#Galactic Quiet Storm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enigmaticexplorer · 27 days

Text

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter XXXI

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers.

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 7.3K

19 Kelona

A wave crashed against the rocks, a fracas of white froth leaping for the cliff before collapsing back into the ocean below.

From where Kazi sat—her feet dangling over the rocky outcrop, the sheer cliff a ten-meter drop—the ocean pressed against the horizon, an inimitable expanse of power. Foam and water droplets soddened her boots; the thundering waves dampened her socks. But she didn’t feel the cold water. She didn’t feel the mushiness of her socks and the chill settling in her toes.

Running a finger along the dragon carving’s wings, Kazi stared at the sea-glass creature. It was reared back, wings splayed wide, its maw open in a mighty roar.

Sea. The dragon who had embraced a helpless people, shielded them from an oceanic storm, sacrificed his life for humans. So they could live another day.

All these years and Kazi never made the connection. Never wondered which myth determined Daria’s carving. Never asked about her little sister’s experience with the Carver.

Now, it would forever remain a story untold.

An intentional crunch sounded behind her. Her shoulders stiffened; her hands flexed around the dragon carving. She continued to watch the horizon as her companion neared. A military haircut past its monthly cut; cheeks and jaw bearing a shadow of bristles. Cody took a seat beside her. His legs hung over the edge. He didn’t seem to mind the water splashing his black boots, either.

They sat in silence. For a long time.

They hadn’t spoken since Kazi and Neyti met the men at the Naboo spaceport.

The flight from Eluca to Naboo took 23 hours. Kazi didn’t sleep; she hardly ate. At one point, she was convinced it was all a nightmare. She would awake to Wolffe kissing her, Daria and Cody cooking breakfast in the kitchen, Neyti sparring with Fox and Nova outside while Fluffy prowled the perimeter of the yard. They would eat, they would laugh, they would leave for Ceaia. She and Daria would return home, together, and they would go sailing in two months.

But the nightmare persisted until she was forced to reckon with reality: Daria was gone.

Kazi and Neyti arrived to a bustling spaceport crowded with numerous species and a cacophony of unrecognizable languages. Kazi clutched Neyti’s hand as they deboarded. They didn’t wander long before an imposing figure found them, a mask belonging to an unfamiliar species hiding his face. Wolffe scooped Neyti into his arms; the little girl laughed her glee, clinging to his neck, but she quickly sobered.

“We have to go back,” Neyti said to Wolffe. A serious look unbefitting a youngling her age solemnized her countenance. “We left Daria. She’s waiting for us.”

Kazi grew rigid, wilting; the bustling spaceport faded beyond her unseeing stare. Grief, a shadow haunting, threatened to drag her into its dark, bottomless pit. Distantly, she was aware of Wolffe’s hand on her arm, his quiet “What happened?”

There was an incessant ticking in the back of her skull. Each human that walked past reminded her of the magistrate; they were here to kill her, like they killed her sister—

She forced herself to blink, to breathe. She balled her fists so tightly the skin of her palms broke beneath her fingernails.

“Daria’s not coming back,” Kazi said thickly. Neyti frowned her confusion. “We’re not…” Her voice turned brittle. “We’re not going to see her again.”

“Oh.” Neyti dropped her gaze to the floor. “Okay.”

The fingers around Kazi’s arm flexed. Wolffe lowered his masked face. “Ennari…”

“We need to go,” she said. “Please.”

Wolffe gave a short nod, adjusted Neyti in his arm, and then shifted his hand to her spine. They were boarding the men’s ship a few minutes later.

All of it—the reunion, the eight-hour flight to Ceaia—passed in a tenebrific haze. Easy smiles turned grave; an inflectionless, objective recount of last night; a little girl sleeping soundly; a tail-wagging anooba nudging her hand when she dug her fingernails into her palms; Wolffe applying bacta spray to her twinging ankle, cleaning her hands of caked blood; an arm fortressing her as he guided her head to his shoulder. She managed to sleep the remaining two hours of the flight.

When they landed on Ceaia, Kazi resolved herself to their work: transferring boxes to the sylvan house, removing protectant sheets from furniture, establishing rooms. She even took Neyti grocery shopping. They wandered for some time.

Outlook Harbor looked the same. Colorful buildings lining the docks, fishermen unloading their hauls, dragon statues guarding the shops. And yet Kazi hardly recognized it—the people, the ocean, the western mountains in the distance.

It took her far too long to realize the difference: her sister. Without Daria, the colorful exteriors were pedestrian; the docks’ mazelike routes underwhelmed; the dragon statues were bereft of prowess, the snow dusting them in a doleful repose.

Kazi could feel her control slipping, a ball of yarn unspooling too fast. Too much.

The urge to cry constricted her throat. Her eyes burned from the combination of sleep deprivation and grief. She wanted to hide from the damning glares of the dragons. She wanted to flee these familiar streets and the memories they brought forth. She wanted to go back in time and convince Daria to take Neyti. To leave her behind, instead.

Her breaths grew loud and shallow; her hands shook at her sides. The grief swarmed within, thick and suffocating. It started in her chest, a swollen mass pressing against her ribcage and lungs, spreading throughout, numbing fingers and toes, pounding in her mind—

“Who’s that?”

The question yanked Kazi into the physical: the chilly street, the bright yellow storefront, the ocean’s waves churning. She frowned at Neyti. The youngling was observing a dragon statue outside the closest shop—a dragon sitting primly, its head raised alertly, its spine curved with regal disposition.

“That’s”—Kazi cleared her throat—“Erud. She guarded the Library of Xand where all of our historical accounts are preserved.” She managed a faint smile. “Some of the oldest scrolls in the galaxy are stored there.”

Neyti considered Erud for several seconds and then blinked at Kazi. “Can we get shaved ice?”

A laugh broke free. The noise was a little sore, a little rusty, but it was a laugh, nonetheless.

“Of course,” Kazi said. Taking Neyti’s hand in her own, she started down the snow-covered path. Muscle memory—developed over the years exploring these streets with Daria—guided her forward. “I know the perfect place.”

Another wave slammed against the rocky outcrop where Kazi and Cody sat. Seaweed-scented spray doused their boots and the cuffs of their trousers. The water was cold, bone-wearying.

“Daria would have loved today,” Kazi said. Her thumb plucked the spires of Sea’s spine, as a musician would the strings of her instrument. “She always preferred these quieter storms.”

“I know.” Cody scanned the horizon. “She…was excited to show me this view.”

“There’s nothing like it,” Kazi murmured. Breaths as white as unblemished snow condensed the air; the skin of her legs wept at the chill burrowing deep. She swallowed and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A low sigh fell from the man beside her. He rubbed a hand across his bristled jaw. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m the one who killed him—”

“Stop,” Cody ordered. The sharp command made her wince. Sorrow dulled the usual warmth of his gaze. “Reliving that moment won’t bring her back.”

Kazi pressed her lips together; her eyes roved across his face. He looked older, somehow. A deep line was scored between his brows, and his creased mouth was downturned. Exhaustion cricked his posture. “Did you love her?” she asked.

Cody mustered a thin smile. “We didn’t have what you and Wolffe have. I wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship. After the War…after the things I did…” He rolled his shoulders back. “I had my objectives. And she wasn’t one of them. But…”

“She wasn’t someone you could ignore,” Kazi suggested.

His nod was pensive. “We got along well. I tried to hold back but I liked spending time with her. We agreed we could help each other. Give one another…comfort. We knew it wouldn’t go far—not with her disease and my focus elsewhere. But I did care for her. I know she cared for me, too.”

She studied his side profile. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

He angled his head back, breathing in the salty air. “In a different lifetime…different circumstances…I would have.”

“For what it’s worth,” Kazi said, “she loved you.”

“Daria only loved one person,” Cody said with a small chuckle. He pushed himself to his feet; he nudged her with the toe of his boot. “That person wasn’t me.”

The morning sun peeked through the opaque clouds, a curious pup nosing its way out of the safety of its birthing den. Snow flurries pearled her loose hair; the wind nipped at her cheeks and nose. Far away, storm clouds brewed. They escaped her notice, however, her attention drawn to the shoreline, to the rocks in the distance where a single lighthouse stood.

Since Kazi had last seen the lighthouse, its permanently dimmed light and weathered appearance hadn’t changed. But it still beckoned to her, as it had when she was a girl. Luring, a siren’s song of formative memories, ancient myths, blessings bestowed by a long-extinct species.

The booted crunch of fresh snow interrupted her reverie, and Kazi peered over her shoulder. The woods beyond—white-barked sequoia trees interspersed among dark evergreens—created a contrasting backdrop to the black of Wolffe’s appearance: black overcoat, black boots, black hair, one eye nearly black beneath the feeble sunlight. He surveyed their surroundings, rubbed his gloved hands together, and then settled beside her.

“Here.” He passed her a citrus-star from the bunch she and Neyti purchased yesterday. “Breakfast is waiting but I thought you’d like this for now.”

Kazi hummed her thanks, setting aside Daria’s dragon. The fuzz of the citrus-star tickled her thumb. “Neyti?”

“We made breakfast,” Wolffe said with a small smile. “She spilled the eggs so we concentrated our efforts on fruit carving. She wanted to make butterflies out of the melon.”

She lifted a brow. “How did they turn out?”

“Fucking awful.”

Wolffe broke into a grin at her laugh, his shoulder knocking against hers.

But their rapport soon faded beneath his assessment. His blatant search of her face: a disgruntled frown at the citrus-star she refused to peel; a flexed jaw at the snow she hadn’t bothered to brush away. He considered her for several seconds; she knew what he saw, for she had seen it in the mirror, too—the haunted gauntness she couldn’t entirely hide. Not from him at least. But she didn’t shy from his calculated silence, expecting this conversation—

“That the lighthouse Neyti painted?”

The question caught Kazi off guard but she hastily recovered.

“That was so long ago,” she said, surprised. “I can’t believe you remember it.”

Wolffe shrugged. “It was one of the first paintings Neyti showed us. She was proud of it.”

“She was.” Kazi breathed a chuckle, studying the lighthouse’s gashed paint. “Daria and I…that was our favorite place.”

Wolffe pressed his thigh against hers. “You wanna visit it?”

“No.” Her fingernails pierced the citrus-star’s peel; orange juice stickied her palm. “I can’t. Not…”

With a blasé shrug, Kazi pushed herself to her feet. The citrus-star and dragon carving found temporary homes within her gray coat’s pockets, her citrus-bloodied hands forced to brave the cold temperature for a few more minutes.

Slowly, Wolffe followed. He brushed snow from his thighs—a casual gesture that belied his tension—and then, in a serious, calm tone, he said, “How are you?”

The gentle probing of his question, the slight hunch in his posture as he regarded her—Wolffe’s care splintered the last thread of her control. The spool of yarn unraveled completely.

“I’m trying—” Her face crumpled. Her voice cracked, broke, shattered as she whispered, “I’m—I’m trying to keep it together. But it’s hard. It’s so hard, Wolffe.”

“Hey.” He gripped her shoulders. “Ennari—”

“I left her. I fucking left her.” Dizzily, she stared at the top button of his coat. Her eyes were burning; her chest was clenched tightly. “It was supposed to be me. It should’ve been me—”

“Kazi.” Large hands held her face, forcing her head back to stare Wolffe in the eye. “Don’t fucking say that.”

She met his gaze with a vacant look. “Daria gave herself up because of what I did. And now she’s dead, and I miss her—” She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to steady her breath. “Fuck, I miss her so much. I thought we had more time—I should’ve given her more time—”

“Don’t fucking say that.” Wolffe shook her slightly. “Daria made her decision. And you owe it to her to live your life. Do you understand?”

He stared at her, harsh breaths angry, desperate eyes wide. She stared back, a tear heating her skin, wetting her lips.

Exhaustion sunk into the very marrow of her bones; she hardly noticed the pale sunlight embracing her body or the snowflakes twinkling like stars. She could only stare at Wolffe. The flurries curling his hair. The glint of his scar against the snow-laden landscape. The strain in his expression at her emptiness.

It was his concern—the slight fear he was trying so hard to hide—that convinced her to close her eyes. To lean into him.

Then, he was holding her, running his hand down her spine, guiding her face to his chest.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” Wolffe pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I know.”

22 Kelona

“It’s a sand dollar,” Kazi explained.

The sand, wet with a bone-gnawing chill, squished beneath her burrowing as she carefully uncovered the sea urchin. Bristly spines protruded from the purple exoskeleton; the five pores undulated. She shared a grin with Neyti.

“You know, sand dollars are rare.” She paused. “Daria and I used to spend hours out here trying to find one.”

Neyti studied the creature with her usual shrewdness and then whispered, “I miss her.” Dejectedly, she curled inwards on herself, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “I wish she was here.”

“I…” Kazi stared at Neyti, motionless. Anguish flared behind her ribcage. A cruel, burning fist constricting her heart and lungs; its roaring flames dulled the mellow waves—

“I miss her, too,” she whispered. “But she did something brave.” She smoothed a stray strand of hair from Neyti’s face; the little girl closed her eyes and turned her cheek into Kazi’s palm. “Just like your mom.”

While the waves splashed and the thud of paws against wet sand surrounded them, Kazi squeezed Neyti’s hand. The little girl squeezed back. A poked nose, a shy grin in response, and Kazi motioned to their small friend.

“Long ago, sand dollars were once used as Ceaian currency,” she said. “Their rarity made them equivalent to thousands of modern-day credits.”

Gingerly, Neyti poked the creature’s rounded exterior. “But they’re living things.”

“They are.” Kazi leaned back on her haunches. Ocean water soaked her trousers; her knees shifted with the sand. “That’s why the currency was outlawed. The sand dollars were going extinct, and we Ceaians believe in protecting the earth and its inhabitants. Today, you’re not allowed to collect sand dollars.”

Neyti approved this news with a satisfied nod and straightening, she scanned the dark brown shore with its receding waves. Bunches of seaweed—as dark as the evergreens secluding their house—sparsely forested the beach. An abundance of seashells embellished the sand, as a jeweler would adorn a necklace with diamonds, rare yet eye-catching. Neyti skipped toward the next creature that caught her attention—a crab’s shell.

With a small smile, Kazi started to push herself to her feet when a gloved hand entered her periphery. She accepted its assistance.

“Don’t understand how you’re not cold,” Wolffe said gruffly. The flaps of his long coat’s collar were raised, shielding his neck and jaw from the wind. He cast her damp trousers a reproving scowl. “You’re gonna get pneumonia, Ennari.”

Kazi scoffed, interlacing their arms. “I used to swim in this every morning. I’m immune.”

“I’m immune to most human diseases.” Wolffe hunched his shoulders against a biting breeze. “Not you.”

“Then it’s a good thing you like to take care of me.”

His wry scoff confirmed her remark.

“Should she be that close to the water?”

Kazi glanced over her shoulder to see Fox approaching, hands tucked into his coat’s pockets. Behind him, the impluvious sand bore the scars of his presence: booted prints leading from the cliff’s path. Similar to Wolffe, he wore a heavy coat, though he’d opted to don the hood.

“Neyti’s fine,” Kazi said.

An eager yip from Fluffy preceded the delighted squeal of the little girl. The three adults watched as Neyti crouched low, dusted sand from a bubbling hole, and then lifted an opulently blushing seashell. Fluffy nosed the shell with self-importance; the flick of his ears displayed his approval. Together, youngling and anooba continued their wandering.

Fox cracked his neck. “A rogue wave can—”

“Do you see any rogue waves?” A disdainful sniff was his only response, and Kazi threw him a pointed look. “Let her have her fun. She’s been through enough.”

He winced but fell into step beside her and Wolffe. After an awkward moment of silence, he said, “I have news.”

Wolffe tensed. “What?”

“I looked into Neyti’s family.”

Kazi froze mid-step and cast her gaze toward Neyti. “What did you learn?”

“Neyti’s grandmother was a senator in your capital,” Fox said. He spoke with a grim tone neatly folded into his otherwise characteristic apathy. “She was one of the proponents of the Security Bill.”

Kazi’s fingers spasmed on Wolffe’s arm; he frowned at her reaction.

“That was the bill that provided funding to the National Bureau of Security and Intelligence,” she explained to him. “It gave us funding and legal approval to spy on the Empire. Obviously, the bill didn’t outright declare the government’s intent. The language was murky. But, if you know what you’re looking for…Ceaia’s declaration of rebellion was right there.”

“And Neyti’s grandmother advocated for it,” Wolffe muttered in understanding. “That’s why her family was targeted.”

“Both grandparents were killed in the Purge,” Fox said. “Along with Neyti’s mother. Official records claim that Neyti was also killed.”

Farther along the shore, Neyti experimentally toed a bunch of seaweed. She waited. The seaweed did not react. Still, a toothy grin brightened the girl’s face. She leapt over the bunch, tucked the pink seashell into a pocket, and continued along her way. Fluffy pranced after her.

“I should’ve realized it,” Kazi murmured. “Her accent is so similar to—"

A low growl cut her off. Teeth bared, hackles raised, Fluffy scrutinized the steep cliffs behind the gathered adults. At his warning bark, Kazi whirled around. Two figures were approaching.

Instinctively, she staggered backwards, reaching for Wolffe, fear pulsing through her. But Wolffe and Fox were already reacting. They closed ranks, armed with their blasters which they kept lowered and hidden, and ordered Fluffy to take point.

“Neyti,” Kazi said urgently, gesturing to the little girl. “Come here.”

Neyti hurried over. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were wide with alarm. The alarm quickly subsided, however, replaced with shock and then elation.

“Steiner!”

Glee sang in the shout as Neyti pushed herself between Wolffe and Fox and darted forward. Kazi lunged for the back of her coat but the youngling escaped.

“Neyti!” Kazi reprimanded.

Intrepid, the little girl kept running. Wet sand splattered beneath her shoes. Her twin braids streamed through the wind. She was laughing and smiling and pumping her arms harder, and only then did Kazi see what she’d previously overlooked: a third, smaller figure. This small figure was sprinting, too, and met Neyti halfway.

Both girls skidded to a halt. They regarded one another for a pent breath and then they were hugging, beaming, regaling. Their hands danced with zealous gesticulations. Their grins shone with dimpled merriness.

“That’s Heracli,” Kazi informed Wolffe and Fox, her attention focused on the girl’s reunion. A smile tugged on her mouth at their jubilance; her amusement didn’t last long, though, interrupted by the nearing adults. “And the man is her husband, Quin.”

Heracli and Quin Obisany halted several meters away. Kazi hardly blamed them for their wariness. The minacious demeanor displayed by Wolffe and Fox—expressed in harsh calculation and apathetic belligerence—created an unfriendly atmosphere. Their palmed blasters did little to defuse the situation, either.

“Fehr told me that you left Eluca,” Heracli said. Shivering in her long coat, she offered a half-hearted smile. “Steiner has been pestering us to see Neyti.”

Kazi eyed the dark-haired couple. “What are you doing here?”

“We didn’t have much of a choice.” Heracli shifted between her feet, weariness dimming her usually perceptive gaze. “We were tracking the doonium shipments from Quin’s mine but the Empire learned of this and, to protect Steiner, we had to flee.”

“But why here?” Kazi motioned to the tumbling ocean and the rain-sodden cliffs. “Why Ceaia?”

Heracli pursed her lips. “The Empire abandoned this planet two months ago, and the network, too. We’re safe from possible repercussions from both sides.”

Kazi exchanged a glance with Wolffe and Fox. “Why would the network go after you?”

“We know too much,” Heracli said simply. Her eyes wandered from Kazi to the two little girls and, hoarsely, she said, “We all know too much.”

A stilted silence settled across the beach; only the lapping waves disrupted it. Neyti and Steiner set off along the shore, heads bent together, breaths puffed, coats bundled. Fluffy followed at a cautious pace.

“Do you know”— Kazi scrutinized Heracli and Quin—“what the network was planning to do on Ceaia?”

“They wanted to build a base,” Quin answered. Black eyes, as dark as his skin, pierced her with astute cunning. “To fight the Empire, the Rebellion needs a base to host troops and ships. Command thought that Ceaia could be a potential host once the Empire left.”

A swift, silent look passed between Wolffe and Fox. The look of two commanders assessing military information.

“They decided against it,” Kazi said.

The report she’d read so long ago replayed in her mind: complaints of Ceaia’s unideal location and its underdeveloped technology. Like the Imps, the rebel network had abandoned Ceaia. They were…gone.

Dazedly, she surveyed her environment—the gray mountains spired among the thick clouds, the indomitable expanse of the dark blue ocean, the lightless lighthouse still standing after decades of neglect. She was home, and she was safe.

After everything they had endured, it didn’t seem possible. Real.

“Neyti’s missed Steiner,” Kazi said.

The statement—a tentative gesture of reconciliation—earned her acknowledging nods from Heracli and Quin. She didn’t trust them. Based on Wolffe and Fox’s persistent silences, they retained their mistrust, too. But, for Neyti, she would try.

So Kazi reached for Wolffe; he holstered his blaster, bringing her hand to his mouth as they observed the scene before them. Neyti was showing Steiner the pink seashell; both girls regarded it with awe.

Quietly, Kazi added, “She’ll be happy to have her friend back.”

26 Kelona

The warm light of the crescent moon fractured among bare skin and tangled sheets. It shadowed strained muscles; highlighted scars, tattoos, bruises.

Kazi stared at the pool of stars above as she fisted the sheets. Her moans were breathy; her eyelashes fluttered at another slow lick to her labia.

Between her legs, dappled in streams of amber, Wolffe was a sculpture carved by a god: the breadth of his shoulders distinct; the curls of his hair defined; the long fingers on the flesh of her thighs firm, possessive.

Tonight, he took his time. He’d undressed her with patient kisses to her neck and breasts. He’d skimmed a hand along her back, tracing each knob of her spine, sucking on her breasts; she’d clung to his shoulders to steady herself, wetness pooling between her legs. Only the trembling of his hands betrayed his anticipation.

Soon, he was kneeling before her and removing her underwear. Warm lips scattered kisses along her calves, her inner thighs. Large hands palmed her ass, pressed her into their bed.

Wolffe pleasured her with an experience developed from months of learning her body. From months of eager practice and single-minded determination to know her. All of her.

Each swipe of his tongue was unhurried, teasing enough to have her cunt throbbing with need, but casual enough to prevent her orgasm. Each pause was intentional; he watched her through hooded eyes, dipping two fingers inside of her, grinning lazily at the arch of her hips and the shudders in her legs. Each rasped praise renewed the flush in her cheeks; he smiled against her cunt, sucking on her clit as he stretched his fingers inside of her.

Eventually he lost himself to her pleasure, the restraints on his patience snapped.

The teasing licks turned into relentless sucking, and the smug grins gave way to guttural moans as he massaged the inside of her cunt harder, deeper. She was writhing, her head thrown back and sweaty hands clutching the sheets. Then, her legs were stiffening, her cunt clamping down hard, and she was coming.

Aftershocks of pleasure shivered through her body, and while her erratic breaths evened, she was reaching for the lube.

From where he knelt on the bed, Wolffe trembled as she smoothed lube onto his cock, as she stroked his inner thighs, skimmed a knuckle along his balls, traced the tip of his cock with her finger.

“Kazi.”

The strain in his voice brought a lazy smile to her mouth. A smile he sought with his lips, kissing her while he flattened her back into the mattress.

Forearms bracketing her head, he ground himself against her, lifted one of her legs as he pushed the tip of his cock into her. She squeezed her eyes shut at the stretch of him; she exhaled a shallow breath as he sank into her deeper; she bit his shoulder, gasping, once he was settled fully inside of her.

As always, he waited. Low breaths panted against her neck, and once she brought his mouth to hers, he started to thrust. Deep, slow thrusts that made her feel each centimeter of him.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he said roughly. He nuzzled his nose to her throat, murmured, “You’re mine to take care of.”

She was kissing him, and he was hitting a spot deep inside of her—a spot that had her clinging to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. She gasped. Everything grew tight. Her cunt clenched around his cock, and with a strangled cry, she came. He lasted only a few more thrusts and then he was coming, biting her shoulder, shuddering through his pleasure.

Afterwards, they laid together, his body atop hers, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Gentle fingers circled the lines of her ribcage, the muscles of her inner arms, the planes of her hips. Her own fingers smoothed the scars on his back and painted the tattoos of his left arm.

Half-asleep, she heard him whispering, hushed words breathed against her skin, barely audible. For a moment, she listened intently—

“I love you,” he whispered thickly. Something small and warm tickled her shoulder; it sank into her skin. “I love you.”

Gingerly, she lifted his face to hers. He didn’t resist, though he did angle his face into the nightly shadows; the moonlight caressed his wet eyelashes.

“I knew there was something more that day you checked on me at the lake,” she said with a sad smile.

Silently, he regarded her with an intensity unwavering: intrigued, hungry.

“You made me feel seen, and that terrified me. The thought of trusting you—relying on you…” She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t know when it truly started, maybe it was that day, or maybe it was when you stood up for Neyti and me at the Marketplace, I don’t know but”—she cupped his jaw—“I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

He swallowed. The fingers brushing her jawline, her ear, were trembling.

“Thank you,” she said. “For waiting for me.”

A tear splashed onto her chest. Hoarsely, he said, “Thank you. For loving me.”

3 Selona

A ragged blanket, its dark blue wan and edges frayed, beckoned to Kazi. Similar to how an elderly dog would wag its tail upon seeing its owner after years apart.

Neatly folded atop a wood carton—the handiwork of Daria, she assumed—the blanket seemed to deflate with each cautious step she took toward it. As if it knew its time was nearing and, after so long protecting its charges, it could finally rest. She knelt before it. The soggy floor of the lighthouse’s lantern room drooped beneath her weight. With trembling fingers, she removed the blanket, its threadbare material exhaling its final breath.

Old, faded drawings greeted her: fragile, and with a somber disposition born from years of neglect.

Carefully, Kazi lifted the flimsisheets from the carton. The drawings—expressions of dragons, once adoring parents, dancing sisters—were distorted and water-stained. Still, she could distinguish the difference between hers and Daria’s.

Her sister’s drawings displayed the practiced elegance and focused approach Daria had exuded even as a young girl. Kazi, on the other hand, had lacked artistic inclinations. Her drawings were crude, blobby rather than refined, disarrayed blending rather than composed shading.

Kazi held up two pieces. A mutual attempt by both sisters—when they were seven and five, if she were to hazard a guess—to draw Goch, the first dragon to befriend the Ceaian people. The comparison was unfair. Even at such a young age, Daria outmatched her in every artistic distinction. She couldn’t help but laugh.

She laughed at the ridiculous state of her drawing, and she laughed as she remembered how jealous she used to be of Daria’s talents, and she laughed as she shuffled through more mediocre drawings.

She laughed until she started to cry.

And she cried until her cheeks were caked with tears, and her eyes were puffy, and her chest hurt from the hollowness carving it open.

The dead blanket wiped her tears; the faded drawings held her hands.

Smiling wetly, Kazi brushed a finger along Daria’s imagination of their family, caressed the pale-skinned depiction of her sister, and then tucked the flimsisheets back into their carton. She folded the blanket; she nestled it atop its former charges. As she pushed herself to her feet, her knees aching from however long she had cried, she looked outside the broken window.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. The man below. Most likely, he’d returned from his run, noticed her absence, and then tracked her footsteps through last night’s downy snow. She braced her forearms on the windowsill and poked her head out.

Leaning against the lighthouse sat Wolffe. The early morning breeze ruffled his curls; his gaze was drawn to the clear, gray horizon.

“You can come up,” Kazi called to him. Wolffe tipped his chin back. He arched a brow in question. She grinned. “I think the stairs will hold your weight.”

His huff of exasperation preceded the amused shake of his head. Regaining his feet, he started for the door, and moments later, they stood together in the lantern room. He appraised their surroundings with his usual calculation: a finger skimming the wobbly railing, a bent study of the floor’s gaping holes, a boot nudging broken glass.

With its decayed walls, haphazard stairs, and smashed windows, the lighthouse didn’t seem like much. A relic of a bygone era.

But there was something in the air. It lingered. A strange mixture of rotting wood, old seawater, and crisp snowfall mixed and homogenized into the unmistakable scent of childhood. Of birdsong early on a summer morn, of frolicking among fields of waving wildflowers, of roasted nuts over a winter’s fire.

“I want to rebuild it,” Kazi said. Wolffe turned toward her, and she tucked her hands into her coat’s pockets. “No one owns it. The locals don’t bother to visit. And thanks to modern technology, lighthouses aren’t even necessary. But…” She thought about the dream she and Daria once shared. A dream to rebuild the lighthouse and open the most lauded inn across all of Ceaia. She offered Wolffe a hesitant shrug. “I want to rebuild it.”

His eyes narrowed as he assessed the room. “The foundation is solid. So is the structure. I checked them. But we’ll have to gut—”

“Wait.” Kazi frowned. “Why did you check the foundation?”

“I knew this was coming,” Wolffe said bluntly. He searched her face with characteristic patience. “Daria…told me a lot of things the last few months.”

Her frown deepened. “Like what?”

“That you don’t belong anywhere but Ceaia.” Wolffe took a step toward her. “That you would return. One day. And that I’d have to decide if I wanted to follow you.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “She told me about this place”—he motioned toward the stairs—“and she asked me to help you rebuild it. Hell, she made me promise, Ennari.” He tapped the underside of her chin, murmured, “And I did.”

Kazi swallowed. “She told you?”

A small nod was Wolffe’s sole response. He extended his hand, his half-smile affectionate; her palm slid into his. A callused, scarred warmth embraced her. At his gentle squeeze, she traced the rounded edge of his jawline, wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, brought his forehead to hers.

They remained like that for a long time.

As winter reached the culmination of its peregrination, softened soil welcomed citrus-star seedlings, and faint pink blossoms graced the white-barked sequoia trees of their haven, they whiled away long hours at the lighthouse.

It started with gutting the interior.

Early mornings Kazi spent with Cody. Other than the radio sharing news updates from across the galaxy, they worked in silence. Sweat dampening their shirts, faces flushed, equally dedicated to their task.

After their conversation on the cliff, they never talked about Daria again. Kazi suspected they never would. The relationship they developed the last year—hours spent in the kitchen teaching and learning unique recipes, borrowed books about painting techniques and subsequent conversations—had cracked. It was irreparable. They both knew it. And they both knew his days on Ceaia were numbered.

So those moments in the lighthouse, when it was just them, the morning tide, and the chilly breeze, provided them a reprieve. A reprieve from the grief, the longing, the blame.

Small smiles, hoarse chuckles, reassuring pats ensued. Kazi made her request for a painting and, during their breaks, Cody questioned her on descriptions, encouraged critique of his most recent sketches, explained the techniques he thought worked best.

The day Cody finished the portrait of Neyti’s mother was the last day he and Kazi spent time alone.

Gutting the lighthouse and rebuilding its interior took more than a month. Floor plans, sanctioned by the local construction company, provided clear instructions for the reconstruction of the staircase and the four floors; weekly site checks by a project manager approved the lighthouse’s structural additions and confirmed its compliance with safety measures.

Soon, the reconstruction concluded and the interior design process began. Neyti’s favorite part: painting.

An abundance of paint brushes, rollers, cans, and trays littered the various floors of the lighthouse. Throughout the painting weeks, the newly replaced windows remained open, the scent of springtime blossoms and salty ocean purifying the air of malodorous fumes. The floors’ ceilings and the lantern room’s domed roof required ladders; sore arms and shoulder muscles persisted.

One afternoon, wiping sweat from her forehead, Kazi stepped away from her section of the third floor’s wall. The warm sunlight dappled the light blue paint—a blue as pale as a melting glacier.

Downstairs, Fox, Nova, and Neyti were snacking on a basket of freshly baked bread, slices of cheese, and clusters of grapes. Kazi joined them. A grape popped into her mouth, a swig of the cool water. She took the time to stretch her aching fingers.

When they finished the reconstruction two weeks ago, she returned to her nightly quilting sessions with Nova. Last night, with a yellow thread reminiscent of autumnal leaves, he tied the last stitch. They unfolded the completed quilt, admired its threaded story, and then carried it downstairs to his bedroom, hanging it on a rod. A plethora of yellow and gray panels softened by stitches of greens and purples cascaded to the floor; the white border spanned the entirety of the wall.

Kazi smoothed a wrinkle. “Why didn’t you hang the other quilt in here?”

The first quilt Nova had completed—the quilt displaying the war memorial on Coruscant—blanketed the couch on the main level. Neyti used it often when she watched a holofilm.

“The memorial’s for my brothers. Not just me,” Nova said. He studied the quilt with a small smile. “This…is a reminder. That my vode are still with me. And that I can still do some good.”

“I like that,” she murmured.

For some time, while she perused the quilt’s intricate stitching, Nova studied her.

“Daria’s dragon,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You should consider moving it to your bedroom. It could be a good thing.”

She thought about Sea currently guarding the blue-stemmed, purple-blossomed plant in a window of the kitchen. “You might be right,” she said hoarsely.

A giggle interrupted last night’s memory and Kazi watched as Neyti tossed Nova another grape. He caught it midair, swallowed, and delivered a humble bow. Chuckling at their theatrics, Kazi grabbed a slice of bread and made the trek back to the quiet third floor.

Fingers dusted free of crumbs, a paint roller dunked into the tray of blue paint, she eyed her progress—

“I think you should hit me.”

Kazi stiffened, and she shot an unimpressed look over her shoulder. “I’m not hitting you.”

“You’re still angry with me,” Fox said with a casual taunt. He strolled into the room. A streak of blue paint bruised his cheek. “Releasing your anger can be a good thing. I know it. Wolffe knows it. Let’s get it over with and then we can move on.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not angry—”

“I was an asshole, Kazi.” He took the paint roller from her hand and tossed it onto the plastic-sheeted floor. A cocky grin failed to hide the guilt rounding his eyes. “It would make me feel better if you hit me.

“Hitting you doesn’t bring Daria back,” she said quietly.

“No.” His face slackened in resignation. “It doesn’t.”

The spring breeze rustled the canvas on the floor; its airy warmth fluttered through Fox’s curls and caressed Kazi’s face.

“You were an asshole, Fox,” she said, sighing. A muscle clenched in his jaw. “I hated you in that moment. I still hate what you said. But…” She hugged her arms around her stomach. “I’ve already lost Daria. I’m not interested in losing someone else.”

“I cared for a lot of men,” Fox said after a moment of contemplative silence. “And they all ended up dead. Pushing others away…it was easier than dealing with their deaths.” He swallowed. “But…I don’t want to live the rest of my life like that.”

Kazi retrieved her paint roller and placed it in his hand. A clean roller dipped into the paint tray greeted her own. They worked in silence.

An hour later, returned from the harbor with groceries, Wolffe joined their painting endeavors. The questioning tilt of his head earned a reassuring pat from her in response. He hefted his roller with a contented smirk.

Renovations to the lighthouse concluded on the 33rd of Telona—what would have been Daria’s 25th life day—with the hanging of a painting in the lantern room.

Perched on Wolffe’s shoulders, her tiny arms trembling beneath the weight of the frame, Neyti hung her artwork. At Wolffe’s suggestion, she repositioned it. Humming her satisfaction, she shimmied down his back and retreated. An admiration of her work commenced.

The charcoal sketch from so long ago had developed into a colorful painting. Two little girls, hands clasped together, stomped through rain puddles. The pinks of their dresses contrasted the blues of the puddles and the grays of the ocean. Behind them, the lighthouse blazed brightly. The sole detail unique to the painting.

(The reference photo—one of the many taken from Kazi’s adventure book—now decorated a wall in her and Wolffe’s bedroom. It was his request: to personalize their room with photos and artwork. Often, she caught him staring at the wall, his observation silently pensive. Once, she saw him touching a photo of his men, a tear sliding down his cheek.)

“Mum?” Neyti bounced on her tiptoes. “Do you like it?”

Kazi studied the painting, its meticulous strokes, its sedulous color choices.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. A genuine smile bolstered the sincerity of her words, and Neyti ducked her head with a bashful grin. “But”—she frowned at the frame—“it’s crooked.”

Wolffe scoffed. “It’s not crooked.”

“The right side is higher than the left.”

He scrutinized the painting through narrowed eyes. Another scoff, equally arrogant as his first, succeeded. “It’s not.”

Neyti looked from one adult to the next. Her perceptive gaze returned to the frame, a critique elapsed, and then, clapping her hands, she declared, “That’s okay. I like it as it is.”

“It’s perfect,” Kazi agreed. She took in the entire room: vines of green ivy vivified the railing, the windows provided a clear view of the stelliferous night, a low couch offered comfort for visitors. “All of it—it’s perfect.”

Eventually, Neyti returned to the house with Fox, and Kazi and Wolffe found themselves alone.

Staring out a window with his arms wrapped around her front, Wolffe rested his chin atop her head and asked about an unfamiliar constellation. Kazi told him the story of the dragon Pandora and the medicinal practices she taught the Ceaians; as she spoke, she mapped the constellation in the sky. He followed her finger’s path. Curious, studious.

A contented silence fell between them once she finished the story. The cool temperature of early night bathed them in fresh air; the high-pitched whistle of an unseen whale pierced the quiet. With an amused chuckle, Wolffe brought a finger to her chin and tilted her face back.

“You think Daria would like it?” he asked quietly. His eyes were bright with mirth yet also hesitant. “What we did here?”

“Yes,” Kazi said with a wistful laugh. “I think she’d love it.”

“Good.” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone. His smile was soft. “She’d be proud of you, Ennari. For returning. For building this. For living. She’d be real fucking proud of you.”

Kazi twisted her face into his palm. “And she would be so grateful for you. For everything you’ve done for us. For me.”

Wolffe swallowed. The starlight glowed within the darkness of his regular eye; it twinkled among his cybernetic. Both were watery with affection. She smiled softly.

“I’ll wait for you,” he murmured roughly. Warm lips sought her forehead. “Take your time.”

Kazi waited for his footsteps to retreat before she reached into her trousers’ pocket. Seating herself on the couch, she placed the locket with her family’s photo on the window’s sill and then unfolded her letter to Daria.

The black ink twinkled beneath the light of the Dancing Dragons, the brightest star in their embrace gleaming. Beneath her perch, waves rolled against the cliffs. Calm and encouraging, like they were listening. A cool breeze tickled her face. Scents of sea salt and honeysuckle invigorated the lantern room.

With a deep breath, Kazi started to read: “Hi, Dee.”

Masterlist | A Muse | Epilogue

A/N: Kazi would never again visit the lighthouse with her sister. – Line I, Chapter I

#I Yearn and so I Fear #commander wolffe x oc: kazi ennari

17 notes · View notes

illarian-rambling · 2 months

Text

Thanks for the tags @mysticstarlightduck @theink-stainedfolk and probably many more!

Wip Aesthetic Tag

Rules: Make a moodboard for your WIP, a playlist (3+ songs/music will suffice but it can be as long as you want) and describe the Vibe of your WIP.

Oh god, I'm really bad at aesthetic stuff. No clue why, I just feel like it's never cohesive. That said, here's my best stab at Mystery of the Mortal God.

⚙️Moodboard🌿

🎵Music🎶

Instrumental (pulled from my character playlists):

Flight of the Silverbird

Ponyo's Sisters

HUNGRY!

Exclusive Coupé

A Murder of Crows

Wings (Aether 2)

The Quiet Earth

Vocal:

I Want to Conquer the World - Bad Religion

Supersonic - Bad Religion

Harlan Road - NewTown

Black Lipstick - Chicano Batman

The Reckoning - Dom Fera

Norwegian Wood - Buddy Rich Big Band

Call me Call me - Steve Conte

��Vibes🏵

A walking, steam-powered vardo lurches over a yellow-flowered marsh and under a sky of curious stars. Red, sparkling smoke rises from its chimney. Muddy footsteps are left in its wake like the trail of a mechanical dragon. It seems like a place of magic, which is fair, as it's the home of a witch. She sits with a lit pipe and a tabby cat purring on her lap, quietly contemplating a distant, stolen song. Even in the peace of the moment, her mind is alight with grand schemes and dreams of adventure.

In the capital of a thousand peoples, there stands a detective office lit by golden lamps. It's busy - goblins, elves, and lizardfolk rushing every which way in hopes of managing the many crimes wrought by rogue mages. At its heart resides a beat of calm in the eye of the storm - an opulent office out of place for its cushy decorations and color coding fit for a palace. This is also fair, as working at its desk is a prince of sorts. The prodigal heir to divine contracts and a deadly curse. He shudders at the knowledge of his bloody fate, yet pursues it nonetheless.

On the side of a lonely road, in a lonely land, under stars that are not curious, but disappointed, lays a wreck of bronze and steel. It bleeds black on green. It is confused by this. Where is the red? Where is the pain? It remembers another place - gray and icy and riveted. It remembers two eyes surrounded by shadows and a grin hanging in the dark like a half-moon. Hate closes in like a frigid wind, piercing through any amount of heart or compassion. It will have revenge.

Tropes include slow burn romance, revenge quests, magic as a science, and mad scientists. Genre is fantasy steampunk.

Snappier character descriptions include a braggadocious redneck mage with a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain, a prissy, gossip-loving detective with a deadly curse, and a sweetheart of a maybe-robot with some terrifying instincts hidden behind a fog of amnesia. All of them, due to personal quests, will end up banding together to defeat a would-be demigod, facing cunning traps, summoning ritual shenanigans, and their own conflicting personalities. Will they survive? Will they join the villain? Who's to say? All I can assure is that if they fail, it'll at least be in a blaze of glory.

Heavily inspired by the Foundryside Trilogy and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

I'll tag @spideronthesun @kaylinalexanderbooks @ominous-feychild @galactic-mystics-writes and anyone else who wants to play!

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #wip moodboard

19 notes · View notes

eveenstar · 1 year

Text

❧ ⁖⁘⁙⁂◝ dagan gera | relationship headcanons ☆

a/n: disney works hard, but I work faster

->No matter your background, Jedi or not, the second your eyes laid on the silver-haired man out of his time, you knew something was up with him, and it wasn't just his broken mind.

->You and Cal end up being separated amidst the confusion, and you found yourself within the claws of Rayvis' boys and then Dagan Gera.

->Dagan Gera, Dagan...the Jedi from the old days of the High Republic, the peak of Galactic history. The man whose blue eyes were the calm before the storm, raging with the melody of betrayal and the sweetness of the Dark Side. One could lose oneself in his eyes.

->But you also fell to his words, to his whispers in the middle of the night, when your mind wandered away from Cal to the man who has his lips on yours. Oh, and he's so slow in a way it's cruel, and Dagan knows it, but his feigned innocence makes you almost believe that he doesn't mean any harm.

->He really, really doesn't. He's just doing what is best for the galaxy, what is best for you. Santari betrayed him, but you won't right? Dagan has worked too hard for this, and he knows all the right thing to say, all the strings to pull you more and more towards him and away from Cal Kestis and his little, annoying friends.

->Dagan may try to play sweet on you, but you can see through his flawed facade. He lacks the patience, the humility, all the traits that a keeper of the peace should have. Oh, but he's so smug about it, so charming, so...elusive. It's like you can't get enough of him, no matter how many times you try.

->You'll soon find that Dagan is a true visionary, he loves to dream of the future, but for him these aren't just mere dreams, no. They are the future, his future. On Tanalorr, he'll built a new generation of Force-Sensitives and he will bring the Empire and those who stand in his way to ash. Dagan speaks of these fantasies at night but awake as well, in front of Rayvis, in front of Cal...in his mind, this is the only way.

->Arrogant, he is. Sometimes his impatience will slip and words that he didn't mean will run past his lips and straight into your heart. It will be the first time you see the pained look in his eyes as he stares at you, shocked by his own cruelness. Of all people, he didn't mean to hurt you. He can't stand to see the way you look at him, it makes him want to tear his heart out and bloody it in your hands if it means you'll forgive him.

->In front of others, Dagan doesn't show his affection for you, though it is quite clear in the way he looks at you. The ice of his eyes seem to melt into blue stars as Dagan watches you speak, walk, or just...existing. In the private, quiet corners, he'll hold you as if the galaxy depends on it. His hand shakes as he runs his fingers up and down your spine, wrapping a slender arm around your waist to keep you close to him. He'll bury his face into your neck and breathe. He won't speak but you'll feel his Force presence surrounding you like a heavy blanket, too loud for one to ignore. But he'll never admit to these moments if confronted about it.

->Some nights Dagan will dream, and his dreams will make him wake up with a startle. He never talks about what he sees in them, but you can make out it has something to do with the 200+ years he spent imprisoned in a bacta tank. But Dagan will find his solace with you on his arms, rocking the both of you back and forth as he displays a Force trick in front of you.

->Expect some snarky comments here and there. He loves teasing you, and he can be quite mean about it too. Dagan may act superior but you know how needy and touch-starved he becomes once the two of you are away from privy eyes.

->Dagan has no shame in telling you of what happened to him, of the Council's betrayal, of Santari...but don't expect him to talk about it like a bedtime story every night. He'll say it once and that is it. But you'll find him comparing the present to the past often, of the golden days of the High Republic, of how far the galaxy has fallen.

->sometimes he wishes you were born in his time, perhaps with you by his side he would have- no, but he has seen your face before, once upon a dream...or a memory?

->Tanalorr is the future, he assures you, and once there you and him can begin working for the best of the galaxy, no matter who stands in the way.

open to requests for him or cal <3

#dagan gera #dagan gera x reader #jedi survivor #star wars #star wars x reader #jedi survivor spoilers

188 notes · View notes

wolven91 · 1 year

Text

Under The Influence

'The Staggered Ursidain' had every indicator that it was a 'human' bar.

However, any self-respecting human would usually not be seen dead in one of those types of bars as they painfully leaned into all the stereotypes including being the source of some of the more outlandish ones. It appealed to those with a romantic view of humanity. Who near fetishised the critically endangered species. Those 'human lovers' often had some internal notion of what a human 'should be' and these establishments aimed at catching that, alarmingly large, chunk of the market.

That said, Danny had just gained the unpleasant education that on this tiny waystation at The Edge of the galaxy, this was one of the only establishments that served actual alcohol. At the centre of the galaxy, The Galactic Community had made it almost impossible to find somewhere willing to serve a human anything that was deemed 'unhealthy'.

Danny frowned as he stepped inside. The Community list of illegal food stuffs was extensive, but only illegal to sell to a human. Alcohol. Stimulants. Spice. Technically salt was illegal to humans. But... out here on The Edge? That list was a long way away.

The unshaven human did have other options for a drink. There were a few Scent bars a few streets over and the more overt 'Love Lounges' available that had bar service, but the former was useless to Danny and the latter would send the wrong signal. He didn't want to be slobbered over; he just wanted a drink.

Entering, he inwardly groaned as he found it was busy with punters. More than a few glanced his direction, eyes widening, and neighbours being nudged.

The human walked the length of the bar until he had to turn the corner and settled at one of the few stools at the bar still free, he mercifully ended up near the end at the back, almost obscured to most of the bar. He could see the entrance and most the bar, yet only if someone was facing him would actually notice him. He could be nice and quiet; most humans had learnt how to meld into the background these days.

The only patron close to him was something big and quiet in the booth at his back. A glance found a shadowy figure, maybe an ursidain? Nah, not enough fur. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He didn't like it, but moving now wasn't an option.

The bartender was a sluggat perched on a piece of metal with wheels attached to the bottom, he pulled and pushed himself using the bar's counter. It was the fastest slaggat Danny had seen move, he smirked as he watched the alien roll away to get the human his first pint.

After his third pint Danny hadn't noticed his shoulders slump nor the shadowy creature behind him slowly begin the sway in time with the music. Just the vague creaking of the seat beneath it's bulk.

The rest of the patrons had begun to get rowdy, singing and chanting in an uncharacteristically jovial fashion. The sluggat behind the bar had stopped charging Danny for his drinks and snacks after the first two. The sluggat had been in the game long enough to know when to take a loss to gain later. A human in his bar was good for business and would draw in customers in the future in their vague hope of seeing another one.

However, Danny's first notion that he was under someone's direct attention was when a scaled and clawed hand twice the size of his own, hit the bar, right next to his. Before he could react, a second, matching hand appeared on his other side. They were boxing him in. It was then he felt the hot breath from behind him washing over his shoulders.

A voice spoke out that reminded him of a storm on the horizon. A rumble that plucked at something primal deep in his guts.

"Well then... what's a placsh like you, doing in a gal like me?" Came the slurred words from above and behind him.

Also quite 'fresh', Danny spun in the spot and lent backwards craning his head to look directly up. He saw a jawline filled with teeth and stubby horns that accented the sharp lines of the quadruped Draconic that was looming over him.

"Want me to get out the way?" He asked carefully. Any draconian with more than two legs was one to treat carefully. They were known to be more chaotic than their two legged cousins.

"Nah... I want to buy you a drink..." Came her cool reply, her swaying was arrested somewhat by holding onto the bar, but the elongest neck continued to wobble slowly.

Danny would have to be careful now... it wasn't easy to turn down a draconian who was drunk, was larger and could feel insulted that a human wouldn't simply throw themselves into their clutches at the first ham-fisted attempt at 'flirting'. Not being aware that he hadn't been charged for his previous drink, Danny merely saw this as a way to save his pennies. A drink wasn't a promise and even out here on The Edge, humans were still protected, least the station be blacklisted.

To the human, he could milk this alien for at least a few drinks and he could simply excuse himself to the bathroom then make himself scarse if it went sideways.

"Sure!" Came his happy reply, beaming up at her.

A grin spread across her muzzle before she waved the Bartender over.

"Two more in the booth!" She ordered holding up her shovel-sized hands with two fingers extended.

The booths were admittedly comfier than the stool, so Danny allowed the muscled arm to loop over his shoulder and he was guided to the worn leather seats. The draconian had to do a mild 'hop' as she walked with only three legs, the forth draped over Danny.

She swept a hand towards his seat in a dramatized 'gentlemanly' gesture. The two of them chuckling at the action he settled himself in and the draconian shuffled into the opposite side.

The party mood of the 'tavern' seemed infectious, colouring the mood between the two aliens. The conversation was light, filled with banter and jokes. The draconian was the first to offer an innuendo, and at Danny's hearty chuckle, was emboldened to lead into more and more dirty jokes as long as Danny kept genuinely laughing at them. In all honesty, Danny hadn't been this relaxed in months and discovered that he was actually, honestly, enjoying this creature's company.

They eventually found themselves sat next to each other, moving around the rounded booth until they were pressed into each other's side. They even joined in with some of the more well-known shanties. The draconian taught Danny one or two, despite her and his slurring.

When he blinked and had a moment of clarity, he took stock of where and what was happening.

His left hand was relaxed and resting lightly on top of her right thigh, his pinkie finger was actually trapped between the soft scaled flesh of each of her inner thighs when he thought about it. His other hand; held a bottle of beer, but her right arm was now looped over his shoulder, her hand distinctly limp so she wasn't grabbing or touching him beyond resting against him.

His body was leant completely against her, the side of her torso pressed against his forehead. Powerful lungs expanded the chest, and contracted in time.

She took a long drag of her own drink, draining it pointedly. He lifted his own to find it was also empty.

He turned to look at her only for her to be turning to look at him at the same time.

His lips touched the silk soft scales of her snout by accident, but neither jumped to stop the touch.

Her hands became bold, putting down her drink, her freed hand found his thigh and ran her claws gently up to his hips. She grabbed at the side of his pelvis and pulled him roughly against her.

"My place isn't far.." She whispered.

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #haso #hfy #humans are space orcs #dragon #human x scalie

97 notes · View notes

tennessoui · 1 year

Note

I am begging to know time travel ahsoka's top wtf moments because I bet they are a dodgy 😂

top 5 resets that make ahsoka lose her mind if she accidentally thinks about them:

reset #59 - Master Windu is convinced to take on Anakin Skywalker as his apprentice after Qui-Gon Jinn dies at the hands of Darth Maul on Naboo. Denied training Anakin and reeling from the death of his master, 25 yo obi-wan kenobi spirals into a tailspin of agony and infinite sadness until the crechemaster finds him and makes him do a stint as his apprentice for no other reason than younglings make everyone a little bit happier. obi-wan refuses to be in the same room as master windu tho and keeps removing anakin's name from the sign up sheet for creche duty whenever anakin signs up. obi-wan walks around the temple with at least 4 younglings trailing after him at all times like lil ducks. anakin is seething with the jealousy of not having kenobi's attention anymore. volunteers to storm the temple when he Falls but only if he gets to kill the younglings comes face to face with pleading, already wounded obi-wan but it's too late for anything but last words

reset #647 - ahsoka says fuck it and steals them away so neither of them become Jedi; she decides they both hate when people tell them what to do so she arranges a marriage between street rat anakin and prince obi-wan a la aladdin via several mindtricks of officials to make them think anakin comes from wealth; at first they hate each other but then galactic war breaks out and obi-wan calls for anakin to shelter on stewjon with him as his spouse to be. they fuck within the first 2 nights and are so WEIRD about each other afterwards that ahsoka doesn't hesitate to press the reset button

reset #3952 - master skywalker & padawan kenobi. weird about each other from the beginning. WEIRDER as time goes on, aging like a fine wine. padawan kenobi stubs his toe on a mission once and master skywalker picks him up and carries him around for 16 hours. ahsoka counted. then ahsoka reset that fucking mess

reset #450 - Anakin does not become a Jedi. He becomes a smuggler for a bit but eventually settles onto Coruscant. Ahsoka is on edge but there are billions of people on Coruscant. It's fine. It's fine. Anakin opens up a mechanic shop. Anakin dates a girl down the street. Anakin gets a library card and a loth cat. Ahsoka slowly relaxes. Anakin's loth cat gets stuck up in a tree in the Coruscant gardens. Obi-Wan senses a damsel in distress while on his walk to through the gardens. The cat jumps right into his arms; it only takes Anakin two hours to do the same

reset #451 - Ok but ahsoka thinks she's so close with this scenario!! Anakin was living a quiet happy life! she just extends obi-wan's mission so he cannot come rescue anakin's cat from the tree and then bam. phew. crisis averted. only anakin is sneaking into the jedi temple to steal flowers from the Jedi garden for his lower levels girlfrend??? obi-wan is doing some late night gardening because it's the anniversary of qui-gon's death and this helps him feel close to him??? anakin accidentally sneaks up on obi-wan?? obi-wan hits him in the nose with a shovel???? Ahsoka's just saving them all from embarrassment and pain by just. fucking. hitting the reset button.

#asks #time traveler ahsoka au #these posts are getting long lol #obikin

77 notes · View notes

shabre-legacy · 4 months

Text

The Bones are Good

We're in the home stretch of the high times We took a hard left, but we're alright

Corso sighs as he drags himself back to the apartment that he was staying at on Nar Shaddaa. It’d been nearly two days since he’d been here and almost three since he last saw Leikael. He was praying that she’d come back and was still angry. That would be better then her not being anywhere. They’d had their first big fight. It wasn’t the first time they’d argued, but it was the first one like that. First one over something so serious, the risks they took, the jobs they took, the way men hit on her and she flirted for work, his protective nature clashing with her trauma and free spirit. The way he’d fussed over some girls they’d met from back on Ord.

Yeah, life sure can try to put love through it, but We built this right, so nothing's ever gonna move it

They’d both been tired, they’d hit each other’s weak points, there’d been yelling and Leikael had stormed out, without even taking her blasters. He’d chased after her, but lost her in the crowd and after a bit of looking, returned to wait impatiently and then worriedly as she didn’t return. After a day passed and no word if she was safe, he’d gone looking again. She didn’t have her blasters, she could have gotten into real trouble on the smuggler’s moon. Now he was back, just to resupply and rearm and maybe check if she was here.

When the bones are good, the rest don't matter Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter Let it break, 'cause you and I remain the same

It was quiet at first but as he moved past the main area to Leikael’s side of this apartment, he could hear the music. He rushes towards it, the lyrics registering but not slowing him, only fueling him to move faster until he burst into the room the music was playing from. There she was, in front of a window, staring out at the city below, safe and unharmed.

When there ain't a crack in the foundation Baby, I know any storm we're facing will Blow right over while we stay put The house don't fall when the bones are good

He should be angry, furious that she’d made him worry, that he’d had to spend hours scared for her and searching the worst parts of Nar Shaddaa to find her. But he’s just glad she’s safe. He crosses the room in a few long strides. His steps making her turn, facing him and smiling that small smile that only he ever got to see. She catches him as he approaches, pulling him into her arms and burying her face in his chest.

Call it dumb luck, but, baby, you and I Can't even mess it up although we both try No, it don't always go the way we planned it, but the Wolves came and went and we're still standing

They rock together silently for a time, wrapped in each others arms and letting the pain and fear and anger dissipate into the air and get carried away in the simple peace of being together. “You’re safe darling. I was so worried.” Corso whispers almost afraid to breathe, to break the moment and send her out into the streets of the smugglers moon again.

When the bones are good, the rest don't matter Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter Let it break, 'cause you and I remain the same

“I’m sorry.” Leikael whispers.

Corso immediately starts to quiet her. “No, no. It’s ok, I shouldn’t have tried to control what we do.” He leans back just enough to take her face in his hands. “I just get so scared when I think of the people we’re… you… are making enemies of. I worry that I won’t be able to have your back, that I will lose you too.”

When there ain't a crack in the foundation Baby, I know any storm we're facing will Blow right over while we stay put The house don't fall when the bones are good

Leikael wraps her smaller, green, such a beautiful green, hands over his. “We’re galactic criminals dealing with the galactic underworld and trying to carve out our own space in it. I can’t promise we’ll be safe, that I’ll be safe. But I’ll always do everything I can to come back to you and the siren. I’m sorry I got so upset over those girls. I… They’re Ord girls, they grew up there. They’re more what you’re used to. They’re more… settled.”

When the bones are good, the rest don't matter Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter Let it break, 'cause you and I remain the same

Corso has to chuckle at her. Of course he was placed with the same value as the ship. He’d long ago come to terms sharing his girlfriend with her starship. It was weird, but he wouldn’t have her any other way. “If I wanted settled, if I wanted a woman like the ones back home, I’d go back home. I want you, exactly the way you are, blasters, temper, hardheaded stubbornness, nose for trouble, all of it. Please don’t run out like that again. Please. Let’s just talk things out. I was so scared, you ran out without your blasters, without backup.” He shakes his head and leans down to place a kiss on her forehead. “I was so worried about you in the streets with no way to protect yourself.”

When there ain't a crack in the foundation Baby, I know any storm we're facing will Blow right over while we stay put The house don't fall when the bones are good

Leikael leans back from him, her usual grin back in place. “Haven’t you learned by now farm boy.” He always knew she was teasing when she pulled out that nickname. She reaches behind her and pulls out of somewhere he couldn’t figure out, a small holdout blaster. “I always have a blaster.” He laughs and picks her up as he spins them. Her arms come up around his neck as they kiss and the cold durasteel against his neck feels like a promise that they’ll be ok.

youtube

#Youtube

9 notes · View notes

fattybattysblog · 3 months

Text

Friend, Please (Chapter 12)

Fandom: Kirby/Kirby Right Back At Ya!

Gen | Teen

Characters: Meta Knight, Dark Meta Knight, Velka | Arcta Knight (OC)

Summary: They should be used to desperate people making horrible decisions by now, but somehow it always goes too far before anyone does anything about it. A person fell prey to the empty promises of dark, powerful hearts to become Arcta Knight. As they make their mark on Dreamland, Meta Knight grows anxious about the encroaching danger and leaves suddenly to prepare for a duel like no other.

AO3 | SqWA | Quotev

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Swordfighting, Original Villain Character, Gijinka Kirby Characters

@ocappreciationtag

(Cover art done by Dean, edited together by me)

Goodbyes

Meta Knight stood on the bridge of the Lor, his thoughts a tangled storm. He gazed out the large window into the vast, empty darkness of space, the stars glittering and the colorful dust of the galaxy swirling slowly. The silence of space was both a comfort and a reminder of the isolation they faced.

He had done all he could for the Halberd's repairs. There was no news, little progress on King Dedede and Kirby’s injuries. All he could do now was stay vigilant and wait.

The quiet was broken by hurried footsteps. Magolor raced up to the stoic knight, his eyes wide with urgency. He didn’t have the breath to speak and he didn’t need to.

Meta heard him approach and turned sharply, his cape billowing with the movement. "The headquarters? You found it?"

“I finally locked onto their signal,” he gestured for Meta to follow him back to the massive computer. Once there, he quickly brought up images of distant space on the monitor. “We were looking for a planet, but that was the wrong approach. It’s a space station. And, well… you’re not gonna like it.”

“What do you mean?”

Magolor’s ears drooped slightly as the screen revealed the space station and its surroundings. “It’s… surrounded,” he muttered, “and heavily guarded inside and out.”

Meta stood tense and silent, glaring at the screen. Destroyas, powerful starships built for destruction, littered the display. At the center sat the fortress itself. Even with everyone at their best, this would be a suicide mission. He couldn’t drag anyone else into this. Not again.

“We still have the Galactic Nova,” Magolor suggested.

“We can’t waste any time. Collecting the stars… we lost that chance when the Halberd was attacked,” Meta Knight replied, his tone firm.

“Th-then we’ll call in more allies. We can get Daroach and Gooey and Taranza! O-or Susie or Adeline—!”

“We already tried that, Magolor. We contacted everyone we could. No one else answered,” Meta Knight said, the solemnity in his voice causing Magolor to wilt. He typed and searched for something more that could be done. The more he looked, the smaller he made himself, unable to offer more.

Meta placed a hand on Magolor’s shoulder and shook his head.

“We’ll take care of it. Trust me,” he said in a softer tone than before.

“This is impossible, Meta Knight!” Magolor cried, whipping around to face him. His face was red with frustration as he grabbed Meta’s cape and pulled him down to his level. “I can trust you with every fiber of my being, but I can’t believe this will work! Two people can’t take down an entire fortress on their own.”

“Then collect the stars,” Meta said firmly. “We will keep their attention for as long as we live. And once we’re gone, you summon the Nova to wish for NME’s demise.”

“Don’t say that,” he hissed.

“You’d prefer we give up here?”

“We’re all escaping, right? Just come with us. Cappy Town can all make a new home in my dimension! Surely we can find some… parallel Popstar or something?”

Meta Knight’s eyes softened behind his mask. “It’s not that simple, Magolor. My world, my people… they need a fighting chance. And sometimes, sacrifices must be made.”

Magolor’s grip on Meta’s cape tightened. “Don’t you dare martyr yourself. Was this your plan the whole time? To just drag Dark out there with you to die?” Magolor’s frustration came to a head, his fists clenching on the cape until his gloves started to creak and shake. His ears were pinned back as flat as possible.

“Why would you tow us along if you were planning to kill yourself like this?!”

“This was not a light decision,” Meta gently pried Magolor’s fingers from his cape. “Last they saw, Kirby was defeated. If we go in alone, they will have no reason to hunt for you all. I know what I’m doing… I chose this path, my friend. And I will see it through to the end.”

A heavy silence fell between them, the gravity of the situation settling in. There was no talking him out of it, Magolor knew it was the best chance for Dreamland to be spared entirely with Meta Knight’s plan. There was no other way.

Magolor’s voice trembled as he spoke again. “Just… promise to try to live. They need you.”

Meta Knight nodded, a small but determined smile forming. “I promise.”

He turned and left, his cape fluttering behind him as he walked down the hall. It was time to separate from the pack. Meta’s hope of giving Kirby some parting words was slowly diminishing. This would be his last visit. Whether Kirby was awake or not, he’d have to bid him goodbye.

His walk to the infirmary was slower than ever before, lingering in the halls to postpone the inevitable farewell.

There was a small hum of conversation as he approached. Dark wasn’t one to make small talk, but Dedede was more than happy to listen to himself talk. After so long alone together Meta was honestly surprised they didn’t go at each other’s throats already. This hum was something else. Soft and patient chatter that was too low for him to make out until he reached the door.

Meta’s heart leaped in his chest at the sight. Dedede sat on the infirmary table, in his lap was the bright and wide eyed star child.

Kirby looked over at him and smiled brightly.

Meta had to fight the tears threatening to blind him, which left him unable to combat the burst of energy that made him scoop up Kirby and hug him close.

“You’re awake!” he cried, forcing himself to keep the hug loose so he didn’t hurt him.

“Meta Knight!” Kirby exclaimed in return, his small arms wrapping tightly around Meta’s neck.

Meta pulled back slightly to look at Kirby’s face, relief washing over him. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you awake again. I was so worried.”

Dark had resumed his demeanor, standing at the far wall with his arms folded as he leaned on the wall. He could pretend he wasn’t just as worried, but Meta and Dedede would know the truth and keep his secret. This time at least.

“He woke up a couple hours ago. We still gotta heal so we’re stickin’ around,” Dedede said as he stood and lightly stretched.

“I visited just in time then. This is actually…” Meta paused and cleared his throat. “Dark, meet me in the hall.”

Dark raised his head. He cocked a brow but said nothing, cape following him as he stepped outside.

“How are you feeling?” Meta asked.

“I’m fine! That monster was really strong,” Kirby said. He was as bubbly as ever. There wasn’t a hint of sadness dulling his bright eyes. Though he winced often at the many injuries scattered on him. “We hafta go get it!”

“Dedede dealt with it already. Don’t you worry,” Meta shook his head. Dedede chuckled and pumped a fist.

“It was no sweat,” he grinned. Kirby laughed and Meta looked aside. Fibbing aside, he was glad to see Dedede feeling better as well.

“Now you just have to get better, okay?” Meta returned his attention to his task at hand.

“But I’m fine,” Kirby pouted.

Meta Knight shook his head and set Kirby on the infirmary bed, earning a slighted look from Dedede. “You’re hurt. You need to rest.”

“But I can help!”

“No, I— It’s alright. Dark and I will take care of everything, okay?” Meta said, his voice softening.

Kirby’s pout deepened, but he nodded reluctantly. “Okay...”

Meta Knight took a deep breath, knowing this was his moment. He placed a hand on Kirby’s shoulder, his expression serious but tender. “Kirby, I need you to listen to me. You’ve always been the bravest, most capable little warrior I’ve known. But right now, the best way you can help is by getting better.”

Kirby’s brows furrowed and he folded his legs. “… really? But… what about NME?”

Meta struggled to keep his voice steady. “There are some battles that I must face without you. I need you to stay here, safe, and recover. Promise me you’ll do that.”

He searched Meta’s expressionless helmet. The eyes beyond were beginning to quiver. A small part of Kirby understood that this was important, but he couldn’t yet tell why. He nodded. “I promise.”

Meta Knight smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. King Dedede grimaced and stepped beside the bed. He searched the Knight for a moment before scratching at his neck.

“Am I hearin’ what I think I’m hearin’?” he asked in a somber voice. Meta night nodded slowly. Dedede nodded as well, gaze falling to the floor as he tightened his arms around his chest. The hold wasn’t enough to calm his fraying nerves.

All he had to say was a simple, “I see…”

“Remember, no matter what happens, you’re never alone. You have your friends and allies with you.”

With one last lingering glance, Meta Knight turned and walked towards the door, his heart heavy but resolute. As he reached the doorway, he paused and tensed his shoulders. “Goodbye, you two. Stay strong.”

Kirby watched as Meta left, a mix of emotions swirling within him. As the door closed, he muttered, “Bye...”

Dedede watched him go, breathing a soft, “be safe.”

(Previous Chapter) | (Next Chapter)

#battyfics #fanfic #oc #original character #kirby fanfic #kirby #tw blood #tw death #fanfiction #ocappreciation #kirby right back at ya #ao3

5 notes · View notes

djspinna · 2 years

Photo

GALACTIC QUIET STORM *GQS* - Slow Jams & Smooth Grooves

w/ DJ SPINNA

THURSDAY 2.9.2023 @ 8PM (ET) Session #77

#Live On TWITCH! @ https://Twitch.tv/DjSpinnaBK

*GQS* Thursdays! Live On Twitch.

#DJSPINNA #GALACTIC QUIET STORM #GQS #SLOW JAMS #SMOOTH GROOVES #MOIST #FEEL THE VIBEZ #PURE VIBEZ

0 notes

marveltournaments · 9 months

Text

29 notes · View notes

koko-doodle · 2 years

Text

Bounty Hunter Sun & Moon AU

Solunar Solstice: Chapter 1

Summary: Based off universes like Treasure Planet and Star Wars. You are a special kind of being, a trophy most creature would kill to get their hands on however you have currently been captured by two well known robot bounty hunters. They seek to keep you safe by locking you up on their ship as they travel around. Is this truly what being safe looks like or is this just a twisted way of keeping you prisoner. Will these bots grow on you or will you do everything you can to escape???

11 pages - 5784 word count.

Warnings: includes a small injury, contains blood

It was late, you knew if you were caught you would hear an earful from your captors. They hated when you were up too late or got up in the middle of the night to walk around but you could care less if they scolded you. If they were going to insist on controlling you to ‘protect’ you, you still had to have control over SOME aspects of your life. You sneak around below deck, seeing the light on in the captain's quarters gave you some hope that the two of them were preoccupied and wouldn’t notice you sneaking about in the dark of the night.

You quietly make your way to the top deck and through the automatic sliding door (hoping your captors wouldn’t hear it) as a gentle breeze of cool, fresh air brushes against your skin which was a welcome feeling compared to the air in the small stuffy closet at the back corner of the ship that was your ‘room’. You walk over to the edge of the railing, looking out into open space surrounding you. It was a calm night, no meteor showers or galactic storms were in sight, you wish more nights could be like this.

Calm.

Quiet.

And peaceful.

Although the vast emptiness of space was unnerving to many, it was all you had ever known. It was the closest thing you had to call home, you never stayed in one place for longer than a week so the only constant thing you had was the dark confines of the solar systems you traveled through. You reach your arms up and stretch, you let the small wings on your back unfurl and expand to their full size which was something you don’t often get to do. It was nice to feel a breeze run through your feathers, when your captors were around you liked to keep them shrunk and tucked in on the account that they were both too handsy with them than you feel comfortable with.

You sit on a storage container near the railing, placing your elbows up and resting your head in one hand. You take a deep breath in an attempt to relax but it comes out more like a sigh than a breath. As you exhale you relax your wings letting them lay limp at your sides, the air ruffling the stuffy smell out of them. It was such a pleasant feeling, calming in a way.

You found your other hand tracing the scratches and wear marks on the metal railing you were leaning on, monotonously going back and forth in a figure eight pattern. You notice a loose scrap piece of metal on the side of the railing and pick at it until it breaks off into your hand, it wasn’t hanging on by much to begin with so it didn’t take much effort. The metal was thin but durable, you spin it around and around in your hand observing every detail of the broken piece from its jagged edges to the sharp edge where it had been sliced through by something. For two beings who claim to run such a tight ship some areas were certainly falling apart more so than others. You figured that in their perspective, the railing that prevents things from falling overboard into the abyss was less important than the solar sails or the large turbines powering the jets at the back of the ship. In your opinion though, you feel like the railing should be just as high a priority as the other prime functions of the ship so you know, things aren’t falling off the deck in an ambush or something. Kind of important.

It had been a two weeks since you were ‘liberated’ by the bounty hunters who currently held you captive. While yes they did take you out of the hands of a pompous, disgusting, and old pirate lord, you had the situation handled just fine before they showed up. You were going to make an escape before these two hunters came bursting in and ruined everything, you had the locks picked and were just waiting to get to a space port so you could make your escape. You had done this several times before, it was nothing new but those greedy hunters took one look at you and snatched you before you could escape in all the commotion.

It was your wings that were an instant give away. They have a certain shine to them that only your planet’s inhabitants were known for which makes you a direct target should your wings be seen. With the special healing abilities and quick injury recovery that your species has, the universe decided one day it was more fun to hunt you like animals than take the offered help your people gave out freely.

Your planet was a peaceful place, beautiful, graceful, and full of life. It was a place open to everyone to come and receive healing for any ailment that our technology or abilities could heal. Or at least that is what your parents told you when you were little. The only visuals you have ever seen of your origin planet come from photos or star charts but from what you can tell, there isn’t much left of the planet after the attempted genocide. A crazy sociopathic scientist decided one day to eat the heart of one of your people and all the years of life they had lived were taken off his own and he grew younger in an instant with perfect health. When word of this got out, it was all over.

Your people were a source of immortality, living fountains of youth whose entire body could be used in multiple different ways to heal anything and everyone wanted a piece. A peaceful planet quickly became enslaved and turned into a harvesting planet for organs, remedies, and worst of all, immortality. Things only escalated from there and in a last battle between several military powers for control of the planet, it was practically destroyed. Your people were almost all wiped out and the planet was left in ruins. To put a long story short, toddlers had all fought over the same toy and that toy broke because one decided ‘if I can’t have it, no one can.’

So those that were out in the universe went into hiding, that was the only thing they could do to survive. If your people didn’t have the ability to shrink and grow your wings at will, staying hidden would have been a lot harder. This is how you grew up. Always on the run, never trusting anyone. You run so you can survive and you only survive if you run. A vicious cycle that will never end. You are on your own, no friends, no family, just you. That’s how it has been and that’s how it will stay. Life means more than companionship, you learned that at a very young age and if that’s what it takes to survive then that’s what you would do. It isn’t a great life but hey, it is still LIFE. You’ll take that over being eaten alive any day.

You turn the small scrap over and over in your hand when you get an idea, not your smartest idea but it was worth a shot. You were desperate enough at this point to try whatever you could think of. You bring the sharper edge of the scrap piece up to the collar around your neck, feeling for the seam where the join in the collar comes together. You begin wedging it between the plates of metal, trying your best to pry it open but without any luck. The stupid collar was made extremely well and with such small interlocking pieces you couldn’t even get a fingernail in between the seams. You had basically tried everything at this point but nothing worked, it was solid through and through but that didn’t stop you from attempting to free yourself.

You kept trying to push the scrap into the gap, your grip getting tighter around the collar and your movements getting more forceful. You felt a rush of adrenaline course through you when you felt the tip slide slightly into the crevice, you got anxious and began wiggling the piece in an attempt to slice your way through but your hand moved too sharply and the scrap slipped out of the slot and into your neck. You shivered at the sudden onset of pain and warm liquid coming from the location of the metal that had just been embedded into your neck.

You slowly and gently pulled out the shrapnel to inspect it. From the dark color on the top of the metal, it looked like it went about an inch into the side of your neck. You felt the wound, breathing in with a hiss between your teeth at the stinging sensation pulsing around the area so you covered it with your hand and applied a bit of pressure. From the location, it felt like it had missed all the major arteries and gone right into the neck muscle. Nothing serious, a small wound really. Part of you cursed at yourself, maybe if you cut yourself bad enough they would be forced to take the collar off to fix your neck… but not likely.

Your body jolted again as a loud clicking sound came from the collar and you felt it tighten slightly around your neck. Your body instinctively dropped the shard while you gasped and choked, bringing your other hand up and forcing your fingers under the collar in an attempt to loosen it. Even though you knew that wasn’t going to do anything you couldn’t fight off the natural instinct to remove something from tightening around your neck.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's what you get for being a naughty little birdie.” Says a deep voice above you. You whip your head around to its origin only to see a dark figure lower itself down from a chord onto the deck a few feet away from you. Red eyes locking onto yours. Your heart skips a beat briefly at the unnerving sight before you are overcome with annoyance and anger at the realization of who it is. Great…The figure makes its way over to you and snatches the piece of scrap metal you dropped off your lap and inspects it.

“You did that on purpose, jerk. Did you really have to tighten it?” You protest.

“A delicate creature like yourself really shouldn’t be playing with sharp objects, it's not safe” he says playfully, ignoring your comment.

“I am NOT delicate” you hissed in response. He tosses the piece off the side of the ship and turns to you, harshly lifting your chin to see your hand covering the cut you had given yourself on accident. You felt a couple small drops of blood run between your fingers, forcing your neck upwards sent pain jolting through the muscle and you flinched holding in a gasp.

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve gone an cut yourself rather nastily too. You know if Sun sees this he’ll be awfully worried that our little pet got hurt.” He sneers.

“So what, I could care less what you and that pointy headed bucket of bolts think.” You growl smacking his hand away from your chin. “If you really cared that much then you’d let me go.” You snap, adjusting the grip over your wound to reapply pressure and ease the throbbing pain.

“You know, most creatures would show a little GRATITUDE for some safety, warm shelter, and food to eat. You hardly have it rough, brat.” He glares, leaning up against the railing.

“Most creatures don’t keep each other as prisoners for no reason” you retort.

“Tch” he scoffs. “Typical. We save your life, give you a home and yet you still think we are the cruel ones.” He tilts his head at an unnatural angle and his right eye fades to black. A wicked smile emerges from the corners of his mouth and slowly spreads across his faceplate.

“I can show you what real cruelty looks like, would you prefer that?” He places a clawed finger back under your chin to bring your gaze back up to meet with his. The bright red pupil of his left eye shines directly into yours and you pull your face away from his grasp, careful not to scratch your chin on his claw. You adjust your position on the storage container, turning your back to him to look out to the open space again. His low chuckle only made you seethe even more, you wish you could smack that smug look off his stupid faceplate. This jerk…

“That’s what I thought…” he mumbles happily. Folding his arms across his chest, pleased that he got a reaction out of you. “It’s late, you should be sleeping.”

“Oh don’t even start, you may think you ‘own’ me but I belong to no one. I do what I want.” You say, refusing to even look at him.

“Feisty, feisty. That’s no way to talk to your master now, is it?” He answers back playfully.

“You are NOT my master, you overgrown child’s toy!” You say raising your tone slightly and side eyeing him with a glare. He only laughs and gets up, walking around your backside.

“Such defiance doesn’t do you any good you know, if anything we could start taking away your privileges for being such a rule breaker. Most guests aboard this ship are not given the same free range as you have, remember we just ungrounded you from your room from trying to short circuit me.” He was standing directly behind you, he couldn’t see you give a sly smile for your handiwork last week. It brought you so much satisfaction watching his limbs spaz out for an hour or two and seeing him get so frustrated because his arms kept randomly throwing things while he was trying to work. It was glorious payback for dumping water all over you for a ‘bird bath’.

“If you insist on throwing a tantrum like a stubborn child then you can expect to be treated like one.” He leans in from behind you and pulls a tuft of hair away from your ear. “Pet.” He whispers inches away from you, taunting you.

“Go away jerk!” You swat but your hands miss him as he dances to the side and leans back onto the railing with one arm. He managed to weave around your flailing wings as well without getting smacked in the face, much to your disappointment however. “Can’t I just have one thing, one peaceful moment to myself without you ruining it?!” The movements sent a shock of pain into your neck and you flinched.

“Sure, only when you stop inflicting harm on yourself trying to escape. That necklace isn’t coming off doll, it’s here to stay and so are you.” He smiles cheekily at you.

“I have a name you know, if you had any decency you would actually use it instead of calling me by your stupid nicknames.” You grumble.

“Right, sorry ROGUE. The infamous thief! Wait, remind me what system you are so ‘notorious’ in again? I can’t remember.” He taps a finger on his temple as if he is thinking before dramatically gasping like he reached an epiphany. “Oh right! You're known in ZERO solar systems! Must be so hard staying away from all your adoring fans~”

“Oh and like you’re any better? Oh no, it’s Moon, the heartless shadow.” You dramatically put your non bloodied hand on your face to symbolize shock. “Someone save me from the clown robot bounty hunter. You’re so terrifying I think my socks just ran for cover.” You deadpan him while he glares daggers at you and the brightness of his eyes dim. If looks could kill, you’d probably be dead.

“Watch yourself, feathers.” He sneers. “Don’t forget your place.”

“Whatever, just leave me alone.” You growled, leaning over to rest both elbows on the railing again. You bring your wings up to cover your sides and take Moon out of your peripheral view.

Things fell silent again, only the low hum of the slow burning jets at the back of the ship could be heard. After a few moments of silence you hear feet shuffling and see Moon climb onto the railing and sit down with one leg up and the other dangling over the side of the ship. You looked away in the opposite direction to avoid his gaze and brought your right wing up closer to your face to block him further out of your sight. At this point they were almost enveloping you like a large blanket. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? All you wanted was a moment to think, a moment to have on your own without anyone hovering over you like you were a lost child in need of protection. Why couldn’t they let you have one thing, just ONE moment to yourself…

“Look, you may not see it the same way but we are just trying to help you.” He says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, right. Some help you guys are. Explain to me how exactly keeping me locked up is better than freedom?” You retort.

“You know why. I don’t know how to get it into that bird brain head of yours more clearly than I already have. The minute you leave this ship without either of us protecting you is the minute you’ll be captured again and I can guarantee your stay with whoever captures you won’t be as pleasant as your stay here.” He hissed in frustration. “We are saving you from being killed or hunted like some kind of trophy animal.”

“I didn’t ask to be ‘saved’. I am just fine on my own, I don’t need you or anyone else.” You say curling in on yourself.

“Right, because that worked out so well for you before. Remind me, how many times have you have been captured now? Six? Seven? Maybe eight times?”

“So… I’ve escaped every time without a problem. It’s not a big deal, why does it matter so much to you two, huh? You’re just going to sell me off to some rich, lowlife, snob of a pirate who gives you the highest bid anyway. My life means nothing to anyone except as a means for immortality, you and your brother are no different…” You state with no emotion to your tone at all. This was a fact you had come to terms with a long time ago, no matter how many times others try to ‘help’ you it always ends up the same way; with you in a prison cell and someone walking off with a big pocket full of cash. You were a solution for perfection, nothing more.

“Now you listen here, we are not so low as to sell a creature just for a big pay day. We have more morals and values than you give us credit for.” He quickly retorts, offended.

“You’re bounty hunters, you literally sell creatures to governments for profit. That's the job description is it not?” You accuse.

“Tch…. It’s not the same thing… Those monsters deserve to be put in jail or killed for their crimes. Anyone who takes advantage of the weak deserves to ROT in purgatory for the rest of their lives.” He growls, something behind his expression told you there was a story behind that statement. Like he had seen things that have made him lose trust in the universe, you wonder if you’ll ever learn the meaning behind that gaze. “We only capture and be rid of those who have committed crimes worthy of cruelty themselves. We don’t deal with any who don’t deserve what we give them… We are only returning the ‘kindness’ they so freely give to anyone who crosses their path.”

“So what is my crime then?” You ask nonchalantly. You see him turn and look at you out of the corner of your eye but you don’t return the favor. “If you are such ‘valiant heroes’ who only deal with life forms you deem lesser than the dirt on your boots then what have I done to deserve the same treatment?”

“What are you talking about?” He snaps back at you. “Ugh, you’re such a pain in the rotary joint. It’s not the same thing!” He grumbles, rolling his eye in annoyance.

“If it’s not the same thing then why does my ‘room’ have a prison bars on the inside?”

“It’s the only spare room we have alright, I’m sorry our ship is too small for your liking, your highness.” He argues back.

“Moon.”

“Should I be bringing you food on gold trays and platters, hm? I’m sorry I haven’t been bowing to your every beck and call dearie, we have been quite busy with our duties around the ship to offer more accommodations for you.”

“Moon” you say louder.

“Oh, excuse me! I didn’t realize we were housing royalty on our humble ship, how could we be so heartless to forget your satin sheet bedding and velvet tea attire for your afternoon tea time. Shall we stop at the next port and pick up some of the finest herbal tea for you? Or perhaps some pastries for the long travels ahead? How dare we-” He tried to continue but you cut him off.

“MOON!” You shout and he stops to look at you with a frustrated glare. His eyes shining bright red with irritation.

“What?!” He yells back.

“Why do I have a tagged collar on?”

No answer, although he seems surprised at your question like he is unsure what you are implying.

“If I’m not a prisoner or a slave then why do I have a tagged prison collar?”

He looks away immediately and his mannerisms shift. His posture drops as he brings his one leg closer into his chest. The question seemed to agitate him.

“I know what these are, they are a modified version of a slave collar. And this-“ You point to a little slot on the back of the collar next to a green light that indicates an ownership card. “-is an active tag, set to lock onto the wearer's DNA. A device used when a life form deemed as PROPERTY is needing to be contained and managed. Especially in slave transactions or prison transfers.”

“How do you know that isn’t our ownership tag? We have to be able to find you somehow, you little escape artist.” He attempts to give as his explanation but you weren’t buying it.

“Geez, I’m not an idiot… Give me one good reason to believe that this collar isn’t set to some scumbag’s personal seal so if I do manage to escape YOU still get a paycheck if I’m found.”

Nothing.

Not even a twitch from the bot.

You sigh, defeated.

It seemed Moon didn’t want to react to your comments which only solidified the idea that they had plans to sell you. Figures…

“That's what I thought… All these niceties are just because you both feel pity for me. You know I’m probably going to your buyer like a lamb to the slaughter so you’re just trying to find a way to keep your conscious clean, that way you don’t have my blood on your hands…” You let out a soft chuckle. “And you think I’m the pitiful one, why not go look in the mirror crater face.” He turns to give an answer but closes his mouth and looks away. You could tell he was trying to come up with something to say but it didn’t matter, he had said enough so you just let your wings droop back down to your sides in resignation.

“What is going on out here?” Says a lighthearted voice as another figure approaches. “Are you guys having a party without me?! How rude! I want to know all the dirty secrets too!”

The sun themed robot walks across the deck and leans against the railing to your left, nudging your elbow with his playfully.

“Out a bit late tonight aren’t we Chickadee? Do we need to start setting a curfew for you?” He jests, winking at you.

“No need, I was just headed back to my prison cell.” You say, clearly defeated. The last thing you wanted to do tonight was think about your impending death waiting for you at the next space port. Your captors refused to tell you how many days til you arrived so you have no idea what to expect each morning. It’s torture. Cruelty at its finest really.

“Woah, woah! I was just kidding.” He pats your shoulder, keeping you from attempting to get up and leave. “Lighten up a little sweets, no need to be so serious all the time.”

You give no reply, you just sit there trying to absorb the conversation you had just had with Moon. The silence was odd to Sun, usually he has to break up constant back and forth banter all day between the two of you. He could tell something was off.

“Ooookay, obviously you two were having a moment before I interrupted. Maybe I should just go back to the captain's quarters.” He says, waiting for a response. The silence continued so he tried again. “Really? No ones going to say anything?”

No reaction.

“Nothing? Not even a ‘go away’ or ‘get lost Sun!’”

…

“Wow… Tough crowd tonight.” He sits silently there with the two of you, the awkwardness clearly getting to him. He starts talking aloud, rambling off the first thoughts that come to his head like he usually does just to fill the quiet with something. “‘No Sun, we don’t care if you sit with us. No Sun, of course you can join us on our stargazing adventure. We would love to sit and talk to you about whatever dark secrets we are hiding.’”

Sun freezes at a sudden realization and stands up so abruptly it almost looked like he had jumped back to a full standing position. He brings his hands up to his cheeks and gasps in the most overly exaggerated way it immediately draws the attention of you and Moon. You both stare at him, waiting for his next sentence.

“What? Spit it out.” Moon encourages with an angry tone. He didn’t know what his brother was about to say but clearly it wasn’t going to be good.

“Were you- awww! Moonie, were you expressing your undying love to Rogue?!?!” He squeals, excited.

“What?! No!” Both you and Moon respond at the same time with the same amount of disgust in your tones.

“What makes you think I would have feelings for this unbearable creature?!” Moon shouts defensively.

“Unbearable creature?! EXCUSE me?! I’m not the one who kidnaps and enslaves innocent life forms!” You protest. “Plus I’m not the one who comes BARGING in on others when they are clearly just trying to take a breather from YOUR suffocating, overprotective, metal butt!!!”

“Innocent?! Ha! You are no gold star citizen, sweet cheeks. You may have unique wings and the looks to match but you are HARDLY an angel. You are the furthest thing from it!” Moon lashes back at you.

You open your mouth to shout a snarky comment in response but you were too distracted to think of something because Sun just stood there giggling like a little child, sneering at Moon. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, their personalities were such polar opposites it really showed whenever they were in the same room together.

“What are you laughing at over there?!” Moon barks. Sun just smiled wider, it was almost on the verge of looking sinister.

“Oh nothing~” He chuckles. “But you do realize you just called them sexy, right?”

Both you and Moon stare blankly at each other then back to Sun as he smiles widely. It wasn’t until you caught on to what Sun was referencing that you began to laugh. The moment Moon realized what he had said in his last sentence was the moment his foot slipped and he almost fell off the railing.

“Sun! That is not what I meant and you know it! Don’t put words in my mouth!” He shouts, scrambling back over the railing flustered.

“Riiiight because what you said totally didn’t mean that you thought they were attractive.” Sun places an arm around your lower back and lifts you up off the container, twirling you around and pulling you close. “‘Oh Rogue, your wings are so unique and beautiful they match you perfectly.~’”

“Sun!!!” Moon yells irritatedly while Sun only continues the personification of his brother. He suddenly pulls you into a dip, stroking your arm gently.

“‘I’m too stubborn and thick plated to tell you the truth but I find you incredibly intriguing and I want to spend more time with you away from my annoying brother Sun.’”

“You better shut your mouth before I throw something at you!” Clearly getting more flustered by the second Moon grabs the closest object and preps it to be thrown.

“‘I want you all to myself, lets run away together!’”

“SUN!” Moon throws his projectile and a dirty towel lands smack in the center of Sun’s face and tangles itself around his sun rays.

“I think I’ll PASS Moonie ‘dear’, I don’t do relationships. Besides-“ you say taking a peek over your shoulder to make eye contact with Moon. “You’re not my type anyway.” You tease, spitting your tongue out at him.

“Oooooh! Buuuurrrnnn!” Sun laughs, standing you back up and unraveling the towel from his face.

“Will both of you just shut up already!” He hisses and leans back against the railing with his arms folded, trying to hide his face like a flustered pouting child by looking the other way. “Geez you’re so unbearable…”

“Ah c’mon Moonie, you just said that to me the other day.” Sun throws the towel on a neighboring storage container.

“I did not!” Moon argues.

“Yes you did~ You used those exact words.”

“Not in that order!!!”

“So? It still means the same thing.”

“NO, it absolutely does NOT.”

“Well then what did you mean then?” Sun nudges you with his elbow lightly. “Enlighten us~” He smirks.

“JUST STOP TALKING!!!” Moon yells, his eyes glowing bright red with what could only be furious anger or extreme embarrassment.

You and Sun both laugh, it wasn’t easy to get Moon flustered you had learned but when he was flustered, he was flustered. Sun lifts a fist up to you for a victory fist bump and you gladly oblige him. Sun may be high energy and very physical but he was at least more kind hearted than Moon was. You could spend hours with Sun with little problems but you can’t last 5 minutes with Moon without arguing. Tonight was solid proof of that. You don’t mind Sun, he was okay company to have though you do prefer solitude over any social interaction.

Sun winks at you after your celebratory fist bump and smiles, you made a good team when ganging up against Moon’s verbal attacks. It was then that he notices you holding the side of your neck with your other hand.

“Hm? You okay Chickadee? Did you strain your neck?” He asks.

“No, not strain. Just a sore muscle is all.” You lie, avoiding letting him see it completely. “No big deal.”

“They stabbed themselves with some scrap metal trying to pry the collar off.” Moon interjects. You shoot a glare at him and he gives you a snarky smile in return.

“You did what?!” Sun immediately grabs your shoulder and turns you around to see your wound. You try to wiggle out of his grasp and hide the area by squeezing your shoulder close to your chin but Sun’s grip on your shoulder prevents you from making any escape.

“It’s not a big deal really, MOON is just being dramatic.” You squirm.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that. Let me see.” Sun demands.

You weigh the options for your next move. You could try and argue, with enough confrontation Sun might relent and drop the subject or you could just show him. It was late though and you were tired from arguing with Moon. You didn’t have the energy to banter back and forth with Sun so you just lift your hand away from your neck to reveal the cut. It had mostly stopped bleeding, the first bits of blood had already started to dry. It looked worse than it actually was but only because blood covered the inside of your hand. You prepared yourself for a lecture on safety but were surprised when he just nods and lets you put your hand back over it.

“It doesn’t look too bad, though you should still go take care of it. You don’t want a nasty infection from not cleaning it properly. Or tetanus from that dirty scrap metal.” He brushes the sides of your wings like he is ‘dusting’ them off but you know that was just his excuse to touch them. “Go get yourself cleaned up in the bathroom then off to bed with you, understood little one?”

“Mhm…” You sigh. It seemed he was finally listening to you for once instead of making a big deal out of one small injury. It would be gone by morning anyway, your accelerated healing would fix it completely in the next few hours without even so much as a scar. You fluff your wings out with a few quick flaps to feel the breeze ruffle them one last time then you shrink them back down so they fit nicely on your back. Both brothers always watch you intensely whenever you move your wings, they were fascinated by them and how they functioned so their eyes were both glued to you as you walked away.

“Goodnight.” Sun calls to you to which you just nod your head with a mumble in acknowledgment.

“Don’t let the space bugs bite. There are literally thousands of them around the ship~” Moon shouts with a chuckle as his farewell for the night. You simply roll your eyes and go to retire for the rest of the night.

While you walk away you hear Sun get after Moon for letting you injure yourself again to which he of course argues back defending himself. If there was one good thing that came from tonight, it was the sweet sound of Moon getting his butt chewed by his brother.

Karma sweet karma.

(Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know if you are interested in a chapter 2) 💕

#sun & moon #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf y/n #bounty hunter moon #bounty hunter sun #bounty hunter au #y/n #writing

127 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 3 months

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #319: The Crossing Line Part 1: The Waterwind Interdiction

July, 1990

The Crossing Line Part 1 of Six CONFRONTATION!

The Crossing Line: The Waterwind Interdiction sounds like a political thriller you'd buy at an airport shop to have something to do when your flight is delayed.

With a submarine slapped on the cover, just like this issue has.

And we're going right from a five part story right into a six part story? Is this the era of longer arcs?

Or did editorial ask Fabian Nicieza to fill six additional months after he finished off Byrne's abandoned arc and Fabian just whipped up one big story rather than come up with six smaller ones?

Yeah, Fabian Nicieza isn't sticking around for long. We get him for The Crossing Line and then he's gone. Mark Gruenwald comes on for a single issue. Then Larry Hama for a bunch of issues and then Bob Harras takes over as the next long-term writer.

How long term? He's going to be writing the book through Operation Galactic Storm, through Bloodties, and only leave at the end of The Crossing (legally distinct from The Crossing Line) in 1996.

That's five years of Bob Harras. Oh boy do I hope I like and/or tolerate his run!

But I'm getting like a year ahead of myself.

It's not really that important what happened previously. And what's happening now is submarine stuff.

(Given the vagueness of the roster in this era, I appreciate the cast ribbon on the side of the introductory splash page.)

The British sub the Waterwind is having troubles. A lot of troubles. Power troubles and ballast troubles.

All of which drives it to surface.

Which a Russian team led by General Major Illyich Prokvitch was waiting for. They storm the stricken sub, capture the control center, and take the officers hostage.

General Major Prokvitch identifies his group as the "Peace Corpse" (fun wordplay there) and that they are here to save the world.

An officer on the sub called Allanson sabotaged the sub to help Peace Corpse have the chance to take the sub.

And Prokvitch shoots the sub's admiral when he sends a distress signal to the Royal Navy.

So: British nuclear submarine taken over by Russian Peace Corpse group, who want to save the world, maybe. And this might involve killing one hundred and forty million people. Or saving that same amount.

This is very airport paperback political thriller novel. Now throw some superheroes into this brew.

The distress signal goes to the Royal Navy, which makes it's way to the Prime Minister (Margaret Thatcher specifically).

Thatcher doesn't want to act so rash, apparently, as to have the Royal Air Force just bomb the submarine into not being a problem. But Peace Corpse hasn't issued any demands yet. And the sub has warheads aboard.

So Thatcher suggests getting W.H.O. (the Weird Happenings Organization) or Excalibur to fix the problem.

Airport paperback political thriller novel plots isn't really what W.H.O. is for and Excalibur isn't available this month because they're wrapping up the Cross-Time Caper.

So Thatcher contacts America because America has superheroes to spare. Just so many superheroes.

And over at the Avengers Subbasement, it's been a few quiet weeks since that Nebula business. The Mansion is still under reconstruction. Starfox is still recovering from the previous arc.

In Quasar's own book, he put an energy screen around Earth that will alert him if any aliens visit.

Long story short, the plot in Quasar's book at the time was that he was protecting cosmic entity Eon from a prophesied cosmic assassin. It's not really important to the Avengers though.

Sersi also has something to report. She hosted a really cool party. That is all.

The Avengers Support Crew is still around so it's Peggy Carter who calls on a video screen to let Captain America know that the Avengers have a very important call from President George HW Bush.

President Bush I: "Seems our friends in Great Britain have lost a nuclear submarine..." Sersi: "How does one lose such a thing?" President Bush Sr: "Things are sketchy on that front, Miss. All we know is that you've been granted clearance by the United Nations to take that sub down using any means possible."

The Avengers working for the UN?

What a notion.

A rogue submarine would be the perfect time to call in Namor under the Every Avenger Is An Avenger policy but, alas, Namor isn't answering hailing frequencies. And neither is Thor.

But Cap has a third choice for a water mission and it is Stingray.

Yay, Stingray!

Sure, he's not officially an Avenger but Captain America can make anyone he wants an Avenger. That is a power he has. It's called... Champion Status or something? Basically, he can name any group of people a team of Avengers.

Point being. They need a water guy and their normal water guy doesn't know how to answer the damn phone? Then Stingray is getting the call.

And they'll need the extra help.

Quasar: "I'm a little worried, Cap. I mean, international terrorism isn't usually our stock in trade." Captain America: "You're right. And the alarming lack of information doesn't sit well with me, either. Frankly, I'm a little worried, too..."

It's funny how international terrorism is outside of Quasar's comfort zone but cosmic nonsense and normal supervillain hijinxes are A-Okay.

Like there's a middle zone that's complicated and scary and then everything above and below it is simple and manageable.

Meanwhile, IN THE OCEAN, Peace Corpse gets the Waterwind operational again.

Turns out the damage was mostly cosmetic. Oh, Mr. Allanson, you wily son of a gun.

The fully operational sub includes a fully operational missile room with six fully operational torpedo tubes for fully operational Polaris A3s.

Although, they still need to bypass the launch sequences.

The Waterwind gets hailed by an unknown vessel. And I flipped the page, expecting the Avengers to have shown up. But I got something different.

Red Guardian: "Unidentified terrorists -- we are the People's Protectorate... And in the name of the Soviet Socialist Republics... You are hereby requested to surrender immediately or be blown out of the water!"

Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Peace Corpse are a Russian group. So Russia would have a vested interest in not letting them blow up the world.

Annnnd we have from left to right: Vostok, Crimson Dynamo, Red Guardian, Perun, and Fantasma.

Does their fancy vessel not have a sitting down room for communicating ship to ship? Sure, it's more dramatic to be standing but less convenient.

Above the ocean, the Avengers Quinjet detects the Waterwind AND the People's Protectorate vessel. Although they don't know what it is.

Luckily, they have Stingray aboard as their nautical nonsense expert. He was able to tell the Avengers what to look for with Resolution class subs.

The Quinjet dives into the ocean because why shouldn't a jet also be a submarine and sometimes a spaceship? It just saves time to have one vehicle do it all.

And they arrive to find the Waterwind launching torpedoes while the People's Protectorate scramble to destroy said torpedoes.

Having arrived in the middle of a situation and not really trusting the bits of this Soviet team he recognizes, Captain America decides the Avengers need to stop the People's Protectorate from "aggravating the situation any further!"

I think if the Waterwind is launching torpedoes, the situation is pretty aggravated, Cap.

Vision warns the other Avengers and Stingray that they have limited information on the Soviet super team but shares what he does know.

Perun is a big, buff strong guy who can shoot bioelectricity through his axe. So he's basically like their Thor. And the Avengers didn't bring their own Thor, whoops.

Sputnik (Vostok) is a synthezoid, like Vision, who can control machinery. So the Avengers did bring Vision but he's just vulnerable to his counterpart.

And finally, Crimson Dynamo has armor on par with Iron Man's. And the Avengers didn't bring Iron Man.

How are you going to have a counterpart fight if you didn't bring the guys?

Also, Quasar snarks that the People's Protectorate are a poor man's version of the Avengers. Which, hey, that may be accurate but you shouldn't say it!

Sersi gets started with the fight right away by transforming the water around Perun into a plastic alloy.

Vision introduces the Avengers as being here by request of the UN but Vostok immediately starts making Vision's mechanisms jut out weirdly, like various compound fractures, and informing Vision that because Peace Corpse are Soviet citizens, the Soviet government wants to handle this themselves.

Meanwhile, Quasar gets off on the right foot, apparently, with Crimson Dynamo by being polite. Really says something about the people Crimson Dynamo has met if Quasar calling him sir and asking him to please not fight comes off as weirdly polite for an American.

Over in the People's Protectorate ship, Red Guardian and Fantasma chill.

Red Guardian is very aware that whoever wins this unnecessary superhero slapfight has to then go on and fight a nuclear submarine. So he's less than thrilled that Fantasma pulls a Councilor Troi and tells him that her psychic powers sure are detecting a lot of aggression.

Red Guardian decides to contact the Avengers Quinjet, in which Captain America is chilling.

Red Guardian: "Captain -- please try to understand that Soviet personnel are involved in aggressive action. We feel, to allay global fears we must stop them ourselves." Captain America: "I can appreciate that, Guardian -- but we are recklessly allowing the Waterwind the opportunity to accomplish the very goals we both want to prevent!" Red Guardian: "But it was you who attacked us!"

... He's got a point, tho.

Captain America sent the Avengers to go tangle with the Protectorate without even trying to communicate with them. Sure, Vision tried to use his words. But only after Sersi made Perun mint in box.

Anyway, Fantasma's psychic powers tell her that it is TOO LATE.

Fantasma: "We have come too close... and they are angry... They feel they have been violated again... and they want us to pay for it!"

And while Stingray sneaks away from the fight to try to sneak onto the submarine and, he guesses, takes on the entire terrorist force by himself, shrug, some kind of attack strikes the side of the Waterwind and explodes, knocking Stingray away.

image

YUP

Turns out that the Waterwind and also superheroes were parked too close to the ruins of Atlantis and some elite Atlantean forces are joining the fray.

Hi, Tyrak, U-Man, and Orka.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

The Avengers. A Russian superhero team including Red Guardian, Crimson Dynamo, Vostok, and Perun. An Atlantean team. All getting into a big free for all over some underwater objective?

Did Jason Aaron just rip off this comic for his Avengers run? Why?

I've never heard anyone talk about this specific arc. So if he was homaging it, why??

I will probably never get an answer to that.

Anyway, the main story is over but the remaining five pages are a back-up story focusing on the Avengers Support Crew. But specifically Jarvis!

I love a good Jarvis focus story.

I am legit the exact audience for this. For workplace drama about the support staff for a superhero.

Jarvis is serving breakfast to Peggy Carter, Fabian Stankowicz, John Jameson, and Michael O'Brien.

They're enjoying Jarvis' excellent cooking and shooting the shit about having to work in a basement until Avengers Mansion gets re-reconstructed.

The Support Crew all take off to their respective jobs. Peggy offers to help Jarvis with the dishes but tells her he used to do every single chore, so he doesn't mind handling the dishes by himself.

But as soon as Jarvis is left alone, ho shit, the Crimson Cowl!

So Avengers history.

Once upon a time, the Masters of Evil beat up the Avengers. And it looked like they were being led by Jarvis, in the guise of the Crimson Cowl.

It actually turned out that Jarvis was a mind controlled patsy of Ultron, who decided he wanted his first attack on the Avengers to be in disguise.

What a silly robot.

The situation was a little more complicated though. Jarvis wasn't just minding his own business when Ultron brainwashed him. He needed money for emergency mom medical expenses and was ashamed to ask the Avengers so when someone offered money for information on the Avengers...

Well, he's ashamed of it but the Avengers forgave him. And Tony Stark probably took him aside and told him 'look, just ask for the money next time. I have... SO MUCH money.'

Anyway, current day Jarvis is packing heat and pulls a gun and starts unloading the clip at the Crimson Cowl.

To no effect.

This might not be an actual Crimson Cowl but some weird guilty conscience hallucination.

God know why it would suddenly be popping up now, of all times.

Crimson!Jarvis argues that he can never be rid of him because at any moment, he might betray the Avengers again! Hey, it happened once, CLEARLY, it can happen again!

The guilt hallucination? also tries to suicide bait Jarvis. Dick move.

All the shooting brings Michael O'Brien back to the kitchen. But Jarvis lies that he was shooting at a rat.

And the next time box says this isn't just a one-off character exploration thing. Some manner of mystery is going to deepen.

Anyway.

Next week, more Avengers West Coast. More of the Wanda is Evil and Crazy and Controlled by Immortus plot. Next next week, more of the airport paperback thriller novel, the Crossing Line, and more Avengers Support Crew.

Follow @essential-avengers. Like and reblog, maybe. I'm heading into the 90s and I'd love to hear any thoughts.

2 notes · View notes