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staycalmandhugaclone · 3 months ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 14

Part (14) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

For those who didn't read that Bane fic, I've been feral about FINISHING THIS DAMN ARC. So, apologies: I owe loads to responses, and I'm so, sooo grateful for everyone's kind comments! But it's done!! Finally! Now, I get to catch up on some fics I'm super excited to finally read, and will actually take some time to say hi to everyone 😅

Warnings: Reference to mortal danger, more brotherly teasing, angst, horrors of war, ableism toward a child, sexism if yuh squint, reference to medical procedures

WC: 9,027 (...oops)

Mandoa Translation: osik buurenaar - shit storm

I’d yet to meet the Alpha-class clones, but tales of their ferocity and intellect were legendary, as was their brute strength. I wondered if they stood taller than other clones, if a divide lay between them and their brothers because of differences neither could control. How would they measure against the unique men of this squad? Would they find themselves celebrating each other for what power stemmed from those differences? Or would that divide become even more pronounced amidst “defects” and “abnormalities”?

When I thought of the Alpha-class, I couldn’t help but picture some slight variance of Wrecker. Maybe they wouldn’t share that innate warmth and joy so pronounced in his mismatched eyes, but I couldn’t picture them without that stature so many immediately feared, without the shocking mass of muscle that gave his every movement a sense of command that was so readily abandoned beneath the ease with which he smiled and laughed.

Even if they shared some facet of his physique, there was a gentleness about the lounging man sprawled out atop his bed that I couldn't imagine mirrored in anyone else.

I looked at his hands, at the thick calluses and scars earned from a lifetime of danger and pain, and yet, when he touched me… I thought of those days when Tech writhed at the mercy of that wretched withdrawal, how tentative Wrecker's movements had been as he dragged his thumbs so carefully down my palm as though I might break at the slightest misstep. I thought of how small my hands looked beside his; how small I looked beside him, and I marveled anew at that gentleness. He could be a monster. He could use his strength and size to bully other's and instill fear. But, instead, he lowered his voice in the presence of a frightened child. He laughed when his brothers needed a moment of levity, and he touched me with only the softest of caresses. No. I couldn't imagine the alphas as sharing that gentleness. Even if there were some similarities in the breadth of their shoulders, there was a strength to Wrecker that few understood, and even fewer had the means of sharing in.

Bickering gradually shifted to boasting as Wrecker recanted the destruction wrought upon the Separatist transfer station after I'd had to leave, again surprising me with the revelation that nearly half of the hanger caved in from what I only then realized were strategic placements of bombs to target load bearing struts. That's why we’d been able to escape the planet with relative ease.

“You used over a dozen explosives to bring down half of a hanger.” Crosshair sneered. “I took out their secondary power transformer with one shot.” I rolled my eyes, my own attention tuned to the inflamed limb beneath my hands, watching for tension or flinching as I slid my palm firmly along tendon and muscle to gradually draw away the swelling.

“Hey, your target was meant to be a target! They were countin’ on it getting’ blown!” Wrecker argued proudly, but the way Crosshair's body suddenly tensed left us both hesitating.

“Clearly.” Silence followed the hushed growl, taunting what flicker of reprieve that moment of brotherly teasing had briefly allowed. Wrecker's expression twisted with every ounce of guilt and regret I could feel churning in my own gut, the slight misstep treading just close enough to remind all of us of the very horror I’d hoped we might help Crosshair forget, even if only for those precious few minutes.

Without warning, I stood, snatched the pillow from Tech's bed, and chucked it at the broody sniper, instantly earning something torn between a gasp and a shout as he shot up, clawing at the thin cushion, lips wrenched into a seething snarl. Wrecker was stunned for just a handful of seconds before letting out a barked laugh.

“Every single one of you only barely walked away from this Force-forsaken mission, but you did walk away.” My voice went quiet; firm. “Your eyes… Wrecker’s knee… Tech’s arm…” I didn’t mention Hunter… There was still too much anxiety surrounding his injuries… And I knew I didn’t need to speak his name for both of the men around me to wilt beneath the fear of how close we’d all come to losing him. Not even Echo managed to escape unscathed.

“Even by our standards, this mission was an osik buurenaar from the start, but I'm going to make damn sure you all heal up just fine.” Wrecker let out a quiet, humorless huff of agreement, gaze falling to absently watch the leisurely movements of my hands working over the swollen tissue surrounding his knee once more.

The rage faded almost reluctantly from Crosshair's face, pillow still held before him though now free of the way his fingers once dug into the miniscule padding.

“‘Buur-re-naar.��” He muttered after a moment, and I glanced toward the suddenly resigned man with a flare of confusion, a quiet, “what?” escaping before I’d registered what he’d said.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He repeated, more clearly emphasizing the flow of each syllable. “If you’re going to go around playing combat medic, at least get the damn swear words right.”

“Play?” I nearly snarled. Whatever taste of fire the word was meant to have, however, vanished beneath the laughter I couldn't quite silence, but Crosshair responded only by shoving Tech's pillow atop his own and making a show of lying back down.

“Ah, we used to say it the same way.” Wrecker dismissed with a lazy brush of his hand. “Prob’ly still would if Echo hadn't gone off on the lot of us anytime we said somethin’ wrong.” He added with a roll of his eyes, but there was such an obvious affection in the subtle upturn of his lips, it proved infectious, and I quickly found myself smiling softly as well.

“I suppose if I heard someone say ‘kraff' instead of ‘kriff', I wouldn't be able to take them seriously, either…” I muttered with a small huff.

There was still a heaviness weighing down the air in the bunk room, but it wasn't quite so tainted with that almost frenzied panic, and I vaguely realized that Crosshair wasn't shaking anymore, at least not enough for the metal frame of his cot to betray. His shoulders were still set beneath a lingering dread that sent a deep ache twisting through my chest, but his breathing was far more even.

I caught Wrecker's gaze returning to the raised bed endlessly, his own worry painting a subtle crease between his brows that lingered until his own breathing finally began to slow, body gradually sinking deeper into the thin mattress beneath him as the careful dance of my hands drew the tension from first his injured leg, and then the other purely for the glee of what pleasure that touch brought him.

“Started taking bets on him passing out like that.” Cross said dryly as Wrecker's snores echoed quietly around us.

“What? On if he falls asleep during a massage?” I tried to keep my relief secret at the simple evenness of his voice.

“Not ‘if'. We bet on how long he lasts.” I let out a small snort before reaching across the massive clone to slip his blanket over him.

“Most of you guys fall asleep at some point during them.” I retorted as I slowly pushed myself to my feet, arms raising to stretch over my head with a small grunt, and I relished the little rush of affection at his muttered growl of objection.

“What are my chances of convincing you to eat something?” I asked after a moment of silence. No… not quiet silence. The air cyclers hummed softly beneath the distant thrum of the engine in a gentle song that so easily faded into the background, but there was a comfort in it, in the promise it represented as we fled through the dim of hyperspace.

“Low.” He grumbled almost petulantly, drawing a snort from me.

“Too bad.” There was a subtle threat in the gentleness of my reply despite the warmth woven through the words, and something between a growl and a groan voiced his obvious disdain. I'd only barely begun to move when his hand suddenly whispered over my shoulder, freezing me in place. He remained pointedly turned away from me, and my heart broke upon noting the faint tremor still seizing through those nimble fingers. It was subtle but undeniably there.

I instantly reached up to cradle his hand between mine, touch delicate even as I shifted to press my lips firmly to his knuckles.

“Do you want me to stay?” I barely breathed the words against that callused skin, against the scars from too many injuries to remember as my thumbs trailed the ridges of tendons stretching toward his wrist. He hesitated, and I could see how tightly his jaw ground shut, but then he gave a tiny nod. I needed no further encouragement, hold tightening briefly before releasing him to climb the narrow ladder, movements careful as I crawled into the too small bed beside him.

He didn't fight the way I settled against him, arms looping around his head to let my fingers trail through messy, silver curls long since left in perfect disarray from too many hours trapped in bed. He merely let me hold him for a long moment, body stiff, but then he shifted into me, face hiding against my chest as his arm slipped around my back, clawing at the skin-tight fabric of my undershirt, and I knew this was something we’d never speak of later, that his pride would never have let him cling to me like this absent a need too great for words to ever begin to portray.

“After the war ends, I'm going to buy us a real bed.” There was a new kind of quite softening hushed promises whispered through the curls twirling between my fingers. “Something big… maybe a round one.” He said nothing; made no show of tilting his head in an eye roll I couldn't see nor scoffed with some mocking dismissal, but I knew he was listening. “Put it right in the middle of a room with lots of windows - keep you from sleeping in until noon.” That, at least, earned a small groan that left me chuckling softly against him.

“Maybe I’ll sneak out before you wake up,” I continued, lips just brushing against him, “surprise you with a cup of caf.” His hand slowly crept up my spine, head shifting ever so slightly toward me, and I was all too eager to answer in kind, heart leaping at the taste of him as though I hadn’t kissed him a hundred times before, as though I didn’t know every divot of his body as intimately as I knew my own. It was intoxicating, the ease with which I lost myself in him. It didn’t matter how chaste the caress of his lips was; how gently they pressed against mine with words he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud, still, it left me breathless as he quietly pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” My arms tightened around him before that accursed apology faded, chest swelling with a carefully slowed, deep breath.

“I know.” I whispered back, cheek shifting delicately against him. “I know.”

I hadn’t meant to stay with him. I’d meant only to grant him a moment of reprieve from the terrors he wouldn’t be free of until those bandages finally came off, but the way he held me, the hesitation in how slowly that tension finally began to ease from his lithe form, the rare display of unconditional trust revealed only as consequence of forced vulnerability… how could I walk away from that?

Only after my arm had long since lost all feeling and the Marauder’s light faded with the automated façade of a night cycle did I began easing myself free of him. He barely shifted, the gentle ebb and flow of sleep still mediating unrushed breath as I slipped down onto the empty frame of Hunter’s bed.

No one had passed through the bunkroom in those few, precious hours I shamelessly squandered toying with silver curls and tracing senseless shapes atop now laxed muscles. I wasn’t surprised that Tech was surely still nestled in the worn pilot’s chair, but Echo’s absence left me growing even more anxious.

Footsteps carefully softened, I started silently toward the aft of the ship, but the rear cargo room was empty, and only Hunter lay within the medbay. I nearly walked away, intent on scouring the entirety of the damn ship to find the impossibly illusive arc trooper but found myself pausing at the offensive disarray of the room before me. Empty wrappers circled the misaligned cots like spent confetti, and the empty saline bag still hung over the mattress Crosshair had fled, crumpled blankets a testimony to his frenzied movements.

A few minutes… I could spare a few minutes to reclaim some semblance of order from the horrid chaos still so evident in abandoned vials of spent medication and crudely discarded syringes, and if I stole a couple seconds in between to merely watch the steady dance of that tiny line across the screen of the cardiac monitor, to slip my fingers against bronze skin and simply feel the heat of him, to count the lazy beat of his pulse and study the way his chest rose and fell with breath that I could still taste on my lips as I’d forced air into his lungs; if those brief, stolen moments saw me holding my own breath lest it tremble as I fought back regrets and what-if’s and if-only’s, then that was a delay easily dismissed beneath the weight of a relief I’d never grow weary of cherishing.

How many times had I done this? Lost hours in the meditation of cleaning and organizing and recording an inventory destined to prove inaccurate as supplies mysteriously vanished in the days to come? My bed now lay atop its frame once more. The trash was gone and the floors scrubbed clean of stains. I heard the clatter of my datapad hitting the counter before understanding why my grip had suddenly failed me, eyes wide even as I found myself frozen, some haunting doubt yet forbidding me from turning around, from glimpsing the source of that tiny sound. It was barely more than a huff, breath hitching in the echo of a pain transcending the residuals of sleep. But it was there.

Only when that faltered gasp just hinted at a groan did I finally turn to face him. Tension coiled through his jaw, brows twitching absent the strength to truly furrow above weakly pinched eyes, strained inhales bucking as broken ribs rebelled from the abuse, and, in an instant, I was at his side, knees aching from how harshly I dropped to the ground beside his cot, hands hovering uselessly above him as years of medical training abandoned me.

“Hunter?” His name left in a barely audible gasp, but it was enough. His lashes fluttered, some fleeting sound just catching in his throat. “Hunter! Hey-hey-hey, easy; you’re alright.” I don’t know what comfort he could find in the rapidly whispered words as I fought against a rushed flurry of too many emotions to begin to quell, but his head shifted toward me nonetheless, and when his eyes opened, when I saw the subtle hints of green woven through umber and gold, when I knew, free of that crippling uncertainty, that he saw me… that he knew me, I couldn’t help but sob, hands sliding so carefully about his cheeks as I leaned down to just touch my forehead to his.

“H… Hu-… d-dammit…” I couldn’t force my voice steady enough even to breathe his name, entire body suddenly trembling with the apex of a fear I’d barely allowed myself to acknowledge until faced with the blessed proof that it was baseless. He made no attempt to push me away, eyes open just enough to meet mine as I trembled against him, and when his hand managed to slide about my elbow, grip weak but undeniably there, I found myself sobbing even harder, shoulders bunching about my chest in some futile attempt to regain a control that was too eager to cave just as I so nearly managed to force myself to calm.

“Y… you can’t d-do that to me again.” I ordered, shameless of how hopelessly my voice broke, thumbs sweeping across still bruised skin with a tenderness that should have brought a flush to my cheeks. I wanted to ask what litany of thoughts danced behind those eyes; wanted to hear him recant the impossible breadth of incalculable possibilities he seemed to consider even now before allowing himself to respond, but something about the softness of his expression as I pulled away to better see him, the gentleness of his gaze as his head shifted in a tiny nod left me staggering far too much to even remember how to speak. Only when another too-deep inhale left him flinching in pain, did I finally remember myself.

“Don’t… don’t try to move, yet.” I ordered, chest bucking with a quiet sniffle as I turned sharply away from him, hands reluctantly abandoning his warmth to snatch at nearly supplies. “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon, but this will kick in quickly.” He watched idly as I flooded his IV with pain meds.

“M… ch… ch’st…” I grimaced at the barely audible attempt at speech.

“Broken ribs.” I explained. I wasn’t surprised at how quickly his confusion shifted to something quiet, haunted, and I knew I didn’t have to explain further.

“We’re about a day out from the Vigilance.” I murmured. “Everyone’s on board – they even got the Senator out.” His eyes still held a darkness I knew only time might ease, but he gave another nod in response, this one quick; distracted.

When I found myself reaching for his hand, I couldn’t say if it was for my own comfort or for his, but neither could I deny the thrill in feeling how readily his fingers slipped between mine. It took only a moment longer for that clarity to fade, taking with it the tension and pain coiling through still exhausted muscles.

There were still too many uncertainties surrounding his condition to truly relax… I could still only guess towards how long he’d been down before I found him… how long he’d been dead. Five minutes… that all it took for a normal human to suffer brain damage. Hunter wasn't a normal human… but it felt like so much longer than five minutes had passed between the moment his comms went silent and when his heart finally began to beat again…

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, pulling his knuckles up to brush lightly to my lips. “Maker, I’m… I’m so sorry…”

“Shh…” I didn’t think he was still awake, but his hand shifted to slip softly against my cheek, eyes glancing only briefly toward me before falling shut once more. “D’dn’t… do an… ‘nythin’ wr’ng…” He mumbled, lips barely shifting around words that sounded almost more akin to a soft growl than true speech as drugs and exhaustion left his already smoky voice an even deeper rumble.

“You were only there because of me…” I wasn’t sobbing anymore, but there was no hiding the depth of sorrow threatening to bring a fresh wave of tears sliding down my cheeks. “If you’d… I… I thought I lost you…” I barely breathed that devastating truth, fingers sliding delicately up his arm as though there was still some danger of him slipping away from something so simple as a rough touch. His thumb trailed along the ridge of my cheek, the movement faltering, stuttering, as though he kept forgetting he was doing it, but it was all the softer for it.

“M… ‘m here…” He murmured, face so perfectly laxed that it seemed only seconds before sleep might reclaim him, and there was something frightfully beautiful about that; that foreign calm softening his features; how young he looked absent the constant furrow between his brows from the crippling weight of leading his brothers through dangers far greater than any should be forced to suffer through. Like this, that faded tattoo looked almost comical against a youth that was so easily overlooked beneath the veneer of war-hardened soldier, and I couldn’t ignore how my heart jumped at the sight even as his touch finally stilled.

It was selfish… stupid… but I didn’t want him to sleep yet… I wanted to hear him whisper to me in that sleep-draggled voice; I wanted him to promise me that he’d be okay – that we’d be okay…

“… Hunter?” His name slipped from my lips before logic could force it back, and I found myself holding my breath as I awaited some response. My chest bucked with a jilted exhale when none came, jaw tensing against an entirely different taste of regret even as I strained to grasp the relief of being spared whatever senseless thoughts had led me to call out to him with that almost shy whisper.

Heart still racing, I carefully set his arm down before thoughtlessly reaching across him to resettle the blanket over his still bare chest as though it might ease the image of what dark bruises marred bronze skin from a memory too eager to forget those wounds in favor of gentler times; when he lay atop my bed for reasons veiled in therapeutic touch, and I didn’t find myself second-guessing our every interaction beneath a shame and guilt that had nothing to do with my profession.

I couldn’t bring myself to even attempt to rest. Not when he slept so peacefully barely a meter away; not when Crosshair lay curled atop his own bed in the neighboring room suffering beneath injuries threatening his very identity. I needed to calm down; to breathe; to quiet those raging emotions lit anew beneath the terror of losing him and the blistering relief following in the wake of seeing his chest rise, of hearing his voice and feeling his touch and knowing it would never be enough.

We didn’t have sonics on Agamar. There was no reason for them. Water was plentiful and clean, and there was no substitute for the numbing pleasure of feeling it wash the tension and dirt and anxiety away. Only luxury vessels could afford to waste the extra weight and space needed for such extravagances, however, and the pulsing pressure callously beating the grime from my skin offered none of the gentle clarity I’d hoped for upon hiding myself away in the utilitarian fresher. At least I was clean…

The Senator had nestled himself among a handful of spare blankets with Areeya in the cabin, and neither stirred as I made my way toward the narrow ladder dropping down into the cockpit. Tech wasn’t studying his datapad, nor was he tinkering with some half-built weapon or tool or “upgrade” to the Marauder. He was merely watching the infinite trails of stars shooting past us at speeds I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

I didn’t sit down in the empty co-pilot chair, instead granting whatever unspoken excuse or forgiveness or feigned ignorance I needed to lower myself to the ground beside him, back pressing against the uncomfortable ridge of dented durasteel framing his seat as my head tilted just enough to rest against the side of his thigh. From the corner of my vision, I saw how quickly his attention shifted, wide eyes studying me with a confusion I should have felt guilty for causing.

“Are you… alright?” He asked hesitantly, hands torn between releasing their hold on the controls and grasping them even tighter.

“Hunter woke up.” It wasn’t an answer, but those few words held far more value and interest than any false platitudes I might offer, and Tech instantly responded with a flurry of relief and hope and then dread as that silence lingered. “I think he’s okay.” I added far too belatedly, earning a sharp breath from the brilliant pilot. “It was just for a minute… Painkillers knocked him back out pretty fast.”

“But he seemed… coherent?” Tech pressed, hesitant to allow himself to cede the fears lingering in the unknowns.

“There wasn’t time to really assess him, but… he was aware.” I explained, knowing such a meager reassurance would offer just as meager a balm to the what-if’s still hovering over us.

“I think Echo’s avoiding me again.” I continued with a heavy sigh.

“I do not believe so.” He responded after a brief pause. “We were just discussing the redesign of his upgraded prosthetics. He’s been working on them in the gunner’s nest during flights.” Surprise and understanding rushed through me, gaze turning back toward the ladder as though there were some chance I could see him from here.

“Huh… that’s… that’s good.” I murmured, and I couldn't say with any certainty if the relief in my voice outweighed the disappointment. Logically, I knew there was likely little I could honestly contribute in light of the incredible breadth of knowledge shared between Tech and Echo, but a part of me had hoped he might still find a reason to seek me out, if only for some fabricated uncertainty regarding nervous system integration or proper fitting of the socket, or just to share in the progress they'd made… but there was still too great of a divide between us… too much confusion toward where we stood with each other… too many blameless apologies neither would accept. And the non-stop sprint from one mission to the next offered little chance of privacy in which we might talk it through…

“When is this going to end…” I think I hated myself for letting those words escape, for letting him hear the weight in them, the threat of a hopelessness we couldn't afford to feel lest it rob us of the will to keep fighting.

“I presume you're not referring to our rendezvous with General Kenobi's flagship.” It wasn't a question, and I didn't need to voice the answer screaming in the pregnant silence that followed as eyes barely open beneath the remorse and weariness that had forced me to purge that wretched plea from myself to begin with rose just enough to see a heartbreaking glimmer of concern staring down at me through topaz lens.

“Traditionally, enlisted servicemembers are deployed for no more than one point five cycles between mandatory leaves… Medical emergencies aside, you haven't taken-"

“Don't.” I interrupted quietly, begging him to rid even his thoughts of what he was implying. “You… your brothers… This is it, for me.” I let my head shake almost lazily against his leg, dismissing the very notion of changing that. “I don't have anything else… I don't want anything else.”

“I'm… not sure that level of dependency would be considered healthy.” My face instantly pinched in offense before noting the teasing glint just toying with the edges of his lips enough to draw faint creases along the corners of his eyes.

“I know your sleep schedule, Tech… You really don't want to talk to me about unhealthy dependencies.” I shot back, challenge clear even through the grin lighting my words, but his smirk only grew.

“Clones were designed to have far superior tolerance to both physical and mental deficiencies.” He didn't brag with that haughty lilt intent on belittling others, nor was it quite accurate to call it pride as he recanted that sales pitch I so loathed every time I heard it in the almost musical cadence of the Kaminoans, but there was an air of confidence driving his boast that was so hard to argue with… still…

“Don't give me that ‘superior genetics' osik! Tolerance doesn't make you immune to going days on end without sleep.” I retorted with a scowl ruined by the smile I couldn't fight from my lips. “Especially now with your arm practically hanging off…” His lips bunched, gaze dropping to the thick bandages about his still immobilized arm with an impatient exhale that sent a sharp flare of guilt through my chest.

Head pressing just a touch harder against him, I raised my hand to lightly brush against his elbow, the touch aimless beyond the compelling urge to offer some reassurance amidst a silent apology.

“The war…” he didn't look at me as he spoke, the elegance of his voice lowering into something just shy of a whisper, “An ending of some manner is inevitable, of course… and though it is impossible to say with total certainty, statistically speaking, the Republic appears to have a far greater likelihood of victory.” There was something teeming beneath words not necessarily meant to offer comfort so much as to state simple fact, something dark and forbidden but too dreadful to ignore. “Unlike the Republic, the Separatists forces are dependent on very few, individual leaders, namely General Grievous and Count Dooku, both of whom often participate directly in armed combat despite the obvious shortcomings of such a strategy given how vital their lives are to the war effort.” I could hear him tapping softly against his other thigh, alternating between his ring and middle fingers with an almost frenzied pace.

“Tech?” I barely breathed his name, a gentle, worried question sown into my voice that quickly drew his eyes back to mine for just a moment before returning pointedly toward the viewport. He wasn't tapping anymore; the muscles atop his jaw bound tight as he thought over what he might say next.

“You speak of the war ending as though it will solve more problems than it will create… but for us… for clones… We have no place in this galaxy beyond the battlefield.” I couldn't breathe as he finally purged that horrid truth, watching aghast as his lips drew into a thin line even as they shifted for a moment longer in silence before continuing. “There are more than twenty million clones currently serving in the Grand Army, in addition to those still in training on Kamino.” He spoke slower, now, allowing the brief moments of quiet to scream everything he wasn't supposed to say, everything he wasn't supposed to think.

“I fear it would be naïve to assume a government reluctant to provide adequate funds for even basic supplies during active war to willingly support the clones once that war is won.” There. There was the heart of that darkness. It wasn't rare to hear him speak with disinterest or even disdain toward matters he believed to be obvious or simply irrelevant, but this went far beyond that. Poison seethed beneath a flurry of repressed emotions: rage, frustration, hopelessness, sorrow, fear… He was suffocating beneath it, body nearly vibrating despite the icy calm in eyes still studying the star trails gleaming through the duraglass.

“Hey.” The gentle murmur left on a slow breath. My arm draped tentatively over his lap, knees curling beneath me as I turned to face him, to reach for him with an almost desperate need to offer some glimmer of comfort or, if none could be found, to join him in that darkness if only so he wouldn't be alone in it. “I don't know what's going to happen,” I answered, voice only just loud enough to twirl through the air between us before fading absent the faintest echo to prove they’d ever existed as my fingers trailed softly up his cheeks, “and I wouldn't know where to begin with fixing any of that… but I meant what I said.” The depth of the promise burning through my words finally managed to draw his gaze back to me, and I held him even more gently for it. “This is it for me… whatever happens… I'm with you.” He was silent for a moment longer, but I watched as that fury slowly quieted, and I didn't know if I wanted to sob or scream or rage at its loss.

“There is high probability that peace may see us all homeless.” What sharpness that warning was meant to have dulled beneath the tentative hope that only grew as I offered him a weary smile.

“I've been homeless since Wolffe blew up my ship.” I answered with a shrug, and my heart leapt at the tiny huff of laughter it drew from him.

“Manual labor is also a possibility.” He pressed, almost teasing me.

“Are you really going to question my brute strength again?” I shot back, unable to stifle my own laughter at the blush dancing up his neck that he couldn't hide regardless how quickly he turned back to the viewport.

“You’re a medic.” That flare of lightness faded, his voice going quiet once more. “You would have ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.” My touch shifted purposefully back down his jaw, willing his gaze to return to me.

“And you're a genius.” I replied, a tenderness to my voice that I could only hope might reach him. “In all the time you've known me, have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” He stared at me in silence for a long moment before answering.

“No.” My smile only grew, aimlessly tracing the lower ridge of his goggles with my thumb as though there was some hope of sweeping away the line I knew they'd leave in his softly tanned skin.

“I said I was staying until you told me to leave… might put up a fight even if you tried.” I added, nose scrunching beneath a coy sneer. His lips started to pull into a grin but paused, stifled by a sadness I wasn’t expecting and didn't know how to begin to address.

“Hunter and I already planned it out, you know.” I whispered it, as though revealing some secret conspiracy, head tilting to rest against his thigh once more as I looked up at him. “We’re going to become explorers. All six of us.” The skeptical frown that overtook his slender face was a far more welcomed sight than that sadness was, and I didn't hesitate in sharing the joy it brought me, my own lips stretching wide as I beamed at him.

“We’ll settle foreign worlds… discover knew lifeforms… establish relations with never-before-seen sentients… again.” Despite himself, that little smirk again played with lips bunching in a vain attempt to hide the subtle interplay of pride and excitement at the memory of being the first to manage communication with those nearly subterranean, insect-like inhabitants that had so nearly killed me with their poison arrows, the wealth of discoveries he got to make and record and share with the galaxy because he was able to learn their language in a matter of hours, and I couldn't help but echo that excitement.

“As alluring as that plan might sound, being “explorers" is unlikely to provide the credits needed for such a lifestyle.” He reminded unapologetically, a very real concern that I was perfectly happy to ignore.

“So, I'll freelance here and there.” I replied lightly before adding, “‘Ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.’ Right?” He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He didn't need to. We both knew it was an impossible dream… but that's what dreams are for: granting a glimpse of better times and better places absent the limitations of a reality far too unforgiving of factors beyond anyone’s control.

“It would be far more logical – and lucrative- for us to freelance.” I thought over his reply for a moment before shaking my head, expression falling.

“I don't want you to have to fight anymore…” I whispered, shifting slightly so the words were muffled against his leggings, “especially not in someone else’s war...”

He didn't respond, and when I finally looked back up at him, I understood why. The beauty beyond the viewport was forgotten, as was whatever embarrassment or doubt had pulled his gaze so pointedly away from me. He stared at me as though he'd just solved some great mystery, and the answer was something he wasn't prepared for, something he couldn't fix. He stared at me as though that knowledge would haunt him for eternity. There was a sadness to it, but it wasn't marred by regret. There was guilt, but there was also gratitude, and when his hand finally abandoned the controls, when he let himself reach for me, the backs of his fingers just brushing the hair from my eyes before sliding down to the curve of my jaw as though mapping the planes of my face by touch alone, I found myself consumed by the weight of that silence. I felt no need to break it, to offer either word or touch in return, but nor could I breathe beneath it, as though the slightest movement might scare him away.

He was the first to breach that quiet, but he did so gently, chest swelling with a slow breath, eyes closing for just a moment before again returning to the viewport, but he didn't pull away, hand instead shifting to softly cradle the side of my head, gloved fingers sliding carefully through locks of my hair, and, with a sigh full of my own relief and gratitude and exhaustion, I nestled more comfortably against him, legs stretching out across the cockpit floor as my cheek rested heavily atop his thigh, relishing in that moment of quiet with him for however long it might last.

“I carried your worthless shebs down the damn mountain. If you can’t even manage a ‘thank you,’ the least you could do is let me sleep.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that their first interaction after so nearly losing each other would be to fight, but I couldn’t keep my shoulders from sinking beneath a low sigh.

“You shot me.” Crosshair snarled, and I had to keep from rolling my eyes as I began carefully unwrapping the bandages about his head, silently thrilling in the relief of hearing the clarity in Hunter’s voice.

“I stunned you.” Hunter retorted with nearly the same degree of annoyance. “You’d been screaming for half a klik – made sure every damn clanker in that forest knew exactly where we were.” I felt Cross stiffen, his thin lips pulling into a subtle frown as his hands tightened around the edge of my bed, and I had to bite back the cringe pulling at my own lips, the worry that maybe I should have allowed them some separation, at least until tempers weren’t already strained beneath injury and fear. He’d almost refused to enter the medbay despite his eagerness to be free of those dreaded bandages, relenting only after I threatened to drag him there by force.

Those threats haunted me in the moments that followed; in the hesitation jilting his every movement despite how vehemently he tried to hide it; how violently he refused to hold onto me for guidance even when he nearly tripped over Hunter’s mattress in search of my own, waking the Sargent with a start.

“I’ve carried each and every one of you,” I grumbled loudly, “You don’t see me moaning about not getting a damn ‘thank you’… and I told you to let me help – won’t be doing either of you any favors if you go falling over each other like that…” I added sternly to Crosshair, silencing them both.

We were mere moments from finally reaching the Vigilance, and I knew how much worse Crosshair’s anxiety was sure to get the instant he stepped foot off the Marauder without the use of his eyes. I’d initially intended to wait another day, but his scans were promising enough to relent if only to spare him that added dread.

“There’s still bacta on your eyes,” I warned, voice softening, body leaning forward just enough to subtly press my thigh against his knee in a silent offer of reassurance, “So don’t freak out when everything’s still blurry.” He answered only with a small grunt but didn’t pull away from my touch. I could see how closely Hunter was watching us, his own breath held despite the strain it surely placed on his ribs in those final moments before the wrappings fell away.

Crosshair didn’t move for a moment longer, eyes closed in a final display of that heartbreaking fear; clinging to that last moment of uncertainty for what glimpse of denial it granted before he’d have to face the reality of his injuries.

When he finally forced those sharp eyes to open, his entire body went taut.

“I know.” I murmured gently, hand whispering over his. “Blurry is okay. What we’re worried about is dark spots; gaps where you can’t see anything.” He tried not to show that growing panic, but his brows furrowed further together with each passing second, and I found my movements hurrying if only to keep him from falling too deeply into his own thoughts.

“I want you to keep your eyes on mine, Cross. Using your peripherals, let me know when you can’t see my finger.” I didn’t bother reminding him that everyone had a blind spot, that the small junction where the optic nerve connected to the retina robbed everyone of a sliver of sight so small as to be unnoticeable, aware of how familiar he was with not just the general anatomy of human eyes, but of every way in which his own eyes differed, how they were better. Still, his hand tightened even more around the lip of the bed when my finger wandered toward the edge of his vision.

“There.” It was only because of how intimately I knew him that I heard the hint of panic in that hushed word.

“Anywhere else?” I asked, cadence carefully even as I slowly moved my finger before him.

“No.” It wasn’t a whisper, but the relief was so consuming as to rob even the rasp from his voice, and I readily mimicked that relief with a gentle smile, thumb trailing softly along the edge of his hand, heart jumping when he released his grip on the mattress to tightly lock his fingers through mine.

As I repeated the test on his other side, I remembered trying to guide him through an exam to test the range of motion in his hands after a complication threatened the nerves stretching down his arm, the skepticism in his deadpan glare as he watched me model the movements. There were no reservations now; no doubt toward my motivation nor skill or devotion, and that only heightened both the stress in bearing the responsibility of their care as well as the joy of helping them through injury or illness or insecurity.

“Now the fun part…” My warning was lost beneath the mirth still lighting my voice, and he had to force himself to pay attention. “We still need to rinse that gel out.” Even that failed to sour his relief, and I found myself murmuring lest I breach that precious moment of calm. “We can do that in the fresher – let you clean up a bit easier after.” I offered, earning an almost dazed nod from him as I stepped back, hand tightening once more around his before sliding away. “Let me grab a few things, then I’ll be right behind you.” He hesitated only briefly, mind belatedly making sense of what I’d said before pushing himself to his feet.

He paused once more just before reaching the door, attention shifting down to where his brother still lay in a slight daze of his own, though one of medication more than euphoria.

“Thanks.” It was quiet, but no less earnest for it. Hunter held his gaze for a moment in silence before giving a small nod, a flare of something ancient and powerful and safe burning in his eyes. He’d nearly died – had died – saving his brother, and that look screamed just how willing he was to suffer that agony a thousand times over if it meant his family would be okay.

“He was awake,” I murmured, still watching the door long after it slid shut behind the lithe sniper, “when I was… when I was trying to bring you back.” I hesitated before looking toward him, an apology screaming through my eyes even as I continued speaking, my own worry about how that trauma might yet haunt Crosshair superseding the fear that I was revealing truths he might never have wanted revealed. “I’ve never seen him like that…” He didn’t respond for a moment, jaw tensing with a guilt that left my heart writhing in my chest.

“… how long was I…” He didn’t say it, narrowed eyes staring blindly through the far corner of the room.

“I don’t know.” I answer quietly. “A few minutes?” A silence stretched between us; a silence that wasn’t meant to be broken for want of guidance or reassurance.

“I’ll asked Wrecker to bring you your datapad.” I sighed, finally moving to gather my supplies. “And a shake.” I added more firmly, glancing back to catch his eye to clearly voice the unspoken threat. He answered only with a small smirk, and I didn't hide the weight that fell from my shoulders in that moment. He was okay. Crosshair was okay. Wrecker, Tech, and Echo were all healing. Maker, we'd made it…

“I’ll come back to check on you soon.” With that parting promise, I finally followed after his brother, arms locked around jugs of saline and large flush syringes.

“Good luck.” He called after me, and I made sure he could hear my scoffed laugh of a response.

If there was some great difference between the Vigilance and the Negotiator, my untrained eyes couldn't see it: same interplay of muted grays lining the hanger floors and walls; same curtains of blue light illustrating massive shields, same precise orchestra of soldiers marching in perfect synchrony across the gaping stretch of space between transports.

No… not the same… Surely the soldiers hidden beneath the ivory and gold armor of the 212th weren't the same as the ones I’d walked past so many months ago on the Negotiator. Those men were gone… How many? Why? Part of me wanted to blame the General, to shout at him purely to grant my rage and sorrow some outlet greater than merely allowing the anger to simmer in my chest. I wanted to accuse him of callously throwing away their lives, ask if he even knew the number of clones killed under his watch… but I knew that rage was born of a sorrow he felt just as keenly.

I’d only spent maybe an hour with the Jedi master; back when my own armor still gleamed white and I’d barely begun to develop some early taste of acceptance from the men who now held more of my heart than was right or proper or fair. Back then, I kept waiting for him to justify my prejudice, to shift blame and dismiss me with little more than rote reassurances and empty promises. Instead, I’d left that meeting with a sense of comfort, tentatively confident that he wasn’t there purely to placate me but to earnestly try to help. He cared. And I found myself mourning him just as strongly as those who’d fallen with his previous flagship, certain that he would never be free of the weight of loss growing ever heavier with each day the war continued.

General Kenobi was there when we landed, flanked by teams of medical staff with the Marshal Commander at his side. I saw them from only a fleeting glance, attention focused on addressing the pair of medics that had broken off from the main group to help transport Hunter. Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo stood in formation behind the Senator. It was the first I’d seen of the arc in days, and there was a bittersweetness in that, in finally finding him only now when circumstance forbade me from speaking with him, not while Tech was providing as succinct of a debriefing as he was capable of and I was moments from taking my leave to oversee Hunter's care.

“I'm not sitting in that thing…” The words snarled from just within the Marauder where one of the Vigilance's men awaited with a hoverchair.

“The hell you aren't.” I snapped, shoulders pulling back as I turned an impatient glare toward the man leaning hazardously against the metal doorframe, jaw clicking shut around the curse burning atop my tongue to see him standing at all.

“It’s just outside the hanger. I'll walk.” He pressed with an impatience of his own.

“How about I neutralize those pain killers? See how eager you are to argue then.” His eyes narrowed with a slow, tense exhale just shy of a growl. “Chair or gurney.” I continued sternly. “Those are your choices. Or I can see if General Kenobi wants to do that force thing and magic you over there.” I added with a devious smirk. His lips drew up in a scowl just enough to flash a glimpse of clenched teeth, but, begrudgingly, he lowered himself into the hoverchair. The trooper behind him didn't linger, instantly moving forward before the unruly Sargent could voice further objection.

“Miss?” A voice called just before I started after them, and I turned to find the Senator approaching me, a confidence in his stride that was frightfully absent from eyes left almost timid from all he'd had to endure since his capture. He'd barely spoken to anyone beyond his daughter during the flight, movements almost neurotic beneath the desperate need to keep her close, to keep her safe, and none of us could truly begrudge him for that self-imposed isolation. Now, though, he’d ventured across the handle of meters separating us, for the first time since boarding the Marauder leaving the girl just beyond his reach.

“Senator.” I greeted with a small bow of my head.

“I… I just wanted to thank you.” There was still a slight tremor to his voice, and I wondered how he’d be able to return to politics after this, how he’d sleep knowing exactly what it meant to put himself and his family the spotlight like that.

“Just doing my job, sir.” I replied, though the automatic response wasn't without warmth. Still, he quickly shook his head.

“You took care of my girl… There's nothing in this galaxy that means more to me than her…” he pressed, and I had to bite back the flare of annoyance with a slow breath.

“I treated her injuries… but they were the ones who took care of her.” I said firmly, nodding to where Areeya was bouncing happily from Tech to Crosshair before, steps just a touch more hesitant, treading to Wrecker. The towering man instantly lowered himself onto a knee, and I cringed at how it surely strained the injured joint, but his scarred face was nothing but gentle as he smiled at the child. She tentatively reached for his hand. I couldn't hear what he said, but it left the girl giggling loudly, tiny fingers clutching onto him.

“He went back for her – hobbled through a burning ship with a dislocated knee because he was the only one who knew where she was.” I told him quietly as we watched the scene unfold. I vaguely noticed Tech's attention shift to watch the handful of troopers escorting Hunter to the medbay, and, with a final flurry of words, started toward us.

Areeya released Wrecker to free her hands for some frenzy of movements I was too far away to even try to interpret, and my heart jumped to see Wrecker respond in kind, movements hesitant and clumsy, but even from where I stood, I could see how the attempt left the girl bursting with glee, and without warning, she threw herself forward, arms straining to wrap around his broad chest.

“She’s… she’s signing.” The senator gasped.

“Yes…” Tech hummed thoughtfully. “We were curious as to why she was initially so opposed to that form of communication when she clearly has a fluent grasp on the language.” The father seemed to deflate around a heavy breath, eyes never once leaving his daughter.

“She… overheard her mother… My wife means well, truly, but… she doesn’t have much patience for our daughter’s… unique preferences.” He explained tensely. “She worries that, by giving Areeya an alternative to speech, we’re enabling her mutism.” I tried to speak, but Tech quickly cut me off.

“On the contrary, limiting anyone, particularly a child, of some means of communication is more likely to further isolate them and harm both social and mental development.” There was an edge to his voice, and I wasn’t surprised to note the subtle line forming between narrowed brows. “Whether her mutism stems from a reluctance to speak or an inability, neither is grounds for depriving her of what means of self-expression she does prefer.” I half expected the senator to balk at his blunt words, tensing in preparation to get between them, but the man before us merely closed his eyes beneath a weariness that left my heart aching for him.

“I know.” He barely whispered, looking back toward his beaming child. “…I know…” With little more than a final, shaking breath, he started toward the girl once more, steps slow; heavy.

“You okay?” I asked quietly. He didn't look at me as I whispered it, but I could see the stiffness in his shoulders as he watched the man approach Wrecker next.

“I'm eager to see the results of Hunter's scan.” It wasn't an answer, but it was enough. I let out a quiet sigh before nodding and, shoulder brushing lightly against his, turned to finally follow the path toward the medbay, allowing myself some solace in the safety of finding ourselves on one of the most prized ships of the GAR, in the knowledge that, here at least, I could finally see that my men received the care they needed, the care they deserved, even though I knew that this glimmer of respite was bought by blood and was doomed to be stolen from us far too soon.

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trash-gobby · 10 months ago

Text

Summary: You've had a long night, and it's about to get even longer. Showing up at your friends Halloween party, you think your in for a night of being the local wallflower. However, after catching the eye of a certain creature of the night, your about to find that there is much more that can happen in a few short hours then drinking, dancing and having a good.

There is so much blood to spill and so little time.

Word Count: 5.9K

Pairing(s): Dwayne X GN!Reader

Characters: Dwayne, Reader, David, Marko, Paul, Michael Emerson, Star, Laddie Thompson

RATING: PG

⚠️ Warnings!: Vampire!Michael, mild violence, sexual themes, some stalking elements, non-consensual blood drinking, drugs and drinking

Note: I still need to do some more editing on this, I just was so excited to post that I had to do it now lmao 🤣

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It felt like walking into another world aglow with strobing lights from a cheap disco ball, heart beating to the tune of Rockwell and air thick with the musky smell of sweaty skin. You narrowly avoided a collision with two party-goers, heavily intoxicated and too busy necking to actually notice that other human beings existed and also needed to use the front door, whilst making your way inside.

Their commitment was admirable, not only to their costumes -peanut butter and jelly- but to each other. How people managed to be so attached to each other it seemed like not even the force of gravity and common sense could keep them apart was a mystery not even you felt god could solve.

The house was heaving with people.The halls were crammed with costumed people talking loudly over the music, drinking, and laughing loudly at jokes that were most likely only funny because of the aforementioned alcohol. You tried your best to squeeze through the masses of those hanging in the hall, slightly regretting your choice of costume. The wings were getting in the way more than you’d thought.

The costume of choice was a simple angel outfit made mostly out of spare materials you’d found lying around in your best friend's art studio. It was a simple white tank top, jeans, the wings themselves made out of wire, tinfoil and glittering fake plastic jewels. The halo was a headband with the halo attached to the top made also out of wire and tinfoil. It’s not like this dollar store outfit was that much different from anyone else’s

You’d already spotted a couple other party guests with equally low effort halloween costumes. One guy you saw in the living room passing the open double doors, was dressed in probably the laziest cookie monster outfit ever. A blue baseball cap with giant foam balls glued to them, the dark sharpie pupils pointing in different directions. The only reason the costume was even identifiable was that the guy was making stupid joke references to the kids show to one of the girls he was clearly trying to impress.

At least you could be comforted in the fact that you weren’t that sad. Although you were getting there.

The light at the end of the crowded hall beckoned you. Beyond would be the kitchen, and hopefully a beer which you could nurse for the rest of the night while hiding in a corner where no one would bother you.

The only reason you were here was as moral support for your best friend who had begged that you come out for once. “It’s Halloween,” they said. “Come out and socialize” for once, they said.

Yeah, some socializing you were gonna do. They weren’t even anywhere to be seen and the only other people to talk to were either too drunk to hold a sentence together, or their only interest was getting into each other's pants. No thank you.

Finally reaching the end of the hall, you squeezed your way past some party-goers who had decided that blocking the doorway was more important than having any kind of common decency.

“Watch yourself,” you had nearly knocked one of the guys drinks as you passed through the doorway. You didn’t even bother to stop or apologize, you didn’t want to talk to any of these people. It was rude, and you knew that, but you just weren’t in the mood for politeness.

Every surface of the kitchen was covered. Whether it was the gaudy red plastic solo cups, or the various chip bowls and pizza boxes, not a single surface was unoccupied. Thankfully it was much more empty in here for some reason, then in the rest of the house. Not by much though.

The light hurts your eyes with its oppressive white fluorescent glow, making you squint. The bare bulb flickers slightly as you make your way over to the island counter in the center of the kitchen. Gingerly you lifted one of the lids of the leaning tower of pizza boxes to see a couple slices of Hawaiian style pizza. Go figure that would be the only kind of pizza people hadn’t completely consumed.

Lucky for you, you weren’t that picky.

“Hey, you made it!” A familiar voice called out to you. Turning your head to the doorway you’d just passed through, you saw your friend standing there, having parted the sea of people blocking them much more easily then you had.

They were dressed in a much more elaborate costume then most of the people at the party you’d seen. A very TV show accurate Morticia Addams, complete with the nicely combed wig and curve-hugging black dress. She looked fantastic. You knew somewhere around had to be her boyfriend dressed as Gomez. They’d been planning the whole couple-costume thing for months. They’d changed their concept several times. First it was Bonnie and Clyde, then Mickey and Minnie, and finally settling on the current getup.

“Yeah, work let out a little earlier than expected and I thought I'd drop by and at least try to get a free meal,” Grinning, Y/F chuckled at your comment and made her way over to you, a beer clutched in her hand. “Well, I’m glad there is enough leftovers for you to make it a meal.”

You nod before taking a bite out of the slice you’ve procured. It tastes like cheap pizza always tastes. Greasy plasticy cheese, with the pineapple pieces being just a bit too sweet. The cut ham tastes more like something which is attempting to masquerade as meat rather than the real deal.

“Only the best quality pies here,” Y/F jokes as she sees the expression on your face.

“You don’t say,” you manage to reply between chewing, and swallowing the cardboard-masquerading-as-food before trying to place it down discreetly on one of the used paper plates.

“If you come outside we can get you a hotdog. We started grilling a new batch, and there’s apple bobbing. And ooh I almost forgot about the bonfire.” She was going to drag you outside, and as you looked over out the kitchen window, which showed the backyard, your stomach sank. There was no escaping the masses of people out back. However, now that Y/F had started mentioning all the things she’d set up, you knew you were going out back there whether you wanted to or not.

“Do I have a choice?” Your last ditch effort of asking was obviously in vain. She gave you a look which told you what you’d already known. At least there were hotdogs promised.

______________________________________________________________________________

Y/F’s backyard was massive. An open space of evenly cut grass which backed onto a forest which was even more massive. Her house was at the edge of town, isolated enough that the music and mayhem was not going to be overheard by neighbors.

The typically immaculate lawn was packed full of people. As you came out the back with your friend, you could hear now where the loud music was coming from. Someone had made sure to bring a massive stereo system outside onto the deck. A tall lanky kid you recognized from campus was DJing with a clunky looking remote.

Not far from the deck, in the center of the grassy lawn was a truly impressive bonfire burning in Y/F’s fire pit. You’d been over for a bonfire before with Y/F’s family to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night. Her father was English and made a point of making sure his kids participated in some traditions of his own youth.

Little did he know it would be used by a bunch of drunk uni students on Halloween to set the spooky chaotic atmosphere. Or in this case an atmosphere of drunken chaos where more people were attempting to mosh to the ghostbusters theme blasting from the speakers in low effort costumes, then scare each other. Unless your fear was getting thrown up on, or getting elbowed in the face.

“The grill isn’t far off from the bonfire. Come on,” before you could even respond or react, Y/F was already wading through the throng of people. You had no choice but to follow.

Avoiding most of the people messing around in the designated area for dancing -it couldn’t really be called a dance floor- people stepping out of the way as you went. Trying your best not to hit people with your wings was more of a challenge than expected. At least the way they glowed in the fire-light made you noticeable enough that those around you knew to let you through. No having to tap shoulders or push through. That was a small mercy.

“Cool costume,” one of the women you passed said.

You turned to thank her, and while turning back to your journey across the lawn you were met with the firm surface of someone’s back. The sudden contact caused the halo on your head, which was already precariously placed to get flung onto the ground.

Just what you needed. Mumbling apologies, you bent down to pick up your fallen costume piece. Before you could gather up your belongings an arm leather-clad comes into view, hand wrapping around the headband.

Looking up your vision tracing up the arm to the man who it was attached to. Immediately, your face started to heat up as you locked eyes with the man in front of you.

He was handsome in a dark and mysterious type of way you were sure lots of girls who were into bad boys would begin salivating over. You weren’t that kind of person, you had to remind yourself.

His hair was long and dark, but not as dark as his eyes. It was like looking into two dark pools of midnight, intense with how they held your gaze. Not to mention the face that held those piercing eyes was beautiful, with his strong jaw and sharp contours.

This is who you’d run into? Well… shit.

His outfit felt the most out of place weirdly. More like street clothes than an actual costume. Leather jacket with a leopard clawing its way up the arm which wasn’t currently holding onto your halo headband.

Your eyes briefly lingered on the man’s bare sculpted chest underneath the jacket. He clearly made physical activity a regular part of his routine.

The way the firelight played across his face only enhanced the intensity of the eye contact between the two of you. The shadows played off the features of his face in a way that was both sexy and sinister and you couldn’t decide which were making you feel these strange feelings which were cropping up.

He then smiled, breaking your reverie, holding out the halo to you.

“T-thanks,” you said, taking it back from him feeling self-conscious all of the sudden under his gaze. “I’m sorry for running straight into you.”

“No problem,” his voice was deep in a way that crawled up your spine and into your gut making your stomach flip. Damn…

Feeling awkward just standing there, you looked around to see where Y/F had gone. You were only met with strangers who had come up behind you, sizing you up in a way that made you feel less like a person and more like an item at a buffet table.

They were boys of varying stature, all dressed in similar punk streetwear to the man you’d just run into. Various shades of black with the exception of one man with a jacket covered in different coloured patches.

“Look what you found here, found a new friend for the night?” The man with the elaborate patch jacket said, giggling as he did and moving in way too close to you, causing you to take a step back.

He was a strange man, long hair which was dirty blonde, curly, in the mullet-esqu style which was popular among the more grungy youths. The shortest of the group, he sure made up for it with a presence that was large. It felt like witnessing the personification of bottled lightning.

“Marko, careful, you're scaring them. Calm down,” one of the other men stepped forward, placing his hand on the shoulder of the shorter man. “Sorry, he can be a lot.” Icy blue eyes held your gaze.

“Uh,” you didn’t know what to say. Friend for the night? What the heck was that supposed to mean? “It’s fine, I mean no problem.”

There was a pause in which it allowed you to take in the man who had addressed you. His bleach blonde hair, long heavy winter coat, not necessarily appropriate for the California weather, and the clear air he gave off of being the ringleader. His energy was infectious and his gaze able to pin you down and make you feel a twinge of fear mixed with an odd attraction.

“I’m David,” he stuck out his glove clad hand at me, a subtle smirk playing across his lips. You accepted the offer, feeling the strength he was holding back in his grip.

“This is Marko, and yes he’s always like this,” David broke eye contact to look over at Marko who was chewing on the thumb of his own riding gloves, promptly causing him to pull it from his mouth. “And this is Michael.”

The man he signaled to was the only one who’d remained completely out of this little exchange for the most part until his name was mentioned. He was the most sedate, preferring to eye up the crowd around the other men then to pay attention to what was going on, now he had his eyes back on the group, giving you a small sympathetic smile. At least you're sure he knew how you probably felt during this strange exchange.

“Um, I’m Y/N. It was nice meeting all of you, but I really need to find my friend.” Your attempt to extract yourself from this strange group of men must have seemed pretty blatant. It wasn’t that they were doing anything outwardly bad, just that something about them made you feel like a deer caught in the sightline of a predator. You needed to move, get away.

Awkwardly walking backwards, you ended up bumping shoulders with the man who you’d ran into earlier. “Sorry, sorry.”

He chuckled in response, moving to let you pass. His eyes were the most transfixing to you of all the men, causing your gaze to linger on his for a moment before you turned around. Making your way back into the throng of people you felt oddly relieved to be leaving that group behind.

You didn’t want to look back over your shoulder as you went, until you were sure that you’d gained some distance. Finally taking a moment to look around, you realized you had ended up roughly in the area of the grill. There were several cheap folding tables packed with beer, chips and dip. A large punch bowl filled with a dubious substance you knew you weren’t going to touch.

Making your way along the table, you could see Y/F’s boyfriend at the grill wearing an apron over the Gomez Addams classic pin-striped suit.

“Hey Y/N!” your friend called from not far behind the grill, holding two jumbo hotdogs in each hand. “I lost track of you. Where did you go?”

“Just got lost in the crowd, you're a really fast walker you know,” you joked, as Y/F handed you one of the dogs.

“Well, I do have a lot of people to entertain and long legs,” she responded, before taking a bite out of her food. “I didn’t know what you wanted on yours so I just left it plain. You can get condiments over there.”

You looked over, taking in a chaotic mess of a foldout table. Some slightly crusty looking condiments, sad crumbly napkins and a red solo cup which held only a couple of plastic knives and forks.

Picking up the ketchup gingerly, you went about preparing your meal. Moving about the table, your thoughts wandered to mundane things. How you weren’t excited to be going back to work Monday for a double shift at the diner, how Y/F was gonna enlist you in the morning to clean and hassle the hungover part-goers out of the house. Inevitably you would have to spend the rest of your morning before work helping scub puke out of the living room carpet. Just great.

Satisfied that you’d applied the amount of toppings to your liking, it was time to find a seat or at least somewhere out of the way to stand. The thought crossed your mind to just go back inside and hide from the party in Y/F’s father's study, which was strictly off limits. No one would be allowed in on pain of death except for the family. You had been in there once or twice when you'd been over for dinner, and Y/F had gotten permission to borrow her father's telescope. You would both hang in the dark of the office with the giant eye of the device looking out into the night. Y/F’s father would be there of course, pointing out where you should look in the sky to see the different constellations. You'd never been there without him and Y/F before though. For all you knew, her father probably locked the door. It was worth checking out if you could find time to slip away after a little while.

For now you settled for spending the next hour and a half with Y/F, some of her friends from work and her boyfriend. The conversation was good, if not a little stilted by the fact that a couple of them were pretty drunk. It was easy enough to pretend you knew what some of them were talking about with the excuse of eating so you didn't have to answer any questions or comments. Letting the comfort of familiar voices wash over you, allowing some of your composure to return. It was nice to have a moment of peace among good company for a while. It was easy to forget about your problems, but the exhaustion of social interaction did start to nag at you as the hour went on.

A few times your eyes swept over the crowd of guests. It was likely that half of them were people who Y/F knew, and the other was people who had invited friends, who had invited their friends. Strangers who had just decided to tag along for the free beer and company. The party was reaching its peak, with the yard heaving with sweaty bodies of everyone dancing, eating and socializing.

The small comforts of being surrounded by a few recognizable faces started to fade as strangers began joining the fray of conversation. At some point Y/F was pulled away to deal with something, abandoning you to entertain people you had never met before, who were too intoxicated to hold any meaningful conversation with. Now was your chance to take a break. Get some space between you and the throng.

You abandoned your used napkins on one of the fold-out tables as you began to work your way back through the crowd again. This time without bumping into any more strangers, though it seemed strange that you didn’t, considering the closely packed crowd.

As you maneuvered your way towards the house, your eyes were drawn to the people you passed by, almost like you were searching for someone. All you seemed to see were strangers in a variety of costumes mingling, none meeting your eye for longer than it took to politely acknowledge your presence or look away. Only when you reached the house and looked back before entering, did you realize it was the man from earlier you had been trying to pick out of the crowd. However, if he was somewhere out there among the others you didn’t notice. It wasn’t really worth lingering on if you wanted to go find somewhere to take a break.

If the backyard was crowded, then Y/F’s house was absolutely bursting at the seams with activity. The kitchen counters were overflowing with cups, food, and paper cutlery. As you made your way into the front hallway, avoiding the living room, you heard the sound of something fragile smash. This was followed by raucous hooting and laughter. Whatever it was that broke, you hoped it wasn't something Y/F’s parents were going to skewer her for.

The lighting in the hall was dim and murky with a smoky haze that made you cough. Someone, or a couple someone's, had decided that hotboxing the front hall was a great idea. Passing by you met the bloodshot eyes of a clearly stoned Han Solo, with his arm slung around an equally stoned Wonder Woman. Her cheap black party wig askew on her head. There were a couple others leaning around them, partially blocking the stairs. As you passed they moved, lethargic in their countenance. Nearly tripping over one of the stoners legs, you ascended into the upper floor.

It was much less crowded and noisy. Most of the people there were either waiting to use the bathroom, or having their own little huddled quiet conversations. As you passed the guest bedroom you heard the sound of giggling and low moan. Now you'd never be able to look at that room or those sheets again the same way. Gross. Another thing you would have to help wash in the morning.

You could see the door at the end of the upper hall, no one between you and your goal in sight. As you made your way, you noted that no one lingered close by, the door having a piece of paper taped to it saying that it was off limits for guests “on pain of death.” The sharpie all caps must have really hammered the point home, because as you opened the door the sweet sound of silence met you. The loudest thing which met your ears was the muffled base of music.

You shuffled around the room, trying desperately not to knock anything off one of the side tables by the door as you searched the wall for the lightswitch. It was blocked slightly by a picture frame which had tilted, causing you to try steadying it as you flicked on the light.

It was a small lamp which came on overhead, casting a tranquil orange glow across the office space. Your feet shuffled across the throw rug, as you admired the tall book shelves. Stacks of books on all manner of nonfiction topics, most of them academic in nature. There were a couple yellowed spy thriller paperbacks near the bottom of the shelf closest to the large window on the opposite side of the room. The shades were still drawn, the telescope standing before it, waiting for someone to look out into the night sky.

You felt the temptation, the draw towards it, but you knew it was probably a bad idea to open the curtains with the lights on. Y/F might come check, and you’d get a stern talking to for going in the office and trying to escape the party. Instead you opted to pull out the creaky rolling desk chair and sit down while fiddling with the flimsy elastic holding the wings to your back. They had really been chafing and you could see where they had started leaving a red irritated line against your shoulders.

Slipping the elastics off, one snapped, causing you to let out a frustrated sigh. Well, it was only a matter of time before these cheap things broke. At this point removing the halo felt necessary. Maybe you could fix the wings if you bothered looking in the desk for tape or stapler, but you really didn’t think you should touch anything. If you broke something you most likely wouldn’t be let back into the office ever again.

Laying the wings and halo down on the desk it was impressive how clean Y/F’s father kept his workspace. The desk held a glass paperweight that looked quite hefty and a wooden desk organizer filled with a couple folders. Nothing worth snooping through, not that you really felt like trying to bother looking through anything.

Stretching, you felt your neck crack, releasing some tension. It was good to have some time to yourself for a couple minutes. All you’d been doing all day was interacting with people. From customers, friends, and strangers, it had been a lot to process.

Your mind wandered back to that man you’d bumped into. His piercing gaze had made you feel both like a prey animal caught in the crosshairs of a hunter, and yet, at the same time there had been a thrill to it. Not often did you feel like anyone looked at you with a semblance of interest outside of a passing glance or a friendly smile. For once, having someone size you up was even a little flattering in a strange way. Though there was something strange about the others he had been with.

The way they had all surrounded you was a little disconcerting, and how one of them –Marko you thought– had joked about you being a friend for the night. It was almost like you weren’t even really a person, but a piece of meat. The thought of that curdled whatever sense of elation you got out of your little connection with the stranger you had bumped into. Guys like that were bound to be more trouble than they were worth, and the last thing you needed in your busy life was trouble.

As this thought crossed through your mind, it was like the Gods had heard your little inner monologue, and responded with the lights in the room going out, plunging the office into almost complete darkness. You sat up quickly, causing your head to spin, blood rushing through your ears.

There hadn’t been a sound of the light switch going off or of anyone entering the room.

Stumbling to your feet, you smashed your hip into the side of the desk, grunting, as you reached out and used the wall as a guide to try and find the light switch again. However, when you finally did, flicking it seemed to do nothing. Had the power gone out?

The only light in the room came from a crack within the heavy curtains. Their form letting in the smallest amount of glow from the fire pit outside. At first you could hear some commotion as people seemed to have realized that something was wrong, and there seemed to be some disgruntled booing.

You carefully made your way to the window, pulling the curtains open slightly to see what was happening. The yard was lit by the pit, the grill going strong and some music still coming from a portable radio. However, most of the guests seemed to be looking around wondering in their own little huddles, what was going on.

“Someone get the music working” a voice yelled from somewhere below you. Likely from one of the windows in the kitchen. Vaguely you could make out the heavily shadowed figure of Y/F striding across the yard, with another friend in town, politely mumbling apologies to guests as she passed.

Your eyes followed her progress as she got closer to the house. Before she entered was when the screaming started.

At first I thought it was someone messing around in the darkened first floor. However, that was short lived as people began to pour out of the back door, the first of the stampede knocking Y/F out of the way aggressively.

This only served to further plunge into chaos the already confused crowd of people outside. Most stood in place watching as others ran past, others started running away as well. Most likely in their drunk or high minds they thought it was a fight, the police or they just saw people running and didn't want to get caught just standing around if anything was really wrong.

As the first scream cut out though, more began to join it, along with yells of fear cut off as if severed violently. Among the shouts was also the sound of furniture being thrown, glass breaking. All of it from below you, as a few more people exited. One was a woman who appeared, from the distance to be soaked in something dark. She staggered a couple steps in a daze, before falling forward onto the grass.

The few people near her didn't even bother to check if she was okay, instead opting to turn and run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. The whole unfolding madness made your stomach drop, something cold worming its way into your gut.

The animal instinct the fear you were feeling was what kept you there, in the half light of a slightly pulled back curtain. What got you to move was when you heard the crashing off a window breaking. The thing thrown through it was a strange, almost unidentifiable mass of limbs. Two bodies entwined that fell heavily to the ground.

A man, familiar to you in the firelight. His face smeared with a dark redness, mouth pulled back into a snarl, like some kind of wild animal. Blonde hair wild, face distorted beyond anything human. Below him, the contorted and broken figure of… Y/F’s boyfriend.

His suit shredded along the chest, something looking like deep gashes, –clawmarks perhaps?-- along his skin. What got you to really step back, besides the shock, was the look on his face. A pure mix of confusion and horror, neck ripped to shreds so that it seemed his head was almost severed.

The curtains swished back into place, as you stepped away. The image already burned onto the inside of your eyelids. A permanent mental tattoo which no amount of mental coverup would hide.

Some small part of you hoped that what you'd just seen and the commotion you could still hear was all just a prank. A prank that had gone wrong, but one that was harmless.

Backing up more into the darkness, you felt almost suspended in a void between action and processing what you had just seen. More noise from below your feet, almost violent as more voices rise up. They are incomprehensible, but completely clear in how much terror was behind them. It felt like you were standing in place suspended in the darkness for hours, which in actuality was likely minutes. The hair on your arms raised, body still with only subtle tremors and jumps at any sound from below.

Slowly, painfully so, the noise began to die down, yelling faded. The sounds of breaking glass and ransacking quieted until it felt like you were standing in the deep dark belly of something dead. The only perceptible thing being the hammering of your racing heart-beat in your ears.

You hadn't noticed when the trembling had started in your legs until now. It had become full shakes, causing you to crumple onto the office carpet. Lacing your fingers behind your neck pressing your forehead to the soft fabric and taking in deep breaths.

You weren't going to panic, you had to keep it together. Whatever was going on couldn't be that bad. Or, at least if it was bad, it was over now.

The panic was sudden though, as if it was in reaction to something outside your perception. An animal fear which your subconscious had picked up on, but had yet to communicate to you in any tangible, logical way.

Until you heard it.

The smallest of shuffling, like fabric rubbing together softly. You almost wanted to dismiss it as something your mind had conjured up in the following silence, after so much chaos. The floor made a soft creaking sound, which made you perk up so you were looking into the almost pitch black gloom of a barely lit space in the office.

You could make out nothing but blackness in a space between two bookshelves where the sound had come from. For a moment all you could do was look and hope, maybe you were wrong about something being there.

There was movement in the black. As if resolving itself out of nothingness, a tall figure moved towards you. No clear features could be made out, but it didn't matter. The shiver that worked its way up your body was enough to awaken your flight response.

Up from your knees you quickly backed up away from the advancing form until you smashed into the back of a side-table. The lamp placed upon it came crashing to the ground. Back to the wall, hand scrabbling for the handle to the door you must have looked down for a second on instinct.

In that split second the figure was upon you. Up close you could smell musk and the faint acrid smell of smoke burning your nostrils. The force with which the arms of this person grabbed you were so aggressive you knew it was likely going to leave a bruise.

You let out a cry as you felt the nails of this stranger dig into your skin, drawing blood, body slammed onto the wall knocking the breath out of your lungs. They had crowded your personal space, leaning their body flush to yours, head burying into your exposed neck.

You pushed against this attacker, feeling the overwhelming heat of them against you, as if they were suffering from a high fever. Their hair brushed against your cheek, something scraping your neck. Stubble possibly?

For some reason in your messed up terrified brain found that it wanted to focus more on how much the scratching tickled then any other sensation.

“Get off me!” Your voice was lower in volume and cracked at the end with the bubbling terror in your gut. The scratching lead way to lips brushing your tender flesh, finding that sensitive spot, making you flinch away.

In response one of those talon-like hands moved, with inhuman swiftness from your arm to grasp your head. Tangled in your hair, you were forced still as your neck was wrenched to the side painfully to create easier access.

Tears prickled your eyes as you tried using your now free arm to push and scratch at the person holding you. But it was like trying to push against a stone statue, as if gravity had multiplied the weight of not just your attacker, but made your weight meaningless.

“Please,” was the last word you were able to work out of your lips in a strangled whisper before the scratching sensation began to overwhelm you again. Slowly it bloomed from an irritating tickle, to an itch, to finally a slow rising burn. As if a mosquito bite had evolved first to a bee sting and then a knife being driven down your throat.

The pain was radiant, stunning in its ability to dwarf any other feelings, almost euphoric. It was as if all your body had ever known or had been was this singular moment of sharp suffering. The feeling of something hot, and sticky touched your lips, working it's way into your mouth and on your tongue.

The taste, reminded you of the smell of oak burning and steel. The substance worked its way down your spasming throat. Your last thought before consciousness left you was how you wished you could scream.

To be concluded in part two…

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auroracoriolis · 2 months ago

Text

[Fanfiction] Romance of the First Captains

A tale of when Forrix and Ahriman finally got together

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This is the full Forrix / Ahriman romance arc from my fanfic series Red and Iron. I have taken the relevant parts from several chapters and edited them together here, cutting out everything else.

If you want more Forrix content you can read his introductory chapter first, it takes place just a couple of hours before the events below.

Tags: Romance, mutual pining, love triangle / jealousy, angst with a happy ending, eventual smut, drunkeness, Magnus being rather annoying.

8000 words. NSFW! There is some explicit smut.

This is set during the first half of the Great Crusade. The Thousand Sons and the Iron Warriors have just finished a compliance together, and now there is a victory party on the Photep. Ahriman has discovered that someone has been stealing bottles of rare and expensive wine from his personal stash. Also, for a moment it looked like a fight between the Primarchs was going to break out right before the dinner started, so Ahriman is a bit stressed out.

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As Ahriman reached the head table and noticed that one of the missing wine bottles of his favourite vintage was being casually popped open by Magnus, all of his nervousness turned into rage. He decided that he was not going to talk to any of the Primarchs at all for the rest of the evening. There was no way he was going to keep his head cool enough to have an even halfway civilized conversation.

He refused to sit down in his assigned chair at the right side of his sire. Instead he walked past Magnus and past Perturabo. Next to the Lord of Iron sat his first captain Forrix, and the chair after him was currently empty. Ahriman swiftly stole that seat, grabbed the glass of wine in front of him and emptied it.

“Rough day?” asked Forrix, and put a hand on his shoulder.

The warm, steady touch was surprisingly soothing. Ahriman allowed himself to calm down and just breathe for a moment.

Soon the serfs came out and started serving the food, and the great feast finally began.

They had been through most of the courses by now. Ahriman had just finished eating the first dessert, and the second dessert was soon to arrive. He had lost track of how much wine he had drunk, and all his previous anger had faded away. In the background Magnus was being annoyingly loud and animated but Ahriman was able to tune him out, relax and focus on Forrix.

Ahriman enjoyed speaking with Forrix.

They had met during the compliance of course, but this was the first time that they could talk to each other while not in the strategium or in active combat. It was also the first time in a long while that Ahriman had seen Forrix without his armour. Forrix had clearly grown bigger. Based on the parts of his bulging muscle mass that were revealed by his formal-wear he was starting to look more and more like his genesire, but thankfully Forrix did not take after Perturabo's demeanour. Forrix was actually very kind, at least to Ahriman.

Suddenly Ahriman felt Magnus' soft but overpowering presence intruding in his mind.

+He likes you. You should keep him company tonight.+

+What?+

+I suggest that you stay close to first captain Forrix and ensure that he leaves this party with you and no one else... Perhaps you should invite him to your room for a drink.+

The sheer audacity of this allowed Ahriman to remember what he had been angry about before.

+I would have no drinks to offer him, since someone keeps stealing my bottles from me,+ he retaliated.

+I'm sorry about that. But my point was not about the drink. My point was that you should invite him to your room. Alone.+

His room, alone – just the two of them?

Oh no.

Ahriman could hardly believe this was happening. When he looked over at Magnus, his Primarch did not meet his gaze – outwardly he was still keeping up some other conversation.

+Are you commanding me to seduce an officer of another legion?+ Ahriman demanded.

+There is no need for that – as I said, he already likes you.+ Magnus' tone was full of amusement.

+But is this an order, sire?+

+Merely a suggestion. Ahzek, I'm trying to help you – I strongly advice you to take the chance before someone else does. Because I assure you, there are plenty of others who would.+

As always, Magnus' psychic voice was warm and reassuring, and also extremely convincing.

Ahriman did like Forrix, after all. He was not opposed to the idea of, at some point, being alone together. A part of him longed to be held by Forrix's strong, beautiful arms. Perhaps he should just give in and obey this inappropriate demand. It would make him happy.

But all his rage and resentment towards his Primarch had suddenly resurfaced. This request was so wrong, so outrageous, that he had to refuse it out of sheer principle.

“What's the matter?” Forrix asked.

“I'm sorry I... I need to go check on something.” Ahriman excused himself and scampered off.

As it turned out, Ahriman could not handle the enchanted wine as well as he thought he could. He ended up sleeping long into the following day, waking up with a terrible headache.

When he eventually picked up a data-slate and started groggily checking the latest status updates, he found several things that confused and displeased him. The first and most obvious one was that the Iron Blood had not yet departed, and shuttles were still going back and forth. Second, there appeared to be around a hundred Iron Warriors lingering on the Photep without any obvious purpose. First captain Forrix was among them, and as he would be the appropriate person to ask how long the Fourth Legion were planning on staying, Ahriman decided to go find him.

Still suffering from nausea and a headache, he reluctantly got up and got dressed in his duty-robes, and then headed out.

He went down to the hangar bay and had a look inside the feast hall. There were no longer any legionaries sleeping there, but he found that the serfs were setting the tables for dinner yet again, and that several large, heavy boxes with the insignia of the fourth legion had appeared in the room.

Later, in a corridor, he passed some serfs pushing carts loaded with unopened wine bottles that he did not recognize.

Ahriman had been told that Forrix was currently in a room, close to the gym, that was often used for physical therapy. Once he arrived he saw that a number of massage tables where setup in the room and that most of them were occupied by Iron Warriors being tended to by members of the Pavoni.

Embarrassingly enough, Ahriman did not find Forrix by looking for his face or his aura. It was extremely easy to notice Forrix because he was the biggest body in the room – laying shirtless on the table in the centre with his broad, well-muscled back on full display.

Hathor Maat was standing right next to the table, leaning over Forrix. He was wearing sleeveless robes and his hands were glistening with oil as he was in the middle of giving him a back massage.

Maat made telepathic contact as soon as Ahriman entered the room.

+Ah, first captain, so you are finally awake.+ There was an air of amusement in his mental tone that Ahriman did not approve of.

+What is going on here?+

+Did our lord not tell us to take good care of the Iron Warriors while they are here?+

+I don't think he meant for you to go quite this far,+ Ahriman answered, +and they were supposed to have already left by now.+

+Well, you will have to ask him about that.+

As Ahriman approached, Forrix noticed him and was about to get up, but Maat pushed him back down.

“There is no need for you to get up, first captain. Please stay, I am not done yet.”

Forrix did not fight it, instead he stayed on the massage table and simply turned his head to Ahriman. “First captain,” he greeted him, nodding politely.

“First captain,” Ahriman greeted him back, using a formal tone in an attempt to offset the awkwardness of seeing Forrix so exposed. “Would you please explain why your legion has not departed yet?”

“There was a change of plans. Lord Perturabo has postponed our departure until tomorrow.”

“May I ask for the reason why?”

“It was because of logistics.”

“Can you give me any more details than that?”

“Unfortunately, my Primarch did not give me any more details either,” Forrix answered with a bashful smile, “but I am sure he must have had good reasons.”

Maat was smirking widely, seemingly trying to hide it by keeping his face down, focusing on his work. He had not stopped massaging Forrix. If anything, he was increasing his efforts as if he wanted to make Ahriman as uncomfortable as possible. He did not look up as he spoke:

“Isn't it lovely? We get to spend even more time with our dear cousins. Did you hear that we are hosting them for another dinner tonight?”

“Wait, what?” Ahriman sputtered. “Another dinner?”

That would be unacceptable, and impossible – they literally did not have enough supplies left onboard to do anything even remotely similar to last night. Not to mention that the Thousand Sons would soon have nothing left but combat rations until they could resupply.

“Yes, it is already being prepared downstairs,” said Maat.

Ahriman stood silent and blinked twice, too dumbfounded to speak. Then he turned to Forrix.

“I'm sorry, but this kind of arrangement needed to be approved by our legion's leadership.”

“I was told that lord Magnus approved it,” Forrix answered, nonplussed.

“This is what happens when you stay in bed until noon, Ahzek,” Maat interjected in the most snide voice possible, ”decisions are made without you.”

Ahriman's eye twitched.

Forrix appeared to have noticed Ahriman's discomfort. “Don't worry, we are bringing over supplies from our fleet so that we won't deplete all of yours. Your ship still has the nicer venue, so it makes sense to be here.”

“We will get to try out Olympian wine, isn't that great?” Maat said, still smirking. “It turns out the Fourth had quite a lot of it in storage.”

Ahriman was frustrated about this turn of events, but he was also very distracted. He found it increasingly hard to keep his eyes on Forrix's face. All the muscles on the back of the Iron Warrior's impressive torso were visible, the massage oil and whatever Maat was doing to him were only making them even more obvious, and the many armour ports in his skin formed a mesmerizing symmetrical pattern. At this point in his career Forrix was wearing Terminator plate and you could tell just by looking at him – he was so large that he likely would not fit into any smaller armour. His body was a work of art, an exemplar of the rugged, powerful beauty of the fourth legion, and Ahriman found himself involuntarily salivating just from looking at it.

+He is handsome, isn't he?+ remarked Maat. +Though I must warn you that tonight, he is mine.+

+What?+

+I have been given a special mission, to take care of first captain Forrix today. To make sure he isn't lonely, if you know what I mean.+

+Did Magnus put you up to this?+ asked Ahriman with quickly rising ire.

+He was the one who asked me, yes.+

+Do you not find such an order deeply unethical?+

+This was no order,+ Maat stated, again keeping his eyes down on his work. +I know the difference between an order and my Primarch simply asking me for a favour. And the exact wording was to 'keep him occupied and prevent him from dragging Perturabo home too early again'. Anyway, I was not inclined to say no. I am simply taking some liberties in how I carry out the mission, and I am finding it rather enjoyable.+

Forrix looked between the two of them, seemingly confused as he was not privy to their telepathic conversation. To him it would look like Ahriman was silently staring at Maat, becoming increasingly agitated.

Maat pushed down harder on a muscle knot, making Forrix close his eyes and groan loudly.

+It's not like I plan to force myself on him,+ Maat continued, +but he hasn't said no to anything I have done to him so far.+

Suddenly Maat looked up and deliberately fixed his gaze on Ahriman.

+I saw the two of you sitting together yesterday. Ahzek, if you want this task for yourself, you should speak up now, before it is too late.+

Ahriman blushed. He could not confess his true feelings, not to Maat, one of his most obnoxious brothers – he would never hear the end of it.

Also, he knew he had no chance, as Forrix was surely way too proper and by-the-book to harbour such feelings as Ahriman did. He was logical and professional like all Iron Warriors, not plagued by any irrational emotions. His friendliness and kindness were certainly only politeness. Ahriman knew he would be rejected and would end up the laughing-stock of all the legions.

“Very well. Carry on then,” he blurted out as he turned around and then quickly left the room, a multitude of conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

A part of him was still wishing that he had done what Magnus asked of him last night. Now he had truly lost his chance.

Forrix slumped helplessly on the massage table. He wished he had said more, though he could not find any suitable words. The things he truly wanted to say were impossible to utter, for they were deeply intertwined with a terrible truth that he was forbidden to ever speak of under penalty of death or worse.

As far as Ahriman seemed to be aware, this was the second time that the two of them and their legions had been on a mission together, but Forrix knew that in truth it was actually the third time. There had been two shared compliances – and these had both been rather routine, all things considered – but the very first assignment had been different. It was a rescue mission, or at least it was supposed to be. It had ended in tragedy, as they were forced to sacrifice the remaining population of the planet to prevent a horrifying corruption from spreading to other worlds.

But the important thing was that he and Ahriman had worked together on that mission. They had been in great danger and they had both saved each other's lives. It was sad that all their work amounted to nothing in the end, but both the Primarchs and their legions seemed to have grown closer, at least. Forrix thought that he and Ahriman had grown very close as well.

A few years later, the next time the legions were slated to meet up, his lord had come to him with a strange but very specific order.

“My brother Magnus has asked a favour of me,” Perturabo had said. “I am about to issue a new decree to our legion, and it is imperative that we never fail in upholding it. You know how much my brother cares for humanity... What happened on Morningstar saddened him immensely, and he says that it is a source of great pain for his sons as well. He has asked of me that from now on, whenever our legions are together, that planet or that mission is never to be mentioned again. It must be as if it never happened... I will honour the favour my brother has asked of me. It does not matter whether I agree or disagree with how he wishes this to be handled, I will see it done. The order will be disseminated to the entirety of the Fourth tomorrow. Now, Forrix, I want to impress upon you how important this is to me personally. I will not look kindly on anyone who, through disobedience or negligence, makes my brother sad. Do you understand?”

Forrix had seen his Primarch's icy blue stare and immediately understood how serious he was about this. Lord Perturabo was known to hand out swift and severe punishment for wrongdoings far smaller than someone hurting the feelings of his favourite brother.

Luckily, the Iron Warriors were not a legion inclined to talk unnecessarily. As far as Forrix knew, no one had ever broken that decree, and Morningstar was never mentioned again.

The true reason for Magnus' favour only became evident to Forrix once the legions met. As the two Primarchs embraced each other in greeting, Forrix had gone to embrace Ahriman, but Ahriman had seemed confused, as if he did not recognize him at all. As if this was the first time they had ever met. And then Forrix had understood – Ahriman's memory was gone, and there was nothing he could do. He was not allowed to ever speak of the time they had shared or of what they had lived through together.

As they embarked on the mission at hand, Ahriman was polite but cold and professional, clearly seeing him as nothing more than a fellow captain. They had no issues working together, but Forrix would never forget that they used to be so much closer. Ahriman was the most brave, brilliant and beautiful of the Thousand Sons, and for a short time, Forrix had dared to dream that his feelings would be returned. But he had lost his chance, forever.

The massage had been a somewhat overwhelming experience from the start, and by now, Forrix was so overcome with emotion that he felt tears welling up in his eyes. Embarrassed, he hid his face behind his arm.

“What's the matter?”

It seemed impossible to hide anything from the sorcerer who had his warm hands all over him.

Hathor Maat, this other captain of the Thousand Sons, who was not Ahriman but who was equally impossibly handsome. Who for some unfathomable reason was suddenly giving Forrix an undue amount of attention, and who had not allowed him to be alone for even a minute since he arrived on the Photep today.

Whatever magic of the flesh Maat was using, it was making Forrix melt to his core. It made him feel totally defeated in the best way possible.

“I simply don't understand why you are being so kind to me,” Forrix said. “What have I done to deserve this much attention?”

“You have worked so very hard for a long time,” Maat cooed, “we know you all have. We just want to give you a chance to relax for once.”

“Thank you.” Forrix did not know what else to say.

He did have an inkling that there had been a battle of wills between Maat and Ahriman, and clearly not all of the Thousand Sons were happy about the altered arrangements for the day. But there was nothing Forrix could do to change any of it, and it was not his business to try to figure out exactly what was going on.

He surrendered to Maat's pampering and allowed himself to relax.

If he could not have the heart of Ahzek Ahriman, he just had to accept it and focus on appreciating the good things that did come his way, even if he did not always understand them.

This night's dinner was a less formal and more relaxed affair than the one yesterday. Since there was no specific entertainment planned, both the legions had brought all boardgames and party games that they had. It had turned out that the Iron Warriors had a lot of pork and potatoes in storage, so that made up the bulk of the main course while the Thousand Sons provided apples and vegetables. There was still plenty of wine to drink, as the Iron Warriors had contributed several shuttle-loads of Olympian wine, but the Pavoni had only had time to enchant about half of it.

The seating at the head table had moved around slightly compared to the night before. Forrix was sitting next to Perturabo again, but on the other side of him was Hathor Maat. Forrix was telling Maat about why the pig was the best animal for meat and Maat was listening intently, smiling and laughing. Ahriman was quietly watching them from across the table, sipping on his wine and looking absolutely miserable.

After the dinner, the tables were cleared and the games were brought out. There was everything from regicide boards to the large and elaborate war simulation games that the Iron Warriors liked to make, complete with beautiful and surprisingly detailed miniatures of space marines, tanks and titans. However, the night would end up being dominated by a tournament of the tower game.

[ The tournament ends with the Primarchs playing against each other. It results in Perturabo losing the game, and he then leaves in silence. That seems to make Magnus upset and he runs away as well. ]

After the Primarchs left, seemingly on bad terms with each other, tension and unease spread among the members of both legions and the party died down somewhat.

Ahriman realized that the responsibility of playing host might now fall upon his shoulders, and he knew that he should act to salvage the situation but he was too miserable to figure something out. As he watched Hathor Maat climb up on the platform he was grateful to see someone else rising to the occasion (but he was also jealous of Maat's boldness).

“Brothers, cousins – calm yourselves,” Maat spoke, his voice amplified to reach everyone as he had connected his personal vox to the hangar deck loudspeakers. He threw out his arms in a dramatic gesture as he said:

“Forget about the Primarchs!”

That was shockingly brazen, but hopefully Maat would follow it up by making a rhetorical point that justified him saying something so irreverent.

“They will be fine,” Maat continued, “we know they will both calm down and be friends again in the morning.”

There was truth in that, even Ahriman had to admit. Surely it would take much more than a game of collapsing tower to cause a true falling out between Magnus and his brother.

“We can't let their absence ruin the night for us. The party is far from over – there is still plenty of wine to drink and games to play! We are here to celebrate and enjoy ourselves, because we have all deserved it, and celebrate we shall! Now, who gets to break this tower? First captain Forrix, come, get up here!”

Forrix climbed up on the platform and stood next to Maat, studying the tower. It seems that no one present could dispute Perturabo's claim that the game was over, but Forrix had been given the honour of making the next move in his Primarch's stead. After some consideration he chose to pull out one of the game-pieces near the base, which made the tower collapse in on itself a spectacular but clearly deliberate fashion. The crowd closest to the platform had withdrawn slightly, but this collapse was so measured, so controlled that not a single piece fell over the edge. It was destruction, but it was orderly and it was beautiful.

Once the clatter of cascading steel pieces ended, the crowd started cheering. Maat toasted with Forrix and they patted each other on the shoulders. As they stood there smiling in front of everyone they seemed to embody the warm unity and friendship between the two legions, like their genesires should have done if they had still been there.

The mood in the great hall was instantly much better again, and the party resumed. Ahriman seemed to be the only one who was not happy.

For a while, Ahriman tried to distract himself by watching two of his brothers playing a game of regicide, but he found himself unable to focus.

He was angry. He could not stand seeing Forrix seemingly enjoying himself with someone else. His ire toward Hathor Maat was quickly growing, but mostly, Ahriman was angry with himself... Angry for being too much of a coward to make a move when he had the chance.

He drank the last wine in his glass and stared blankly ahead. He was overwhelmed by an aching loneliness and a longing that he could no longer ignore. Something, a new feeling that he did not fully understand, stirred deep inside him and it finally gave him the courage to act. He desperately needed to feel Forrix's arms around him, at least once, while they both still lived.

Ahriman scanned the room and soon found the place where Forrix was standing talking to some Iron Warriors, and he started walking towards him with newfound determination. It might already be too late, but he still had to try.

When Ahriman reached Forrix he gently grabbed his left arm. The heat rose quickly in his blood as he felt the firmness of Forrix's muscles, and he leaned in close and whispered:

“First captain, would you like to...” he trailed off.

It was not until now he saw that Hathor Maat was already holding Forrix's other arm. Maat was looking back at Ahriman with the bile of someone who just spotted an intruding enemy, while Forrix seemed surprised and confused. They all stared at each other for a moment, then Ahriman and Maat moved simultaneously to hold onto their respective sides of Forrix more firmly as if they were going to start pulling him in different directions.

+Please... I need him,+ Ahriman pleaded, feeling pathetic.

+I need him too. You had your chance, Ahzek! It's too late to change your mind now.+

“Please don't fight,” sighed Forrix.

One extremely large Iron Warrior suddenly appeared before them. He was as wide as Forrix but much taller. There were only a few Astartes across all the legions known to be this huge. Both Maat and Ahriman stood still and looked up as the newcomer greeted his first captain:

“Good evening, Triarch,” he said politely, “you appear to be outnumbered. Would you like some reinforcements?”

“Yes, can you take my right flank?” Forrix answered, indicating the side were Maat was clinging on to him.

“With pleasure,” he answered, grinning widely. “I was hoping you would give me the blonde one.”

The large Iron Warrior bowed down with surprising grace, pried loose Maat's right hand and took it.

“Hello beautiful,” he said, “my name is Barban Falk, but you can call me Warsmith.”

Falk then elegantly brought Maat's hand to his lips and kissed it, making him blush.

Falk possessed a rugged handsomeness not too dissimilar from that of Forrix. He had dark hair and a short beard that was neatly groomed. There were almost no scars marring the fair skin of his face (probably because he was so tall that it was hard to reach it).

Maat looked at Falk and breathed deeply, then once again sent his thoughts to Ahriman:

+Fine, you can have Forrix. I will take this one instead.+

Ahriman could feel Maat's unabashed desire through the telepathic link. He realized that the same feeling also burned within himself, but only now was he able to name it.

Maat let go of Forrix and focused all of his attention on Falk.

“Well then, Warsmith,” he said, and his voice was effortlessly seductive. “I am Hathor Maat, Magister Templi of the Pavoni. You can use my title as well. I hope you can endure some thorough examination.”

He reached up and greedily felt his bicep, and Falk obediently flexed it for him.

“A Magister, eh? Examine as much as you like,” Falk chuckled.

Meanwhile, Ahriman and Forrix held hands and gazed into each other's eyes. Finally, there was nothing keeping them apart.

“Kydomor...”

“Ahzek...”

“Let's get out of here,” Ahriman whispered, his mind too foggy to be more eloquent.

“Yes,” Forrix answered, smiling.

The four of them started slowly navigating through the crowd, holding on firmly to their chosen lovers.

Ahriman led Forrix to the corridor where many of the captains of the Fifteenth had their personal quarters. There were several other couples walking the same path, and even though Ahriman tried his best to ignore them he could not stop hearing their whispers and feeling their presence. Only once he closed his door behind them could he truly relax.

His quarters were relatively humble – there was the sitting area they were currently standing in, a small office and a bedroom – but these chambers were his and no one would disturb them here. Ahriman was immensely relieved at finally being here, alone just the two of them. He turned to Forrix and they both moved at the same time, rushing into each other's arms.

They had embraced in greeting before, while armoured, but that was nothing like this. Now, as they stood there wearing only their fine robes – Ahriman in sky-blue and Forrix in black – no eyes upon them and no bulky ceramite between them, they could embrace for real. Ahriman leaned his head on Forrix's broad shoulder. To feel those massive arms holding him in such a tender, protective way brought tears of joy to Ahriman's eyes. He wanted Forrix to hold him forever.

But as he relished in the warmth of the Iron Warrior's powerful body, Ahriman soon noticed a flowery scent lingering on Forrix's flesh. He remembered when he had felt it before – earlier in the day, when he had been forced to watch Hathor Maat touching Forrix. This was the fragrance of the massage oil that Maat had been using, and he recognized it as honeysuckle. Insecurity welled up in him, and he was forced to break the silence and ask:

“What happened between you and Hathor?”

Forrix shrugged. “As soon as I arrived here today, suddenly he was showering me with attention... It did seem like he was coming on to me.”

Ahriman bit his lip. He had to admit that, despite being supremely annoying, Maat had acted honourably when it mattered. He had been kind enough to step aside (after only a brief moment of conflict), letting Ahriman have Forrix for himself, and now Ahriman felt obligated to honour him in return.

“He had been given the task to take care of you,” Ahriman said, “by our Primarch.”

“Is that so?... Does Magnus usually interfere with your love lives?”

“Only sometimes.”

They were still embracing and Ahriman could not see Forrix's face, but he could feel the breath pause in Forrix's chest.

“I can't believe it, but you just made me appreciate my own Primarch more,” Forrix said, baffled. “At least he doesn't play games like that.”

Ahriman was uncomfortable, as even a subtle critique against Magnus put him in a position where he felt forced to defend his genesire.

“He only meant for someone to keep you company, and he tried to give the task to me first... but I refused.”

“Really?... Did you not want it?” Now Forrix sounded insecure.

“Yes, but not like that!” Ahriman quickly answered. “I was stupid, too stubborn. I regretted it as soon as I saw Hathor with you... Did... did you want him?” Ahriman felt self-conscious, guilty for how he had wavered for far too long and then rudely inserted himself between the two of them.

“He would have been nothing more than a consolation prize for me,” Forrix said. “You are the one I truly hoped for... but I thought you didn't want me.”

“What? I thought you were the one who didn't want me!”

“I have wanted you since...” Forrix's voice drifted away as he caressed Ahrimans hair. ”... Always,” he whispered. Suddenly, Forrix's large shoulders were subtly shaking.

“What's wrong?” Ahriman asked, and he withdrew so he could see his face.

Forrix quickly rubbed his eyes before he met Ahriman's.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said and smiled softly, “not any more.”

Ahriman almost gasped at the intensity of seeing Forrix this close.

Forrix had the same ice-blue eyes and pale skin as his genesire, and his handsome face could certainly look stern when he needed it to, but yet in this moment his visage was warm and kind – at least that was the way he appeared to Ahriman. Forrix touched Ahriman's cheek and gazed at him as if he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Your eyes are magical,” he said, “both deep and impossibly bright, like the sky on a sunny day... and there are stars in them.”

There was a deep pain in Forrix's aura that Ahriman did not understand, but he wanted nothing more than to soothe that pain.

“Your eyes are like ice crystals... like sapphires,” Ahriman said, trying to return the compliment, but the words felt small and inadequate. Instead he tried to echo the earlier sentiment. “I have also always wanted you,” he said and let his fingertips caress Forrix's face, “for as long as I can remember.” Then he leaned in, bringing their lips closer together, and they finally met in a kiss.

It was slow and tender. One of Forrix's hands lovingly dug into the dark curls of Ahriman's hair as the other arm tightened around his body, still only showing a fraction of the true power those beautiful muscles held. Forrix was being so very careful with him, as if he was afraid to hurt him.

“I won't break,” Ahriman whispered as soon as their lips parted.

Then his sight suddenly darkened, his knees buckled and he collapsed in Forrix's arms as a vision took him. Ahriman saw Forrix, sometime far in the future, and a flash of terrible light.

He came too after only a short moment as Forrix was effortlessly carrying him into the adjacent bedroom.

“What's wrong? Should I call an apothecary for you?” Forrix said as he carefully placed Ahriman on the bed, clearly worried.

“No, it was only a vision... It happens sometimes. I will be fine, just give me a moment.”

Forrix sat down on the bed next to him and held his hand, still seeming concerned. “What did you see?”

Ahriman would rather not speak of it. It had not been a happy vision, but he found himself unable to keep quiet, as tears – of sadness, this time – gathered in his eyes.

“I saw you die,” he said. “If I allow myself to love you, one day I will have to live through losing you.”

Not until he had finished speaking did he realize that he had said love, and he was immediately embarrassed. They had not known each other long enough for that. Well, it had been decades, but the actual time they had spent together had been only a few days here and there, spread out many years apart. He felt so silly for using that word... but there was nothing else that felt more right.

Forrix now held both of his hands. “That is the risk we all have to take,” he answered solemnly. “All the more reason to allow ourselves to live fully while we still can.”

Ahriman saw the truth in that, and as he sat up and wiped his tears away he decided to let no more time be wasted. He threw himself at Forrix in all his desperation and hunger, showering him with kisses and letting his hands find their way beneath his robes. Forrix returned his affections with the same passion, and he allowed Ahriman to climb on top of him.

Ahriman became acutely aware of how thin the layers of silk between their bodies were. He could feel Forrix's heavy breaths as well as hear them, and the way Forrix's muscles flexed as he moved to touch him. Ahriman also felt an unmistakeable rising bulge beneath him, and he blushed as he realized that he, too, was getting visibly aroused. But he did not withdraw – instead he tentatively grinded his hips against Forrix, and he was thrilled as the normally so stoic Iron Warrior shuddered and moaned. Ahriman was usually never this bold, but it was obvious that their desire was mutual and he did not want to hold back any longer.

Forrix soon figured out how to make Ahriman's robes fall off his shoulders, and started undoing his own robes as well. As more of their bodies became exposed Ahriman felt increasingly inadequate. He was slightly slimmer than the average Astartes, and his body was almost completely hairless – a very common trait among the Thousand Sons, despite their diverse origins (likely a quirk inherited through their geneseed). He felt so small compared to Forrix's tanky build, and almost intimidated by his plentiful chest hair. As if he had noticed Ahriman's nervousness, Forrix reached up and lovingly touched his pecs.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, and Ahriman no longer felt any shame or uncertainty.

It was not long before all of their clothes were discarded on the floor. Ahriman feasted his eyes on Forrix's magnificent, muscular body, and as he looked further down, he could confirm that the Iron Warrior had an impressive girth that truly matched his broad chest and shoulders.

Ahriman was under the assumption that Forrix, as well as the rest of the fourth legion, had very little experience in lovemaking, possibly none at all. Ahriman himself had way more experience than he ought to have, and he did not mind taking the lead – he was only happy for a chance to give Forrix pleasure and maybe even teach him something.

He made Forrix lie down on his back while he once again kissed him on the lips, playfully running his fingers through the dark hair on his chest, and then he moved his kisses further down. It was all too easy to make Forrix gasp and moan by licking and teasing his nipples. As Ahriman continued further down to kiss his sternum and his stomach, he could both see and feel how every single kiss, even the smallest touch set Forrix's aura ablaze with glittering shock waves of stimulation. How strangely powerful Ahriman felt as he made this mighty warrior turn to putty in his hands – the feeling was unfamiliar, but maybe he could get used to it. He continued traversing downwards until he reached his destination.

Forrix's cock was already fully hard, and Ahriman eagerly took it into his mouth. He pressed his lips and his tongue against the thick shaft and gently cradled his lover's balls as he started moving his head with a determined rhythm. He was pleased to hear Forrix starting to completely unravel, giving him the loudest moans yet. It was not long at all before he could feel the salty taste of pre-come, and he was taken aback by the intensity of the emotions it carried – a strong protective urge, and such a fierce, desperate longing.

Ahriman did not want Forrix to finish quite yet – he wanted to feel him inside himself first, and he realized that he might have to hurry up with the logistics needed to get to that part. He continued the blowjob but slowed down his pace while he used telekinesis to open a drawer in his bedside table, making a bottle of lube levitate to his side. He applied the lube to the fingers of his right hand and reached down to start preparing himself, but Forrix interrupted him.

“What are you doing?”

Ahriman, unable to speak with his mouth full of cock, was forced to stop and lift his head to answer. “I want you inside me,” he said in a hoarse voice, “down there, I mean”.

“Are you sure?” Forrix sounded hesitant.

“Yes, and stop acting like you are afraid to hurt me. I want it.”

“Then at least let me do that for you. You should not have to prepare yourself – you have done enough already.”

Forrix sat up and gently lifted Ahriman off of him. Then he took the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount on his hands and on his hard, leaking member.

“Now you lie down,” he said, and Ahriman obeyed, lying down on his back. Forrix looked at him with a hungry smile.

“Your lips are very red... you are pretty like that. The only thing that would make you look even better would be my seed all over you.” Forrix's expression then became more hesitant as he backtracked and asked for permission. “Would you be fine with me coming on your chest?”

“Next time,” Ahriman answered, “this time I want you inside. Now stop dallying.”

Forrix nodded in affirmative and then reached down between Ahriman's legs. He turned out to be surprisingly skilled with his hands. As he slipped a slick finger inside Ahriman, he immediately found the right spot to rub, and he applied the perfect amount of pressure around the entrance. He must have quite a bit of experience after all, or he simply possessed an enviable natural talent. Once several fingers of his right hand were safely inside, his left hand started taking care of Ahriman's already half-hard cock. He was making it feel way too good, too quickly.

“Oh, Kydomor,” Ahriman moaned, “how did you learn to do that?”

“Practice, I suppose,” Forrix said, as casually as if he was talking about weapon maintenance, while both his hands moved back and forth in a well-calculated rhythm.

Ahriman's hips buckled involuntarily as he felt pressure building steadily inside of him.

“At this rate you're going to make me come before you even... just get inside me now! I need to feel you.”

Ahriman's voice was commanding and Forrix did as he was told, but not before adding even more lube onto his member for good measure. Then he repositioned himself and gently held Ahriman's hips to align their bodies together.

Ahriman's breath hitched as he felt himself being penetrated. Forrix was huge, but he was also very careful. He thrusted slowly and deeply at first, carefully exploring and observing his lover's reactions for any sign of discomfort. Only once he was confident in how far inside he could get did he pick up the pace. He slightly adjusted their positions until he found the perfect angle.

“Yes, good, like that!...” Ahriman panted, his eyes closed in delight.

He relished in the feeling of being filled, the intimacy of it and the delirious intensity of the sensation. He let his hands roam on Forrix's back, scratching gently near his armour ports, wanting to give back at least a little bit of the pleasure that he was feeling. But Forrix already seemed to be lost in overwhelming bliss, his Iron self-control finally breaking, his breath ragged and his movements getting more and more desperate the closer he came to his climax.

Ahriman held him harder, pushing back against the thrusts, and he could hear how Forrix's breathing got faster and faster. His control of biomancy was limited, but he was able to make his muscles constrict around the cock inside him, as if he was sucking on it, trying to pull Forrix even further in. Forrix's large body shook as he was brought over the edge, and he made a deep grunting noise that sounded feral and almost painful. Ahriman felt a great warmth spreading inside him, and it made him even happier than he thought it would to know that he had made Forrix come.

Once Forrix came down from his orgasm he wiped tears from his face, but he looked only joyful as he leaned down and kissed Ahriman again. They remained like that for a short while as Forrix recovered. Ahriman enjoyed feeling the weight of the heavy body on top of him, and he complained when Forrix finally pulled out.

“No, stay...”

“I would be neglectful if I did not let you finish as well,” Forrix answered as he moved.

Once again Forrix brought his right hand to Ahriman's entrance, totally unbothered by the seed that was leaking out, and put his fingers inside, applying a steady pressure to the prostate. His left hand grabbed Ahriman's cock and started stroking it like he had before. It had received quite a bit of stimulation from being caught in between their moving bodies, and now the focused attention was quickly bringing Ahriman close to the edge.

Once again Ahriman was astonished by the skill of Forrix's hands. Were all Iron Warriors so good at this, or was it only him? Was the transhuman body close enough to a machine that they could use their legion's rumoured ability to intuitively find its weak points?

Ahriman allowed himself to whimper and moan loudly to show exactly how much of an effect this treatment was having on him. Then he gasped as Forrix suddenly took him in his mouth and proved beyond any doubt that he had experience in that as well.

It was not long before Ahriman came, and Forrix held firm and swallowed repeatedly, seemingly determined to not spill a single drop. Only well after Ahriman had stopped trembling did Forrix swallow one last time and then let him go, as he once again crawled up to lie next to him.

“You didn't have to swallow all of it,” Ahriman said, somewhat impressed.

“It is the closest I can come to reading your mind,” Forrix said, “so I will relish the opportunity to even the playing-field just a bit.”

“Oh... Just to be clear, I can't exactly read your mind. It's not how it works, and it's not my strongest ability anyway.”

“Oh well,” Forrix shrugged, and a sly smile was growing on his lips. “Do you think you can go again? For I also wish to feel you inside of me.”

Ahriman was astonished at Forrix's endurance, but he soon felt that he too had a lust for more after all.

“Yes, just give me a moment to... reload.”

They ended up going a few more rounds until they were completely exhausted, then they both went into the shower to clean themselves up before returning to the bed in a less messy state. They slipped under the covers and lay down snuggling close together. Ahriman rested his head on Forrix's chest, listening to his heartbeats and slow breaths.

“Ahzek,” Forrix whispered as he gently ran his fingers through Ahriman's hair. “What would you do if we were free?... If the legions did not exist, if you could choose any life you wanted?”

“Well, I have this idea that once the Crusade is over, I will grow grapes and make wine. I think I could turn it into a business... though I will probably hire someone else to take care of the sales and the actual business side of things, so that I can focus on the growing and production.”

“I think I want to build things,” Forrix mused, ”something that is useful, but not weapons or armour. Like... will you be needing a greenhouse for your grapes?”

“I suppose I will,” Ahriman answered.

“And a watering system, I guess? I could build things like that. And you will probably need a spacious library for everything you have collected over the years.”

“Now it sounds like you are suggesting that the two of us live together after we retire.” Ahriman was only half-joking.

“Why not? There is no one in my own legion that I would rather live with.” Forrix sounded completely sincere.

Ahriman was not against the idea of living together with Forrix one day – in fact, it was feeling more appealing the more he thought about it. There was something heartbreaking about an Astartes not wanting to be with his own brothers, but in the case of the Fourth, Ahriman could understand it.

“But it will be centuries until then,” Ahriman said, ”and we have not known each other for long... How can you be so sure of that already?”

“True, I don't know what the future will bring... I can only know what I feel now, in the moment – but I feel it as strongly as any conviction I have ever held. Can we make each other a promise that when the time comes, we will meet and see if we both still feel the same?”

“Yes,” Ahriman agreed, “that is a good promise.”

Forrix pressed a gentle kiss to Ahriman's hand. “I only hope that you will not forget me before then.”

“Why do you say that?” Ahriman asked in disbelief. ”How could I ever possibly forget you?”

Forrix did not answer the question, he only kissed Ahriman's forehead and held him more tightly as tears ran down his face. When Forrix eventually spoke, his tone was solemn but determined:

“Ahzek, I love you, and I will be yours for all the time that we are given, however long it shall be. Will you allow yourself to love, despite that ominous vision of yours?”

Once again, tears welled up in Ahriman's eyes as he silently raged against the inevitability of fate.

“Yes,” he answered, ”I will love you, and be yours... And I will never, ever forget you.”

#ahriman x forrix #romance fanfic #ahzek ahriman #kydomor forrix #warhammer shipping #warhammer fanfic #astartes shipping #warhammer smut #hathor maat #barban falk #magnus the red #warhammer 30k #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #wh40k #40k

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 11 months ago

Text

Jimin - Muse (2024)

3/5 ☆

I thought it'd get me several days to come back here with some thoughts on Muse, but it proved it's not necessary.

Who as title track makes complete sense. We're still into 90s nostalgia, but it's a recipe that works. Not just in kpop, but pop in general. Looking at the charts, it paints a pretty clear picture for the last couple of years. Add the zoomer idea of a what a Y2K aesthetic is like and we get the recipe for today's music and concept. Repeat, reuse, recycle. How fitting for postmodernism.

Who is a really catchy tune, with lyrics easy to remember and sing out loud. A tad more commercial-sounding than Like Crazy, but that's Muse overall anyway. The truth is, I have the song on loop (streamers can't come for me, lol). I think Jimin's style of singing and the melody itself are a good fit. Lyric wise, it's sort of basic, but this is pop music made for mass consumption. I don't mind it. It's also radio friendly and definitely has the potential for summer hit, but I'm 99% sure it won't turn into one. BH won't move a finger to send it to radio and it's another song that will fall victim to fandom mass streaming to chart high for one week. I've seen this all before.

It's also a shame to have this released when an artist is away, without being able to properly promote it. In my non-expert opinion, it could have been released as a single a few months later after Face and scratch the rest of Muse or keep it in the drafts.

As to the other songs, perhaps Rebirth (Intro) is the only other song on the album that has something to it, it stands out a bit more and it also bridges the two albums, despite the connection being sort of flimsy.

Having Sofia Carson on Slow Dance had brought nothing to the song. It could have been a full Jimin track all the way. Her style of singing does not stand out and I find it a failed pair because there's no contrast or voices complementing each other. Jimin can sing just like her. If a collab is really wanted/needed/necessary, then I'd wish for a pairing that also makes sense vocal-wise.

Be Mine is ok, but it sounds too much like that one TXT song and I simply can't get over past it. It's afro beat and latino influence which has been all the rage in the past few years, which Hybe has been pushing a lot. It explains the song.

SGMB and Closer Than This were previously released and I'm not covering them again.

I think it's difficult for me to not make comparisons to Face, considering both albums were produced around the same period, without much time left in between them. One is simply more cohesive and has a depth that showcases a first solo attempt, while the other one is clearly going a more commercial route with less of a personal signature.

Despite Muse being promoted as another conceptual album, I find that umbrella to be a bit forced given that the theme of finding love is really a generic one. Perhaps way too generic with not much individuality. Does it show Jimin's vocal range? Yes. Does it show him trying various genres? Yes. In this case, perhaps Muse is a bit similar to Golden in some aspects, with the difference that Jimin gets producing and writing credits in 5/6 songs. So his involvement is greater, but the scope of the album is in the same category as Golden, which is another production that had this LOVE as an overarching theme. But without much more to it that would make it stand out lyrically. The focus on both is genre diversity and vocal capability.

In short: I like Who (I also like Ace of Base songs and all those silly 90s pop songs, so my music taste is most likely considered bad, but I don't care). I think Muse overall is an amalgam of whatever is trendy at the moment, without being able to truly stand out and say more about Jimin, apart from his capabilities as idol/performer. Perhaps that was the point too.

P.S. My inbox has been closed for anonymous asks since I reblogged a few days ago my post about using lyrics as clues for personal life. It seems that it invited homophobia and I won't have that here.

I'm keeping it that way for now because I'm sure my personal "review" on Muse will either be seen as an invitation for people to either bash me for not thinking it's the album of the year or to be seen as an opportunity for others to talk shit about Jimin, Who and the album overall. I found that usually there is no middle ground with kpop stans/army/Jimin stans, etc.

#m thoughts #jimin #jimin muse #jimin who

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azuramarigold · 4 months ago

Text

The Dead Don't Die - Ch. 1

Series Synopsis: a school teacher, a sleep deprived doctor, a couple of news anchors, a disgruntled cop, a salaryman, and a few teenagers - what could they all have in common? Survival. Join the JJK crew in a Zombie Apocalypse AU heavily influence by "Resident Evil".

Chapter 1: When was the Last Time You were Afraid?

Chapter Summary: Our main characters begin to see the beginning of the end. News of attacks and deranged people eating each other begin to spread, causing mass panic and mass loss.

Buy Me A KoFi!

Word Count: 8.2k

Dividers by: @kodaswrld

Warning label made by me.

“Thank you for tuning into JOTX-DTV, we are bringing you an emergency news report.”

The man that was talking had stark white hair, seemingly unkept, his blue eyes shining like crystals underneath the studio lights. A nice gray suit was tailored to him, a white dress shirt under the suit jacket, and a blue tie around his neck. In front of him was a silver laptop, showing him what to say for the report,

“I’m Satoru Gojo, and tonight we are bringing you an emergency report,” the man continued. “Tonight, another group of people were attacked – this time in Nagoya Park. Victims consisted of three teenaged girls aged from 14 to 16. They were immediately transported to Kyorin University Hospital to stabilize them before further transport.

“This is the fifth attack in the last week. Witnesses report that victims are attacked by ‘drunken’ or ‘high’ individuals. Their senses have been so severely dulled that they are much stronger than normal, even their bites are enough to tear apart hands.”

A woman that was sitting next to him, her dark hair pulled up and tied into a lovely red bow. Her dark brown eyes nodded at the story, her dark wine-colored dress neat and proper as she looked at her laptop in front of her as well. An attractive woman, but one would say the scar that ran across her face from her right side didn’t sit well to be a news anchor on television.

“Thank you for the report, Gojo,” the woman thanked as she turned to the camera. “Reports have also stated that when defending against these attackers, they seem to not feel any pain. Right now, the Prime Minister is ordering a strict curfew of 6 o’clock pm, starting tonight. All after school activities are canceled for the unforeseeable future.”

The camera panned back to the white-haired man, Gojo.

“Thank you for sharing that, Iori,” he then thanked. “Authorities are encouraging everyone to follow the curfew and only leave their homes for essential items. Limit going outside for the time being until these violent attacks are subdued.”

“We wish you all a safe evening,” Iori said to the camera.

The news station’s musical theme played overhead as the lights darkened over the two news anchors. A bell rang overhead as all the lights came back on.

“That’s a wrap!” shouted the producer. “Good job everyone!”

Gojo sighed as he loosened his tie, clearly annoyed. “Man, how have they not nipped this already…?” he grumbled. From his suit jacket pocket, he pulled out his pitch-black sunglasses and placed them over his sensitive eyes.

“If you want it to end so bad, go out there and take care of it yourself,” Iori scoffed at him.

“Utahime, I can’t risk Japan’s most attractive news anchor like that…” Gojo pouted, his lip overdramatically extended as he pressed a hand to his own chest.

“Stop being an egotistical baby, Satoru,” Iori growled at him as she stood up from her chair. She straightened her dress as she walked away from the table and cameras, her black heels clicking on the floor.

Gojo got up from his chair as well, a grunt escaping him as he stood. He was glad that he no longer did field work and was strictly an anchor. The reports that were flooding in were enough to make him almost vomit.

Bodies torn apart beyond recognition. Families suddenly being attacked at the once peaceful parks. Hospitals were being flooded and overrun by thousands of people, each one reporting similar attacks.

Bites, scratches, and flesh being ripped from them.

It sounded as though it was coming from an old black-and-white horror film, or some videogame from the nineties. It was ridiculous and illogical.

Gojo walked past the other members of the crew, putting away mics and cords, giving him a light wave. He made his way to the kitchen/breakroom, grabbing a bottle of cold water from the fridge, thankful for the liquid soothing his parched throat.

“Hey, Satoru, how did you like what I gathered from the field…?” a familiar voice asked him. A man nearly as tall as himself, his silky black hair tied up in a messy bun. As the man did field work, he was wearing a causal light green polo and plain jeans.

“Suguru, I think you’re deranged for still liking field work and looking at all this gore,” Gojo groaned, his glasses slipping down his nose.

Suguru Geto entered the news world that same time that Gojo did. They did their field training together, often being stuck standing in terrible weather conditions or trying to interview people during an event. While Gojo was promoted to full-time news anchor with the occasional on field interviews for charity events, Geto stayed on the field to obtain the truth from witnesses and the scene.

“You call it deranged, I call it actually getting the news,” Geto snorted. “All you do is talk about what I find.”

“Field work is boring and sometimes depressing,” Gojo stated levelly, his mouth in a deep frown. “I can either interview an old lady who was sad that her cat was stuck in a tree, or I could interview a mother who is hysterically crying because her kid was run over and killed by a drunk driver. There is no in-between.”

Geto frowned, his violet eyes narrowed. “You still talk about it though,” he pointed out,

“There is a difference between talking about it and being there where the emotions are high,” the white-haired man gruffly replied. He took another swig of his water. “Right now bodies are being eaten… that's terrible.”

Geto took out his phone, scrolling through messages. “My buddy at one of the precincts thinks it’s some new drug that got leaked by dealers,” he mentioned.

Gojo groaned, “You still talk to that ass-hat…?” His brushed through his hair with a free hand. “You know he's shady as hell…”

“Hey, Sukuna gives me good underground information with certain things,” the raven-haired man retorted.

“The guy has been in court for abuse of power as much as I've been laid,” Gojo grumbled.

“So, what, three?” Geto quipped with a smirk.

Gojo threw his empty water bottle at his colleague. “You asshole!”

Geto only laughed as the plastic bounced off him. “You are so wound tight right now, when is the last time you got laid?”

“Wouldn't you like to know…”

“Quite frankly, no, I don’t,” Geto replied with a huff. He then pocketed his phone. “You up for the get together tonight at the usual bar?”

Gojo waved him off. “No, I’m good, I’m actually gonna listen and stay home,” he informed. “Besides, a bar was attacked last week. Place was filled to the brim with blood.”

Geto gave a shrug. “Eh, I’ll tell the group you said ‘hi’.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Gojo left the breakroom and made his way to the office he had. It was on the smaller side, but he didn’t mind. Minimalist with black and white furniture, a sleek black desk and his personal laptop sitting on top. He sat in his large, black leather chair, and sighed as he opened his laptop.

Normally he took the news he announced with a grain of salt, but the footage that was captured and the pictures… it haunted his mind while he tried to sleep. It was straight up terrifying, and he hoped others have the same plan.

👮‍♂️ 👮‍♂️ 👮‍♂️

“All officers available - this is dispatch. We have another 911 call coming from FamilyMart off Sakura Dōri Street and Yaesu Naka Dōri. Reports of deranged men attacking – already five wounded and counting.”

A low rumble escaped the broad-shouldered man, him running a large hand through his dusty pink hair. He has been on so much overtime because of this crisis, it was difficult for him to do his undercover work as they keep dispatching him to God knows where. With an irritable huff, he grabbed the receiver to respond.

“This is Ryomen, on my way,” he said clearly into the receiver. He hung it back on its cradle before flipping on the lights and sound.

Putting the car into gear, he sped off from an alley he was parked in to head to the scene. He wasn't too far from the FamilyMart, it was a four-minute drive. As he approached the corner there was already three other cop cars and ambulances were pulling up and getting the injured on quickly before another one pulled up.

Sukuna Ryomen was a decent cop – he knew who was guilty of something or if they’re innocent just by looking at them. Some people say he's rough, but that was guys complaining, he was always nice to the women, unless a woman decides to pepper spray him. Then it was on.

Sukuna was an amazing undercover cop as well, with his large size and tattoos, and his cocky attitude to boot, gangs and drug dealers were more open to him. He would weasel his way in, earn the trust of the boss, and arrest them at the right opportunity.

The large man pulled into the first open area he could find and got out of the car with blinding speed, his hand already to his side to retrieve his gun he kept holstered. Screams filled the streets along with loud crying. People were gathered outside the shop clinging to their wounds as they waited for more ambulances to arrive and take them to the hospital.

As Sukuna approached the shop, he saw that the glass from the windows were shattered. More screams were heard from inside along with gunshots. He sprung into action, hopping over the broken window and avoiding glass as his black boots crunched beneath him as he landed.

Gun held up defensively, he looked up and down the aisles of the shop, his dark maroon eyes narrowed with concentration. A scream as a woman busted through the back stock room, her work skirt ripped, and legs covered in blood.

Slowly, Sukuna made his way to the door the woman came out off. There were more screams on the other side along with deep moaning. With a steady hand, Sukuna turned the handle and swung the door wide, gun aiming at whatever may be in front of him.

Standing in the doorway was a man that was balding, his skin a sickly gray and almost peeling away. His eyes were dark and soulless, yet they still said one thing: Hunger. But it wasn’t the dark eyes or seemingly rotting skin that got Sukuna, no.

It was the large “smile” the man had.

Large teeth, stained crimson from fresh blood, was twisted into an animalistic smile, like a starving lion ready to strike their prey.

“What the fu-” Sukuna couldn’t even finish his sentence as the man lunged at him, mouth snapping vigorously trying to take a chunk out his flesh.

Sukuna managed to hold the man back, the jaws dangerously close to snapping around his forearm. With a grunt, he pushed the man back and watched him stumble off balance.

“Freeze asshole!” Sukuna ordered, gun aimed and steady. “You will back down or I swear I’ll pop your ass!”

A screech escaped the man, jaws widening as he lunged again.

There was no hesitation – Sukuna fired the gun.

The bullet pierced the man’s neck, blood spurting from the wound. He kept coming forward, each step he got closer as Sukuna took steps back. Another round was shot, this time piercing the cheek. The man still kept lunging forward.

“This mother fucker…!” Sukuna finally shouted, taking his aim slightly higher.

With a loud screech, the man once again lunged, arms extended, to Sukuna. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet shot cleanly though the man’s head.

A falter in the man’s steps before he finally collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Breathing heavily, Sukuna stepped toward the body, kicking it gently with his foot. It made no sound and no longer moved.

He then decided to continue forward through the stockroom, wanting to get to the source of the screaming. The stock room was medium sized, tall racks filled to the brim with product. The lights were off, and when Sukuna tried to mess with the settings, they didn’t turn on. He pulled out his large, heavy flashlight and turned it on, the concentrated LED beam sweeping.

As the light reached more to his right, a face appeared in front of him, just as deranged as the first man. Jaws open wide with stained teeth, eyes blown wide, and skin flaking off, it tried to sink its teeth into Sukuna’s neck.

Filled with adrenaline from his previous encounter, he ducked down flawlessly, letting the figure trip over him and collapse to the floor behind him. Rapidly, he moved his flashlight over every nook and cranny, seeing if there were more attackers. A couple of bodies lay on the ground in the corner, blood pooling beneath them.

“Hey…! Are you conscious…!?” Sukuna bellowed as he stepped forward. His movements were halted as the person that tripped suddenly grabbed at his boot. “Damn it!” he shouted. Without hesitation, he whirled his gun toward the woman, her face twisted in rage, and she was trying to bite at his ankles. With another pull of the trigger the bullet pierced her in the head.

As with the first “thing" that Sukuna had shot, the woman laid there unmoving as dark red blood, almost brown, pooled beneath her.

An almost rotting smell hit Sukuna's nostrils, almost making him gag. It was a familiar smell as he had gone on in scenes that reported of found bodies. The body smelled like a rotting corpse.

How!? That asshole and bitch were trying to kill me!

Trying to only breathe through his mouth, he stepped forward to the other bodies in the corner. The two looked to be teenage girls, probably no older than his nephew. Both girls were covered in blood, one with a ripped stomach with her intestines pulled out, and the other had a chunk of flesh ripped from her neck and shoulder.

They were already dead – Sukuna didn't even need to check for a pulse.

He went back through the main part of the store, seeing how all the shelves and racks were tipped over, spilling the consumable goods onto the ground. The other cops that had owned the cars parked up front, entering the building, flashlights aiming directly at Sukuna.

“Yo, Ryomen, everything good…?” the one officer asked. Sukuna recognized him from his division from the precinct, but the name escaped him.

“Four dead,” Sukuna replied as he holstered his gun. “Two teenagers, female, DOA. Two I shot and killed in defense as they were trying to take a chunk out of me.”

The officer lowered his gun. “Okay… make sure to type up a report for it,” he reminded.

“Yeah, I know.” He approached a paramedic that was trying to find out who was the most injured through triage. “Hey, letting you know when you transport those bodies… they’re… rotting… unpleasant smell.” He then clapped the paramedic on the shoulder and made his way back to his car.

A long, tired, yet shaky sigh escaped him. He had been in some deep shit in the past – undercovers almost being blown, so much illegal explosives that he was almost blown up, and he had been shot more time he’d like to admit. But this… this was something different. He looked at the clock on his dash, noting that the time was almost four.

Sukuna grabbed his cellphone that he had left in the car, thumb scrolling to a familiar contact name. He put the phone to his ear and waited for the receiver to pick up.

“What, Uncle Sukuna?” the irritated voice of his nephew answered.

“That’s disrespectful, Brat!” Sukuna growled. “That is not how you answer the damn phone!”

“With you, yes, it is.”

Sukuna had to resist the urge to slam his head into the steering wheel. He loved his nephew, but the kid sometimes acted too much like himself when he was that age – it was like looking into a time-warp mirror. “Are you home?” he then asked. “You know the curfew starts tonight.”

“I’m at the train station with Fushiguro and Kugisaki, we’re about to get on to get home.” There was sudden screaming on his end of the line. “What the fuck… Dude, get away from us, I don’t have any spare-” There was another scream, a feminine scream, as there was a sudden crack! sound, as if the young man on the other end dropped his phone.

“Yuji…!? Yuji! You better not be pulling some bullshit here!” Sukuna screamed into the phone.

The line went dead.

👩‍⚕️ 👩‍⚕️ 👩‍⚕️

“CODE: Triage. I repeat – CODE: Triage.”

The P.A. system had blared overhead for what seemed like hours. A new code was announced every other minute it seemed, often repeating itself as more and more people came in with chunks of flesh torn off.

“CODE: Grey in Emergency. I repeat – CODE: Grey in Emergency.”

An average height woman with dark brown hair past her shoulders rushed from bed to bed in the Emergency Room. She had no proper sleep in the last two weeks due to the sudden explosion of patients being admitted. She adjusted her lab coat to reach her stethoscope to get a quick blood pressure on a patient that was being wheeled in from the ambulance.

“Blood pressure dropping,” the woman announced. She put her forefinger and middle finger on the patient’s neck, ignoring the spewing blood from a deep bite wound. “Pulse is weak and thready – patient may go into shock from blood loss. Pressure on the wound – STAT!”

“Dr. Ieiri!” a nurse shouted, completely overwhelmed by a patient who was straining against straps. “This patient is trying to attack us…!”

“Inject him with fentanyl to knock him out!” Dr. Ieiri barked her order. “Monitor for signs of respiratory distress!”

“Yes, doctor!” the nurse affirmed.

Dark bags were deep under Dr. Ieiri’s eyes, her skin pale from lack of sunlight the last couple of weeks. Her hands were nearly twitching, practically begging to have a cigarette in between her fingers.

But more patients rolled in. There weren’t enough staff to try and treat whatever was going on! Dr. Ieiri not only did the Emergency Room, but she worked in surgeries as well – the number of necks she desperately tried to close, or reattach limbs, or try to stuff intestines back in the thoracic cavity she had done in the last two weeks met a lifetime quota.

However, most of the patients died on the spot. Died on the table, died in the ambulance, or died in the bed while trying to treat them. The morgue was filled to the brim, they had no choice but to store bodies in the cafeteria on a whim. No matter how many people died, double the amount would replace them within a few minutes.

A few of the staff have passed too. A brilliant doctor in dermatology ended up getting bit on his hand while trying to investigate the rotting flesh on a patient’s skin. The bite wasn’t as deep as the ones Dr. Ieiri had seen, but the man had flu-like symptoms within the hour. By nightfall, his own skin was beginning to flake and peel, his eyes glassy, before he went and attacked one of the nurses that was assisting him. They both ended up dying before the clocks struck seven, and now they were another body in a mass grave that was the cafeteria.

Coffee… I need coffee.

Making her way in a crowded hall, she stood in a line that formed in front of the shitty vending machine that spout out “coffee”. More like it was dirt and water as a sludge that admittingly surged the body with the faux energy that was craved. As she put her couple of yen in to make herself a cup of sludge, a man that was in a hospital gown was banging his head against the wall next to her.

“Um… are you okay?” Dr. Ieiri asked, her voice pitching in uneasiness. “Do you need help…? Need some meds…?” Ignoring her cup of sludge, she slowly approached the man.

Patients always get wound up tight at hospitals. They’re ill, hurt, and they’re terrified. Dr. Ieiri made sure her steps were slow, yet deliberate. She has had her fair share of violent patients that threatened her at syringe-point in a desperate attempt for addicting pain killers.

The man continued to bang his head, a trail of blood slowly dripping down the wall.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Dr. Ieiri pulled the man off the wall, but before she could say anything to him or even get a look at his face, he went back at it again. This time, it’s harder.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Slow and steady, like a metronome keeping time.

“SIR! PLEASE STOP THIS!” Dr. Ieiri screamed as she forced the patient off the wall again. A loud gasp escaped her as she looked at the beaten face as she took a few faltering steps back.

In front of her was the dermatologist that had died a couple of nights before. His forehead was sunken in from the constant banging, blood seeping through the wound and dripping to the floor. A rotting smell emitted from him, his jaw going slack.

His eyes, which were once glazy from illness, were dark with a rage and burning hunger. As those soulless eyes burned into her, the slack jaw tightened, baring teeth as if he were a feral animal. A loud screech bellowed from him as he lunged at Dr. Ieiri, arms extended, desperately clutching at the sleeve of her white doctor’s coat.

“GET THE HELL OFF ME!” the doctor screamed at the top of her lungs. She tried to kick him, but he then grabbed her leg and threw her off balance. “AUGH!” the scream ripped from her as the back of her head slammed onto the floor.

Blurred vision and dizziness occupied her mind, but there was a small part of her mind that was screaming at her.

Run.

Desperate, she tried to flip herself prone, her survival instincts telling her to get away. As she tried to crawl, the former dermatologist grasped her leg with inhuman strength. A shocked exhale escaped her as he began to drag her towards him.

Weapon…! I need something…!

The only thing she had were her pens that she used to chart on patients. Dr. Ieiri’s hands went into her coat pocket, ignoring the pack of cigarettes she desperately wanted, and grabbed her favorite pen.

The pen was heavy, a metal barrel that gave the pen a luxurious feel. She has thrown it a few times at interns when they were idiots, them getting bumps and bruises on their heads. Dr. Ieiri clicked the pen, the point sharp.

A final tug from the insane man and his snapping jaws were trying to get at her neck. With a grunt of effort, Dr. Ieiri thrusted the pen into the eye. A sickening squish! filled her ears as aqueous humor, vitreous humor, and blood gushed from the wound.

Feral screams and roars ripped from his throat, his hands desperately trying to grab Dr. Ieiri’s face, fingers gnarled as though they were talons. With her free leg, she managed to lift it and kick the pen deeper into the eye of the former physician – the pen piercing brain tissue and bone.

The darkness faded from his eyes, a flash of humanity, before he fell on top of Dr. Ieiri as dead weight, unmoving as blood trickled from the wound.

Heart pounding, vision blurred, the sounds from the P.A. system and screams from staff and patients alike only a low hum against her tympanic membranes in her ears. Desperate, she closed her eyes, scrunching up her face, before forcing them open again.

It’s not a nightmare…

The screams became stronger as the sounds of spilt blood began to fill the hospital. The doors that once led to the cafeteria were now wide open, beings crawling out of body bags or shuffling through the open doors with surprising speed.

Nurses, doctors, assistants, and even patients were being dragged to the floor, jaws biting into their faces like delicate fruits. The once white floor was now stained red. The once sterile environment was nothing more than the world’s largest morgue.

Panic laced Dr. Ieiri’s limbs, a cold dread hitting her like ice water in her veins. She was going to die. The people in the hospital were going to die. She was going to die.

I’m going to die.

👔 👔 👔

The sounds of click-clacking from numerous keyboards filled the office space.

Occasionally phones rang, the murmurs of people answering them starting to fill the silence. Then, like clockwork, a state of emergency alarm from J-Alert. Alarms blared from cellular phones, computers were opened to the broadcasting system automatically with no prompts.

Kento Nanami, a blonde man with chiseled features and what some people would say the sternest hazel eyes, was sitting in his cubical, glaring at his computer screen and side-eyed his phone, both blaring the J-Alert. The news lately had been stating that there were random attacks and people were being torn apart or eaten alive.

Nanami wasn’t the type of man to do things after work. Work was exhausting, so he usually goes straight home to unwind with a glass of whisky and a good book. He only started watching the news, his eye twitching when he recognizes his old high school classmate on T.V., due to the radio stations blaring about the “Cannibalism” haunting the country.

There was no way things like that were happening… it sounded so surreal and deranged.

It must be some underground group thinking this was just a harmless prank.

It was only logical to think like that. There was no way that people with inhumane strength were eating people. It sounded as though it was from stupid old movie or video game.

Preposterous.

Nanami tried clicking off the alert on the computer screen, but it wasn’t letting him. Everyone else was trying as well, however grunts of frustration escaped them all. His desk phone then rang, causing Nanami to answer it within two rings.

“Hello, Nanami speaking,” the man gruffly greeted.

“Hey, Kento, did you get the same alert that I did?” The voice on the other side was none other than his high school best friend, Yu Haibara. While Nanami worked in finance, Haibara worked in marketing two floors below.

“I did,” Nanami affirmed. “I’m sure this is all being blown out of proportion.”

“I hope so… I read that the FamilyMart by here got attacked…” Haibara’s voice was laced with worry. “You always go straight home, right?”

“I do,” Nanami once again affirmed.

“I’m gonna go check on my sister… she’s a nurse at the hospital closest there…” Haibara mentioned. “I know this is childish to ask, but, uh, can you come with me…?”

During their high school days, Haibara was the energetic of the two. They both took martial arts classes together and even aikido. While both of them know self-defense, Haibara asking what he did almost reminded Nanami the time during their school days.

“Yeah, I’ll come with you,” Nanami informed, a small smile on his face. “I’m sure Satsuki is fine, but I know the hospitals are being overrun right now.”

“Thanks, Kento, I’ll let you know when I clock out.”

The sound of the phone hanging up was Nanami’s sign to see if he is even able to work. His computer was still blaring the J-Alert.

The PA overhead then clicked on.

“Staff. Please clock out for the day. Due to the state of emergency, we are asking you to clock out and head home. If you are able to work from home, please continue for the rest of the week at normal scheduled times. Thank you, and we hope you get home safely.”

A frown etched on Nanami’s face. They had never have been asked to work from home if able. The computers turned off automatically, most likely the people in IT cutting them, so that workers were able to gather their things and leave.

Nanami checked his watch, and it was a little past four. He normally worked until six, but the curfew was at six. They most likely ended the workday early so that they would have enough time to get home.

His cell phone, now free of the J-Alert, buzzed signaling a text message. Nanami finished packing up his items in his briefcase and grabbed his phone.

YUU: Meet me in the lobby and we can head out.

Kento: Sure. I’m heading for the elevator now.

He clocked out and made his way to the elevator, internally grimacing as it was higher capacity than usual. Nanami forced himself in, squished between a female colleague and the co-worker that was in the cubical next to him.

“I know, I’m heading home now, dear,” the woman said into her phone. “Make sure when the kids get home that the doors are locked.”

People are really on edge…

The elevator descended, stopping on other floors but no one could join as it was at max capacity. As soon as the elevator landed on the ground floor, the people rushed out of the building. Haibara was waiting for Nanami by reception, him bouncing from leg to leg as his black suit and tie were wrinkled.

Nanami approached his friend, a sigh of exhaustion escaping him. His friend noticed him and a large smile etched on his face.

“Hey, Kento, really weird they’re sending us home early, huh?” Haibara mentioned.

“It is…” Nanami confirmed with a hum. “Now, which hospital is your sister at?”

“St. Luke’s International Hospital,” Haibara replied. “Doesn’t Shoko work there too as a doctor?”

“She does, I hope she’s getting rest during all of this…”

The two made their way out of the building and headed toward the underground parking structure near there where their cars were at. They opted for Nanami’s car as it was better on gas milage, and it had a little more space if things were so bad that Satsuki could come home.

The hospital was roughly a seven-minute drive from the business park that they worked in, and traffic was starting to get heavy due to many offices and workplaces letting their workers out early due to the curfew. The normal seven-minute drive turned into twenty.

As they approached the hospital, they noticed the extremely heavy traffic and random cars just stopped in the middle of the street. A grunt of annoyance escaped Nanami as he pulled over to the nearest parking lot, which was for an elementary school about a half-block away.

Deciding to finish their route on foot, they noticed that more people were running the opposite direction of the hospital. Some people were heavily limping, deep wounds into their arms, legs, or sides.

“I’m gonna call my sister and see if she answers…” Haibara murmured, pulling his phone out and dialing her number. A frown appeared on his face as he noticed it went to voicemail. “I get she’s a nurse… but this is getting crazy…”

The two made it to the hospital, seeing that there was a police barricade by the entrance. Screams could be heard from the inside of the hospital, and there were smears of blood on the windows. Patients, doctors, nurses, and others would randomly show up at a window, desperately banging before they were yanked down by some unknown entity.

Officers were barking orders for citizens to stay back. People were demanding to see their loved ones, or some were injured and needed medical attention. The officers would not relent, some even using batons as force to make sure people wouldn’t cross the police line.

“BACK AWAY!” an officer shouted in a megaphone. “I REPEAT! BACK AWAY! WE WILL USE FORCE IF NECESSARY!”

A shrill scream from a woman could be heard over the megaphone, her pointing at the large glass window that showed into the hospital lobby. Faces that looked deranged began pounding on the glass, the glass vibrating from the force. Cracks began to spiderweb across the glass until finally…

It gave out.

Glass exploded as people rushed out of the hospital, covered in deep bite wounds, torn clothes, and flesh hanging off the bone. Immediately, they began to tackle the officers, who were so surprised they couldn’t even draw their guns. Absent gunshots went off, someone that was in the crowd yelping as a bullet pierced their stomach.

Like a beacon, the hospital residents raised their heads as though they smelled gourmet meat. Eyes widening in panic, the person tried to scurry away, but was tackled to the ground by a group of four or five people.

Are they even people at this point!?

Nanami watched in horror as the group began tearing into the gunshot victim. The man screaming in a combination of pain and fear. Intestines were ripped from the victim’s stomach, a deep bite into his throat as the being pulled violently, blood spouting from the wound as tendons, arteries, and other vessels hung from their mouth.

Sickening slurps and rips from the body filled the streets before screams took over. More people were tackled to the ground as flesh was torn. Whatever officers were able to fend off the monstrous people tried to shoot, but their bullets pierced the hospital patrons, but also the innocent people in the crowd.

“Augh! FUCK!” a hiss of pain erupted from Haibara as a bullet had shot through his leg. “Damn it! I think they’re just shooting blindly!”

The hospital patrons raised their heads once again, sensing the fresh blood.

“Oh, fuck…! We have to move, Yuu!” Nanami shouted at his injured friend, before grasping him by the arm and forcing him to run.

Desperately, they began to run, forcing their way between people that were also running. More gunshots rang, and more innocent people were shot at and collapsing to the ground as their flesh began to peel from their bones.

The smell of blood filled the air, and Haibara was beginning to falter in his steps, the adrenaline slipping away. “K-Kento, man, I’m just slowing you down… Go!” Haibara shouted, his voice pained and fatigued.

“Are you fucking crazy!?” Nanami shouted back at his friend. He turned his head, ready to force his friend to continue running, however his eyes widened when he recognized a young woman in a nurse’s uniform grabbing at Haibara. “Satsuki…!?”

She looked not like herself… her face that was so normally filled with life was now gray and dulled, her eyes dark and glassy, and her teeth were borne and blood stained. A loud screech emitted from her as she lunged at Haibara, her hands outstretched toward him.

Haibara only gave a grim smile before forcibly pushing Nanami away from him. “GO!” he then shouted again as he was forced to the ground.

Nanami had tripped over something, a torn apart body, as he watched in horror as his best friend’s own sister tore into his leg like it was the most delicious piece of prime meat in the world. Screams tore from Haibara’s throat as Satsuki crawled up further, her teeth biting into the side of his face, blood spraying onto the concrete.

Slowly, the light from Haibara’s eyes dimmed as his body went limp, Satsuki continuing to tear into him as if her life depended on it. Once she was done, her eyes glared up at Nanami, who had managed to get to his own feet, a low, feral growl escaping her. Staggering, she forced herself up from Haibara’s corpse as she lunged toward Nanami, who only ducked out of the way and watched as she tripped over the same body as he had, watching as she fell to the ground, her arms twisting and breaking in an unnatural way from the impact.

Bones pierced her skin, but it was like she didn’t care. Satsuki forced herself once again, her hungry eyes resting on Nanami once again.

Giving Haibara’s body one last look, he turned and ran, performing his late friend’s dying wish.

👩‍🏫 👩‍🏫 👩‍🏫

The news breaking out on the country-wide curfew was annoying to say the least.

You were just getting ready to inform the students in the second to last class of the day about an upcoming test that was scheduled when the P.A. system crackled overhead.

“Attention students and faculty – we are ending school early. Please make your way out of the building as soon as possible. Students who take public transportation, please look ahead now for departure schedules.”

The sound of chairs scraping against the worn linoleum floor filled the classroom. Students were murmuring to each other in confusion, and some were sounding scared as they got their phones out to call their parents.

You oversaw the students leaving the classroom, stating that you will put everything in the digital classroom online for them to complete assignments from home. There was no questioning it, no groans of teenage rebellion.

The last three in the class, the trio of students you called the “HP Trio” as they always got into trouble like the famous book characters, were staggering behind as two of them waited for their pink-haired friend.

“Sorry, Miss Y/L/N, we’ll be on our way out shortly!” the pink-haired young man apologized as he finished stuffing his backpack.

“Sorry that Itadori is too stupid to know how to pack his backpack,” the girl of the trio quipped, her flipping her dyed ginger hair over her shoulder.

“Kugisaki, that is not nice to say about your friend,” you say to her.

“No, she’s right,” the raven-haired boy then murmured. “Itadori doesn’t know how to do basic tasks accordingly.”

Leave it to Fushiguro to join in…

“You three get home safely,” you inform them. “You guys live in the same neighborhood, yes?”

“Yes,” the trio replied in unison.

“Kugisaki, remember to call your grandmother,” you tell the young woman. Kugisaki only groaned as she nodded. “Fushiguro, you have to actually speak to your guardian, okay?” The young man nodded, although grumbling that he didn’t want to deal with “that white-haired idiot”. “And Itadori, let your uncle know that classes ended today,” you then remind him. Itadori nodded as he finally closed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N,” they replied in unison.

You waved them off as they left, the three murmuring to each other. Once they have left, you begin to pack up your stuff as well, knowing that the school wanted the faculty to leave as well. Making sure you had your laptop, phone, keys, and the few books you brought were safe in your messenger bag, you left as well.

The hallways were littered with scrap paper and a few open books. Students were straggling out of the school, some walking home, some getting into their cars, some going on bikes, and like the trio she just seen off, some were heading toward the nearest train station.

Ironically, you took the same train line toward home as the HP Trio, even though your stop was two after theirs. You tried to keep some distance, making sure it didn’t seem creepy or odd that you were “following” them. Rarely did you get on the train at the same time as they do, but it was one of those times that Itadori noticed that she was behind them.

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N, did one of us forget something?” Itadori asked curiously.

“No, Itadori, I just happen to go on the same train line as you three…” you murmured in embarrassment.

“Oh, then you should walk with us!” Kugisaki offered with a smile.

“Not gonna lie, with the J-Alert suddenly appearing on our phones, it would be better for to be in groups, so we’re not attacked or something…” Fushiguro then added.

The trio looked apprehensive, so you knew that they were serious about you walking with them. They did get into trouble yes, but it wasn’t “suspended” or “expel” worthy, just typical teenage shenanigans like getting into a couple of arguments with other students or being late and such.

“If you three don’t mind…” you then said with a small smile.

From what you knew, just like the trio, you had to take at least two different train lines to get home from Shiba Commercial High School, which was annoying, but it had to be done. Entering the subway station that was underground, the air felt sticky and tense as so many people were also waiting for the train.

As you waited with the trio, Itadori’s phone rang. He saw who it was and groaned.

“What, Uncle Sukuna?” the pink-haired asked irritably into his phone.

You knew that Itadori and his uncle had a somewhat rocky relationship. The older man took Itadori in during his first year of junior high when his grandfather had suddenly passed. Sukuna Ryomen, who was Itadori’s uncle through his father, took him in on a whim.

There was the sound of someone yelling on the other side, it was loud enough for Itadori to move the phone away from his ear.

“With you, yes, it is,” the teen deadpanned into the phone’s receiver.

A pause as Itadori listened.

As he was on the phone, you noticed someone staggering toward you four. It seemed like they were drunk as they wobbled on their feet and looked incoherent.

“I’m at the train station with Fushiguro and Kugisaki, we’re about to get on to get home,” Itadori explained into the phone.

A scream from a nearby patron pierced the air as the staggering person knocked a woman to the ground, her dangerously close to the yellow line and therefore close to the train’s railway. You nearly gasped at how hard that woman had fallen, a train blaring past without stopping, her purse disappearing.

The drunkard got near the four of them, Fushiguro and Kugisaki tapping Itadori on his shoulder to get his attention. At that point the drunkard was practically on top of them. The smell hit your nostrils that nearly made you gag – the smell of something rotting.

“What the fuck… Dude, get away from us, I don’t have any spare-” Itadori began to say, clearly irritated that this drunkard was in their space.

Kugisaki suddenly screamed as the drunkard lunged at her, jaws open wide, and hands extended. Itadori didn’t hesitate to drop his phone and let it crack onto the ground. He rushed to his friend’s side and did a perfect front kick to the drunkard, sending him staggering back.

People around them gasped at the suddenness of it all. However, the drunkard got up, legs twisting oddly as though they were broken. When someone tried to help them up, the drunkard sunk their teeth into the helper’s arm. A scream tore through their throat, desperately trying to yank their arm back, only for the flesh to tear from them.

You put your hand over your mouth at the sight. Blood pour from the wound and the person was tackled to the ground, the drunkard tearing into their throat.

“Kids, we need to go, now,” you ordered as you touched each of their shoulders to get them grouped closer together. You then pushed them toward the stairs so that you three could go back street level, the feral growls and screams of terror echoing behind you.

Once you were at street level, there was more chaos. A car drove off the road and slammed into a running pedestrian, their body nearly exploding from the impact as they were pinned to a building. Kugisaki screamed behind her hand, her orange-brown eyes wide with horror.

You grabbed her shoulder to pull her away from the scene, but it was then that both Itadori and Fushiguro pushed you both away as they jumped backwards. Another car had gone off road and would have crashed into you and Kugisaki if the boys hadn’t intervened.

Itadori rushed to the car that had then crashed into a half-wall, him trying to open the driver-side door. “Hey, are you okay!?” he shouted. “Because if you are, then FUCK YOU for nearly hitting us!” The door sprung open as the driver plopped to the ground, sounding squishy as though filled with water beads.

“Itadori, get the hell away from them!” Fushiguro shouted. “Obviously they are not sane!”

“I just need to know-” Itadori began, but he gasped suddenly as the driver grabbed his leg. “HEY! LET ME GO!”

“Itadori…!” you shouted as you rushed forward. You always kept a defense knife on your person, all because you were attacked so long ago that you just wished it could be erased from your memory, but at the moment you were glad you still had it to protect your student. You had grabbed the knife, ready to threaten the driver, but Itadori had kicked at the side of their head so they could let go.

Both your jaws dropped as the driver’s neck was snapped to the side, the crack so audible that you nearly threw up. Itadori’s eyes widened in horror as the hand that once grasped his leg laxed. The driver’s head was nearly ripped from their torso, dark clotted blood pouring from the wound as it was clear that the spinal cord was snapped from the kick.

“I… I didn’t even kick that hard…!” Itadori gasped, him nearly collapsing to the ground. “Is… Are they dead…!? Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to kill them…!”

As you observed the body, you saw that patches of their skin were rotting away. The hair was stringy as though the driver was just dug up from a grave and thrown into the car.

“I think… they were dead before you kicked them…” you explain to Itadori softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you were defending yourself,” you then added to assure them.

Fushiguro and Kugisaki had made their way to the two of you, Kugisaki taking one look at the body and gagging. Absently, Fushiguro patted her back, her then vomiting on the cement.

“What the actual fuck is that!?” the teenaged girl screamed. “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?”

“Kugisaki, calm down!” Fushiguro ordered, his voice also began to panic. “We just… we just need to take a step back and think.”

“Think about what!?” Kugisaki demanded. “What should I season my arm with so its tasty for the next fucker!?”

“No, that’s absurd,” the raven-haired teen levelly replied.

You then took out your phone and pulled up your map app. “Itadori, the precinct that your uncle works at… it’s close to here, yes?” you then asked.

“Uh, yeah, it should be…” Itadori replied.

“Let’s head to the station,” you suggested. “The police should have some idea of what is going on.”

The pink-haired boy nodded, his honeyed eyes glancing back down at the person he had kicked. You gently grabbed his forearm and pulled him away from the scene. As he got close to his friends, Fushiguro patted his shoulder and Kugisaki gave him a sudden hug.

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this scared… well, except that night five years ago. But this was starting to become number one on your list of pants-shitting fear.

“Do you think that was a zombie…?” Itadori then asked, his voice murmured and soft.

“What the hell makes you think that dumb shit?” Fushiguro demanded harshly.

Itadori darted his eyes back to the driver’s unmoving body. “That guy at the station… he bit the one guy… then this guy grabbed my leg like he wanted to bite it,” he began to explain. “And when I kicked him… his neck snapped so easily, and once that was broken, he stopped.”

“You were playing that zombie game again weren’t you, dumbass!” Kugisaki shouted at Itadori.

“I was, yeah,” he admitted. “But from every zombie lore I have ever dealt with – movies, games, and manga – it’s that you destroy the brain, the spinal cord, or decapitate to truly kill them…”

Fushiguro rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding me, man? You think we’re in some zombie warzone shit!?” he shouted, completely exasperated.

“Do you have a better idea!?” Itadori shouted back, his eyes narrowed.

“It could be that… that they’re sick or something!” Fushiguro reasoned.

“And dude, how many zombie movies and games started like that!?” Itadori challenged.

Fushigruo opened his mouth but then closed it. He had no rebuttal against that.

You got in the middle of three, trying to diffuse the situation. “Oi! Stop arguing!” you ordered, your voice firm with your “teacher” voice. “Let’s just get to the station, I’m sure there is some sort of plan in place!”

The three students looked at each other and then back at you. They nodded in affirmation as you began to lead them toward the station, your eyes going between the map on your phone and in front of you.

Trying to ignore the screams and screeching of cars, you decided that you can only focus on your three students to make sure they make it.

A/N: I would like to point out that I put A LOT of research into this. It may not be 100% accurate, but I spent HOURS looking up Japan's map to figure out where things were and how realistically some of them could travel.

I also discovered why it MAKES SENSE that "Resident Evil 2" the cop uniforms are what they are - they are based off of Japan's summer uniform!!!! LIKE DANG. I knew Leon S. Kennedy's uniform was based off George A. Romero's "Dawn of the Dead" SWAT uniform, but this was just interesting to see!

So, it's also funny to imagine Sukuna in this uniform! LOL. Unless you want to imagine him more in Leon's attire, that's fine too!

(left: RE2 1998. Right: RE2 Remake 2019)

TAGLIST (STILL OPEN!): @nanamineedstherapy @b0nez9 @rosemaydone321

Special thanks to my Ko-fi supporters!

Basic Tier

Aostrele

Draconic Hermit

JadEDU

Jaune Arc

Zippy

Middle Tier

@genderfluidsgetguns AKA IdoInFactLikeDogs

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dragonflight203 · 1 year ago

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Some thoughts as I replay Mass Effect 1:

-Hackett is one of the ones to recommend Shepard as a spectre. No wonder he feels comfortable calling them up for missions through the game. He probably feels Shepard owes them a few.

-One of Joker's first lines is that he doesn't like having spectres on board. That tune changes quite quickly.

-The game eases into aliens. For the few couple of hours the player only interacts with humans and one turian. Another turian is shown in a cutscene. Geth, which are basically advanced robots, are enemies you can kill without guilt. It's not until the citadel that the game really embraces alien diversity. Bioware's wariness on how comfortable players would be about aliens shows very clearly.

-During the Eden Prime drop scene Kaidan is the one to ask about survivors. Of course he is. Kaidan, you paragon.

-Everyone learned about aliens in school. Everyone is an adult. First contact was 30 odd years ago. How exactly did the curriculum get updated so quickly that everyone learned about this in school? Bioware, your timelines make me cry.

-Manuel definitely got hit by the beacon at some point. Interesting that he also saw Saren, but his speech is so confusing no one realizes he's talking about a second turian.

-Nihlus may feel differently about humans than Saren, but he is Saren's student. He skipped all the survivors and made a beeline to the beacon. He's not cruel, but he is efficient. The beacon is the priority.

-Nihlus, we hardly knew ya. Every time I replay it's always surprising how short his screen time is. And those faces when he interacts with Saren... Bioware did a very good job on making him nonhuman but still recognizably expressive. The difference in facial expressions between ME1 and MEA are light years.

-Benezia is clearly used to Saren's tantrums. She dodged like it's something she does on a regular basis.

-Kaidan, about informing the Council about Saren: "Makes sense. They'd probably like to know he's not working for them anymore." Love this man.

-Kaidan only gets migraines. Having experienced one recently, that's a big only. And he's soldier that's frequently in combat. I hope the future has excellent pain killers.

-For this playthrough I'm planning to have Tali and Liara as companions, so I'm skipping everything on the Citadel that isn't necessary or unique to the first visit until I pick them up. It makes the game feel quite different. I usually spend hours on the Citadel during my first visit; this time I'm leaving quite quickly.

-Pallin's skepticism about humanity makes more sense when Harkin is considered. Harkin was the first human in C-Sec, he's corrupt as hell, and humanity did a lot behind the scenes to protect him. Pallin's big on following the law no matter what. No wonder he's not impressed by humanity.

-Anderson has extreme tunnel vision about Saren. From the minute he's mentioned he's convinced Saren's behind it and he's doing it solely out of hatred of humanity. He repeatedly brings this up.

Meanwhile, in the game I get the vibe that Saren doesn't care about humanity too much. He doesn't like them, he might antagonize them if the opportunity comes up, but they're not worth the bother to put actual effort into tormenting. Humanity just isn't that important to him.

-Love those silent interactions between council members where they just look at each other. Again, the difference between ME1 and MEA is stark.

-Going by the Geth core Tali retrieved, Saren considers Eden Prime a victory. The tantrum he threw indicates otherwise. Does he really consider it a victory, or is that just a speech he gave to motivate the Geth?

-At this time, I'm not convinced Anderson believes in the Reapers. He still thinks it's Saren, he just doesn't think it's worth debating Shepard on it.

-I genuinely like Udina as a character. I'd hate to be around him, but he's determined to do a good job, pragmatic, and truly devoted to humanity. Also nice to have someone around who pushes back against Shepard. ME3 wastes him.

-Garrus mentions that he rose in the ranks through C-Sec. What was his actual rank? Detective or the like, I presume. Pallin knows who he is, and that's impressive considering the number of officers there are. Even with Castis as a father.

-Tali mentions Quarian overseers to the Geth when speaking to Shepard. The game definitely pushes the slavery parallels with the Geth, even in ME1. "Overseer" is not the first term I'd use for supervising machinery. Or maybe that's the American cultural bias showing through.

-Everyone info dumps in ME1. Everyone. Enjoyable, but a bit exhausting at the start of the game when it feels continuous.

-Liara in ME1 is a completely different character than in ME2 and ME3. I'm hesitant to consider the change natural growth. It's a shame, because ME1 Liara has quite a bit of potential. They didn't need to rework her character for the later games.

-First time playing on Insanity, and I'm surprised at the lack of trouble I've had so far. Everyone says the battle with the krogan at the end of Therum is difficult, but I only died once. I might regret this later, when I get to the Uncharted worlds...

Edit: Fix spellings

#mass effect #mass effect 1 #mass effect 1 replay

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royallygray · 1 year ago

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@periwinklepaint

Little bit of (slightly incoherent) background info for this snippet :)

This is canon, but it's part of the "general prequel" aka anything that doesn't actually happen in amsabyh.

This is a soulmate/urban fantasy/superhero AU.

Scott and Pearl are soulmates.

Pearl is currently in the Underground, which is the shady like. below-surface area of the city where all the shady stuff happens and info is hidden in.

Pearl wants to find more info on the Canary Prophecy, but that's not mentioned in this.

I did just rly want to write a fight scene

Before this scene, Pearl has gotten cornered by a ton of bandit people who are definitely gonna kill her.

Your magic can heal you, but it also draws on the life force of your soul.

Scott and Pearl's soul ability is telepathy, meaning that they can hear each other's thoughts and motivations all the time, in addition to almost-but-not-quite having the other's senses.

Pearl totally should be dead from this.

Pearl gets really panicked in this, meaning that her thoughts are the ones almost completely dominating the soulbond.

She's not quite a vigilante at this point. This is one of her first excursions to the Underground.

CW: guns, fighting, gore, idk if I mention blood but Pearl is definitely bleeding

-- -- --

The world narrowed to only the expanse of Pearl’s senses. Scott’s agonized screams became background music to her fight scene. Time blurred as Pearl dodged and weaved through the masses, holding her wings tightly to her back, stabbing and slashing where she could. People in black clothing shot at her with guns and bows, narrowly missing her most of the time due to Pearl’s panicked magic sparking out of her.

She ran, crouched under the rather low cave ceiling. This was not how she expected her first excursion as a vigilante to go. She ran through the people, who shot and stabbed and shot and stabbed at her, narrowly missing most of the time, and nicking her occasionally. Blood pumped through her heart, her veins, her arteries. Her head throbbed from tuning out Scott.

She ran. She wasn’t this good. She couldn’t do this much longer, even with the use of some magic. Her head pounded. Her body hurt. There was so much going on, the world falling into pieces around her. Her vision was splotchy. She tried to fight, to blast her magic out of her hands, but it didn’t— It didn’t work.

A sharp pain stabbed Pearl in the gut. She couldn’t hear her own screams, but she could finally hear Scott’s agony in her mind.

PEARL!

Scott’s incoherent screams of pain powered her through sprinting through the rest of the bandits, even as she was crouched over, clutching her stomach desperately to keep her organs inside of her.

PEARL PEARL— PEARL WATCH OUT!

Pearl ducked as a bullet whizzed past her head.

Thanks, she sent quietly to Scott. For the first time, she had no idea what Scott was doing, since his energy was clearly being violently depleted by her.

Drop. Roll.

Pearl followed the instructions, rolling into people’s legs and slicing at their ankles.

Run.

She got up, and sprinted through the throes of people. A bullet shot into her left elbow, and her arm dropped from her gut without her consent.

Shit. She vaguely thought of her mom and mama, of Grian and Lizzie and Jimmy. She was going to die here. Without anyone knowing where she was or how she died.

DON’T FUCKING GIVE UP NOW, PEARL!

My elbow’s been shot, Pearl thought distantly, even as gunshots echoed around her. She only felt the impact and not the pain when a bullet shot into her back.

Use your magic, Scott hissed mentally.

Sparks flew out of Pearl’s knife, slicing at people even as she limped through the crowd, getting more and more bullets stuck in her back. And front. And anything that was exposed.

I can’t, Pearl thought miserably, as her head ached from the magic and the bullets and the screaming Rivendellian in her head. Her magic couldn’t run out of her knife anymore. Her magic was too focused on keeping her blood in her body and her wounds relatively healed.

Pearl. You’ve got this.

Pearl forced explosions of magic out of her body, shoving tons of people out of the way. She pushed harder and harder, searching in her body for anything, anything that could help.

Even as her magic drained her, and she put a shield up around her, she kept searching for anything to help. Bullets rained down on her shield, shattering it piece by piece. Nothing was going to fucking work.

She was going to die here, she realized. And—

She found something. Some reserve of magic she hadn’t known was there, and she tugged on it and expelled it out of her body.

These screams weren’t her own. The feedback loop of Scott screaming in her head and apparently out loud were synonymous and took up her entire brain. She kept blindly shoving the magic out of her body, her soul.

She got up, and sprinted through the people, throwing the magic into their faces. People collapsed like a house of cards around her. Everyone fell. No one was spared.

The screams in her head only got louder as she drew on more magic. She shot the magic out of her soul, into the world. She sprinted through the people, hoping desperately that this was the way out.

Go up, Scott’s pained whisper broke through the screams. Shoot up.

Scott had yet to be wrong, so she shoved the magic through the roof above her as the screams continued. The ground was far beneath the surface and Pearl shot the magic through the ceiling, up and up, and she chased it, opening her wings and flying through the tunnel.

And eventually, oh so eventually, she saw the night sky, the stars glinting in the distance. She flapped her wings, desperately shooting up and letting the magic go as she soared into the sky, looking around for a roof to land on. She swooped and dove through the sky, and crashed onto the roof of some building relatively far from her escape.

She sat on the roof, breathing heavily as her heart beat fast. She waited for her heartbeat to slow, breathing in deeply as she regained her vision, and that vision adjusted to the darkness of the night.

She stood up on wobbly legs, ignoring the pain she felt. Scott’s thoughts were quiet. It was possible that he was asleep. It was midnight when Pearl had left her house, and it was probably around one o’clock now. She looked over the side of the roof to where she thought she exited the Underground.

Pearl rubbed her eyes as she looked at the buildings in that direction. There was an explosion of ice and snow around a gaping hole in the ground. Last she checked, she didn’t have ice powers.

She walked backwards, and Pearl hissed in pain as she remembered all the bullets that had been shot into her, the knife she’d gotten stabbed with in the gut.

She hesitantly lifted up her shirt, which was completely soaked through with blood, and holy fuck, that was a deep wound. She…

Was that her stomach? Holy—

Pearl vomited on the roof of the skyscraper.

#soul horizon au #around my soul and beyond your horizon #life series fanfic #life series #pearlescentmoon #maintagging bc this is interesting #trafficblr

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yurisorcerer · 1 year ago

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I've compared Jellyfish to other anime *a lot* while writing these off-the-cuff Thoughts posts, but to pull from an otherwise very different series, the ending here almost reminds me of that of Witch From Mercury? Decidedly good, and definitely fine-tuned to make you feel happy that our main pair are back together, but with just enough that doesn't quite add up that I feel remiss not to mention it.

To be clear, if the series' representational efforts outlive the actual text of the show itself, as may well happen, that's not actually a bad thing. Most anime would be lucky to have that legacy.

I want to zero in on Kano during the concert though, where we're early in the episode and she's clearly nervous. Flashbacks, intrusive-thoughts-as-voiceover. The literally-faceless masses. This is imagery we've seen associated with her before, as she's clearly reliving her trauma from her days with the Sunflower Dolls.

We see her basically bomb; the backing track kicks in but she can't sing, and suddenly the sound cuts out entirely, putting her in the bottom of the ocean. Mero, surprisingly, is the one who calls out to her to egg her on, although it's Mahiru's jellyfish that she looks at as Mahiru calls out to her as well. We get our big, swelling concert song, and then the moment is over. Jellyfish's narrative ends the second the music dies.

A mirror of the first episode as the two meet again for the first time in a while after Kano's performance. Ultimately, the conclusion they come to is that they kept their promises to each other, so everything's basically fine. This is clearly to some extent what the show wants us collectively to think, as well. Kano as the aimless singer who's finally found something to sing for, Mahiru as the ever down-on-herself visual artist who's found someone inspired by her paintings.

Kano says she wants to be a reason for people to keep looking forward, an interesting thought.

In the Sunflower Dolls / JELEE show's credit roll, Kano is credited under her preferred name. Yukine seems to mean this as---and certainly the show wants us to take it as---a gesture that Yukine, despite her past treatment of her daughter, respects her now. (An analogy is also drawn between the virtual audience the show draws and the 50,000 person capacity of the Tokyo Dome. Originally referred to several episodes ago, having one of her artists sing there was a long-term goal of Yukine's.) Clearly, not all is forgiven, as Kano playfully spurns her mother in the finale's closing minutes. Still, something about this feels…a little wishy-washy in a way I can't entirely put my finger on. It's a good ending, maybe the best ending this iteration of the series could've had, but not a great one. There's a distinction there, and this is the sort of show that practically begs rumination on distinctions of that nature. Yukine herself says, and I quote directly, "The difference between buzz and backlash ultimately hinges on an idea being meaningful." *Are* Jellyfish's ideas meaningful? I think that's an open question. Despite everything---Kano's trauma, the falling out with Mahiru and Mahiru's own impostor syndrome, the show's own strange pacing, Kiwi being bullied for their gender expression and for being "weird", the discrimination Mei faced---this ends as a feelgood story. That may be a bit too neat for me, I'm not sure.

I hate to bring up That Other Music Anime Airing Right Now while writing about this one yet again, but the main distinction between the two, I've finally realized, is that Girls Band Cry's emotional material feels much more raw. Jellyfish's best episodes do as well, but the show *on the whole* feels like it can't quite thread the needle in the same way. The comparison is perhaps unflattering to both anime, but I can't help myself here.

The series ends on a short run-through of denouement scenes, for the individual members of JELEE both apart and together as a group. Tellingly, it might be Kiwi's that works the best. The relatively straightforward nature of her arc makes her development feel the most earned and the most logical. At the same time, I'm having difficulty pinning down exactly *why* I don't feel quite the same way about the other characters. Perhaps because Mei was never particularly well-developed to begin with, and Kano and Mahiru's reunion feels....I'll say contrived? I can forgive letting a kiss on the cheek hang for six episodes. Letting that falling-out hang for, what, 3? Is a bit harder to stomach though. The entire plot there, I don't know, it takes away a bit from what the show is trying to do, and when what you're trying to do is this delicate, "a bit" can feel like a lot.

Anyway; The over-painting scenes being drawn as though they're shot through the phone is a cool touch, I like it.

What Jellyfish does manage to capture is the warm mundanities of friendship and life in the digital age, and I like Kano's little speech to the others at the end here. That's worth something, I think. Not many anime end with their casts literally waving goodbye to the camera.

Time, as my memories of the show crystalize and harden, will tell whether I end up truly feeling that those warm feelings are "enough" to rate Jellyfish particularly highly, both on its own terms and as compared to other anime that have come and gone (and will come and go) this year. But that's also sort of a way of looking at art that is ruthless enough to not always be appropriate. So I'll say it here if I never remember to again, the people who made this clearly cared about it a lot. There's love in it, and love does matter.

#jellyfish can't swim in the night #Yoru no Kurage wa Oyogenai #yurisorcerer talks about media

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bylertruther · 2 years ago

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It's that time again! Tell me about some of your favorite blogs, why they are your favorite, and tag them to fill the dashboard with positivity and love!

a selection of some of my faves in no particular order, of course 💌

@heroesbyler — my wife, my dearest, and my mike. one of my first friends in this fandom and someone that i trust so much i'd give her my social security number if she asked. stav is super intelligent (in so many ways), kind, funny, thoughtful, brave, and observant. her analyses punch me in the tit and kill me dead. she speaks clearly and with conviction. she stays true to her beliefs and doesn't say or do things just to appease the masses, which is, for whatever reason, a rarity in this fandom. a lovely person inside and out, really and truly—her kindness and empathy blows me away, and makes my heart feel all fuzzy. my mom's a big fan based on what i've told her dfjdshb. a great blog to follow if you want to take a deeper look at the characters on our screens, not just will and mike, and how all of the themes, messages, and journeys in this show reinforce each other. also if you like to laugh. :')

@miwism — mal is the most creative person i've had the honor of meeting in this fandom. super kind, super funny, and super inventive. one of the very few people that have managed to make me laugh out loud—and not just once, but repeatedly. so many posts that i'll randomly remember months later and bust out into giggles over. best fics, best art, best posts, best ideas, and best additions to your posts, too. seriously, mal, i've secretly wondered if you've ever done improv before because your ability to take an idea and expand on it is just that great. i love them, i want to hug them, and if they asked me to drop everything on a thursday to go to publix with them, i would. idec if it'd take me hours to get there, i Would and it'd be worth it. 💚

@wiseatom — just thinking about her fics makes me tear up on the spot. i've cried after reading her work multiple times, even on rereads, because a) they were so good that i felt devastated that it was over, and b) i would never experience that magical First Time Reading feeling again. thea's just overall talented out the fucking wazoo—like, it's actually insane. she's a talented writer, a talented artist, a true creative, so eloquent, so charming, and such a delight. i could never meet her irl and keep my composure because i would just be on my fan behavior without a way to turn it off. she'd try to talk to me and i'd just be staring at her dreamily like this: 😍🥹😊🥰💕.

@sayyourprayers — if nobody got me, i know they got me. 🫂 even when i think i'm being sneaky, they still know exactly what i'm talking about, which i am choosing to believe is a part of our superior warriors bond as well as them being very smart, and not just me being as easy to read as a toddler book. they're very funny and very straightforward. no bullshit whatsoever. i always read their tags and replies, and find them to be really insightful and witty. they're another individual that has their own beliefs and interpretations and doesn't change them based on what's currently popular or not. i like that, because i personally hate when shit starts sounding like an echo chamber. overall, i just really love their blog! i always, always tune in to see what they have to say and i find myself smiling whenever i see them in my notes.

@googoogagaeyes — doozy's another real one. she describes herself in her intro post as a lover and a hater and i couldn't agree more (in the best way possible, of course). i think she has a very text-focused and holistic way of tackling the show: she talks about the good, the bad, and the neutral, which i find to be refreshing and desperately needed. i always read everything she writes, whether it's in the tags or in the post itself, and either learn something, laugh, or, as is usually the case, do both. speaking of which, her analyses are always to the point and written in such a way that the reader feels respected. she doesn't drone on or fluff it up, which i appreciate. super eloquent, intelligent, and funny. very much a necessary follow if you enjoy this show and excellent commentary tbh.

@alastyearonearth — alfreddddd ✋🥺 (<- me putting my hand on the screen like the wives of soldiers at war do in dramatic movies)....... oh, alfred. if there's anyone i'm normal about, it's him 👍 (lies) (biggest lie i've ever told in my life actually) (my pants are currently on fire right now) (🚒🧯👨‍🚒 <- they're here to put me out). i feel like my feelings for him and his blog can be summed up by the fact that when i realized we both went on vacation at around the same time, i was ecstatic because that meant i wouldn't miss his posts. bdfhjbsdkj. he's one of the biggest brains and most generally knowledgeable people here, and it rocks my world every time he says anything. he has an appreciation for canon and the real people whose stories are represented within it that this fandom sorely, and ironically, lacks. also, while i'm on my fan behavior right now, allow me to admit that i would go through his blog sometimes for months before i finally put on my big kid pants and followed him. i'm very much not beating the parasocial allegations and tbh i think it's understandable bc Hello !!!! look at him!!!! (gesticulates wildly in his and his posts' direction). 10/10 would ruin my sleep schedule for him, submit myself to the torture of a 24hr flight for him, go on a museum marathon together, and slather myself in superglue right before hugging him so that we're stuck together forever afterward. necessary follow for anyone that likes to not get pissed off when they log on and enjoys canon, esp will. alfred please can we hang out please alfred whenever you're free please if you'd like to hang out can we please hang out when you are free ple—

@motherthroat — you know that andrew garfield "(you didn't know me at thirteen) i really wish i had" quote? it applies here, because i so wish i'd met him last summer. liking canon will, mike, and byler used to be so lonely and frustrating, but now it isn't anymore and that's largely because of him. if you haven't caught on by now, i like following people that are very frank, and mori's no different. he's not afraid to be bold either. i love his art, his AUs, and his takes. he's funny, treats you the way you treat him, and has a great eye for aesthetics. well. a great eye in general, i think. not to get #deep (or repetitive), but i think he sees more than he lets on, and it really comes out in his art, his headcanons, his interpretations, and the way that he speaks to people. he remembers things and really ponders them. there's a kind of carefulness there that i admire as someone with as much grace as a bull in a china shop. just a cool cat, really.

@cosmobrain00 — MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAX! (screamed the same way that will screamed for mike on halloween night). they're literally so talented that it's not even funny anymore. like, their writing is next level and the fact that we can read it for free (wtf!!!!) feels like a crime. their art is so pleasing to look at and i love their style so much. their thoughts on this show and these characters are superb, too. so passionate, so kind, and so loving—and it shows in everything they do. it's always a good time whenever they decide to share their two cents and spit some divine wisdom on us plebs, so i definitely recommend everyone check them and their content out!

@drangues — arush is literally [starts snarling and hissing and snapping and howling at the moon and other cuteness aggression-related things]. sorry, i meant to say he's so bhjfbkdsjhfbdks grrrrrrrr bark bark bark awooooooooo. just unbelievable. unreal. the blueprint. he's my cousin and my friend and my son and my stinkie squishie and also my greatest enemy and bully (he's only consented to two of these, but they're still true). seriously... arush is SO funny. his headcanons are wonderful and #real, his artwork is insanely good and creative and colorful, he's so sweet and silly, and thoughtful and merciful, too. just !!!!!! squishing his face in all ways except physical right now. if you're not following arush drangues then you deserve to get sent straight to the scorpion pit, i feel.

@givehimthemedicine — effortlessly hilarious, kind, bright, and oh so talented in a variety of ways, both creatively and intellectually. and they have the nerve to make it look easy!! like wtf!!! they're also the most likely to drop the most insane observations ever and act like they didn't just change the trajectory of your life forever. pure insanity, i say. they're my favorite blog outside of the byIer bubble and their el's first haunted house post is easily in my top three and i still giggle over it.

@mikeandwillel — when sandy speaks, i listen and take notes. simple as that. a true mike understander and knower. she's posted wonderful analyses on many topics, all of which are super concise, text-based, and show a thorough understanding of storytelling. i love hearing her thoughts on this show and her interpretation of things. i'm especially excited to see what she thinks once we start getting s5 crumbs! oh, and she also posts great edits! :D

@aemiron-main — if loving em is wrong, then i don't wanna be right. if it becomes illegal tomorrow, then call me el because my ass is going to jail asap. he's one of the kindest, funniest, most genuine people on this website. he's always open to discuss things, look at them from a different angle, and share his knowledge. i can't even say that he treats people the way they treat him, because he treats them a lot better. if anything, he's extremely merciful and forgiving lol. he has a wealth of knowledge on a multitude of subjects, an extremely keen eye, and seemingly endless creativity / an open mind. literally a modern day sherlock, but much cooler. also very resilient and tough. and an outstanding artist, too! (what can't he do, sheeeesh!). he's written analyses on what feels like everything about the show at this point, so i'd definitely recommend going through those if you haven't already.

#asks #long post #five years later 🫶#which is to say two entire months later. i am so prompt and punctual and good at replying to things in a timely fashion !#no read more bc i'm giving u guys a thumb work out n u should be thanking me for tht . btw.

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dominickeating-source · 1 year ago

Text

Star Trek Monthly, #91 (2002)

A Good Reed by Paul Simpson and Ruth Thomas

Taking your first few tentative steps into the wilds of space is a daunting prospect, particularly when there are all sorts of nasties out there. So, there's no better person to have at your side than a first class tactical officer who knows all about the business end of a phaser.

"I nagged my dad rotten to get the first colour telly in our street so I could see Star Trek in colour," Dominic Keating reveals. "I was absolutely gobsmacked when Spock's shirt was blue!"

Star Trek was an important part of Keating's early life - whether watching the "fried eggs fall off the civic walls" in Star Trek: The Original Series' Operation: Annihilate!, or being inveigled into the universe of Star Trek: The Next Generation when his housemate would only allow that one programme to be watched on his satellite system. Kirk's "various Helen of Troy girlfriends, in their flowing chiffon, were my first foray into, 'Phwoar! She's nice!" while his interest in Patrick Stewart's Jean-Luc Picard was piqued by seeing "an English actor in an American show". A friend tried to entice him to watch Star Trek: Voyager by describing Seven of Nine in glowing detail, but Keating carefully explains that, "I'm really surprised and pleased that yes, it is Star Trek that we're doing on Enterprise, but it is also really distinctly different from Voyager."

Now, 18 episodes into the filming of Enterprise's first season, Keating has come over to the UK to promote the series' launch on Sky One - and to catch up with old friends, family and the latest plays in London's West End. As he admits, he's becoming more and more used to the frenzy that surrounds Star Trek after some initial reservations. "I've done three conventions now: I'm the convention queen, actually! There was a certain amount of trepidation for the first one or two, but by the third one I was in a stride. It's like interviews, once you get into doing them, you just free up and let yourself come through."

There aren't many interviewees who punctuate the discussion with a free vocal rendition of their series' theme tune, but Keating will warble à la Russell Watson at a moment's notice. "It's my convention opener," he admits. "They always say, 'We haven't got the soundtrack', and I say, 'No worries - give me the mike!'"

The relaxed atmosphere on the Enterprise set clearly suits Keating. "There's a great energy," he points out. "Right from the get-go at the read through, when we all met that one time. We just had a simpatico and a generosity. None of us took each other too seriously, and there was some good gentle ribbing."

As he leans backwards and forwards on the hotel bedroom chair, gesticulating wildly to make his points, his own energy is very evident, and he's starting to bring that out in Malcolm Reed. "I'm learning to free him up a bit," he says. "I'm not frightened to have him be contratictory. He doesn't have to be this quintessential, buttoned-down, by the book English guy, who's shy of girls. He can also be all that I am. God knows, each in our own way, we are all a multitude and a mass of contradictions. I'm glad they didn't shoot me out of the gate as quickly as they did with one or two of the other characters. I didn't have to make my mind up and make those split second decisions about the character, what his likes and dislikes were, and how he would react in given moments. It's been a nice trickle up from the boots, right up to the Prada Right Stuff boiler suit!"

Keating has enjoyed the pace. "It's changed a lot, even in seven months," he explains. "The first time I ever see myself play a particular role on screen, it's always a shock. And God knows it was, on that big screen at Paramount, which is 35-feet high! It wasn't even on a fuzzy little telly so I could hide behind the sofa. It takes me two or three viewings until I start to think that I wasn't so bad in it. It was a little bit disconcerting the first time though. What really got me though, was the scene in the temporal room. I really got excited, because suddenly this pilot looked like a movie. I was really proud that I was in something that was bloody good, and not just some TV sci-fi show. It really looked expensive and exciting. The hairs on the back of my neck went up, and the reaction afterwards in the foyer at Paramount was just so good."

Most of the discoveries about Reed have been as much a surprise to the actor when he receives the scripts as they are to the viewer on transmission.

"There was a time when I was getting a little worried that Malcolm was getting left out of things," he admits. "And that this first thrust of the triumvirate of Archer, Trip and T'Pol, which they obviously had as a game plan, was going to be the plan for the duration. I didn't say anything, but I started to get a little antsy. But luckily I just showed up, I was of service, and did the best with what they gave me. And it worked out, because they started looking at the dynamic between me and other characters, particularly Trip, and they got right on it. There were a couple of scenes in an episode, at about the one-third mark, where it was obvious that as actors he and I had a certain chemistry. We just finished a wonderful episode where we are in a room together on Shuttlepod One. It's him and me for 50 pages, and I never thought I would get that kind of experience and be presented with that kind of challenge as an actor on Enterprise. I've done some really hard-hitting plays here in London - new plays and award-winning stuff - and this was equal to that. And, of course, it's in front of a camera, so you know that instead of an audience of 900, it's going to be seen by an audience of millions. That's exciting!"

Keating is still getting a buzz from the role. "When I walk through what they call the Godfather Alley between Stage 8 and Stage 16 and I turn around, there's the Paramount water tower in the background. I get to my trailer with my name in embossed italics on the door...May that feeling I get never end, and I mean to keep that as close to my heart for as long as I can. There may come a day when that isn't there anymore, so I have to be really aware of it right now."

The cast are all now finding their feet with their characters, and Keating passes on a word of advice that executive producer Brannon Braga gave him. "We were standing outside in the sunshine, and he said, 'Don't be frightened to say to a director that you actually know this better than him. Thanks for the suggestion but that's not going to work in this scene.'" As it's transpired, Keating can't recall a time he's needed to put that into operation, and he has nothing but praise for the various directors who have worked on the show. "Rick Kolbe was wonderful to work with," he enthuses. "I really got on with him. He was open to discussion about the tone and tenor of some scenes. My natural inclination as an actor is sometimes to overact. I grew up as a stage actor, and if you do that in front of a camera, it looks ridiculous."

Keating explains that there's a difference between being a guest actor on a show, as he's done on numerous occasions, and being a series regular. "To be honest, I was still a novice when I came to do Enterprise," he admits. "I hadn't done 15 episodes back-to-back on a drama in front of a camera. I'd done a half-hour sitcom here in London, but that's a whole different ball game. It's a totally different dance. The camera still held a certain fear for me. I wasn't playing to it, but now, I have to say, I'm getting quite good at understanding the language of film and the camera's part in the production process. You play the scene between two people, but open up ever so slightly to let the audience in when you know that it's dramatically right.

"[Laurence] Olivier used to talk about the three 'I's: there's part of you as an actor that knows you are an actor playing a part, there's part of you that must be the part, and there's part of you that knows you are an actor playing a part in front of an audience and never forgets that. The camera is your audience, and I'm slowly and surely growing to really love that audience."

Indeed, Keating loves the camera to the extent that he has started attending the LA Film School, learning how to direct. "I want to take that to Rick Berman, and he'll probably go, 'Oh God, another actor who wants to direct!' I heard that there was this opportunity if you really show the intention, and if you nag him enough, he'll let you do it."

Keating reveals that various scenes in the pilot had to be re-shot after Paramount Pictures studio head Kerry McCluggage queried the hairstyles, particularly "Scott [Bakula's] little beatnik, trendy young haircut, so they gave him a side parting."

Ask about his favourite experience, and without hesitation Keating nominates Shuttlepod One. "I can't tell you how excited I was," he says. "And I get excited when Marvin Rush gets excited. Our director of photography is one of the old hands on the show, and particularly when he's got the camera on his back and he is part of the scene with you, it gets his juices going. I get really excited when I see this 16-year veteran of the franchise get excited about what he's filming."

The conditions under which the episode was shot were different as well. "It was something else!" Keating recalls. "We had three days in an igloo that they built for us. In the show, we'd turned the thermostat down to preserve our oxygen: we're running out of oxygen fast and we're floating in space. They placed six or seven huge air-conditioning units with dry ice everywhere, and put the pod on plinths. They wanted the breath gag, where you can see our breath, but even with dry ice packed everywhere, it wasn't doing it, so before each take one of the prop guys was filling the shuttlepod with liquid nitrogen out of this huge gaping pipe. We were literally frozen to the bone for three days straight, for 15-hour days, but there was something so wonderful about the camaraderie and getting the job done. Connor [Trinneer, a.k.a. Trip] and I put some good stuff in the camera that week. I was worn out when it was over, but the morning after, I'd have got up and done it all again!"

Keating has high hopes for Reed's character development as the seasons progress. "There is some sort of sense that he is an enigma," he says. "I can see in Malcolm, somewhere in that repression, there is a passion that can't quite find its way out. People are going to read this and go, 'It's Star Trek, kiddo!' and yes, it is Star Trek, kiddo, but maybe it will be different. I think Brannon Braga is going to like writing for Malcolm Reed. I think he is the most interesting character on the ship!"

Source: www.dominickeating.com

#dominic keating #the keating cult #star trek enterprise

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