie grace, his footsteps soundless on the wet pavement. Decades of military training had taught him how to blend into the shadows, how to become part of the night, after all.

He was close now, too close to risk you noticing him, so he stayed low, hidden behind the wrecked row of cars. He couldn’t see you anymore and that frustrated him to no end. It was like torture, being this close and yet so far, but he knew he had to wait. Patience was something he’d learned the hard way, and now it was paying off.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a taxi pulled up to the curb. Simon’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening as the car’s headlights cut through the darkness. He heard the window of the vehicle roll down, the driver’s voice breaking the tension in the air.

The driver called out, his voice hoarse but polite.

And he said your name.

It hit Simon like a sledgehammer, echoing in his broken mind, searing itself into his memory. He repeated it to himself, over and over, like a mantra. He would never forget it for the rest of his miserable life. He would burn down entire cities to remember it. 

“Yes, that’s me,” you replied, her voice softer now, but Simon caught every word, hanging on to them like they were the most important thing he’d ever heard.

He strained to catch the rest of the conversation, hoping for more clues, more intel. You murmured something about the old market in downtown London to the taxi driver, and Simon’s mind raced, trying to piece together what little he knew. The old market—that could be a clue, a starting point. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And right now, that something was all he needed.

The door of the taxi shut with a soft thud, and Simon was left alone in the dark, empty street, the rain falling steadily around him, soaking him to the bone. But he didn’t care. All he could think about was the name that now echoed in his mind, the name that had given him a purpose, a reason to keep going.

He had a name. He had a direction.

As the taxi drove away, its taillights disappearing into the night, Simon finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

His muscles ached from the tension, but there was a strange sense of relief that washed over him, a feeling of liberation. He had something to hold on to now, something tangible. He knew your name. He knew your name, and that meant everything.

He stood there, letting the rain wash over him, his mind buzzing with possibilities. He could find you, he could get close to you. He wasn’t the man for you now, but he could become the man you needed. He could become your provider, your guardian, the savior you deserved. He could protect you, keep you safe, take care of you, and in return, you would give him the thing he craved the most.

A reason to live.

You didn’t know it yet, but you were about to become the most important person in Simon Riley’s life. And he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stand in the way of that. The storm that had raged inside him for so long had quieted, leaving behind a cold and unyielding determination. He had a purpose now, a mission. One he had to see through alone. Price would have approved, Simon was sure of it—Gaz and Soap too. He could almost feel them at his back, their shadows guiding him forward.

This wasn’t for them, though. This was for him.

For the part of him still capable of feeling something other than anger. He would find you again, and when he did, you would never be alone, vulnerable, or scared again.

Because Simon Riley was a man who protected what was his.

And you were his.

➼ Masterlist

[writingwisterias]

Hello! Can you write a little drabble of Leon saving his best friend(crush) from her crazy ex? Protective Leon for the winnn

I sure can! I hope you enjoy it, thank you for the request- it's a little bit longer than a drabble because I got carried away :)

Leon Kennedy x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Toxic relationship, Crazy Ex, Friends - Lovers, Abusive relationships, Wounds, light violence, Protective Leon, Abuse (Not from Leon), (Partner is a Boyfriend) Please take warning when reading Under the cut! My Dms are open if there's a tag you think I've missed or need someone to talk to :)

Leon grumbled as he opened the door to his apartment, his muscles aching from his last mission. He almost gave up and chose to sleep on the couch but after deciding to give his back some release, he stumbled to the bedroom, allowing the soft comfort of his bed to envelope him as he flopped on it. He groaned in relief, finally shutting his eyes to let the jet lag catch up and fall into a long sleep. Only for his phone to ring in his pocket. The vibrations were angry against his leg, a constant reminder that duty calls. He pried the thing from where it was trapped against his thigh and the bed. He flipped it open bringing the speaker to his ear before grumbling out "Agent Kennedy?"

If you were in dire need of his help you would have laughed or made a joke at how formal he sounded; instead, a whimper left your lips. You brought your hand over your mouth stifling the noise in case you woke up your Ex who had now passed out on the sofa. Broken glass and furniture littered the room, your arm having small scraps where some had caught you in the ordeal. You didn't mean to anger him, you were just asking what he wanted for dinner which distracted him and caused him to lose focus on his game. Apparently that resulted in a full-blown tantrum, he threw anything he could at you whilst spitting insults in your face. You cleared your throat before speaking again, your voice barely above a whisper - half worried that the phone wouldn't even pick it up. "Leon, can you come and get me, please? I need help"

Leon shot up immediately, any weariness that lingered on his body gone at the sound of your voice. "Hey, where are you? I'm on my way" He said, checking his pockets for his keys before leaving his house. He opted for the bike, choosing speed to get there faster. "I'm at his house, he just...I don't know Leon, he just got mad. I need to leave whilst he's asleep" You whimpered. The fear in your voice broke his heart, his brain already raking through all the roads to get there faster. "Wait for me outside okay? I'm on the bike so I'll be there as fast as I can"

You tried to go outside, but the creaking of the front room woke him. Leon could hear the arguments when he pulled up outside, the front door cracked open ever so slightly. Without hesitation he barged in, his footsteps noisy as the glass crunched beneath his boots. You couldn't tell if the sight of him terrified you or gave you relief. You knew he would come, he always did your Leon. Perhaps this time he would stay, chose you to talk about everything he went through instead of pushing you away. You got tired of waiting. Waiting for him to decide what to do, what he wanted. The two of you got into an argument a few months ago, he was drunk and begging for your forgiveness. Perhaps you should have accepted his offer, his promises of self-improvement. Then maybe you wouldn't be trapped here, against the wall with the breath of your supposed lover on your neck as his dirty hands pinned you against the wall. Did he not notice the tears that trickled down your cheeks? The way your frame was shaking?

Leon acted before he thought it through, dragging him away by the collar of his shirt. He stumbled to the ground with a loud thud, his body a heap against the couch. "Back off" Leon growled, his body stiff as he stood in front of you daring the man you claimed to love to fight. His eyes were piercing, and his brows lowered as he stared. It was almost terrifying but in a beautiful way. You looked at the small wrinkles on his face, the slight stubble that had grown in over his time away. He smelled of gunpowder, you could feel the heat from him as he moved back shielding you as the dickhead rose again. His steps were swayed as he moved towards Leon, his fist clenched as he prepared to swing but Leon was faster. One hit and he thumped to the floor again now unconscious and with a black eye.

Leon turned to you, his hands gentle as they landed on your biceps. His eyes softened as he looked you over, taking into account all the small cuts and bruises that now littered your skin. Instead of speaking, he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you holding you close. Your body slumped against him as you began to cry, your hands desperately clutching at him. You could hear his coos as he tried to calm you down. "I've got you"

"He won't hurt you anymore, I've got you now"

Upon returning to his place, he sat you on the sofa before leaving to find a medical kit. You scanned the room spotting the duffle bag abandoned at the door along with all of his other gear. Guilt ate at your chest as you realised he had just returned from another grueling mission. Leon walked back in, his browns pinched together in concentration and concern...the two looked so similar you often found it hard to tell the difference. "I'm sorry I called you..you look like you just got back" you mumbled looking at your hands instead of him. You felt the sofa dip as he sat down, the medical supplies laid out on the table. His touch was feather like as he gently grasped your hand, pulling it into his lap forcing you to look at him. "How long has he been like this?"

His voice cracked as he spoke the words, his own guilt at letting a petty argument get in the way. He should have checked on you, messaged you, begged you to talk to him but then maybe that would have made things worse, for that was why your ex was angry in the first place. The two of you had always been close, meeting in the mess of Raccoon City you shared trauma allowing you to rely on each other. Everything Leon went through was so you and Sherry didn't have to, and you turned him away after Spain because your partner was jealous.

"A few months, I thought he would change...this was the worst"

The tears threatened to spill from your waterline as you held his gaze. Apologies ready to spill from your lips the more you looked at him. Leon was angry you didn't call him, angry you were going through all of this to add onto the shit the world had already thrown at you. Yet your kindness never wavered, never changed. "You don't have to worry about him anymore, you can stay here"

He returned his attention to the small cuts, making sure they were clean or putting witch hazel on the bruises to help them heal. His touch was never firm, only showing how caring he was. Leon looked at you when he finished, unspoken words and emotions held in his gaze again. You felt your heart flutter as you looked at him. "Leon..."

He silenced the rest of your sentence with a kiss, a quick one, almost as if he hadn't meant to do it. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean...I mean I did...but-"

You cut him off with another kiss, this time your fingers weaved into his blond strands. The events of the day melted into passion as he forced his love, promises of devotion into the kiss. Promises of a better future

[frostfangalphabitch]

The rest of the base has gone to sleep, but you don't sleep anymore. You don't join them in the mess hall anymore, either. You barely eat organic food at all these days, and when you do, it's mainly for pleasure. You can take the organics out of the pilot, but you can't take the love of sweets and pizza out of the organics, you guess. Despite that, you're so far removed from your humanity that it's gotten difficult to relate to most of them. It's not like anyone else is sharing your meals of titanium and copper.

The other pilots look at you with fear and disgust, knowing their inevitable fates if they're ever pitted against you. The mechanics see you as an oddity, a fascination, and heap praise and adoration upon you, but it's hollow in your eyes. It feels more like they're ogling a rare car rather than talking to a pilot. The corps see you as nothing more than a weapon to be pointed at their enemies, or whoever has less money than them that week.

The only person who still respects you as an autonomous individual is your handler. You adore her just as she loves you. Certainly, you're still a weapon - that's what the relationship started as after all - but you think she might be the only human in the base, including the mechanics, who could truly love a weapon of any kind. She's been so good to you through all of this, taking each stage of your radical transformation in stride as naturally as a lover watching her partner go through a more mundane transition. She's only gotten more attracted to you as you've grown into your new form and become more comfortable and confident with yourself. You'd burn the whole world down just to make her happy.

There's one other who respects you for who you are, though: your girl. Your beloved Wolfrun Mk.X, heart of Coral, veins of electricity, and arms of 5 ton power-guzzling metal-shredding AC-devouring WB-0010 Double Trouble carnage. Before all this started, you always thought of her like a weapon, just as the others see you now. Then she started changing you. The Coral in your augments connected with the Coral in her systems, and something changed in both of you. At first, it was just a whisper. Something brushing over your psyche, speaking just on the edge of hearing, incomprehensible but unmistakable.

Then your body started following suit. Your teeth, jaw, and digestive tract were the first things to change, presumably to allow you to consume and digest - you're not even sure if that's the correct term - the materials your girl needed to keep changing you. After your first meal, the tastiest 20 pounds of scrap you've ever eaten, your skin started changing too. The docs couldn't give you injections anymore. Their needles bent or broke when they tried to push them into your skin. You figured out why a few weeks later when what was left of your epidermis sloughed off and revealed armored plating underneath. They had to take an angle grinder to your arm in order to access your veins. You didn't feel any pain when they did. At the time, you thought that should have disturbed you a lot more than it did.

By that point, you'd been noticing Wolfrun's thoughts coming in a little clearer. In transit to your jobs, it was feelings of curiosity, probing, and wonder. In combat, it was a spark in your vision when you needed to dodge, a wordless warning about approaching enemies. In the base... still nothing but a whisper. That's when you started feeling lonely: when you couldn't feel her presence anymore.

As you became more and more monstrous, more and more like her, you began to visit her night after night. Maybe it was because you sensed an intelligence within her 65 ton body, or maybe it was simply because being near her drowned out the silence. You had no way of verifying this, but you felt like she relaxed as well when you were around. She was shut down in the hangar, of course, and there was no way any part of her could still be engaged, or so you thought. But as time went on, the whispers got louder, the words - feelings and thoughts, really - more comprehensible. And all the while, your body changed.

The 5'6" chubby trans gal who went into debt and subsequently under the knife to get a hand-me-down set of 4th gen augments all those years ago is long gone now. The thing you've become, whose claws clanged against the metal of the hangar's floor, had long since cast off that form. Where once was skin had become plated metal. Despite having no screws or rivets to speak of, it stayed firmly in place no matter how much the techs tried to pry it off. The augments which before had stuck partially out of the left side of your skull had seamlessly integrated themselves into the sleek plating that had cropped up on your head, looking far more natural than they ever had before. Your hair had fallen away, and the metal around your skull became angled and sleek, looking more bulwark than biological and with aerodynamic fins sprouting from it.

A sleek black plate had formed where your eyes once were. The day you woke up with that, you thought you had gone blind. You panicked, begging for help, afraid they wouldn't ever let you pilot her again. You had been moved into your new warehouse home at that point, and it took time for the maintenance techs to find you. Before they did, though, you felt someone - your girl, you realized - beckoning to you. She could help you. When the techs finally got there, you begged them to put you in her cockpit. It took them a while to figure out who you meant by "her", but your handler, who had come running the moment she heard the news, was on top of it. She barked at them to get you to Wolfrun, and with great difficulty, the three of them helped you get your then-8 foot form into her. You spent the next week inside her cockpit, refusing to get out except to eat and drink. She was there with you, and she let you see through her eyes. The world as she saw it was far more vivid than human eyes could ever see, infrared, ultraviolet, gamma, magnetic, smells, sounds, vibrations, on top of the visual spectrum you were used to. And when the delicate sensor plate where your eyes once were finally engaged at the end of that week, that's how you saw the world, too.

When you finally left her cockpit, you realized you could still hear her. From then on, she was with you always. That made you happy. It made her happy, too. You started letting her choose her own parts, and she was happy to. She still insisted you choose some too, though, since according to her, it was your body just as much as it was hers. True enough, whatever force was altering your body changed you to match her. When you tried out digitigrade legs, you stumbled getting out of bed the next morning after yours had reconfigured themselves to match. When you got her bulky, high capacity arms, your arms - fully synthetic by then - had bulked up considerably.

Even cosmetic changes started to affect you. You painted menacing, sharp teeth onto her head over the sensor plate with mechanical precision, and you found your own mouth elongating and becoming more of a muzzle as a result. You'd have thought being so malleable would have unsettled you, but you found you were more excited about the possibilities instead. It felt more like becoming who you were meant to be. Besides, it made wolfing down your metal meals easier. You figure intention, either yours or hers, or both, affected how you changed, but no one else had any satisfactory explanation for any of this. You'd stopped caring long ago in any case.

What you and Wolfrun ended up settling on for her, after earning a mountain of COAM for you and your handler with your unbeatable, utterly synchronized performance, was a mid-lightweight build focused on tearing apart the battlefield as quickly as possible with heavy machinery. What you became in response was anything but lightweight, at least compared to the humans around you. The finned bulwark and the black sensor on your head never really changed, but the rest of you seemed plenty mutable. Your arms grew long and powerful, your shoulders tipped with decorative spires. Your waist grew slender, tapering inorganically in nested panels to allow for plenty of articulation. Your torso got wider, too, though for whatever reason, the outline of breasts remained constant on your new chassis. You kept the digitigrade legs. Over time, hydraulic supports seemed to have formed on yours. The snout stayed, too. You were too proud of that paint job to ever take it off even with the changes to your own body. BECAUSE of the changes. You might be more machine than woman at this point, by you're still you, pride and all.

The techs estimate that only about 5% of your body is still organic. Probably most of your brain and maybe some other systems, plus a few symmetrical patches of skin. They suspect that you had either some kind of sympathetic Coral connection to your AC that rearranged your augments and allowed the changes to start, or that somehow repair nanites adapted to your form and began "fixing" you. In any case, they think the bulk of your changes are done with at this point. You're a little disappointed by that. Wolfrun likes the new you, though. She's happy for your connection and to be able to get even closer to you. Your handler appreciates your new form just as much. She doesn't even bat an eyelid when you tell her that you've been talking to Wolfrun. If anything, she seems a little sad that she can't talk to her directly. As for your relationship with your handler, you might be nearly twice her height, standing at a hulking 10 feet tall, but that doesn't stop her from loving you, or from jamming her fingers lovingly between your legs after missions.

But she's sleeping now. It's late, but you're still lonely. There's only one entity up at this time of night you'd care to talk to, so you climb the catwalks to meet her, claws clanging against the metal of the hangar. You smile your toothy, metal smile as she greets you, opening her cockpit so you can crawl inside and be one with her for a few more hours before your next mission.

[pearlpost]

wip ⸻ d. osamu

abstract : something about dazai overdrinking and the aftermath. couldn't remember how i wanted it to go so this is scrapped. warnings : substances [ alcohol ] statistics : 0.9k words | discontinued

It is a mess as always, his apartment. Wooden slats buried beneath a pile of crinkled takeout wrappers, bottles of liquor, now very much empty, strewn around. Glass glitters in a tiny warning as you step carefully over them, your heels settling in quiet against the flooring, what little of it is visible anyways. You follow the blood trail to the bedroom. It is even worse in here; closed curtains that swallow it whole and Dazai is a familiar lump on twisted sheets, half-dragged on the ground.

Your exhale is a hollow breath of your lungs.

You move to the windows, hesitate for only a heartbeat before drawing them open. Sunlight, pale and watery as the thin droplets of whiskey on his lips, drifts in, swallows the darkness. Dust motes flicker in the stream of soft light, gentle as the flutter of a moth's wings.

Dazai's groan is a shot down to your stomach. Your heart climbs up into your throat.

He whispers your name, voice hoarse, hands shifting over the bed before he's reaching out an arm in your general direction. You let out another quiet sigh, stepping towards him.

Dazai smiles weakly up at you, fingers flexing. You stare down at his hand; long joints and delicate bones, skin rough and calloused and bloodstained from where he has gripped the bottle too hard. Glass glitters here, too, little pieces of stars embedded in the flesh of his open palm.

His smile falls when you do not take his hand.

"Get up," you say quietly, simply. The words, plain as they are, are not a request. And Dazai knows better than to argue. He shuffles for a few moments before pulling himself out. He tries to, anyways, instead ending up in a heap of limbs and bedsheets on the floor. Another hoarse groan, you let out another sigh.

Your heart, what little is left of it anyways, breaks a little more when his lower lip quivers, his eyes darting away from yours, unable to look you in the eyes.

You kneel down before him, reaching out carefully. Your fingers find the curves of his cheeks, his jaw, your touch as tender as though you were approaching some feral, wounded animal. A sound chokes in Dazai's throat, almost a whimper. You swipe a thumb along the line of his eye, catch the tear that has dried there. His skin is hot to the touch, and you wonder if he is flushed with fever or whiskey.

It is hard to tell with Dazai.

"Get up, Dazai," you repeat, softer this time. Less a demand, more a plea, almost. You rub his cheek softly, watch the skin flare bright red beneath your cold fingers. You straighten up, letting go of him as you do. "You need a shower."

He stares up at you with wide eyes, before smirking. His teeth glint beneath the curve of his lip. "Join me?"

You stare at him blankly. "Get up first."

Dazai grumbles, incoherent, playful but the circles that bruise his cheek give him away. His knuckles are white where they clutch at the edge of the bed. He pulls himself up, and your arm comes around his waist before he falls back down again. Dazai moans, you question if it is some twisted sort of pleasure or pain, and nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin deep as he can.

His lips form a word in quiet, a word that you do not want to hear, searing over your skin, the weight of his lips far too familiar.

"Come on." You don't respond to the whispered declaration, the apology leaves a bitter taste in the back of your mouth and you think you'd rather swallow down that cheap liquer Dazai seems to have taken a liking to. You hold him close, trudging through the mess of the room to the bathroom. You dump him ceremoniously in the shower, clothes and all as you push your own coat off, leave it in an expensive heap of carmine on the kitchen counter. Your sleeves are rolled up, gold glinting inches above the crescent-shaped scar that cuts into your upper right forearm, the skin there a darker bronze over blue-green veins. Dazai's gaze catches there, and so does his breath.

He hates that scar. Hates anything that he didn't cause.

His bathroom is bare, you expected no less. You pick out the soap you'd brought along, some off-brand that you would never have taken hadn't it been for such short notice. Dazai scowls.

"I want your soap," he mumbles, petulant. You give him a look and he slumps back in the tub. You think of a kicked puppy and your heart lurches once again.

You keep quiet, though. All the words you want to say linger like burned ash beneath your tongue.

You step into the tub with him, adjusting the controls. "Strip."

Dazai shuffles behind you, and you hear the clink of his clothes hitting the porcelain, zippers dragging and buttons popping as he shuffles and snaps them in annoyance. Then there's the quiet whisper of rough paper, and you know he's removing his bandages.

You know better than to look.

You pass him the shower head then, the water warm. You stare at the controls, steam rising up around you.

wip ( dazai ) © pearlpost, 2024.

[ohraicodoll]

I want more smut of joel and red🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

For all the people requesting a jealous!Joel fic companion to Territorial 💥

Dominant Joel Miller x Feral Reader The Last of Us 3.6k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: Jealous and rational don't mix. Warning: Explicit sexual content. 18+ Minors DNI

Joel knew Red was trying hard to be a part of the community. And he was proud of her, proud of all the progress she had made, excluding a few setbacks but some of them weren’t her fault.

She was a different person when other people were around or when she was outside the walls of their house. She’d always been quick to argue with him, could easily chat with Ellie, and late at night they’d talk about whatever came to mind in hushed whispers between cooling sheets. Outside though, it was hard for her to speak a full sentence easily, much less a whole conversation. She growled more often than not, glared constantly, most of the time wouldn’t even respond at all. She talked clearest when she was angry. He never thought he’d be the more talkative person in a relationship, but here they were. So he was surprised to see her talking to someone else. Was even more surprised when he saw her talking to them multiple times. Noah worked at the wood mill some times and on the construction crew when they needed him. Joel had worked with him a few times, the most recent being the second water tower they were building, but he was more focused on the job than making friends. The guy was younger than him, brighter, sometimes a little cocky. Eager to please and overconfident. Which is why he was confused Red of all people was talking to him. She was quick to push people away that tried to approach her. It was something they were working on, but she had only a small, small circle of people that she was mildly comfortable with and only them. Noah was not in that circle. Noah didn’t work in the kennels or do patrol consistently, the two places Red would be around other people most. She didn’t go to the food halls, she didn’t go to the monthly Jackson get-togethers, and she wasn’t a part of the welcoming committee. But there she was, arms crossed, nodding to whatever Noah was saying outside one of the community scrap heaps. Joel chewed on his lip, brow furrowed, watching intently and trying to decipher what their lips were saying from a distance. The younger guy was talking a bit rapidly, head bobbing, with his eyes focused on her with a small smile. And she nodded back, twisting the rubber band around her wrist, before replying. 

There was no stutter. He watched her mouth and the way they formed words. Joel had watched that mouth more times than he would care to admit and knew her patterns. No stutter.

Something in his gut tightened and his frown deepened.

When their conversation ended, Noah laughed at something and waved goodbye. Red turned and started to walk away, her eyes on the ground and lip between her teeth when she caught sight of him across the way. They always could feel when the other was around, a sense developed over the months traveling. Like two magnets.

Joel was leaning against one of the walls and didn’t look away as she headed over, his arms crossed tight across his chest. The weather was in that state where it didn’t know if it wanted to be cold or warm and the flannel shirt he had on was rolled up to the elbows, her own unbuttoned and hanging loose over an undershirt. He was sure that was his shirt as well.

“Hey,” she greeted him and he wanted to drink in the softness in her voice that was only for him and Ellie.

He nodded back and instantly the words were out of his mouth before he could process them, “What were you up to?” It didn’t sound accusatory, thankfully, it was luckily more curious in tone but for some reason it filled him with anxiety seeing her talking to another man easily. One that was younger and attractive.

Red’s eyes met his briefly then averted as she shrugged, “Just kennel stuff.” No further explanation. He knew when she was lying and the anxiety tightened.

But pushing Red was like moving an immovable wall sometimes and he wasn’t going to keep at it when there was no reason to push. It would piss her off and the last thing he needed was a faceoff after the long morning he had dealing with Tommy and the construction crew.

So he let it go, walking with her back home, his hand in her back pocket.

That night the thoughts surged back to life.

The anxiety and tiny hints of fear were on his tongue and he tried to bury them in her skin. Hands fisting in her hair as he pulled her head to the side and left a trail of bruises along her neck, sucking and licking his way to the stars tattooed on her collarbone. He remembered the first time he got to kiss that very spot, how he had been picturing it even when they snapped at each other. The memory twisted and turned into a need to show her exactly what he could do to her, how he could make her feel.

It wasn’t quite worshiping. He wasn’t a beggar at her altar. No, that wasn’t them.

She was his and it was a reminder, a hand on her neck to show her where she belonged. That they were blood and death and teeth and needed each other and the other men were too soft skinned for her. They’d try to tame her and he wanted her as she was.

His hands were large on her and he gripped her tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs and pulling her wet core to his mouth. Joel devoted all his focus to making the rise of her breath hitch, to pulling a symphony of moans from her mouth as she squirmed against his tongue. He licked and sucked every ounce of fight from her, having her panting and thrusting into his mouth. She came hard and even then, he didn’t let up, growling at her when her hands tried to bat him away and only shoving his palm against her stomach to hold her down and in place. 

The second orgasm exploded out of her and he watched as her back arched off the bed, memorizing the way the moon glistened on her sweat soaked body. He fucked her hard, his name spilling from her mouth in a chorus, urging him on. He relished in the sound of it. And when he came and spilled into her, both of them heaving and warm bodies clinging together, he hoped he was branded into her skin the way she was burned into him. It was a hiccup, a small moment of jealousy over nothing, and he drowned it out. She was his. It flared back to life after seeing Noah talking to her at the kennels. Maggie the mama dog was loose and trotting around at their feet happily, free from her needy pups, while Red talked to him. His hand would come down and pat the dog as he nodded along to whatever she was telling him. She seemed confident, focused, and it twisted something to see her interacting with someone else like that. Part of him argued that he should be proud of her, that this was what they wanted. The other part wanted to rip the guy’s eyes out for even looking at her. Something hot and tight flared in his chest, pressing against his lungs, and he couldn’t keep himself from heading over, footsteps heavy and brow pinched together. Her words faltered as she caught sight of him and that coil in his chest tightened a bit more. Maggie wagged her tail and hopped around him, excited to see someone she interacted with often. Joel wanted to seem casual, wanted to not seem like the jealous asshole boyfriend-partner-whatever he was. But seeing her next to Noah again with her hair up, neck a long naked slope, worn jeans clinging to her thighs, made him all too aware how good she looked. And he was sure others had noticed that as well. The soft, “Hey” she greeted him with was muffled in his head as he walked up to her and instead of greeting her normally, he pulled her into a hard kiss. His hand was on her cheek, tilting her head up, while his other found its spot in her back pocket, squeezing her backside through the jeans. He was never into PDA, had never kissed her in public, but this was less about them and more about the clear message he was sending to Noah. She was his. She bit down on his lower lip, not too hard, but clear in its own message. A warning. Joel pulled away and didn’t meet her eyes, could feel the suspicion burning into his face from her gaze as he turned and looked at Noah. “What’s going on here?” He tried to keep his voice calm and level, more interested than prying, but he knew he was scowling. Noah was hardly ever intimidated by him when they worked but knew what to avoid to keep from getting glared at. Now he looked nervous and Red’s gaze had swiveled back to look at him, trying to communicate something Joel wasn’t sure about. Lips pressed together tightly, the younger guy shook his head, hands slightly raised, “Nothin’ much! Just going over some uh…stuff here. Uh, I’ll catch you later, Red.” When he went to scurry off, Maggie tried to follow a bit as if curious as to where one of her friends was going. Red only let out a sharp whistle and the dog came back immediately to her feet. She had the dogs trained to a tee. Her brow was lowered and she pulled away from him, heading back inside the kennels without a word. Joel sighed, knowing he was heading into a fight and that tightness in his chest growing, and followed after while closing the large doors behind him. “You wanna tell me what that was about?” he asked roughly and watched as she let Maggie back into her pen, picking up the puppies that were trying to escape and gently pushing them back in. 

“You first,” she grunted and headed to the back area where the supplies were kept, “That was new.” The statement was accusatory, questioning, almost mocking. The dogs hopped and whined as she passed, vying for her or Joel’s attention, and potentially sensing the growing tension in the room. Joel grit his teeth and shook his head, “I didn’t like how he was looking at you-” “So you shoved your tongue down my throat?” she scoffed and turned around to face him, lips twisted down in a frown. “You haven’t complained before,” he dryly commented as if to brush it off, closing in on her until they stood close together. She quirked a brow and let out an unamused laugh, “Miller, people are intimidated by you enough without you throwing your dick around. He’s just doing a job for me.” He wanted to believe her, but the tiny signs were still there that she wasn’t being completely truthful. And it burned deep into him because she hardly ever lied to him before. She was direct in what she would and wouldn’t talk about, would dodge around what she couldn’t answer truthfully. But lying wasn’t done often and it didn’t quell the tightening in his chest. He continued to walk forward, her own position unyielding and refusing to step back, until he was chest to chest with her, “Just a job, huh? One you haven’t mentioned before and won’t talk about? You hidin’ something, Starshine?” Her smile had an edge, teeth bared, and she raised her head chin to face him head on, “What do you want me to say? That I’m sucking his dick behind the back of the building in my spare time? That I let him fuck me when you aren’t looking? What, Tex?” Joel’s hand came up and gripped her chin tightly, the other finding its spot on her hip and squeezing the flesh bruisingly. It was so easy to slip back into being rough with each other, for their touches to turn hard and painful, but they never shied away from it. Her eyes had darkened, lust and fury in them, and he could feel it echoed back, “I know you’re not. But it doesn’t mean he’s not imagining it. He needed to know to keep his eyes to himself. Understand?” “Yes, sir,” she hissed out sarcastically. Memories of a darkened store out there in the wild, of those very words, hit him from months before and then his mouth was on hers again. She didn’t fight him, only kissed him back hard enough their teeth clacked and her tongue was instantly in his mouth. In a way, this was a different form of fight. Both of them trying to get the upper hand, dominating one another.  He backed her up until she met the edge of the work table, items clattering all over the tabletop as her ass hit the wood. Breaking from her mouth, he spun her around and bent her over roughly, his hand spread out over the base of her spine and taking in the curve her body splayed out before him. Fingers moved her hair out of the way so he could press open mouth kisses along the back of her neck, pulling her shirt collar down to continue their exploration. His hips were firmly against her ass and she shifted, pressed back into him and his clothed erection. Joel groaned into her skin and bit off a curse, hands quickly moving around to find the buttons of her jeans.

It was all a rush, her jeans yanked down her thighs while he went to unbuckle his own. Sometimes he missed the dangerous hectic pace of being out beyond Jackson’s walls. The quick moments they’d find together in the dark, harsh and fast and so aware of the peril that could find them. It had been exciting and even if he liked the safety of Jackson, a part of him would always crave that danger. It was partially what drew him to her.

Her nails gripped the table and he grunted, freeing his cock from the confines of his pants and hand finding the soft folds between her legs. Fuck, she was already wet and he enjoyed the moans in her chest as his fingers slid around her clit, covering her in her own arousal. He was already so hard, rubbing his dick along her core and letting her coat him.

“Fuck,” she whispered into the tabletop, forehead pressing into it. 

“Come on, darlin’, haven’t even gotten to that part yet,” he chuckled. His hands dug into the bare skin of her hips, feeling the small marks and scars there, savoring the texture. Sometimes in the mornings he’d skim his fingers over the bruises he would leave there, evidence of him left behind on her skin. He slid into her so easily, like she was welcoming him home. Warm and tight and Joel almost groaned at the feeling. She pushed her hips into him until he was fully seated in her, demanding, and he shook his head at her need to still be in control even when he had her bent over a table at his mercy. She felt like heaven every single time. Soft and hot on the inside, all teeth and armor on the outside. Fuck, if she wasn’t gorgeous. A well crafted blade, sharp but enticing. Something everyone wanted and couldn’t have for fear they’d be cut. But everyday he slid his finger along her edge and welcomed the blood she brought to the surface with a bare touch. He’d let her cut him a thousand times over just to have her. Joel gave her what she wanted- demanded in that silent way of hers. Fingers gripping, he slid in and out of her slowly before driving into her hard and rough. He branded her skin with his scent, his touch. She wouldn’t choose someone else, he knew that, but it was hard to see that clearly when so many things had been taken away. He’d let so many things slip away out of his fingers because he didn’t hold on tight enough. He wouldn’t do that with her. He would shackle himself to her and hold on with all his might because he wouldn’t lose her. All of his fears and desperations drove into her with each thrust and he was lost in the feeling. Bending down over her, he clasped one hand around hers as it gripped the table's edge, able to tell from the hitch in her breathing and the way she was tightening around him that she was close to her breaking point. “Come on, baby, let yourself go,” he hummed into her ear and felt her fall apart in answer, defiance gone. He pumped into her through her orgasm, coaxing her through its end and feeling the pressure build inside himself as she tightened around his cock. Release came soon after and he groaned into the space between her shoulders, their hair mingling together as his body draped over her. They were both panting, boneless and sweaty on top of the table as the world came back into focus. The smell of the hay and stables, the dirt on the floor, the whines of the dogs. The fact this was still a public spot. She cursed softly and with a more pained groan this time, he pulled out of her. It was hard to walk, but he managed to find a clean cloth and water not far away and cleaned her up carefully, listening to her hitch in breath when he slid the fabric along her sensitive center. He was the one to pull up her pants for her after tucking himself away and buckling his own. She stood up and leaned against the table, watching him as he set about silently fixing her jeans and righting her clothes. There was a nervousness in him that he wasn’t sure about. As if exposing that he’d been jealous was exposing a raw nerve. She wasn’t extremely younger than him, but he was aware of all his faults. His hearing, the way he was slowing down, his age. She’d never blinked an eye at any of it but there were other options now in Jackson. And as much as he tried to tell himself that she wasn’t the type to go looking, he still knew there was a 1% chance that she would.

“Feel better?” she asked huskily, hands resting on the edge of the table. “Not really,” Joel sighed, hip cocked out with his fingers in his belt loops, staring down at the dirt floor. They didn’t say anything for a second before she sighed and crossed her arms, “He’s building a craft table for you.” Well that certainly shocked him back into awareness, “What?” She scowled, obviously miffed about having to reveal it to him, and raised a brow, “Surprise.” “What do you mean he’s building a craft table for me?” Joel repeated with a heavy set brow. That feeling in his chest tightened, released as if letting out a deep sigh, before tightening back up. But she only shrugged, “Exactly what I said. That’s the job I asked him to do. He’s trading for one of the puppies when they’re big enough, but he’s collecting any spare tools he can find along with some books on woodworking and guitar building for you. I figured we could try and fix that broken guitar that we had come across a few miles south. Ta-da.” Joel could only stare as the words sank in, face frozen in a hard frown as he struggled to process her words. It was all said so monotone and he could tell she had wanted to wait to tell him about it. She was annoyed. All he could get out was, “You know those puppies technically aren’t yours?” She shrugged again with a roll of her eyes, “Community puppies. I’m trading with the community. Same thing. And please don’t scowl and run him off when he delivers the damn table to the house. I really don’t want to have to try and approach another new person anytime soon and start this whole process over again. Tommy had to help introduce me the first time and I’ve had to listen to Noah talk constantly. It’s honestly awful.” He almost laughed at the uncomfortable look that crossed her face and mentally noted that Tommy had known about this project and never told him. He’d have to have a word with his little brother about next time maybe finding her help that was a lot older and not good looking. Joel chewed on his lip, sighing, feeling the guilt start to take hold. She was watching him expectantly and he shook his head, avoiding her eye contact, “I guess I should say sorry.” “You guess?” “I am sorry,” he grunted, hands on his hips and kicking the dirt underneath his foot, “I might have overreacted.” She raised a brow at that again but said nothing, only looking skyward in silent prayer, “And just for your information, not that it matters, but Noah has a partner he won’t shut up about. He definitely likes to bark up a different kind of tree.” When the information sunk in, she finally did laugh at the look on his face and pushed herself off the table, looping her arm through his. He didn’t reply and only let himself sink deeper in the hole he had made. She seemed okay with letting that be his punishment. The table was delivered a week later and Joel forced a smile on his face and tried not to appear too guilty as Noah left, hearing Red laughing from behind the screen door as he did so.

____________________ Tag List: @alouise20 @faceache111 @hawsx3 @taxidriversainz @iluvbunnyhops @mrfitzdarcyslover @emlovesya  @agent007knight @spaacerabbit @namgification @wonwoosthetic  @wxnderingthoughts @sagggy @escaping-reality8 @badwolf00593 @themothersmercy @badwolf00593 @mxtokko @happinessinthebeing 

[howlingday]

Y'know what? I'd think i'd be pretty funny if Cinder forgot and/or didn't care to lear Jaune's name

EX:

Cinder: Ruby. Weiss. Blake. Yang

Cinder, squinting at Jaune while trying to remember his name: ...Jacob

Cinder: Nora. Ren

Cinder: All of you are gathered here today to witne-

Jaune: My name is Jaune

Cinder: That's what I said, Josh. As I was sayin-

Jaune: My name is JAUNE!

Cinder: Whatever you say John.

Jaune: RRRRAAAGHH

Cinder: Emerald, who was that young hell-fighter?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? I'll remember that name...

"Cinder did not remember that name"

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

Cinder: Who is that honor student, Emerald?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? How odd. My research specifically calls him out as an academic failure!

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

Cinder: Hm~. Who is that bathroom ballroom dancer, Emerald?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am. One of the... Pokémon card trainers from Beacon's first year.

Cinder: Well, he's certainly got a foot loose or two~! Perhaps I've found someone who's hotfoot enough to dance with me?

Emerald: Oh, his foot isn't as hot as yours, ma'am. You've never lost a dance competition! Except for that time when you let Mercury win on his dad's birthday. It was very sweet of you, ma'am.

Cinder: Oh, he just looked so sad, Emerald. With his, "Oh... My dad used to hit my feet with a steel pipe like that..."

Emerald: (Giggles)

Cinder: Hm... I wonder if this Jaunem Arcury shares any relation.

Emerald: Unlikely, ma'am. They spell and pronounce their names differently.

Cinder: Bah! Arrange a game and I'll ask her myself!

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

Cinder: Excelsior to you, Mr...

Cinder: (Whispering) Emerald, what's the name of this lounge lizard?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am. One of your Baby-Alives from Beacon's first year.

Cinder: Yes! Arc~!

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

Cinder: I'm sure your replacement will be able to handle everything. Who is he, anyways?

Emerald: Uh, Jaune Arc, ma'am. One of your Target Practices from Beacon's first year. All of the recent events of your life revolved around him in some way.

Cinder: Arc, eh?

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

ATTENTION! FIRST YEAR PROBLEM ON TEAM JNPR!

Cinder: Team JNPR?! Good god, who's the team leader there?!

Emerald: (Typing into scroll) Uh, Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? Good man? Intelligent?

Emerald: Uh, actually, ma'am, he was enrolled on a dare by Professor Ozpin.

Cinder: Oh, well, thank you very much, Salem!

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

Jaune: You know what I think of this exam?! (Rips) This! (Rips) And this! (Wipes butt) And some of this!

Cinder: Who is that champion of injustice, Emerald?

Emerald: That's Jaune Arc, ma'am.

Cinder: Arc, eh? New man?

Emerald: (Chuckles) Actually, ma'am, he thwarted your campaign for Fall Maiden. You shot his partner. He saved Beacon from falling. His teammate, Nora, painted you in the nude.

Cinder: Hm... Are you sure? I think I'd remember all that.

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

Emerald: Oh, god, he's being dropped into the Deathstalker nest!

Cinder: The fuck's a Deathstalker?

Jaune Dummy: (Perforated repeatedly, Scrapped into a heap)

Cinder: ...Emerald. Who was that corpse?

Emerald: Jaune Arc, ma'am. (Sniffles) One of the finest, bravest first year ever to bless at Beacon Academy~! (Sobs)

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

Jaune: (Walking down the hall, Hallucinating)

Cinder: Emerald, who is that idiot?.

Cinder: Emerald, who is that doofus?.

Cinder: Who is that fashion disaster?.

Cinder: Who is that deadweight?.

Cinder: Mushbrain!.

Cinder: Dorkus Maximus!.

Cinder: Dirtstain!.

Cinder: Goofball!.

Cinder: Sextant-deficiency!.

Jaune: STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!

Cinder: LOOK OUT!.

Jaune: Huh? (Falls off cliff) AAAAAAAAAAA

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

Jaune: (Chuckles)

Cinder: (Opens office door, Sees graffiti)

I AM JAUNE ARC

Cinder: ...And who in Salem's name are you?

Jaune: RRRGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Jaune: (Shakes Cinder) JAUNE ARC! JAUNE! ARC! JAUNEARC! JAUNE ARC! MY NAME IS JAUNE ARC!

Jaune: (Pulled off, Dragged away) Oh, you're dead, Cinder. You're dead! YOU'RE DEAD, CINDER!

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

Cinder: I've decided to start carrying my weapon closely after I was assaulted last night by an unknown assailant.

Jaune: (Distant) DAMMIT!

[goosewriting]

Wherever you go, I go

summary: after reader and Cal are rescued from Bracca, reader questions whether they know him at all.

relationship: Cal Kestisx GN reader

warnings: none!, a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in there but mainly fluff

word count: 4.4k

A/N: i have the Cal Kestis Brain WormsTM and they will not leave me alone sdfsdfd this follows the first part of the game on Bogano pretty closely but not to 100% 

Navigation: Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 | Part 3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

You breathe in Bogano’s humid air deeply into your lungs as you stretch your back, stepping out of the ship onto the soft grass. The last 24 hours have been wild.

Around two years ago, you had ended up on Bracca, where you met Cal. You were both around the same age and Prauf had taken a liking to you both, so he had ended up introducing you to the redhead when you were new. They showed you the ropes of the place, how to properly use the machinery and tools, and pretty much everything you needed to know to be a scrapper. 

You had been dealt a bad hand early in life; it wasn’t without reason that you ended up on a planet like Bracca after all. You were on your own, needed a job, and the bounty on your head didn’t make it easy to hide, so you had to disappear. 

And yet, after everything that happened, you can’t help but think that it wasn’t all so bad, in hindsight at least. Because after leaving behind everything you knew, adopting a new name and taking the first ship to “as far as way as possible” from your homeplanet, it was like the universe dropped you right into Cal’s arms. Or at least that’s how you liked to think about it.

Ever since then, Cal and you became pretty much inseparable. In each other you found the friend and peer you needed right then. You were both pretty secretive about your lives thus far, but you knew that if there was anyone you’d trust on that heap of scraps, it was Cal for sure.

As time went on, you grew ever closer. You ended up telling him about how you had been on the run and needed to lay low for some time. Even if he didn’t tell you much about where he was from, you knew that if he wanted to tell you, he would, on his own time. And you were okay with that. You tried not to make up your own stories about him in your head, yet sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder. Whatever backstory your mind came up with though, never in a thousand years would you have believed the truth if he had told you, which you learned later and saw with your own eyes.

You think back to how that day had started and gone by normally, everyone working on their own thing. It was only on the train ride home that you noticed how weird Prauf was acting, and he and Cal were having a talk in hushed whispers, looking around nervously. You had made a mental note then to ask the readhead what happened later on, but you’d never get to that. 

From the moment the train stopped and Stormtroopers escorted you all out to line up, everything happened so fast; the Inquisitors talking about a Jedi traitor in your rows, Cal suddenly taking out a lightsaber, Prauf being killed, the whole train chase… Your memories are foggy, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re having a hard time wrapping your mind around everything that’s happened, or if it’s because you understand exactly what trespassed, but are unwilling to accept it. For now, at least.

Cal had somehow managed to get you out of there, falling onto moving wagons, and ushering you to go on. He fought off the scary Inquisitor lady while you cowered away. Then a mysterious ship came to your aid, bringing Cal and you to safety. 

And now it turns out this Cere person needs Cal to go to a… vault of sorts? Because he is actually a Jedi, and needs to pass a test to help her on a mission.

Truly, what a wild 24 hours it has been.

Now on the swampy planet, you somehow convinced Cal to let you tag along. You really don’t want to leave him on his own right now, and to be honest, you also don’t want to be left alone with Cere and the Latero. You aren’t even sure yet if you can trust them. This whole situation is just… too much right now.

So off you go with Cal, making your way towards the first cliff in silence, breathing in the clean air and taking in the sight. Little creatures with big eyes hop around and out of your way, looking at you curiously. As you reach a drop, Cal jumps first, helping you down. 

When your feet meet the ground, you don’t let go of his gloved hand just yet. He gives you a questioning look.

“It’s the first time in a while that I’ve been off-planet,” you remark with a smile. “It’s so silent out here. I had almost forgotten what that’s like.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while for me too,” Cal says. “It’s nice out here.”

You two just look at each other for a moment, suddenly aware that it’s the first time in a long time that you’re alone, hidden from prying eyes. And there’s also the bantha in the room of Cal being a Jedi. 

“Thank you, by the way,” you speak genuinely. “For… taking me with you, and not leaving me behind.”

“I already lost a friend,” Cal says, and you see the hurt cross his face for a moment. “I wasn’t gonna let them take you too.”

‘Friend,’ you think, and bitterly smile to yourself as Cal turns and keeps walking, without letting go of your hand though. You look at where he holds you, heat starting to spread on your cheeks. You’re painfully aware that your feelings for him have developed into more. You’re not quite sure when it started, but they were solid. And as strange as it was, Cal being a Jedi suddenly seems like the last piece to a puzzle. Everything falls into place, finally making sense. It actually suits him, somehow. And you understand why he didn’t tell you. The memory comes back of how he fought with his lightsaber, and how good he looked while doing that. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts. You were actually planning on confessing at some point, but that just got pushed way further into the future. There’s more pressing matters right now.

You don’t want to force Cal to talk about his past or his abilities, but you do have to talk about what your plan is. Not entirely sure how to approach the subject, you start formulating some questions in your mind, trying to find the best way to word them. You don’t get to ask him though because Cal stops at the base of another cliff, removing his hand from yours, which you miss immediately. 

“This seems like a good place to meditate,” he remarks, more to himself than to him.

“Meditate?” you ask.

“Ah, yeah,” Cal says and kneels down onto the ground. “To, you know, connect with the Force. It’ll take just a minute.” 

And with that, he closes his eyes and starts evening out his breathing. You look at him for a moment, then decide to sit on a rock a couple steps to the side. It doesn't take long and Cal’s face starts twitching lightly, his brows furrowing. Wherever he is, you hope he’s alright. 

You watch him a little longer, then avert your gaze as you realise you’re just shamelessly staring at this point. Taking in your surroundings a little better, you take note of the rocks and their curious colouration, with several shades of reds and browns between the white layers.

Suddenly you hear little, mechanical steps approaching, so you stand up and turn around, your body getting tense in a fight or flight moment. But you immediately relax as you see a curious little droid approaching the two of you. It looks at you, then at Cal, and stands in front of him, seemingly waiting for the redhead to come out of his meditation.

Cal’s breathing starts growing shallow, with the slightest of whimpers, and you want to reach out to him, asking if he’s okay, but you’re not sure if it’s safe to interrupt his meditation. So you just sit next to the droid, who gives you a look and a beep you can’t quite understand; you’ve never been fluent in binary. 

With one last pant Cal finally opens his eyes and is met with your worried gaze and the droid. 

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers, and gestures to the droid with his chin. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, he joined in earlier. Looks like he was waiting for you to react,” you explain and the beeps sound like agreement to you.

“He says his name is BD-1,” Cal translates, then introduces you both to the little droid. BD gives another series of beep-boops.

“We’re looking for someone,” Cal answers, and BD beeps excitedly. “No, not you,” Cal says with a chuckle. “We’re searching for a Jedi. I think.”

BD jumps with a series of quick beeps, and hurries off.

“Hold on, you know the Jedi?” Cal asks and stands up. “Hold on!” he calls after the droid who is running ahead, and tells you to follow him.

You two navigate through the landscape of floating rocks and cliffs, following BD. He brings you to what seems to be a long abandoned hiding place. As you have to walk over a big pipe to get there, BD arrives first, and gets attacked by a rather ugly, maggot looking creature that was burrowing underground, and you see some sparks fly. Cal rushes to his help, getting rid of the creature and its friends with his lightsaber.

“BD! Are you okay?” you ask the droid, picking him up to inspect his leg, which is pretty busted. He beeps sadly. 

Cal joins you, taking a look at the droid to check out the damage, and you can’t help your heart skipping a beat at how he’s standing behind you, looking over your shoulder, and you feel the warmth radiating off of him. BD tilts his head at you for a second but you choose to ignore it, trying to convince yourself that droids can’t pick up on that kinda thing. 

“That was pretty brave,” Cal says to BD as he takes the droid from your arms. “And hey, I can help you with that…”

He brings BD over to a workbench, quickly fixing up the mechanical leg. BD seems to run some damage analysis as he stares straight ahead, then beeps at Cal.

“The vault?” he asks. “Yeah, that’s where we’re headed, too. Let’s go.”

“Uhm, what’s happening?” you ask, following behind the other two.

“BD says we have to go to the vault. He said he knows a Jedi, so, I’m guessing that’s where we’ll find them.”

“So… BD is a friend, yes?” you question further, lowering your voice so the droid doesn’t hear you.

“Yeah,” Cal answers, looking after BD that is rushing ahead to show the way. “I hope so…”

Trying to find a way out of the place, you two squeeze through a barely open door. There’s a hallway that could be your exit, but it’s blocked by some thick cables. You’re too late to notice Cal swinging his lightsaber at them; they’re clearly sparking. Before you’re able to stop him, he gets zapped and thrown back. You rush to his side.

“By the Maker, Cal, are you okay?” you ask, checking him for injuries. 

“I- I’m okay,” he groans, as he sits up. 

You’re about to give him an earful about being reckless when BD rushes to Cal’s side, offering a healing stim canister from a little slot on his cubic head. 

“A stim?” Cal asks as he inspects the vial. Looking up at you, he offers you the object with a lopsided smile; you’ve always been the one to patch him up. 

You playfully roll your eyes at him, taking the stim and stabbing it into his upper arm. 

“That’s better,” Cal sighs, and you help him get back to his feet.

“Thanks, little droid,” you say to BD, and he beeps happily.

“Let’s try that again,” Cal mutters, and you give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Without getting hurt this time, please,” you instruct, to which he chuckles, and you let him go. But BD is now holding onto his leg, beeping. Cal lifts him up and swings him over his shoulder, where the droid settles, and you see the happy little shimmy, which internally makes you go “aaw”. It really is an adorable sight. 

The three of you continue your journey to the vault mainly in silence. Cal makes a little conversation with the droid from time to time. You can’t understand everything but it seems that BD doesn’t remember how he got here.

At one point you get to what seems to be the last stretch towards the vault. You wonder how you will get across that narrow space, which essentially is just vertical, rough walls, in mid-air. You turn to Cal, about to voice your concerns, when you see that he touches the wall, and his eyes glaze over, staring beyond the walls into nothingness.

Is he… meditating again? 

You wait a couple of seconds, but he remains unmoving. Reaching up, you give his arm a gentle squeeze. 

“With persistence…” he mumbles, shaking his head slightly, seemingly coming back from wherever he was.

“Hey, you okay?” you ask him, stepping in front of him to have him meet your eyes.

“Yeah, all good. Just remembering old tricks…” he replies.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I just saw my… my old Master,” Cal explains with a slight shudder. “I was remembering my training, as a Padawan.”

Padawans. Jedi Masters. The Force. Those are all names you’ve heard growing up, but you never got to see one for yourself. You were too young to understand what was going on when the Clone Wars ended, but you did hear the stories. Some fantastical, others straight out of a horror holomovie.  

“Listen,” Cal speaks softly, taking both your hands in his, and your heart flutters as you look up at him. “I know this must be all so weird to you, and I promise I will explain everything. Just… I have to do this.”

“Do you though?” you counter. “What happened was awful but it was our ticket off of Bracca.” ‘We can start over again. Together’ is what you want to say, but it doesn’t seem like the appropriate time. “Why are you listening to a stranger?”

Cal hesitates for a second.

“It’s hard to explain,” he starts. “There’s just something coming from that vault, it’s like it’s calling out to me. I know you probably don’t understand, but please, trust me on this,” he almost pleads. “If anything is off, we’re leaving, I promise. But if there’s another Jedi… I need to know.”

You don’t trust Cere, or Greez. Maybe even BD, not yet at least. But you trust Cal. So you nod. 

“Just promise me one thing,” you insist. “Warn me when you’re about to meditate or think about your old Master. It’s a bit scary when you’re just… gone like that.”

“I will,” he promises with a smile, giving your hands one last squeeze before letting go.

“So,” you say after a while, looking at the vault which is so close, yet so far. “How are we getting there?”

Cal gives BD a sly glance, then looks back at you with that stupid grin you’ve grown to love so much. 

“Heads-up: you won’t like this,” he says and suddenly leans in, and you freeze. His arms snake around your back and under your legs, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing. “Hold on!” he quips. 

And with that he runs towards the cliff end, and you do hold on, for dear life. Cal skillfully runs along the walls, jumping from one side to the other, until he reaches the far end and hops onto safe ground once more.

He chuckles as he sets you back onto the grass, but you have to hold onto his shoulders a little longer until you feel safe on your legs again.

“Please never do that again,” you mutter under your breath, and Cal laughs. 

“C’mon, we’re almost there,” he remarks, gesturing towards the large structure with his chin. BD beeps happily. 

You walk next to Cal as you climb the rather steep mud path towards the vault. Up close, it is much taller than what it looked like from a distance. Still, you’re not sure what you expected it to be, but there really isn’t much… It’s just a giant tower surrounding a smaller column. That’s it.

“Huh, such a fuss over this?” you ask no one in particular.

“Hold on, I think I can get it open,” Cal says, and reaches up to touch the front panel. Closing his eyes, he focuses, and you can feel a shift around you as well as under you, as the ground shakes slightly, and the panel opens, revealing a dark and narrow passage. 

You inspect the passage, but you can’t see anything through it; it’s just a black void, and it’s rather unsettling. 

“I think you should wait here,” Cal states, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right back.”

“But–” 

Cal walks into the void, BD still on his shoulders, and you circle around the column to catch him coming back on the other side to make fun of him thinking that would lead anywhere, but he doesn’t come out.

“Cal?” you call, but there isn’t even an echo of your own voice to answer you. 

With a sigh, you walk back to the side where the redhead left in, and you lean onto the opposite wall, waiting for him to come back. The wait grows longer and your patience thinner, and for a second, you think that you just got ditched on this swamp planet, and you hug yourself. No, you tell yourself, Cal wouldn't do that.

…Right?

After what feels like an eternity, but probably was just a couple of minutes, Cal and BD finally emerge from the void again. You all but throw yourself onto him, hugging his torso. 

“What took you so long!” you say into his chest. 

“Sorry, I…” he hesitantly hugs you back, and you can feel he wants to say something but is holding back. So you look up at him.

“What is it?” you ask. “Did you meet the Jedi?” 

Cal just looks down at you, studying your face with an unreadable expression, and if you weren’t so worried by his silence, you would probably be very flustered by his gaze and how close his face is to yours. 

“Things just got a lot more complicated,” is all Cal offers as an explanation as he takes your hand, pulling you with him, out of the vault. “C’mon.”

“Wait, what?” you ask confused, trying to keep up with his hurried pace. “What happened in there?” 

“This is bigger than we could have imagined, I need to tell Cere immediately.”

That’s all you got out of him all the way back to the ship. BD kept looking back at you with questioning beeps, but Cal either didn’t hear or ignored him.

When you finally make it back to the Mantis, you’re out of breath. Cal’s pace was relentless when he was in a hurry, and he did carry you across some of the walls like before without warning, so you were looking forward to getting in there and sitting down for a moment.

“You passed the test,” Cere calls from the entrance of the ship as you approach it. 

You beeline for the corner bench behind the round table, where BD hops on as well, and is immediately scolded by Greez. Cal introduces everyone to BD, telling the other two that he’s “with us” now. 

Sitting down, Cal starts explaining what he learned in the vault. Some guy called Cordova hid a Holocron with a list of force sensitive children in the vault. The only way to get it though is by following his path, and the next leads are on the planets Zeffo and Dathomir. 

You’re still trying to wrap your head around this whole ordeal, when Cal asks Cere why she’s no longer a Jedi. She explains that an experience changed her perspective (vague much?) and she cut herself off from the Force. But she believes that with the holocron they can rebuild the Jedi Order, and in that way fight against the Empire.

When Cere asks Cal if he’s on board with the plan, he’s about to answer, but then looks at you, and you can see in his eyes that he wants to do this. So you give a short nod.

They come up with a plan, deciding what’s the next step, and Cere and Greeze disappear in the cockpit. You find an empty cot at the back of the ship and take a seat.

Your chest tightens at the realisation that Cal isn’t who you thought he was at all. That maybe you don’t know him at all, actually. But Jedi or not, he’s the guy you fell for. Behind whatever it was he’s been trying to hide all these years, there was a personality that was just unmistakably and often unapologetically Cal. And he’s become too important for you to lose. 

And now there’s this mission. A mission where, if you got things right, the weight of the universe will be placed on his shoulders. And it makes you angry, because that’s just not fair. There must be other Jedis out there that could do it, right? To make it worse, and you’re aware this might be a selfish thought, it makes you feel inadequate. Was Cal gonna drop you off on the next pit stop? You aren’t exactly an experienced fighter. You doubt they’d have a need for a thief on the run from the Empire. Would you be just a burden to him? 

Cal, who survived the Purge of the Jedis, and will now attempt to restore the Order. And you, helplessly in love with him, probably holding him back, because you’re too scared to lose him.

Just as there’s a voice echoing in your mind, telling you that you’re not enough, you feel a dip in the cot beside you. Looking up, you’re met with Cal’s worried gaze.

“You okay?” he asks softly. 

You slowly nod, but it quickly turns into a shake of your head instead. 

“I just…” You hope your voice doesn’t betray you, giving away the tears threatening to spill. “Everything happened so fast, so much all at once. And now I’m left feeling like I don’t know who you are.”

Cal is about to retort but you quickly add, “Wait, I didn’t word that right.”

So he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“What I mean is, we’ve known each other for some time now. And I understand why you hid who you are. I just can’t help but wonder if the Cal I know is the real Cal or not?”

You dare bring your gaze up to meet his, and your chest tightens at the hurt look in his face.

“Because I like the Cal I know,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “A lot.”

He gives you a smile, and you swear you can see the slightest shade of pink spreading on his ears and cheeks. 

“There’s only one Cal,” he says, leaning slightly to the side, softly bumping his shoulder into yours. “And he likes you too. A lot.”

For a second, you simply watch your hands in your lap, replaying his words in your mind. You see how his hand gets into your field of vision, folding over yours, and now your brain short-circuits for real. You look up to him, searching for regret or teasing in his eyes, yet you find nothing but affection and warmth. A warmth that spreads through your whole body, and has you taking a shuddering breath.

“So what’s the plan now?” you ask him after a while, giving his hand a squeeze that he returns. 

“Telling you the truth,” Cal answers. “And then you can decide if you want to actually be a part of this.”

“And if I say no, you’re just gonna ditch me?” you say with a playful scoff, but a slight panic still sneaks itself into your voice. 

“What? No, of course not,” he assures you. “I already talked to Greez. You can stay on the Mantis as long as you need. What I mean is… I want you to stay by my side. But I won’t force you to. We have a pretty ambitious mission, after all.”

“Fighting the Empire?” you ask rhetorically. “Been there, done that.”

“Wait, what?”

“Why do you think I have a bounty on my head, Master Jedi?” you say with a playful tone.

“What did you do?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“Hmm,” you stroke your chin as if considering his question. “I’ll tell you after you tell me about your training and how you escaped.”

“Deal,” Cal says with a smile. “And I’m not a Master Jedi, actually. I only ever was a Padawan, an apprentice.” 

“Well you have some nice moves for an apprentice,” you chuckle. “And Master or not, you look good with a lightsaber.”

Cal lets out a strangled sound at your comment, face now several shades darker. 

You both turn when you hear steps approaching, seeing that it’s Greez. You instinctively want to remove your hand from Cal’s, feeling like you just got caught, but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Ah, I see you’ve found the bed,” Greez says. “It’s the only extra we have. We were counting with just one Jedi, after all.”

“Technically you’re not wrong,” you say, unable to meet anyone’s eyes and looking down at the floor instead. “We’ll figure it out.” 

“You’ll have to,” Greez answers with a smile as he doesn’t miss your joined hands, and turns to leave. “Come get some dinner, kids.”

Cal wants to stand up but you pull him back. He turns to look at you with a raised brow and you take the chance to plant a kiss on his cheek. You almost laugh at the surprise on his face.

“Wherever you go, I’ll go,” you tell him as you rise to your feet with a smile. “At least it won’t be boring, right?”

— — —

A/N: this may have the potential for a second part? if you'd like that let me know! ♥ // (screenshot is mine)

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings (sorry for the late tag!)

[greetingfromthedead]

Vash's Moving Castle (Vash x Reader)

Plot: A strange building made up of old spaceship parts, moving around on two legs across the wasteland of the desert, it hisses and creaks and fills the heart of many with fear... That castle is home to the magnificent tech wizard Vash, infamous for both his gunmanship and for being a womanizer—or so the rumor goes in your city. You're the eldest child of a gunsmith and as such don't expect much from your future. However, your simple life takes a turn for the exciting when you're ensnared in a disturbing situation, and the mysterious tech wizard appears to rescue you.

Pairing: Vash x mostly GN Reader, occasional she/her pronouns, the use of "girl" etc from quotes directly from the movie. I tried making it completely GN, but my flu ridden brain short circuited on some very specific parts so I gave up.

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: Howl's Moving Castle style AU, no use of "y/n", Vash is a tech wizard, I have both brainrot and the flu, idk what else to put here, Howl is cute, Vash is cute, I tried my best.

Word count: 3.7k

Author's Note: Got the idea yesterday, yall seemed interested and the flu ridden brainrot I had to endure all day today was simply debilitating so I wrote a little something. I hope you like it, not sure if I will continue or not even though I have quite a few HC-s for this little AU situation.

The 6th city, May, is decorated more than usual. After all, May Day has arrived. Even though it is still early in the afternoon, the streets are bustling with people. The aroma of baked goods reaches your nose through your open window, and it makes you think about your sister, Meryl, who is working at the very popular doughnut shop on the other side of the city. She must be very busy today with the rush of customers coming in for their celebratory pastries. For you, it's a free day. Today, your little weapon's repair shop, which you inherited from your father, is closed. You decide to take advantage of the downtime and visit your sister, whom you haven't seen in a long time.

You put aside the little handgun you have been tinkering with and stand to close the window. Your little shop is situated quite high, and the workshop has the perfect view to look out over the roofs of all the other houses. Your eyes glance over the familiar sight—the scrappy buildingd made out of old spaceship parts and in the distance, you see the wide open desert. But today it is slightly different. You heard the commotion this morning when the people first noticed the addition to the landscape. With fearful and hushed voices, they talked about the monstrocity looming on the horizon and the kind of calamity it might bring.

"It is Vash's Moving Castle!" The people on the streets whispered and pointed. "Do you think the horrible Typhoon has come to lay waste to our city?"

You knew very well the rumors about the gunslinger and tech wizard named Vash the Stampede. He is said to be a ruthless demon specializing in murder and wide-scale destruction. Apparently, he kills without mercy—men, women, and children alike. He has wiped whole towns from the face of the planet, and his infamous castle is created with the sole purpose of being a weapon of mass destruction.

As you pull the window closed, you look at the mass of metal outside of town. Calling it a castle is a gross overstatement. You can't imagine how such a heap of scrap gets to be called anything so magnificent. It consists of layers upon layers of old spaceship parts, jutting out at odd angles and covered in rust and wires, its massive turrets and spires reaching towards the sky. It has two large legs underneath it, much like a tomas, that the building uses to move across the desert. This is not the first time Vash's fortress has passed by May City, and you think the excitement is unwarranted. Sure, the gunslinger has a reputation, but nothing catastrophic has happened so far. You can't help but wonder why everyone gets so worked up every time the castle passes by; he would surely go to the bank or somewhere else where he can get easy money. You are just a small shop owner; as long as you don't get in his way, it seems unlikely he would take any interest in you. He might be a womanizer, but he only has eyes for pretty girls.

You get quickly ready and close the shop. The streets are decorated with colorful ribbons, and you hear cheers coming from all over town as the annual parade begins. You have chosen a truly awful moment to try and make your way across the city, but you are determined to see Meryl. As you push through the crowded streets, you catch glimpses of the parade. People are showing off their inventions and talents. You see giant hydraulic pants marching down the street. Exo-suits and new kinds of weaponry. On other streets, you see entertainers dancing and singing in colorful costumes. Some are juggling fire, and others are performing daring acrobatics. This world truly is a marvel.

You make it to the gondolas and squeeze into one with some other people. It takes you over the winding roads, and you see the flags and market stalls lining the streets. The smell of freshly cooked food wafts up to you as you take in the sights and sounds of the bustling marketplace. May is filled with all kinds of people; for days, the sandsteamers have brought in travelers from all over, and it shows. The whole city is alive with excitement and energy.

You get off your ride on the slightly calmer side of the town, and you know the familiar route you need to take to get to the doughnut shop. The quiet side streets are nearly empty; just a few people mingle on the sidewalks. You try to avoid them as much as possible and turn to an even smaller ally as a group of drunkards head your way. You hold your breath and hope they don't notice you, looking nervously over your shoulder as you hurry along.

"Hey, it looks like a little mouse lost its way," you suddenly hear, and as you look back ahead, you see you nearly ran into a man who has just come around the corner. He is grinning mischievously, blocking your path. He is a lot taller than you, and you can see his rifle slung across his back. Surely he is a bounty hunter; you see them a lot, and with all the people flowing into town, you would think they have their hands full.

"Oh, no. I'm not lost," you say, shaking your head and recoiling a bit, leaning away from the man.

"This little mouse looks thirsty. We should take her for a cup of tea." The man continues like he didn't hear you at all. You try sidestepping him, but as you do, a second man appears from behind him. He is just as large with a big mustache, and he looks at you curiously as he leans closer, blocking your way further.

"No thanks. My sister's expecting me." You avoid looking directly at them, instead trying to think of a way to escape. They make you very uncomfortable.

"She's pretty cute for a mouse." You try to keep your cool and find a way to politely excuse yourself from the situation, but the mustashed man is leaning even closer, his face level with yours.

"How old are you anyway? You live around here?" The first guy leans toward you too. Neither of them sounds menacing, but they fill you with dread.

"Leave me alone!" you say with as much bravery as you can muster, taking a step backwards.

"You see? Your mustache scares all the girls," the first man nudges his comrade.

"So? I think she's even cuter when she's scared." the other replies, not taking his eyes off you.

"There you are, sweetheart." A different, smooth male voice speaks up behind you, capturing the gaze of the bountyhunters before you. "Sorry, I'm late. I was looking everywhere for you."

He speaks close to your left ear, and a hand gently rests on your right shoulder. It's not a voice you recognize, and his touch makes you stiffen up. Your body had been ready to run for your life, but now you find yourself sandwitched between two unknowns. Yet something about the man behind you is comforting, or maybe it's just that you see the upset glint in the eyes of the men before you.

"Hey! Hey! We're busy here!" The man you had run into first speaks and looks like he is puffing himself up to look more menacing. His companion, too, straightens his back, ready for a violent confrontation.

"Are you really? It looked to me like the two of you were just leaving." The calm voice beside you speaks with a hint of amusement. You feel him shift slightly, but you don't turn your eyes away from the bounty hunters in front of you. You see their gazes move over the man, their eyes widening at something where his left arm would be, and you see them freeze up and then nudge each other. They look very uncomfortable.

"This is not worth it," one of them whispers nervously to the other.

"Yeah, we better get going," the other answers with a whisper, and they start to shuffle away from you, back into the alley they had come from. As they get further away, their step hastens until they take off running. You watch them disappear into the darkness, wondering what caused them to have such a reaction.

"Don't hold it against them," the soft voice next to you says, and you finally turn to look at him. He is a tall young man with a soft smile on his lips. You see his pretty blue eyes behind orange tinted round glasses, and his blonde hair is about shoulder length. A tight golden hoop hangs from his left ear. He is truly very handsome, and his expression is warm and inviting. He wears a pillowy white blouse that flows down to his slender waist. A pendant hangs from his neck, and a red coat covers his shoulders, but his arms are not in the sleeves.

"They aren't actually all that bad," he says, continuing his thought from before, and his eyes capture your gaze again. "Where to? I'll be your escort this evening."

"Oh, I'm, um, just going to the doughnut shop." You pull back a little from his closeness, but feel his hand firmly on your shoulder.

"Don't get alarmed, but I'm being followed," he says, leaning closer to you. His hand moves from your shoulder and instead hooks around your arm. "Act normal."

You avert your eyes, but he ignores your awkwardness completely and starts walking along the street with your arm intertwined with his, like it's totally normal. Your body is still stiff, a slight fear lingering in the back of your mind, yet this is exciliating in a way you never expected. You find yourself surprisingly comfortable in his presence, despite the fact that he is a total stranger. His pace is somewhat brisk, but you can easily keep up. The unknown of who could be following him is a bit frightening, and you find yourself pressing into his upper arm for reassurance.

As you walk past some dark and narrow alleys, you start to suddenly hear commotion.

"There he is! Go! Hurry!" You hear shouting, and it sends a shiver up your spine. Yet the man beside you keeps the same pace and, for the moment, seems unbothered.

"Sorry. It looks like you're involved," he says calmly as you try to glance into the alleys where the commotion stems from. You see a mob of gunslingers squeeze themselves hurriedly into the narrow gap between the buildings and start to rush towards you. It is frightening to you, and you grab a tighter hold of the man's arm. Your right hand grasps his shirt, your heart pounds in fear as your body stiffens. More voices start to echo from up ahead, and a few people stumble onto your street.

"This way!" he whispers insistently, and the man pulls you into a side alley, his pace getting faster as he leads you away from the gathering crowd. You struggle to keep up with him so you have to start running, your mind racing with questions, but you hold onto him tightly, and you feel certain that everything will be alright. He keeps going faster and faster, and you can see the main street ahead, but suddenly your view gets blocked by more armed men appearing to block our path. You feel a surge of panic rising in your chest, and the reassuring hand sliters out from your weakened cluth as you have trouble holding on while you run.

"Come on!" The mystery man's voice is soft and insistent, with a hint of amusement as you feel his arm wrap around your waist, both of you running straight towards the angry looking mob. You see that some of them have drawn their guns and have them pointed straight at you, but the thundering footsteps behind you tell you that they are unlikely to shoot here in this narrow alley to avoid hitting anybody else. Your confidence in getting out of here wavers, but suddenly you are tightly pulled against the man's side, and his other hand takes yours. It feels cold and hard; you catch a glimpse of blue, but you are too distracted by the fact that your feet are no longer on the cobbled street. You rush through the air, seemingly kept up by the mysterious blonde.

Instinctively, you curl up, looking around for an explanation. The coat that covered his shoulders before hangs over his left arm, and from his back protrubes a pair of giant feathery wings. You've never seen anything like this. Is this a new invention? Has he come here to present his masterpiece to the masses during the parade? Who is this man? He has to be a brilliant inventor. Your mind is captivated by him; you want to understand his mysterious contraption, and your gaze moves along him, down his left arm, and you see it's not a real arm at all; it is made out of strange blue metal, the hand holding yours is made out of the same material. The forearm is mostly covered by his coat, but you're sure that everything from at least his elbow down is a prosthesis; the rest is hidden by the flowy sleeve. You feel his fingers move so organically that you're sure this must be lost technology. What a strange man! You've never seen anything like this.

"Now, straighten your legs and hold on tight," you hear the man say gently, and you follow his command. You relax your legs and grab tightly onto him. His strong arm around you presses you into his side, and you wrap your legs with one of his to make sure you cannot slip away from his grasp and plummet to your death.

You are still mesmerized by his wings, how large they are as they stretch out behind him, allowing him to fly effortlessly through the air. You feel a rush of adrenaline as you soar higher. The streets beneath you look so small; people are just specs moving around. You let out a gasp of amazement, and it makes the strange man chuckle. He flies you both over some rooftops, and you see the familiar doughnut shop come into view.

"You're a natural." You hear him praise you, but to you, it makes little sense; all you do is hold onto him for dear life. But you can't deny the exhilarating rush of flying through the sky. You have never felt so free. The wind whips through your hair as you soar above the city. You feel like you could touch the clouds. You relax a little bit in his grasp, hearing his feathers rustle in the wind as they allow you to glide through the air. To your surprise, very few people pay any attention to you. Most of them are too focused on the parade passing by. The ones who did notice you stared in awe, not believing their eyes or perhaps mistaking you for a worm.

You get closer and closer to the familiar shop, and you realize he is aiming for the second floor balcony. He lands gracefully on the bannister and gently guides you onto the floor, like you weigh nothing at all. His hand holds onto yours for a little longer as he bows closer.

"I'll make sure to draw them off, but wait a bit before you head back outside." His voice is low and gentle, with a soft smile dancing on his lips and in the glimmer of his eyes.

"Okay," you say, still stunned by what had just happened. Your fingers gently grip his as he straightens up and pulls his hand from you. His wings fold down behind his back and disappear before he takes his coat and drapes it over his shoulders.

"That's my girl," he says with a low and husky voice, a hint of pride in it. He smiles brightly and takes a step back, making you gasp as he falls into nothingness. You rush to peek over the railing, only to find that he has disappeared into the crowd with no hint of anyone noticing him at all, so he must be alright. You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that he is safe.

You linger on the balcony for a little while longer. It all seems too incredible to be true—almost magical. Never would you have thought something like this could happen to you; you are so used to your dull life of being the eldest, but then again, that's what it means to be a responsible and reliable older sibling. Or perhaps you have caught some nasty disease and are just imagining all this during a fever dream. Either way, you enjoyed this. The realization prods you in the side as you remember that you didn't even ask the gentleman's name. Perhaps you will get lucky and see him introducing his invention at a parade in the future. Or perhaps this encounter will just remain a peculiar memory in the back of your mind.

You turn to enter the hallway and see a wide-eyed young woman staring back at you. She is frozen, like she has seen a ghost, and she looks at you with a hint of mistrust.

"Hello," you say, trying to strike up a conversation. "I'm here to see Meryl; she's my little sister. I'm sorry to have just barged in to the staff's quarters. Could you tell her I'm here? I'm in no rush; I'll wait till she has time."

She still stares at you and seems too frozen to say anything, only giving you a stiff nod and heading downstairs, where you hear a lot of commotion. You turn back to look out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man again, but he's nowhere to be seen. The sweet smell of doughnuts and jam fills your nose as you patiently wait for your sister.

You fall deep into thought, only to be awoken by some loud running footsteps heading your way and Meryl's voice calling out your name. She rushes to you and grabs your hands, so you turn to face her.

"Meryl!" you say with slight apprehension as you see the surprise in her face.

"What's going on? Someone just told me you flew down into our balcony!" She says it with disbelief. It takes you a moment to process her words before responding.

"So that did happen. That wasn't a dream," you say with a mix of confusion and sadness. You hear a different voice speak to Meryl as you turn your gaze out the window again, not registering what they talk about. You relive everything that has happened to you within the last half hour in your head, trying to commit every detail to memory. Meryl looks at you with concern as you look away so apathetically and then drags you with her to the backrooms of the kitchen to sit down with you on some boxes in the storage room. She presses you until you open up and tell her everything about your track here and the strange man who saved you.

"Wow! He must have been an inventor then!" Meryl exclaims as you finish your story with how he disappeared into the crowd.

"But he was so kind to me. He rescued me, Meryl."

"Of course he did! He was trying to seduce you! You are so lucky! If that inventor was Vash, he would have done much worse right then and there! He is an awful womanizer!"

"No, he wouldn't. Vash only does that to beautiful girls."

"Ah, don't give me that! You need to be more careful! It's dangerous out there! Even the infamous Millions Knives is back on the prowl." She looks at the side of your face and leans closer. "Are you listening?"

But you are so consumed by your thoughts, you barely realize what she is saying. Your gaze had been fixed by a giant tub of custard.

"Huh?" You finally turn to face your sister again.

"Argh!" Meryl lets out a disgruntled sigh. You see it from her face that she's about to start lecturing you, but a young man informing her about a new batch of dougnuts being done saves you from it.

"Okay! I'll be right there!" She turns a touch more cheerfully toward the cook.

"Alright! I better get going then. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay." You stand up, ready to leave, to both avoid getting Meryl into trouble and getting an earful from her about the horrible danger that is lurking outside the city walls.

Meryl sees through you immediately but chooses not to lecture you this time on that topic. She leads you to the backdoor, where a man is carrying bags of flour.

"Now," Meryl comes close to you again. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in that gunshop?"

"The shop was just so important to father, and I'm the eldest! I don't mind." You try to keep your tone cheerful as you look into her concerned face. But deep down, you know her words stir something up.

"I'm not asking what father would have wanted. I want to know what you want," she continues insistently.

"Well," you start to answer, not sure about what to say, but the man who carried in the flour comes back to say goodbye to Meryl, and your sister turns to him to wave goodbye. You take the opportunity to start to walk away and say, "I better get going."

"It's your life! Do something for yourself for once, will you?" she says, hoping that you will finally prioritize your own happiness.

"Bye, Meryl!" you say over your shoulder with a slight smile as you head home. Your head is still filled with a million thoughts, and Meryl only added to them. Yet you are glad she seems happy with her new life after she left your family's gunshop. You can't help but wonder if you'll ever find the same peace and contentment. But it matters little; you're the eldest, and you have a duty.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[star-farer]

make it right

Summary: One night on cold Kamino, long before Order 66, Hunter discovers agony incarnate AU: Ik'aad Taglist: @kybercrystals94, @fionas-frenzy, @padawancat97

Does anyone hold her when she’s frightened?

He knows the answer to that, even as he flips to one side on his bunk.

Do the storms still jolt her awake and reduce her to tears?

He knows the answer to that too, just as he pulls the GAR-issued blanket up to his chin.

Is her bed-bunk-rack-whatever soft enough? Is her room-chamber-who-cares-it-will-always-be-a-cell warm enough?

It feels like his guts are being rearranged. He knows the feeling of being torn open and reconstructed intimately. And it isn’t anywhere near his definition of pleasant.

Pleasant is a successful mission with no injuries, pleasant is a game of sabacc played in spare hours. Pleasant is the rumble in his belly when he laughs with his brothers, pleasant is a daughter’s giggles as her face is peppered with kisses.

Does she still laugh like that? Does she laugh at all?

Being strapped down and electrocuted would be kinder than this hell he’s in.

Hissing a sigh between clenched teeth, he presses the heels of his palms into his damp eyes. The dull ache intensifies along his nose bridge.

But it’s nothing compared to the knife lodged in his sternum and the soft flesh of his heart.

Heart? What heart? She’s been taken away by that demagolka, or have you forgotten already?

The thought makes him bristle.

He’ll never forget his ad’ika.

Her image, her being, her very soul is branded into his every bone. The moment her eyes had met his, sparkling and wide, he knew nothing could pierce him like they did.

Do her eyes still shine like he remembers them? Does she still stare at the stars like they were made to be adored by her?

Does she remember a time he looked at her the way she did the stars?

Does she still remember him?

He nearly bolts for the refresher, biting the knuckles of his trembling fist instead. The acid he swallows down burns the walls of his throat, like the unspoken words that cling there and curse his hesitance.

She was so little when they took her away. So little, he could fit her face in both of his hands. He could hide her away simply by curling her into his embrace.

And her silence; there was a quiet and terrified compliance in the way they had removed her from them, her voice buried under a fear so instinctual, his blood still boils when he remembers that accursed moment.

It was the first time he had seen her cry mutely, the first time only quiet breaths came out as sobs and tears ran down along her face without her usual protests.

She hadn’t even bothered to wipe her wet cheeks.

Does anyone wipe her tears now?

He knows the answer to that too, even as he gives up trying to fall asleep entirely.

Uselessly, he strains his ears in the hopes of catching her little voice, high and sweet. He splays one palm open against the steely wall. Perhaps some frequency of her person will resonate along the metal and reestablish their connection.

Is she alone, with only the scrap-heaps and long-necks for company?

Terror is like the first frost that wraps icy tendrils around anything it touches. His throat constricts, fear choking him like a noose. Clones are not built to survive solace, not for very long.

How much longer until she breaks?

“Omega,” he dares to whisper, so softly he barely hears it himself, a painful longing bleeding along with his soul, “Omega.”

His forehead comes to kiss the wall, and he chooses to replace its coldness for the memory of a little head against his, tufty curls tickling his temples. His eyes shut out the navy-black night colors for the iridescent void of eyelids.

A desperation seizes his person, shaking a sob out of him. He knows the anguish of loneliness, of being separated from his brothers. It’s the closest thing to having someone wrench your organs out of you.

And he’s lost her to this fate.

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ika. Ni ceta.”

Does anyone hold her when she is frightened?

[cnnmairoll]

Hello. I was wondering if you could you write a platonic angst story where the reader is Blade's child. I was thinking usually the only thing that could calm Blade down when the mara flared up was Kafka's spirit whisper but what if being around the reader was also able to calm Blade down for some reason because Blade barely spends any time with the reader unless it's during one of his harsh training sessions and one night the reader decides enough was enough and started packing their stuff but they left behind their lucky weapon (that's your choice) and Blade found it the next morning.

A Cup of Cold Tea

Character : Blade Genre : Angst Disclaimer : The relationship between the reader and Blade will be platonic as stated by the request. a/n : This was my first Request, but it didn't take long for me to find out about the anon sending the same request to most of the HSR writers despite their request was closed. I kept it in my drafts since it would be a waste if i just scrap it all out, not to mention my friend helped me out on this one, so I decided, why not just write the final paragraph and post? Things has been quite rough and busy for me so I'm not done with my hiatus, but I hope you enjoy p.s im sorry if he's ooc here, I don't know his chara well

His blade descends on you, striking downwards in a beautiful arc to cleave your skull.

You dodge within an inch of your life, the after image of his sword burning into your retinas as you fall into a clumsy heap on the floor. Still, you spare no moment for yourself as you scramble up, his sword drawing contact to where you lay as soon as you move.

The minutes blends into hours, time being a concept of little value in the face of Blade's viciousness. It takes everything you have to simply focus on the present, dodging and deflecting when you can. You always stay on the defensive in fights like these; any window you have to strike opens itself for only a millisecond before Blade runs it through clean with his sword.

It makes you wonder how you'd fare if Blade gave it his all. You've seen Blade fight on missions enough times to know that he is much deadlier when he is putting in active effort. In contrast, his movements here are much more sloppy and rabid, fueled only by the unadulterated desire to destroy. It is the madness of his mara in its purest form, though it doesn't make his attacks any less fatal, as proven by the countless wounds that litter your body.

Dead within the first minute, probably, comes the stray thought. It proves to cost you when you earn a gash on your arm, blood spilling freely from your left. You grit your teeth; you need to pay attention. There's never a guarantee for your life when Blade gets like this.

Red spider lilies bloom around you like a garden welcoming death. It sings of carnage, reeking of blood that it greedily consumes, begging for more even if it will eventually wilt away. It feels symbolic, in a way. Out of the two of you, only you are the one who is able to experience true death.

Still, you cannot help but find the blooming sea of red beautiful, even if it is always likely to be your final resting place.

There is a lull in Blade's movements, the manic in his eyes glazing into a dull scarlet as he catches his breath. Immortal he may be, but even he has a limit he will reach. It is a mercy; not only does it signify that his mara has not yet reached a point of no return, it also allows you time to recuperate. Had Blade been given unlimited stamina on top of his self-healing, you would surely have died a long time ago.

Now that the man has tired himself, it is time to bring him back.

"Father," you begin. It comes out as a feeble whisper, your lungs still burning from exertion. Still, you must press on. "Are you okay?"

Blade is silent for a beat, then two. This is fine; you can wait for as long as he needs for your words to reach him. You've gone through this routine enough times to memorize his mannerisms, all of which are currently saying that you are in the clear. So long as his grip on his weapon doesn't tighten again, then you have nothing to be afraid of.

Silence reigns within the room, until you recognize the clarity return to Blade's eyes.

"..You," he grunts, voice hoarse. It's scratchy from his manic screaming and laughter, and you make a mental note to add honey to his tea for his throat.

You nod approvingly. "Yes, Father. Are you okay?" You repeat the question, and this time, Blade manages a sharp nod.

You grin, happy at his answer. You open your mouth to speak again, but Blade cuts you to it. "What happened to your arm?"

The man stares hard at something, and you follow his gaze to find the gash on your left arm. The bleeding has mostly stopped from what you can tell, but it's still an ugly thing to look at. You'll have to wash it soon.

You hum, considering. "It's only a minor cut, Father. I can patch it by myself later."

His eyebrows twitch, his eyes narrowing. "Come," he says simply, walking towards the door.

You let your sword disperse into particles of light before following Blade out of the room. You know there is no arguing with him when he gets like this. Any attempt to reassure him that you can handle yourself will only end with him staring at you with unreadable eyes until you inevitably give in. You're not sure if he does this because he is aware of this fact. Blade doesn't strike you as the type to be attentive to such details, but it's worked every single time, so.

You are both silent as he tends to your wound, cleaning it thoroughly before dutifully bandaging it. Blade even add bandages to the smaller cuts you would've left alone, meticulous in making sure all your wounds are taken care of. You know it is his way to apologize, as he is a silent man who prefers actions in lieu of words. That, and that he's always been awkward when it comes emotions like remorse.

"Get some rest," he says, returning the equipment to the first-aid kit. Blade looks at you, expectant, and it is only when you nod does he leave you alone.

He never calls you by name. It's something that bothered you when you were younger, but it's something you've grown to accept. You're not even certain Blade can recall your name if asked. You know it is his way to cope, to always be prepared for the day when you, too, will leave him. Remembering names are a burden on his soul, so the least you can do is spare him from remembering yours.

Your patience reached its limit. In the dead of night, you quietly packed your belongings and left a note behind. It was brief but carried the weight of your feelings: "I need to find my own path for a while. I hope you understand." You didn't sign it, hoping that the absence itself would convey the message more powerfully.

The moon hung high in the sky as you walked away from the place you called home, your steps determined despite the uncertainty that gnawed at you. You had no plan, no destination in mind. You just knew that you needed time away.

The next morning, Blade woke up to find the room unusually quiet. The absence of the usual sounds—your soft footsteps, the steaming sound of the kettle pot when you made his morning tea—was like a deafening silence. He pushed himself up, his senses alert even before his eyes fully opened. His gaze darted around the room, searching for any sign of your presence.

The sight of your neatly made bed and the note left on the table struck him like a blow. For a moment, he stood frozen, his heart heavy with a mixture of regret and realization. He had been so consumed by his own pursuits that he hadn't noticed the growing distance between you.

His eyes shifted to a corner of the room, where a familiar object caught his attention. There, placed with careful intention, was your lucky weapon. The fiery red blade of the sword gleamed in the soft morning light, its hilt wrapped in supple black leather. The pommel, resembling the closed bud of a red spider lily, held a sense of elegance and balance that echoed the bond between you and Blade.

A pang of guilt and longing gripped Blade's chest as he picked up the sword. The weight of it felt familiar in his hand, a stark reminder of the times he had shared with you. The sword seemed to dance in the air, reflecting both its deadly capabilities and the beauty of its craftsmanship—a reflection of the connection he had with you, one he had been neglecting.

Blade's footsteps were heavy as he left the room, carrying the sword with him. As he went to sit down and process your absence, he noticed a cup of tea placed neatly on the table. The tea, once steaming and fragrant, now languished in its cup, forgotten and neglected. It had been carefully prepared by you before you left, a gesture of concern and care. The faint aroma of the blend, a comforting blend of herbs and warmth, with a hint of honey, still clung to the air around it, a lingering reminder of their intention.

But time had been unkind to the tea, its temperature steadily dropping as it sat abandoned on the table. The steam that had once risen from its surface in delicate tendrils, carrying with it the promise of comfort, had now dissipated into the air. The liquid's once-rich hue had faded slightly, a sign that its vitality was waning, much like the embers of a dying fire.

Blade's eyes fell upon the cup, his gaze drawn to the cold tea that had been left for him. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding the blade, reached out to touch the cup, and he felt the chill radiating from its surface. It was a stark contrast to the warmth he had felt earlier, a reminder of how quickly time could transform something from inviting to forgotten.

As he wrapped his fingers around the cup, he couldn't help but recall the hoarse quality of his voice that had consumed him during their training session. You noticed, as you always did, attuned to the subtleties of his state. The touch of honey they had added was a balm for his throat, a gesture that had been both practical and considerate.

Blade's throat tightened with an emotion he couldn't quite name. The cold tea before him held within it layers of meaning—your concern, your attempt to provide comfort, and a reminder of his own shortcomings.

Regret gnawed at his insides, twisting and churning with every breath he took. Guilt clawed at his conscience, tearing through the facade of indifference he had so carefully crafted. Loneliness engulfed him like a suffocating cloak, reminding him of the void left in your absence. And yet, beneath it all, there flickered a tiny ember of hope—a glimmer of redemption, a chance to right the wrongs he had committed.

Blade couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of despair that threatened to consume him whole. For in that moment, he realized that the hardest battle he would ever face was not against his enemies, but against the demons of his own making—the ones that whispered of his failures and shortcomings, echoing relentlessly in the caverns of his heart.

[mekachu04]

8. Care

Kidd - 10 | Killer - 14

Tags specifically for this chapter:

Kidd's getting better at subconscious use of devil fruit

Kidd does not care for being pampered- no thank you

he only tolerates it because it makes Killer feel better

(he's the only one who buys this excuse)

mild background violence & death

future crew cameos

trash/land slide

Children in danger

Read at A03 linked above or here below cut

Drabbles from Pocket Jack's KiKi-tober Prompt list

There were a handful of older kids that had all beefed with him and Killer at one point or another before. Today had been a monster of a teen with dingy blue hair that had come at Kidd with a pipe, waving it around like a sword instead of a club. In contrast, as thick as he was, his buddy was skinny, stringy orange hair falling around his ears and ugly sunglasses with half smashed lenses came at them with an actual knife. A few other ugly ass-hats that had been loitering around the last few hours rushed in with the charge.

They liked the spot Kidd and Killer had set up in this spring and thought that it would serve their gaggle of delinquents better than the two loners. They changed their minds pretty quick when Killer showed them exactly why he was named what he was, and it would take more then the six of them to take on the one of him, especially with Kidd watching his back.

Blue and Orange had run off like beaten dogs, leaving Killer and Kidd to deal with the four dead bodies before their camp got stunk up. The down side to a good brawl was having fucking chores to do afterward, Kidd thought moodily. They lived in a literal dump - cleaning house should be the one thing they never had to bother with.

He was kicking the last of the bodies over one of the ledges when he felt the creak before he heard it, a sharp itch building under his skin and he'd frozen in place; Killer's head shot up a few yards away, and Kidd knew something bad was going to happen. Killer's always kinda had a sixth sense about this kinda thing, and if Kidd was noticing something was off too...

The scrap under his feet was whispering for him to -do- something, before the sounds of shifting garbage thundered out. Something at the base of the Heaps had shifted, and Killer was running towards him, but only getting further away.

Kidd lost his footing, the ground dropped out from under him and he was falling. He tucked in tight on himself, the shifting debris -sticking- to him as he tumbled, feeling like a katamari ball the farther he rolled.

The rapid flickering of trash covered earth and smog ridden sky gave way to complete darkness as the metal scraps closed in around him, the unforgiving ground rushing up unseen to meet him.

***

"Shi- ... -idd! Kidd!"

Kidd blinked up at the hazy afternoon sky, trying to figure out why he was sleeping outside.. and.."What hit me?"

Killer's voice was far away, but that was absolutely him calling.

"I'm here!' he called back, pushing himself up right with only a little difficulty, "I'm okay!"

Killer was scrambling over the lip of the little hollow Kidd had come to a rest in, pulling back some of the larger pieces that had following him in and left him loosely cocooned in at the bottom

"Hi," he waved, still a little disorientated, Killer did not 'Hi' back so much as fling himself at Kidd and start patting him down for injuries.

"I'm fine!" he insisted, but Killer wasn't listening, carefully checking him over, particular attention paid to his back and neck and head. And Kidd let him because it was Killer.

"I'm okay." he tried again as Killer watched his pupils for a reaction, hands pushing Kidd's headband away to run fingers over the back of his skull. Kidd was never going to get his hair to sit right now, but the panic in Killer's eyes kept him from bitching at the moment.

"Kil! I'm okay!" he repeated, mirroring Killer by pressing his hands over Killer's ears and making him stop and really look at him.

"You're okay?"

"I'm okay.... Are you okay?"

Killer scoffed, a wet chuckle that seemed to stick in his chest, "You're the one who fell, dumb-ass."

***

Kidd could already tell Killer was going to be insufferable for the time being, a proper worry wart. They should be celebrating. They'd defended their home, kicked some ass, and Kidd had beaten a mountain. Instead, he already knew Killer was going to mollycoddle him the next few days.

And dammit. He was going to let him. Killer had always been real good about not talking down to him and treating more like a partner in crime than a literal child, at least more than anyone else would. And the worse part was, Kidd was pretty sure this would be his friend's reaction no matter how old Kidd got, and he was just going to have to suffer with the mothering for the next while.

The things you did for friends, he mussed, hours later, tucked safely in Killer's arms as the chill of the night failed to creep past Killer's hold. Killer was unstoppable - bullies or nature herself. And if anyone tried to call Killer soft or pathetic for it, Kidd was going to kick their teeth in.

[pigeonwhumps]

The Little Android

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

My entry for the Once Upon a Blade anthology by @thewhumpyprintingpress (which is really good btw, you should buy it if you can) which I've been meaning to post for months.

An android whump retelling of The Little Matchgirl by Hans Christian Anderson.

1.2k

CWs: android whump, torture, dehumanisation, slavery, denial of basic needs, threats of death, implied major character death

The android sits down against the wall of a crowded metal walkway, box of batteries in its hand. One arm is made up of loose wires and artificial nerve endings left when the attachment was ripped from its socket, and as they brush against the wall they send a jolt of pain through its systems, almost causing it to drop the box. If only its owner had deactivated its pain circuits after the experiment was completed, but he thought they would be useful to control it. And as a synthetic life form, it does not have the right to deactivate them itself.

It needs to sell these batteries. Oh, they look so tempting, they could power it for the day it’s sure, it would have constant heating and a properly working voice and its power wouldn’t flicker out so often. But it’ll get credits if it sells them, and it’s therefore less likely to end up on the scrap heap.

It tries for eight point seven hours, but it doesn’t make a single credit. Passers-by barely give it a second glance. If it’s lucky. Some step around it with a wide berth, giving it dirty looks and whispering behind their hands (sometimes not even whispering, it doesn’t matter, it’s not a human after all). A few teenagers make a game of tugging at its exposed nerve endings to see who can make it scream the loudest, and nobody stops them, they just look annoyed at the noise. It’s moved on by security more than once.

Finally the lights in the station switch to night mode, dimming and turning slightly orange, reducing the blue light. Usually the android would adjust its vision to compensate so it could keep working with ease but that function no longer works.

The place it was last moved along to, where it is now, gets almost no night traffic. There’re no shops or clubs or living hubs, there’s no reason to come here unless you’re maintenance staff, who can’t, or won’t, buy from it anyway. There’s no point staying.

Except if it goes back to the shop with no credits again, it will be deemed useless and stripped for parts. Maybe even without its pain circuits being deactivated first.

Its power flickers out for a few seconds. When it restarts, the android is on the floor. It doesn’t know how long it was out, which is unnerving but common recently.

Maybe just a little boost of battery power. Just to keep it going.

It chooses a battery, unwraps it with stiff, creaky fingers, and plugs it into a port on its side.

The power zaps around its body and it feels a simulation of warmth for the first time in so long. It’s almost comfortable.

In the distance, it sees its makers’ workshop. They’re laughing and joking together as they start up the charger, preparing to test parts that the android knows are custom-made. It used to help with the more dangerous parts of the job, before they ran out of money and were forced to sell it.

It feels so warm and cosy, and as the light envelopes it, it opens its mouth to speak.

The light disappears. The warmth disappears. The android tries to hang on but it must have had a power surge in its decision-making module.

It feels even colder now. Any warmth is gone, any semblance of care from someone else. What does it have in its life, really? No-one does anything except order it around and stimulate its pain circuits. Nobody even interferes when the pain is malicious. Not anymore.

It takes out another battery. If it’s going to be scrapped anyway it might as well make it worth it.

As soon as it’s plugged in, the station disappears. It’s inside a charging station, one of the ones for VIPs and their androids. It had a job cleaning these, once. Mobile charging packs, as much premium oil as the android can drink, oiled joints, comfortable places to stand or sit… it has dreamed about them, sometimes. It was allowed to drink the last dregs of oil and it really was premium.

This one is busy with humans in fancy clothes and the latest models, so much more advanced than itself. No-one is paying attention to the android, and it walks through the central aisle, approaching a serving station. It reaches out a hand for an oil can, wires jittering in anticipation at the taste, the feel of its body afterwards—

The illusion fades.

The android is left cold and alone on the floor of the space station. There’s not much use for softness for androids but oh, how it wishes. It’s been so long since it had oil, only getting just enough lubrication to stop it from rusting entirely. It doesn’t deserve anything more until it starts to be useful. But it won’t be, and it just feels empty.

It’s startled out of its reverie by a beep beep beep of warning. Its power is depleting even faster than normal. If it doesn’t get to a charging point soon it’ll power down for good.

Surprisingly, the android finds itself not caring overly much anymore. What does it have to go back to, after all?

The android plugs in another battery.

It’s on a starship deck in night mode. The observation deck. It’s always wished to be stationed on one of these. It’s charging against a wall, sitting down, and it can see the stars.

They’re bright spots against the darkness, mostly, but in the distance it can see nebulas, colourful clouds of dust and stars. That’s when it realises its vision is fixed. It can see properly, for the first time is years. Who bothered to fix that?

Then reality hits it. Nobody did. The android here, the one with the fixed vision and someone who cares and such a good posting, it doesn’t exist. This is a dream. An illusion. Something it’ll never get.

It touches its reflection in the glass, feeling a pang from somewhere inside that shouldn’t exist. It’s been fixed, like a patchwork, different colours and textures of paintwork, but it’s more than it will ever really have, more than it deserves. Engine oil leaks slightly from the edges of its vision sensors. Good quality oil too. It really is getting the best on this dreamship.

It can feel itself fading. Its consciousness is fading. And it’s nowhere near a power socket really, so it’ll deactivate permanently this time.

But it doesn’t have anything to lose. There’s no-one who cares, no-one who won’t take it apart for scrap as soon as it returns with no credits and barely any batteries. No-one will mourn it if it stays here. Someone will take the batteries and someone will take its parts and they’ll sell both but they won’t care. What’s the point?

The android sinks back down, leaning back against its comfortable charging wall. It closes its eyes for the last time to an exploding supernova.

The science doesn’t really make sense. But it’s far too tired to care.

[whitegoldtower]

Mairon and the Marchwarden: Hand Touching

(Yes I made Seregluin in BG3 because he’s so durge coded. Granted he’d have way more decorative scars than just that patch on his chin/throat but there we go)

🕸️

It’s never been skin-to-skin contact before now. His hands are always plated with steel, gauntlets strapped down, the cold metal of his prosthetic fingers warming under the maiar’s fleeting touches. Almost burning.

Mairon’s hands are hot, and Seregluin feels it through the steel. Only for a moment, and then it’s gone.

Until he removes his gauntlets to inspect the stumps of his index and middle fingers of his left hand, and that biblically hot touch resumes. It almost hurts, his sword-hand so used to the abuse he puts it through daily that he wouldn’t have batted an eyelid… were it not for the fact that Mairon was touching him. Again. Somehow, the touch of the maiar ignited each and every single one of his nerve endings, amplifying the sensation to almost unbearable degrees, and he watched, enthralled, as those golden fingers traced from stumps to knuckles, then casually turned his hand over, stroking along his palm, to his wrist.

Though previously deemed impossible, the general’s eyes blackened further, and despite his stoic expression, there was a crack in that castle wall; his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his mouth very suddenly dry, as if he had held his face, lips parted, mere inches over a pyre.

“How faithfully these hands have served me,” The maiar remarks, touching upon the blue-black veins that stretch like cobwebs over his musculature, like asps beneath his chilled skin, “And yet I have never looked upon them until this day. Your hands. My hands.”

The marchwarden schools his expression, becoming stony once more, so military in his mien as he lifts his chin, eyes forward, shoulders back, spine as straight as a poker.

“My Lord.” He speaks, and his voice, once melodic and smooth, is now a smoky whisper, hollow and metallic, like stone scraping iron. Yet there is a tenderness there, never witnessed by any except Mairon.

The copper-haired one tilts his head, charmingly, and Seregluin is captivated by his fairness.

“I should like to see them more often. It does not do to be deprived of the sight of one of my most valuable beloved assets. Is that fair, Gwathragur?”

The sound of his most intimate of names leaving his lord’s lips is the sweetest he could have fathomed, though he remains perfectly still. Statuesque.

“It is more than fair, my Lord. An honour, that they are to your liking.”

The maiar pauses, only for a brief moment.

“Show me the other one. I much desire to touch it. You wield your swords with both hands, do you not?”

“I do, Lord Mairon.” His tongue rolls as he speaks his master’s name, uttering it with as much reverence as his former kin would have for Varda, Manwë or Yavanna. As hateful as Mairon finds his mother-tongue, this seems to please him greatly, as the general presents his other hand, no less scarred, cold and grim than his left.

The maiar takes it, possessively, and scrapes his nails along the back of it, as a smith would to test the purity of gold, to see if it would mark. And mark it does, though Seregluin does not dare to flinch. Instead, his eyelids flutter, and - very much in the way elves lean into and embrace their emotions and bodily sensations - he allows himself to briefly indulge in the searing sting of it, feeling it deeply.

Then, that sting becomes a gentle ache. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, white lashes tickling his whiter eyebrows, he spots the fairest of subtle smirks quirking Mairon’s lips upwards.

And he loves him. He loves him.

Perchance, somewhere within the maiar’s churning crucible of a heart, there’s a scrap of love for him, there, too, bubbling away under the slag heap of what was left of Mairon’s love for Morgoth.

[lovinglonerhybrid]

Could you do another transformers ghost story now that it's spooky season

Absolutely!

You have kick started my brain and now we all must suffer the consequences! Apologies if this was not exactly what you wanted but the brain writes what the brain wants.

Prowl huffed as he walked the darkened Halls of the lost light. He wanted to do the last inspection personally before he gave the order to scrap this junk heap. The praxien looked down at his data pad and frowned as he walked into what was the bar apparently. He looked up and scowled at the left over decorations on the wall and what looked like posters of famous cybertronions. The former enforcer walked behind the bar looking at the shelf’s that would have held the intoxicants. He huffed at the stains and the slight smell that emanated from past spills. The mech knelt down to inspect the flooring when he hard a shuffle of plating on the other side of the bar. Prowl froze and slowly extended his doorwings. He frowned as the sensors pinged back a negative for anyone other than him. The black and white bot slowly grabbed his rifle from his subspace. The praxien lunged upwards brandishing his rifle “This Is A Restricted Area!” He called out to the seemingly empty room. Prowl scowled and looked around the dimly lit room. There was no one there. Prowl subspaced his rifle and placed his servos on the bar top.

“Give me somthin strong”

Prowl jumped at the voice his plating clapping tight “hello” he called looking around “this is a restricted area no bots allowed” he whirld around at the sound of laughter but still no one was there.

“Get over here you scrap heap!”

Prowl jumped. “Rachet?” He whispered. He looked around but he knew that it was impossible. He knew ratchet was dead. Prowl shook his head and walked out of the bar area back into the hallways. The lights were flickering out here he noticed. What little power the ship had was running out he rationalized. Moving deeper into the ship the praxien kept hearing voices but no mech where around. Then he saw a flicker of orange plating walking slowly by him. Prowl turned to address the mech but they were gone. Prowl shivered as the ship grew frigid. The notoriously stoic mech began to run. Me he’s seemed to stream past him a small Cassette mech. A turbo fox, several other mechs he dident know and couldn’t get any kind of reading from. Prowl stumbled through the entry hatch of the ship and tripped falling onto the ramp the praxien growled and pushed himself up dusting off his plating he turned and froze.

In the entry hatch stood…but no.

He was dead they killed him.

There in the entry hatch stood megatron his red optics glowing in the gloom. on his shoulder sat one of sound waves cassettes ravage there tail lashing behind them. Prowl stood there his plating slightly rattling as he watched the warlord slowly turn and walk into the gloom of the ship. Prowl turned one he was out of sight and from his hud approved the paperwork to get the ship scrapped. He fiddled with the schedule till the Lost Light was slated for scrapping first thing in the morning.

Within the ship on the bridge there sat a little blinking light on the captains chair as the ships power slowly ran out the light kept blinking.

In the morning prowl woke up to alerts filling his hud. He slowly scrolled through them and clenched his fists as his anger grew at the last alert the black and white mech launched himself out of his berth and flipped his bedside table in rage.

Out in the far reaches of space the lost light idled as its crew reacquainted themselves with the ship.

And the crewmates that never really left them.