#I nearly passed out on the way up and broke out in hives on the way down.

[metalcatholic]

[kyriolex]

Kawaki Academy Arc: Strength isn’t everything

We start where we left off: with Red Hana on the bridge, making a big show of “killing” Kae. Himawari and Kawaki basically go “nooo” and then Red Hana goes “yeeesss” and burns the bridge. 

The rest of the class shows up because they heard a huge explosion. Kawaki explains that Hana is the assassin and she just killed Kae. We spend nearly five minutes listening to sad music while the kids are in denial and despair. Himawari doesn’t think Kae is really dead because she didn’t see any blood, and Osuka points out that Hana could be planning to use Kae as a hostage.

We cut to the caves and see that, indeed, that is exactly the plan. Hana crouches in front of Kae and villain monologues the whole thing: her double personality, her plan to rescue her boss the minister from jail, and the fact that another accomplice from Bamboo is rolling up with a getaway ship in the morning. But the real Hana-sensei is still in there, crying over the pain Red Hana has caused her students.

Kawaki announces he’s going to rescue Kae. The other kids want to help, but Kawaki says it’s too risky for Academy students to go up against a professional assassin. Eho argues that Hana-sensei taught them that even if they are “weak and clumsy,” they can still make an impact. ... These kids really know how to give out backhanded compliments, don’t they?

They work together to throw a rope across the ravine and crawl across. They then search the woods by shouting Kae’s name, like she’s a lost puppy instead of a kidnapping victim. What follows is a long train of convenient reasons to use teamwork:

They need a more efficient way to search the island. Can’t Harika use her bugs? But no, she’s a student and can only control her hive at a short range.

Sosha to the rescue! She wrote an article about a couple who got stranded on this island, and summoned a passing ship for help. Kawaki has a brilliant realization that they are on an island, and Hana will need to cross water to escape. But where on the coastline would she be?

It would be awfully convenient if Mimi’s dog could sniff Kae’s sent. But apparently when Kikuchiyo hurt his paw, his nose broke too or something, I don’t know. But you know who else has a good nose? Konashi!

Yes, sweets boy actually does something useful. He can smell a drop of sugar from a mile away, so he sniffs his way to a piece of sweets Kae dropped. Kae was using the sweets Konashi gave her earlier to leave a bread crumb trail.

Harika says “I can work with this,” and her hive does the rest of the tracking to the cave. Kawaki tells the class to stay back: tracking his one thing, but fighting an assassin is too dangerous for students. The class asks what makes him so special, and he dramatically shows them his ninja headband and says “I’m a shinobi.” 

(Kawaki, you are a genin, and even then it’s only by technicality.)

Meanwhile, Kae decides she’s done relying on everyone else to save her. She uses Hana’s discarded kunai to saw her bindings free, then sprints out of the cave. Hana confronts her, and Kae bravely fights for her freedom, saying this princess will rescue herself from now on. 

Except Hana is a professional assassin, and Kae is a student, so she immediately gets her butt kicked. But you know. Points for trying. Kawaki and his partner Himawari show up to save Kae, and the credits roll for a convenient cliffhanger.

[marmaligne]

headcanon in two parts, sorry. Ask does not miss it. 1.1 Oh, you know the insecticons from the tfp? Can I have a headcanon where a S/O person is on friendly terms with insecticons?

[TF PRIME] S/O Is Friends With The Insecticons

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* [S/O] meets them by accident quite a bit before the events of the Energon Eaters. Arachnid is still “leader” of the Insecticons by technicality as the only available ‘Queen’ for the hive-mind, however she never really patrols the area or takes care of the hive as she should, rather choosing to wander as a free mind, disobeying orders from everybody.

* You had stumbled upon the hive while taking a short walk along the side of the Jasper highway, leading out of town and to an old coal mine you liked to inhabit on your days off work. A home-away-from-home of sorts, it brought you peace of mind to have a quiet place.

* At least you thought it was a quiet, desolate area until you broke through a thinning in the rock floor of the entry shaft and ended up crashing an Insecticon tea-party.

*It was a rather awkward fall, and it had injured your hip joint on the way down, leaving you temporarily paralyzed in throbbing pains and nerve damage.

* The giant bug-like robots and their shiny, metal wingspans immediately armed themselves and aimed at the shifting dust and rockfall, growling and chittering in a language of some sort, unknown to you.

* “Is it one of those ugly-faced Decepticons ploys again?”

* “It’s too small and squishy, much sooner to be a predacons’ chew toy than any weapon.”

* You looked super confused, absolutely stupefied, completely duped, utterly incomprehensible, awkwardly awed, amazingly idiotic, a-

* Their manner of speech and vocal patterns was practically lost on you. You could pick up remnants of a language similar to broken [language], but really nothing else. In an attempt to make contact with the metallic giants to gain help, you enabled your parroting capabilities.

* Humans have the stunning ability to mimic sounds and specific noise frequencies, at levels other earthen animals, especially mammals, cannot. Using this ability, you managed to copycat the grinding and chattering noises coming from the vocal mass of bug-bots.

* [S/O]: “¿Krrt-grrut vvurrr chechch?”

* Hardshell: “¿Buzzzz vert-tet-brrrz, Erreech?”

* [S/O]: “¿Erreech?”

* Hardshell: “¡VRREE BUZZZ-EECH CLICKLICKIK!”

* The contact went well, unbeknownst to you, and the successful communication meant that you might actually have a chance at escape, or finding a hospital!

* Congrats! You are now [Tiny Bug Child]! You have no idea what they were speaking about, unaware that they were contemplating how to execute you, but you successfully managed to evade death by being cute and cuddly! People say curiosity killed the cat, but it evidently saves the naive human-who-fell-into-an-insect-cult-meeting!

* Hardshell, the Insecticon you nearly landed on top of, begins to lift you out of the rubble, and place you down upon a makeshift stone table, partially destroyed by the collapse. The others—including Wingflap, Bombshell, Shrapnel, Blockhead, and Kickback—gather closely around you, cooing and chirping in their weird language again.

* This was, evidently, how you became the new Queen of the hive, though you didn’t know it, and managed to befriend your way through the entire enclosed community and worm into the spark of every Insecticon, though they were very few in number.

* You made easy friends with Bombshell, and remained close with him up until his untimely death by Bulkheads hammer fist. He would often lay atop the Jasper cliffside with you, and make out shapes in the clouds, constellations in the stars—regaling to you tales of the Old Cybertron, when his own kind weren’t so despised, and were respected as viable assets and allies amongst those with forms like and unlike their own—until the Autobot Elitists ensured they were seen as ugly and malformed, made to hide away in the shadows and step away from society for ‘the greater good’.

* It’s how you came to hate the Autobots—and Decepticons—for all they had done, to their planet and yours, and to your friends as well.

* Your mimicry slowly turned into actual speech patterns and recognition. Repetitive sound signals were a key portion of Archaic Insecticon speech, which made it easy to recognize simple words or phrases, each indicated by a set of whirs, clicks, or beeps.

* Now that you could actively communicate with most of the hive, it was far easier to make friends with even the hardiest of bots.

* Hardshell, of course, was tough to crack. At your constant insistance, he spoke with you once or twice, and made sure to acknowledge your presence when in the room, as well as save you a seat at the underground pub every other weekend. It wasn’t actually a pub per-say, rather a dugout chamber with smooth walls and some stone slabs insert for seating, where the cons enjoyed engex they could sneak off the Nemesis from time-to-time.

* After awhile, he warms up to you, welcoming you back to the hive every day after work, standing alongside his multiple siblings, and pushing others aside to get to hold you first.

* Meanwhile this all happens, they still don’t know what a human is. Their simple understanding of earth comes only from what they’ve seen on the highway from the cliffside, or from video footage of the Autobot pests on the Nemesis. Due to their bulky size and noisiness, they’re banned from most human-inhabited areas.

* Don’t doubt that some of them have attempted to follow their [S/O] home. They have. And some of them won’t stop trying. It’s been more than one awkward encounter between you and some teens to get them to realize they could get you in trouble.

* You all eat [dessert] together sometimes, made with energon supplements for ‘The Boys™️’, with some good ol’ 25-something-kg of sugar mixed in.

* The boys were worried when you didn’t show up for a week due to hospitalization via severe food poisoning medical coma.

* When Arachnid finally returned to Earth, and her fight against Arcee had proceeded about as well as expected, she located the hive and proceeded to force them to engage in business with Megatron. She believed that by implementing her own soldiers amongst the ranks, she’d be better equipped to backstab Megatron when the time came.

* She was undoubtably surprised when Hardshell and some others adamantly refused to take part in her plans at first, until she enforced their compliance through the hive-mind.

*When she learned of your existence, and the very gauge of your importance to her former hive, she came at you with full force.

*The Insecticons were fully unprepared to deal with a fight between their small [S/O] and an extremely angry ex-Queen. In refute, they returned you to the surface without so much as a goodbye, and begged you to escape before Arachnid scented you out.

* It was soon after these events that you learned of Breakdown’s death, Bulkhead’s coma, and Bombshell’s demise due to the combined effects of a substance called Tox-En and injuries sustained during his battle with Bulkhead. It broke you inside to learn there was nothing you could have done to help, but you refused to disobey their pleas to stay away for awhile.

* At the hive, Arachnid rules supreme. Being able to control the hive-mind was a feat a human was incapable of achieving, only Cybertronians able to easily access the imbedded chain of command.

* Hardshell mourned the loss of a true friend—a small, squishy human—but a friend nonetheless.

* Wingflap and Kickback went through a collection of memories you’d left behind with them. Pictures and small objects gifted over the years, a small treasure trove of important parts of their lives, now without you in them.

* Shrapnel stims a lot more now, and has nervous tics that he believes are the result of the loss of his dear friend. He knows you aren’t dead, least not yet, but he knows that you’ll likely never come back.

* Blockhead, as dumb as everybody thinks he is, is actually very emotionally intelligent. He has a way with words he barely understands, and [S/O] acted as a big support for someone like him. Without them now, he can no longer function like normal, and now has nobody left to talk to.

* Arachnid could care less. She absolutely despises [S/O], and would smite them for all she cares. You matter little to her, and only worry her for the loyalty and capacity of her troops.

* It isn’t until the Energon Eaters appear that everything turns completely south.

* [S/O] finally builds up enough courage to march themselves back down to the mine, and demand to meet Arachnid face-to-faceplate.

* The desert is hot, Nevada is hotter, and the trek down the highway seems endless and tedious. You pass by 5 interstate signs on your way to the hive, and count the steps it takes to reach the entrance, parched by the time you make it there.

* In all your sweaty glory, you, [S/O], make your way down the carved pathway into the mineshaft, dark and cramped—just as you left it.

* But everything is exactly as it was left, not an item out of place. The entire hive was empty, including of those you cared about. Their rooms are full of memories, and their energon cubes still lie in a corner, collecting dust and grime.

* The search seems profitable, yet it leaves you with nothing, and the emptiness of the hive echoes around you, and in all the chambers, through the cavern walls of every room.

* You know they’re gone, that they have left without you, and without so much as a simple passing note.

* Perhaps someday you’d find them, hiding away in another Jasper mine, but you never would.

* In their haze of a hive mind, they barely even remember the face of the human they left behind. A long line across the moon—stretching on for miles—and a vampire on a false throne, draining the lifeblood from their veins, and the image of [S/O] from their minds.

———————————————————————

✨ Hope you enjoyed ✨

[votederpycausemufins]

Welp, made another thing for @petrichormeraki ‘s Hermit!tommy au. be warned that this is only a part 1 cause i haven’t finished the whole thing and i need to get my computer looked at so i won’t be able to finish it yet but here’s some of it at least

Disclaimers here are that I only know the general idea of Xisuma’s base and that there’s a honey farm somewhere, but I took liberties with how it is for the story. Also, headcanon that I made specifically just because I want it to happen, canon deaths that don’t end up with a ghost make the person lose a piece of their soul until it can’t support them fully anymore. Then that piece ends up somewhere else. Maybe that’s why the compasses work. But more I just want something like what happens in this fic. For the hurt/comfort.

When Tommy first joined the Hermits accidentally, he hated being around Xisuma. Not only was he the admin of the server, the one who held the most power, but for whatever reason, this guy decided to look like a bee. It was worse when Tommy learned he almost changed up to look like a Strider, but then just went back to a bee. At the very least it wasn’t easy to run into the guy.

It was more the problem of his base. The coolest places and the ones Tommy most liked to visit were the ones in the jungle, especially since the old base he was living in was built there. With no elytra, at least not one he used for more than gliding, Tommy got lost when in the more natural parts of the biomes. And when that happened, he tended to accidentally find Xisuma’s base.

So much of it was bee themed that Tommy disliked it. It reminded him too much of what he left behind, but couldn’t get back. Having the compass was as much as Tommy was willing to have to remind him.

But one day Tommy got killed when he wasn’t being careful. He wasn’t too worried about it, especially after a message in his new communicator had a message from a hermit who picked up his stuff and put it in a chest. They didn’t really have the inventory space to bring it to him and we’re busy enough they couldn’t stay, but it was fine. A chest was the standard.

But right now, the problem was getting to the chest. Not only was it somewhere in the jungle, but it was also most of his gear. Tommy didn’t really have many good backups, never wanting something that someone could take, even though he knows the hermits would never do that. Probably. He’s still wary just to be safe. The most he has in storage is some gold armor for when he goes into the nether.

Tommy donned a mixture of gold and worn iron armor and a mostly used sword to get his stuff. He’s sure he knows the way to his gear until he doesn’t. With the monsters tougher than at his old home, Tommy is worried about dying again as the sun starts to set. He rushed through the jungle a bit faster until he ran into it. Xisuma’s base. Tommy was going to pass it by when monsters started to spawn, with him getting really unlucky and one zombie spawning with full enchanted armor.

Not wanting to die, Tommy scrambled his way into Xisuma’s base. He sighed once he was in a safe place, though upset that he would have to spend the night in such a place.

With nothing much better to do other than sitting, which Tommy hated doing, he started to walk around and explore Xisuma’s base. Close up, it was actually okay. The bee theme designs weren’t as prominent, and all the towers and buildings had farms inside them which were fun to watch. The one problem was the honey farm. This one definitely had a lot to do with bees. Tommy was going to just run by it when a bee popped out.

Tommy actually paused at that. Then smiled. Bees only game out during the day, which meant he could leave. He smiled and ran out of there and went outside to see… it was still night?

Now confused, Tommy went back to the bee farm. He was beginning to think maybe he just imagined it, but then he saw the bee still there. He watched as it kept bopping its head against the glass, ignoring the flower with it and not going back in its hive.

Puzzled, Tommy just watched the bee until he heard the noise of someone using a firework. The sound caught Tommy’s attention, and he looked away. When he turned back, the bee was gone. After looking there for a few seconds, Tommy shrugged and started to walk away. But even then, he still kept looking back, so much that he didn’t notice Xisuma until he ran into the man.

Tommy froze up when he saw the admin standing in front of him, but instead of anything Dream might have done or said, Xisuma spoke in a kind voice. “Oh, sorry Tommy, I didn’t see you there. Were you looking for me?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a little bit until he heard the pop of a bee leaving its hive. “Uh, I just got lost and holed up here, cus I died and was trying to get to my stuff and that one guy isn’t around to sleep. Also one of your bees is fuckin’ weird.”

Xisuma scolded the boy for cussing, then offered to help Tommy get to his stuff. He mostly ignored the bee comment until there was the noise of something softly hitting glass again. Xisuma walked over to the farm and Tommy followed.

“See! Isn’t it supposed to not do that?” Tommy asked, to confused by the mob to be scared of Xisuma or want to leave the bee area.

Xisuma nodded slightly, watching the bee’s odd behavior. “Maybe it somehow got linked to another hive or nest and is trying to get there.”

“So what, you’re gonna let it out?” Tommy asked, bristling a little at the idea.

Xisuma nodded again. “It’s probably the only way we could be sure. I can always breed up another if it leaves.”

The admin took out a silk touch pick and broke the glass. The bee flew out and the glass was replaced so the other bees that had not left the hive just yet wouldn't also escape. Instead of the bee trying to fly out of the base, it flew towards Tommy and hovered around him.

Tommy went rigid as the bee flew towards him. He was sure it would keep going, but instead it stuck around him. “What the fuck do you want then?” He asked the mob even though it couldn’t respond. “I don’t have any of those prissy flowers so bug off.”

But the bee didn’t listen. It seemed quite pleased to stick with him. Tommy nearly drew his sword to kill it, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to actually his the thing with what it represented to him. Plus Xisuma might get mad and it could break his farm. “Can you just help me get my stuff, maybe it’ll leave once we’re outside.”

Not knowing what else he could say, Xisuma agreed to that. He could tell that something about bees was a sore subject for Tommy. The way he stiffened up around them and also around him. It was part of why he was so surprised to see the boy.

After a bit of walking, Tommy reached the chest of his gear and equipped and stored everything in his inventory. The bee happily bopped up against him and once again Tommy thought about killing it. But instead he just started wandering home, the bee following right behind.

The following day, Xisuma showed up to check on Tommy. While he wasn’t please to see the admin, Tommy at least accepted the gift of a bee hive, especially after his apparent new pet bee would not stop bopping its head against him. Hopefully the hive would give it somewhere to live and it would stop.

Tommy thanked Xisuma for the gift before shoving him out the door, glad for the lack of resistance the admin gave. Then, turning back to the rest of the hobbit hole he moved into, Tommy plopped down the hive right in the middle of the room. “There. Go in there and stop bothering me.”

But the bee didn’t listen, it just kept bopping it’s little fuzzy head against Tommy. Angry now, Tommy grabbed the bee, held it eye level, and looked right into its eyes. “You’re going to stop annoying me and go in that hive, got it?! I’m sick of you flying around me!”

He then let the now trembling mob go and it flew into the new hive. Tommy almost felt regretful about yelling at it. Almost. Grumbling, he went over to his bed to rest now that there wasn’t much to keep him up. Tommy set down his gear nearby, and placed his closed compass on the bed.

With all this bee stuff, Tommy couldn’t help but look at the object. After hesitating for a few moments, he grabbed the item and opened the lid. Inside, the needle danced wildly, not sure how to point with its location in another dimension. Tommy gave a sad sigh and was about to close it again when the needle stopped spinning. It clearly pointed in one direction for a few seconds. Tommy’s eyes widened and he started to turn towards where the needle was trying to guide him, but then it went back to dancing about.

Tommy looked at it confused, before realizing it still might change again. Tubbo may have found a way here. He ran in the direction the needle had been pointing and tripped over the new hive he had placed, cursing as he hit the floor. He looked back up at it to hit it once or something, but the compass has steadied itself again, the needle pointing the other direction, right towards the hive.

[spellcasterlight]

Hi there Shimmering Starfish Anon! 🥰

Oh my goodness that’s so sweet! Thank you so much! 🥺

I have a few headcanons for a grandfather Shibi!

Happy birthday Shibi! You gorgeous, smart, powerful shinobi and fantastic father you! 😎

Warnings: Major Character Death.

The head of the Aburame clan was finishing some paperwork in his office when the sound of his son’s wife’s voice broke through the silence.

“Can I tell him, Shino?! Please, please, please?!”

Shibi heard Shino chuckle from around the corner.

“He is; my; father Tenten.”

“Well, yea but I’m the one who-”

“Tell me what; Shino?”

Shibi leaned against the door looking between the positively beaming Tenten and his smiling son. Whatever their news was, it was very positive.

The weapons mistress was bouncing on the spot, looking at Shino like a child waiting to be permitted to raid the sweet drawer. His son only smirked.

“I believed; you; wanted to tell him?”

With a playful punch to Shino’s arm, she turned to him, smiling somehow, only getting wider.

“Shibi,” she took hold of his hand in both of hers while at the same time Shino planted a loving hand on her hip. The couple shared another gleeful look before finishing. “I’m pregnant.”

It was like someone temporarily stole all the oxygen out of the air before rushing it all into his lungs again.

Him? A grandfather? Shino and Tenten were having a baby? He was going to be-

Tenten started bouncing again, holding his hand tighter.

“You’re going to be a grandad!”

Shino called for his attention when he had been silent in his delighted thoughts for too long. “Father?”

“How wonderful,” Shibi felt Tenten let out a shining bright laugh of amusement and wonder when he couldn’t help himself and engulfed her in a hug; it only got louder when Shibi brought Shino into the hug as well. “Nothing; could be more wonderful.”

Shibi doesn’t understand his son’s confusion at his immediate advice about keeping a medical ninja around twenty-four seven, about making sure she doesn’t move too much, about increasing her check-ups to make sure she has twice as many as usual.

Zoka, Shino’s mother, was so weak when she was pregnant she was nearly bedbound for the latter half of it.

It’s only when Shibi sees Tenten doing her morning target practice a few weeks later that he realises how wrong he was, how he had let old fears engulf him after his first wave of euphoria. Tenten is physically far stronger than his wife was; she would be okay. He starts to breathe a little easier.

When Tenten is taken off the active-duty list, and Shino is out of the village, Shibi will have his Kikaichu follow her to keep an eye on her; he believes he is stealthy, the Aburame clan head is merely being cautious, but when Tenten shows up at his door after only the third time with an annoyed look on her face he realises Shino taught her better than that.

“Shibi,” Tenten said in an exasperated but not angry tone. Shibi has the decency to feel slightly ashamed. “I don’t need the both of you watching over me.”

“I am; aware; you are more than capable,” and he did know that. “I merely; worry.”

The weapons mistress smiled a knowing, understanding smile at him before taking his hands in hers.

“Next time, just come down to our house, okay? Or even better, we’ll go out for tea. If you’re going to worry, at least do it where I can talk some sense into you.”

He is once again reminded how strong-willed she is.

Shibi always hoped and prayed, and maybe even a little bit silently pleaded that Shino’s journey into fatherhood would be a slow walk rather than the quick sprint his was with Shino being born prematurely and his mother dying in childbirth, he had to become both a father and a single father all in one day. With each passing day when Tenten still has no trouble walking or looking after herself, and with every passing positive check-up report, it looks like his prayers were going to be answered.

When Tenten tells him they’re having a boy, he’s not surprised Aburame born females are scarce for reasons his clan had yet to discover, but that doesn’t stop him from being excited with his daughter-in-law anyway.

Shibi doesn’t cry when he holds his grandson for the first time, but the usually silent air around him does shift to have that aura; both Tenten and Shino could tell he came damn close.

Shibi dotes on his one and, he knows himself, only, grandchild. Shino and Tenten are both fierce people who adore their work. Having only one child allows them to be both loving parents and continue the shinobi work they love, he thinks it’s the best of both worlds, and it means he gets to look after Shinja entirely on the infrequent times they are both on missions. So he turned Shino’s old room into a room for his grandson.

Shinja’s first pair of sunglasses are an old pair of Shibi’s. There are some scratches on the frames, but the lenses reflect the light so well. Tenten makes a joke about being blinded by them. They’re so shiny because Shibi spent all night cleaning and polishing them.

He will not critique or discourage Shino’s teaching style when it comes to Shinja’s hive training. On the contrary, Shibi feels his son does a far better job describing things than he ever did, so when Shino tells him he’s just building upon the lessons, he gave he contains his surprise but only just.

He watches his grandson’s chunnin exams fights sitting right beside his son and daughter in law, Shinja does not pass the first time. Only when Shibi tells Shinja that neither he, his mother, or his father passed the first time does he fully accept the outcome.

Shibi dies in a way most shinobi could only dream of dying due to old age surrounded by family who loves him. Shino had taken over as head of the clan for many years at that point. Tenten owned her shop and was a successful jonin. His grandson was a chunnin level shinobi with his own ambitions and friends. So they would all be okay. His family would be okay.

The last thing he asked for, before sending them on their way, just like his wife did to him just before she died, was to receive a crushing hug from his grandson.

His life was complete.

[morgueroulette]

Riptides 

I'll take your loneliness, 'cause I know what it feels like All your uncertainty, I'll make into mine I'll take your punishment, 'cause I think I deserve it All your never ending condescending arguments So lay me out on your table Let's get straight to the heart of this.

The problem with anger, is that it’ll pull you down, eventually. Rory’s is righteous- October’s is bred into him- The tides clash here and now- may the combatants come away... alive?

TW: Violence, Blood

“I just don’t know why you’re taking it so fucking hard- It’s a joke not a dick, brokeback mountain.” Rory knew better than to think this was going to be easy. October was stubborn at his best moments, and Rory pushing back against his norm was likely to get the older vampire up in arms. He’d tried to be gentle about it- as gentle as one could be about the fact his so-called ‘best friend’ treated him like shit on the regular- had waited until everyone else had left the clan meeting, until it was just the two of them sat in The Hive well below his home. He’d hoped, in privacy, the usual bravado that colored October’s presence would soften the way it often did, dropping the ego and bravado to be the friend he’d made in college, a bit terse, sarcastic and rude, sure, but he’d never been cruel- Callus and unkind and willing to jump to the physical the way he’d become now. He’d hoped that therapy would have made him better- He realizes now that perhaps he wasn’t something October saw as important enough to mention, because the mistreatment had continued, even as the other vampire became more visibly kindhearted toward others, his children, the clan, his other friends.

Everyone but Rory. So perhaps he was angry, perhaps he was angrier than he had ever been, when October pushed genuine concern, a request for peace, to hang up the way he’d broken the man’s bones for little more than a minor infraction and be treated like his friend again off to the side like it was some kind of passing thought, a fleeting, momentary want after a joke that he couldn’t take.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Comes the response, and Rory loathes the way his voice breaks on the words. “A joke? You punched me so hard I saw stars, you coulda cracked my skull, Eight!”

“And I didn’t. and if I did you would have healed. Why’s this such a big fucking deal for you now? Christ, you start spending more time with your bonky sister and fainting couch and you start actin’ like I’m some kind of supervillain.” October doesn’t grasp it, but who could expect him to? He’d spent nearly 20 years with things working... this way. Rory taking a beating, an insult, and declaring he’s okay, bouncing right back. He’s not seen the mental wounds left behind, the younger vampire desperate to keep them tucked away- Would he have stopped if he saw the ache in dark eyes? The desperate want to be accepted keeping Rory from standing his ground? Would he have been kinder if he knew that the other man’s submission to suffering was a self-inflicted punishment brought about by October’s violent tendencies?

Neither of them know, because now, with October stubbornly digging in his heels and Rory’s temper flaring, is the first time either have spoken to the dynamic they’ve served for three decades. Patience finally strained too thin, with hospital visits and the stress of someone having attacked Edgar (A fact that certainly made something in Rory hunger for revenge, so he could only imagine the way it made Felicia feel) and Kirby’s true parentage bearing on him in tandem with the constant stress of being an estranged father desperate for time with his daughter, it’s hard to place which straw broke the back of the camel- but the beast is lame, and the gate it guarded is straining open once more.

“When’d you become such a little bitch, man?” October questions, finishing his drink and rolling his eyes. “I’m going home.” He declares, pushing away from the bar to leave- only to find himself held fast, Rory’s grip at his wrist sudden and tight. “Fuckssake.”

“I’m askin you to stop treatin’ me like shit, and you’re just gonna leave? Felicia and Edgar have names, I have a name, but you don’t respect anybody who isn’t you enough to fucking care about that, do you? Have to find the first fucking thing you think of about somebody’s looks, or personality, and then that’s their name from then on with you, right? God damn it’s no reason you don’t have any fucking friends who aren’t beholden to you by a fucking band contract! Face it, nobody would put up with you if they knew the real you the way me an’ the other guys do. But fuck me, right? Stupid fuckin’ Rory, some simple fuckin’ idiot who can’t take care of himself, can’t think unless you tell me what to do? But which one of us was top of the class in college, October? because it wasn’t you.”

October yanks his hand free, angular features darkening with a scowl. “What, get your feelings hurt and now you need to brag about shit that happened 30 years ago? Come the fuck on, Riordan, I was kidding.” October snaps, Rory letting out a manic laugh.

“You punched me in the head! You threw me through a glass cabinet two weeks ago, and oh, for the sin of spilling a little liquor on the new object of your fuckin’ obsession I got my arm broken and my jaw fractured! Yeah- kidding.” The last word is dagger sharp, the younger’s fists clenching at his sides. “Admit you’re a dick! for fucks sake! I’ve given you a pass for years because I thought you knew! I assumed anybody as fucking awful as you knew he was the absolute worst! Now you’re pretending to be some paragon of good and kindness and a good father when I- I know you. Whichever one of you is the real October, I don’t fucking know anymore, but the guy I know isn’t a good fuckin’ person and I gave him a pass on that because he was my friend and now I’m watchin’ you parade around like you’re some kind of kindhearted leader only to haul off and hit me because you think it’s funny. It’s fucked up! you’re fucked up! Don’t look at me like I’m crazy- You’re a dick October. The least you can do is fucking admit that so I don’t feel like I’m going insane for being upset!”

The older vampire arches a brow, runs a tongue across the fronts of his capped fangs. He seems about to say something, crosses broad arms over his chest. Rory hopes beyond hope that it’s an admission, maybe an apology. What he gets makes him see red, instead: “Are you finished?”

Maybe he overreacts, because with a shout, he throws himself at October, cocking back and punching the other vampire in the nose, planting one steel-toed boot against his knee and kicking sharply, not letting up until it buckles back, October hitting the floor of the speakeasy with a snarl and a hiss. They scuffle for a moment, Rory landing a few solid swings to October’s face- feeding regularly had its benefits, he supposed, the pop of cartilage under his knuckles a thrill he’s not soon to forget- before his anger is quickly overwhelmed by a flame more frequently stoked. He doesn’t realize what’s happened at first, head suddenly ringing, nose suddenly bleeding, but by the time October snaps his nose back into place and wipes his own blood on his sleeve, Rory’s well aware whatever follows will make the fight in the motel room 17 years ago look like chump change. He staggers, coughs and watches as one heavy, ring clad fist cocks back, closing his eyes and turning his face down and away- at the very least, he’ll deserve this one.

October’s about to punch his lights out, jaw aching, nose likely broken in a way he’s going to need to feed to heal- and then Rory folds in on himself and there’s recognition, perhaps, a faraway look in his eyes for a minute. Which is just long enough for Rory to haul off and hit him again. “Ow! motherfucker-”

“I’m still angry!” He manages, spatting blood on October’s boots. “You- You don’t get to do shit like this and be a good guy! You don’t! You don’t get to pretend my suffering means nothing, you don’t get to abandon a kid an’ pretend they don’t exist, okay! you don’t.... You don’t get to be what I’ve been trying to be for so fucking long so fucking easy when you’re still a monster underneath it all. You don’t get to retreat into being somebody kind when I’ve spent 2 centuries feeling like I’ll never measure up to being good.” He spits again, cocking back to punch October again only for the older vampire to catch his fist. 

“Rory...”

“You don’t get to be good if I’m not, god damn it! If I deserve the way you treat me then neither of us are good men and we’re both doomed to our suffering so I need you to quit pretending to be a good person and admit you’re a dick.” The last word comes out on a sob, accent decidedly german and voice breaking. “I have tried so long to attone for what I did and you just decided you weren’t that guy anymore. I watched you do what you’ve done- you can’t just hang it up, if you can just move on then I should have been able to and-” There’s no trace of anything from the American south left behind, rambling desperate and german afflicted as he tries to wrench free from October’s grip.

“RORY!” He barks suddenly, the younger vampire jerking to attention. “I’m a dick, okay? is that what you needed to hear? Christ! Yeah, I treat you like shit because you let me. But you’re not me.” He insists, forcing the shorter’s fist back down to his side. “You’re a hell of a lot better than me, in fucking... everything. So yeah, maybe I... Maybe I took it out on you.”

“Definitely.”

“So I definitely took it out on you.” He sighs, wiping a trail of blood from his nose once more, a cut on his cheek from Rory’s scant rings dripping absently. “I didn’t know, you know.”

“You wouldn’t have stopped if you did.”

“no, I wouldn’t have.”

“So the point is moot.”

“I suppose.”

“Then why won’t you let me beat the shit out of you for catharsis?”

“Because I make money with my face, and I don’t think beating each other up solves any of this?”

“Terribly rich statement, guy who broke my jaw on a whim.”

“I’m sorry. I know it means shit, Rory, but I am.” October sighs, eventually releasing his grip on the younger’s hand. “It’s fucking weird that you sound like this.”

“Yeah, well, it is usually only temporary. I’m not doing it on purpose, you fucking dummkopf.”

“So I’m gonna... turn around and leave.” October insists, Rory sighing, shaking his head. “And I’m... I’m gonna let up. okay? Clearly you’re serious about this and you’re under a lot of stress with everything that’s happening for you and-”

“Don’t act like you care, October.” Comes the response, voice flat. “You’re my friend, I love you, but don’t pretend like you give a shit just because you got called out for this.” He sighs, October frowning, but nodding slowly. Stopping at the doorway and turning to glance over his shoulder. “What?” The younger questions, dropping himself into a booth.

“I didn’t abandon anybody here in the city- the kids are... Well, it’s complicated but they’re... around.” Rory swallows hard. “What do you know, Willingham?”

“I’ve been asked not to tell you.”

“And we can go back to beating the shit out of each other over something different, if you’d like.”

“....”

“I can always reset a broken nose a second time, Rory.” October warns, and the other man sighs. “I don’t want to fight you, man, but that’s not something you should- that you should keep from me.”

“One of the tenders at my bar. Kirby. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to talk to you, so don’t fuck with them, alright? I shouldn’t have said anything, it was the heat of the moment, I was mad.”

“....”

“You can leave now, I’d like to bleed on myself on my own terms. In private.” He mutters, placing his face in his hands and listening to the doors throughout the house close behind October.

“Shit.”

[docholligay]

Divided by Four: Nine

According to my OW character bible, today is Tracer’s birthday. I’ve been working on this...I don’t know exactly what to call it, for awhile now, and it’s my hope to get it all up before the week’s out, at least. 

The light through the leaves sparkled a bit, if you looked at it just right, a bit like a diamond of the natural world. Well, diamonds were a part of the natural world too, Lena, who was not yet even imagined Tracer, supposed, but they were cut, weren’t they? Made into something other than what nature intended them, really, and that didn’t quite count the way the light through the leaves did on such a splendid and sunny day, Lena thought. 

She had these thoughts as she lay back in the arms of the one tree in the tiny postage stamp that passed for a garden, patio, and lawn in the back of the Oxton residence. It was barely the size of a living room, and it was pure decadence, so far as Lena was concerned. Not everyone had their very own tree in the backyard, rumored to have been freshly planted by an Oxton after the backyard and the entire block behind it had been blown away in the Blitz. What luck, her family had said, finally we can afford something nice around here. They’d had roughly the same approach to the Wipe the omnics had put up all those years later. Lovely, neighborhood had gotten far too expensive for normal folk, what? 

And so, Lena had a tree, and Parvati didn’t have to share a bedroom with the brothers, and these things were only true because bombs had fallen. Nothing was all bad, really. A bit of light in everything. 

She did not fully encompass the luck of her tree just yet, nor the fortune of having a family that valued keeping things in the family over nearly everything else, nor the aggravation of trying to repair plaster that had fallen down without calling a workman that might not be related and thus charge a fair, too high, price for the repair. But she did have a general sense that her life was coming toward fortune, that she was born under a lucky star and the last few years had only been a a bit of rough travel. 

The light from between the leaves soften and sharpened as her mind wandered aimlessly about, her leg swinging back and forth as she simply let it happen in a simple drift on the stream of her own thoughts. She liked her new haircut. She’d be at a new school this year. The kids would be nice to her, she was sure of it. Well, they would or Ollie would have something to say about it--who would argue with a boy of thirteen--and she was in the same class with Parvati, who was popular with the other girls and wouldn’t let them treat Lena quite the way she’d been treated at her old school. 

A little smile came to her lips as she brushed a leaf along her cheek. Life wasn’t bad, all things considered. And it stood to be even better, this coming year. 

There was a sound, far off, as if through water, and Lena tried to pull herself back, even as her mind continued the soft-focus meander through the light in the leaves. 

“Lena!” 

It broke through all at once, in the way things sometimes did, like a rock through a stained glass window, and Lena jumped at the sudden loudness of it, grabbing at the branch above her to catch herself. 

“Steady on, love, didn’t mean to frighten you.” Her dad’s eyes were a little wide, his hands in the air, but then nodded as Lena adjusted herself safely, “You coming down anytime soon, or should I ‘ave your Uncle Teddy take the cake ‘ome?” 

It was her birthday today. She had nearly forgotten. Well, she hadn’t forgotten, she had remembered right when she’d woken up, and she was very excited, wiggling as she tried to eat a bit of breakfast, but she had forgotten as she had been sitting there in the tree not remembering entirely why it was she had climbed it in the first place. But then, there was the joy of remembering that it was her birthday, and that her uncle had made a wonderful cake for her. So nothing was all bad, really. 

Lena shimmied quickly down the tree, only half-hearing her father’s admonition to be careful, and when she reached the final y in the branches, she jumped into his arms with a giggle, wrapped up in an embrace and a peck on the cheek. 

“You’re getting too big for this.” He kissed her on the forehead and set her down. 

“Am not!” she shook her head. “I’m shorter than most every girl in class, except ‘annah Deavers.” 

“Well, I’m getting too old for it, and that’s the truth.” He chuckled, patting her shoulder and opening the door back into the house. 

A birthday. It was an exciting thing, to be all of nine, now, and next year she would be double digits, which was very old indeed, and from there it was only a quick jump to being a pilot, she figured. Her dad always told her she didn’t have to be a pilot just because there were so many in the family, but Lena couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do more. 

She barrelled into the kitchen, nearly smacking her lip against the countertop as she ran up to her cake. Lena knew what it would be, coconut with strawberry and cream, just as she’d asked for, and she gave a little jump, clap, and a contented huff as she tried very hard to restrain herself. It was hard to be calm. It felt like she had a hive of bees inside of her, or fireworks, not unpleasant but a humming sense of vibration that made her itch to move and talk and basically make a bit of a nuisance of herself, sometimes. Sometimes she did things without quite thinking about it, and she was never still, and this was why other children thought her odd. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

Lena was working on it, best she could. 

There was a hand on her shoulder and her uncle Teddy’s voice at her ear. “You go ahead and be excited today, love.” 

She turned around and smiled at him, tucking a hair behind her ear that was no longer long enough to do so, her mind not quite remembering that yet, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Can we light the candles?” 

“Lena, you ‘ave to eat something of substance first, love, no filling up on cake.” Her father followed into the kitchen, “Small enough as it is.” 

“It’s ‘er birthday, Bert.” Teddy chided. 

“I don’t much care if it’s ‘er golden jubilee,” he chuckled, “needs to gain a bit of weight, and if they ‘ear I’ve only been feeding ‘er cake, going to get a call from some child safeguarding board.” 

It was true, Lena was a bit small, and she didn’t mean to be. It was only that there were so many things to do, and after the third bite or so, each bit of food tasted quite like the other, and sometimes she forgot in the midst of chatting and playing that there was meant to be a meal on at all, and she almost never ate her snack after school, as that would cut into her playtime. She wasn’t hungry, and so didn’t see the cause for concern, but her father had been lectured a bit by the doctor at her last exam, even though he tried to explain that the Oxtons were a fairly wiry bunch even setting aside Lena’s hyperactivity. He’d grown a bit red int he face, and that made Lena feel bad. 

And so she really should try to eat more often. Her dad tried hard. 

“Right, but,” Teddy landed back against the counter. He was unspeakably tall in a sea of Oxtons, broad shouldered from hauling sacks of flour, “Cake, I think, might ‘elp that, unless there’s something I’m misunderstanding about general nutrition.” 

“Sure don’t ‘urt you,” there was a pat at Teddy’s stomach, and her uncle Mark laughing. 

“Listen you.” Teddy scowled, but kissed him anyway. 

“Dad,” she looked up at him breathlessly, forgetting her promise of mere moments ago to eat a proper meal more often, “Can we please?” 

He looked around at his family, and back down at Lena, and shook his head, smiling. “All right then. I know when I’m beat.” 

He hitched her onto his hip and nodded at the cake. “You make a wish now, Lena my girl.” 

It wasn’t a particularly memorable birthday. Tracer, years later, wasn’t sure why she remembered it so keenly, the light through the trees and the crowd of her family in the little kitchen. She couldn’t remember what she had wished for, though she felt sure it had come true. She did, though, remember jumping down out of the tree into her dad’s arms, and the color of cake, how sweet it was on her tongue and how the creamy frosting melted over it. She remembered the certainty that everything was going to come right, though she couldn’t remember a single present. 

Mostly she remembered the brightness of the candles, how lovely they were and quickly they burned.

[twilightofthejedi]

fic: barefoot in the kitchen

written for the 2021 chayenzo community fanfic challenge by @the-chayenzo-community !!! 

dialogue prompt: 

“close your eyes, and hold out your hands.” 

read on aoc: here 

“Are you listening to me?” Cha-young asked, her voice loud, and cutting him out of his reverie. They were sitting at the bar of some upscale restaurant, and the long day was beginning to catch up with him. He looked up at her, bewildered. 

“Sorry, Ms. Hong. I must have…” he trailed off awkwardly, because she was pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, frowning in apparent concern. “What are you doing?” 

“Just checking.” She raised her eyebrows comically. “If the great Mr. Mafia lawyer-”

“Stop calling me that-” 

“-is not paying attention at all times, then something is surely wrong with him!” she finished victoriously, and when he said nothing, grinned at him, wide and beaming. Her face was slightly flushed, and her smile was nearly blinding in its intensity, and it had the combined effect of making him want to- 

He shook his head, inwardly cursing at himself. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about next week. We need to figure out what we’re doing about the illegal stock acquisitions.”

She nodded, and turned serious. It was admirable how she could do that, how she could push her drink away and take out her phone to write down their plans. 

And if he moved a little closer to her, and let his hand rest a little longer than usual on her shoulder, well, that was nobody’s business. 

-----

The next day, he barely saw her. When he arrived at the firm in the morning, three cups of coffee in hand, she was pulling on her coat. She took her coffee from him, smiled in thanks, and breezed out the door, leaving him staring after her. 

“I think she said she had some errands to run,” Mr. Nam said, pointedly ignorant as always, taking his cup from him. Vincenzo nodded, and set his briefcase down. He opened his computer, set down his cappuccino, and soon was lost in the case files that he had uploaded the previous day. Mr. Nam periodically asked him for some document from the shelves, but for the most part, they worked in silence. When the quiet got too much, he put in his earphones to listen to Guilio Cesare, one of his favorite operas and one that he had frequently gone to watch in Milan, when he had some free time. When he had tried to show it to Cha-young, she had fallen asleep on his couch, and he had had to put her feet up on the cushions and cover her with a blanket for the night. 

Around noon, there was a memorable incident involving the monks, a runaway cat, and a feline fur allergy, which left poor Monk Chaesin covered in hives (before Ms. Jang stabbed him with an epipen), but other than that, the day passed by relatively uneventfully. 

She didn’t come back to the firm at all, which was highly unusual for her. He had grown used to hearing her move around the room, talking either to them or on the phone about anything and everything, and felt the silence most keenly, especially when Mr. Nam took out his own lunch, leaving Vincenzo to wander on his own to the snack bar for something to eat. Usually he would have gone out with Cha-young, and he couldn’t stop wondering where she was. 

When he casually asked Mr. Nam if he knew, the older man had just fixed him with a knowing stare, and Vincenzo had hurriedly ducked out of the room, willing the blush on his face to disappear. 

As it got dark, however, he was beginning to get worried. What if Jang Han-seok had decided that his lingering fondness for his sunbae didn’t matter anymore, and was having her kidnapped? He didn’t doubt that she could take care of herself (“Seven degrees in martial arts, Mr. Cassano. I’m practically a member of the mafia already”), but it wasn’t like her to go off the grid like this. 

Then he scowled at himself. Remember, you get the gold, ruin Babel, and leave. There’s a beach house in Malta waiting for you. Nothing else. 

But sometimes, he saw Mr. Nam lighting up with an idea, saw Mr. Lee trying to mimic the clicking of his lighter, saw his mother’s eyes soften when he walked in, saw Cha-young (when had he stopped thinking of her as Ms. Hong?) snort with laughter as he broke out sweating after eating too-spicy noodles, and wondered if it couldn’t be something more. Would he be content to live alone in Malta all his life? Or had he grown accustomed to the people and the life around him, to the point where he couldn’t imagine living any way else? To the point where he was beginning to think of the one-bedroom Geumga Plaza apartment with its tacky ceiling stars, as home? 

Could he imagine living without her? 

It was a question that had crossed his mind too many times to count, and each time he had banished the thought, because that led to a dangerous road, and he didn’t need all the feelings associated with it. He needed to stay focused, and think about his next moves, and how to outsmart his enemies. 

But his mind kept going back to her. 

He shook his head at himself as he turned his key in the lock of his apartment door. He got ready for the night, taking off his jacket, making a serving of ramyeon for dinner, and turning the TV on to play music from the classical channel. From the sounds of it, it was some Vivaldi concerto, hallmarked by its minor key and fast paced violin solo. 

He was pouring himself a glass of wine when there was a knock at the door. He frowned, and set the bottle down. Flexing his fingers, he went to the door, and opened it. 

Cha-young stood there, looking unbothered, holding an enormous box like it was nothing. She pushed past him into the apartment and set the box down on the counter. 

As she flopped unceremoniously onto his couch, and picked up his wineglass by the stem, he suddenly felt a hot flush of something. He inhaled shakily, and realized what it was. 

He had been going out of his mind worrying about her. She hadn’t picked up any of his calls, and had been incognito all day, and now she was acting like nothing had happened? He exhaled sharply, and she looked up, sipping from his glass, her eyebrows high on her forehead. 

“Where have you been?” 

“I was shopping. Why, does it matter? Am I not allowed to take a day off?” She stood up, crossing her arms. She stepped forward until she was in his space, and he backed up until his hip hit the kitchen counter. 

“No, it’s not that, I just didn’t know where-” 

“Why does that matter?” 

And isn’t that the crux of it. Why does it matter to him? If she was nothing but his work partner, then he would have no problem with her leaving in the morning to run errands, and not return to work. He might rib her about it the next day, but he wouldn’t have worried this much, wouldn’t have thought up all sorts of horrible scenarios in his head, all of which involved him finding her, broken and dead. 

He cannot think, not with her so close to him, so close that he can smell the wine on her breath that she had just drank, just drank from his glass, her eyes seeming to stare into his soul. He gripped the counter for strength. She tracked the movement with her eyes, and stared back at him. 

“I was worried, all right? I didn’t know where you were and I was worried.” There. He’s said it. He ran his hands through his hair, and she stared at him for a long moment, seeming to come to a realization within herself. Then, she stepped back, and moved to get the enormous box from where she had placed it on the counter. 

He stared at her. 

“What is this?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Just close your eyes and hold out your hands. You’ll see.” She pursed her lips when he did nothing, so he straightened up and closed his eyes, holding his hands palm up and feeling very stupid. He could hear her moving, and the sound of the box opening. She moved closer, and he got a whiff of her perfume. When he had first started working with her, he had hated it, because it had been some American brand. They had had a long debate where he had taken her to a perfume store and tried to get her to appreciate one of the many luxury European brands, but she had been steadfast in her defence of Tom Ford, and that had been that. He had grown to associate that scent with her, and the other day, had caught a whiff of it at the bank and had looked around like a fool, for her. 

Now, it was all he could make out, because she was standing out of reach from him, still doing something with the box. He felt like he had that day he had lost the bet about the bungeoppang, when he had waited, eyes closed, utterly at her mercy, for her to flick him on the head. He felt warm, like the temperature had suddenly increased by several degrees. 

She moved closer to him, finally, and placed something flat in his arms. 

“You can open your eyes now.” 

He did, and looked down, baffled. She had gotten him a record player. On top of it were several records of- 

“Opera?” he asked, looking up at her. She smirked, looking smug. 

“Yes. I got your playlist from Mr. Nam, and bought the records for them, as well as a few that I thought you would like as well. I did so much research for this, you have no idea. It was so boring, so you should be grateful.” He stared at her in shock. 

She had gone out and bought a record player, so he could listen to his favorite genre of music the way that God had intended: via vinyl record. It was nearly identical to the one that he had had back in his apartment in Milan. How did she know? She was smiling at him, waiting for his reaction, and her eyes were on him like he was something marvelous, luminous, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. 

Suddenly, in that moment, he realized that it really didn’t matter if he had his beach house in Malta or not. It didn’t matter if he had to fight Babel forever, because he would do it, he would do it all, as long as she was there right beside him. He could take on a god and he would win, because he would be able to look to his side and see her stare the god down with steel in her veins. 

And before he knew it, he was moving. He set the record player down on the counter, carefully, and surged forward. Her eyes widened slightly, and he cupped his hand around her neck and drew her to him, his lips finding hers. For a second, she was frozen, but she sighed into his mouth and responded, her one arm snaking around his back and the other hand threading through his hair. It felt like every place that she touched him was on fire, and he was floating through the superheated air. 

It could have been minutes, or years, or seconds before she pulled back, and smiled brightly at him. 

She leaned in to kiss him again on the mouth, and said, against his lips, 

“You have no idea how long I have been waiting to do that, Mr. Mafia.” He goggled at her, too shocked at her and himself to complain, and she smiled again, the quirk of her lips teasing. 

“Your ramyeon is burning.” 

He cursed, moving quickly to the stove, trying desperately to salvage the ruined noodles. She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his body from behind, and laughed, her chin on his shoulders, and it was the most intoxicating sound he’d ever heard. Her perfume drowned out the burned smell of the ramyeon, her hair tickled his jaw, and he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. 

A warm feeling that had nothing to do with the weather spread through him, and it felt like coming home. 

[haledamage]

Coming Home

I'm a day late because this thing got much bigger than I expected, but better late than never! This is for @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer 2021! The prompt was Pacific Rim AU!

Some of the backstory stuff is from this post here. Some is just pushing ShoH canon slightly to the left so it fits better in a Pacific Rim setting. Some is the result of reading ShoH and watching PacRim at the same time and then taking a nap to see what seeds got planted. There will be a part 2 to this because I had to split it up in order to finish it on time and then I was late anyway.

Shepherds of Haven/Pacific Rim AU. Iorwen Emroth/Blade Bronwyn (well, hints of it. more in part 2)

---

The Haven Shatterdome looked very small from overhead. Iorwen watched it loom closer with a trepidation somewhere between “being late for an important exam” and “being read her last rites.”

It had been just over two years since she’d last been this close to a Jaeger, half a world away and in a different life, but all the Shatterdomes looked the same after a while. Steel and glass and everything painted in olive drab, black, and safety yellow. 

Part of her felt like it was too soon to walk into those hangar doors again, the empty space at her side where her partner used to be still a raw, open wound. She couldn’t even think xer name yet without feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Returning to work felt like a betrayal of xer memory.

Another part of her, louder with every passing minute, was just so happy to be home again.

"Wen!"

Iorwen had barely stepped out of the helicopter when she heard her name called and turned to see Red jogging toward her. He looked more tired than she remembered him, but his smile was as bright as ever, his hair vivid against their otherwise drab surroundings. She’d known he was here - he’d transferred to Haven shortly after she left Capra - but hearing it and actually seeing him were two very different things.

She dropped her bag carelessly to the tarmac and ran to meet him halfway, throwing herself at him as soon as he was close enough to wrap her arms around his neck. He hugged her back without hesitation. They were making a Hel of a scene in the middle of the landing pad, but neither of them really cared.

"I knew you'd come back," he mumbled into her hair.

"Had to." She finally pulled away, stepping back just enough that she could see him. "You can barely tie your shoes without me, Liefred."

He only laughed before leaving her side just long enough to grab her bag. He slung an arm around her shoulders as he rejoined her, dragging her towards the hangar. "Welcome home."

She stared up at the Shatterdome, hangar doors towering over them. It didn't look nearly as welcoming as Red seemed to think it should, and was much more intimidating than it had been from the air. It still smelled like blood and motor oil - or maybe it was her memory that did.

She tried to put on her best smile anyway, for his sake if not her own, and let him drag her inside.

They stepped into a hive of activity, the sounds of machinery and voices echoing off the walls, laughter and shouting and clanging metal rising up to greet them. She tried to stop and take it in, but Red was still dragging her along with him out of the main hangar and into a labyrinth of hallways; she probably could have escaped him if she tried, but she didn’t really want to.

“Have you met the Marshal yet?” he asked, once they were in a quiet enough place that he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“Not yet. Mostly talked to his second so far.” Trouble Alder had, in fact, shown up out of the blue one day three months ago, sitting on her front porch with a stick of charch between his lips and looking completely at home. He’d revisited her every day for a month until he’d finally worn her down enough to convince her to come home. Stubborn bastard. “What's he like?”

“Intense,” Red answered almost immediately. “Most of the younger crew are terrified of him. He doesn't like me.”

Iorwen scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re the most exceptionally likeable person I’ve ever met. Everyone likes you.”

“He doesn't.” 

They stopped in front of a door in what was probably the barracks, the walls lined with identical doors on either side. Sure enough, there was a simple bed, a dresser, and not much else inside. Iorwen didn’t mind; she didn’t need much else.

Once she’d dropped off her bag and they started down the next hallway, Red continued, “I don't know if he likes anyone. He barely says two words to anyone but Trouble.”

She was still skeptical, but didn’t push. “Well, he must be doing something right. Look at this place. Capra barely had a skeleton crew compared to this.”

“It’s amazing!” Just like that, Red lit up again. “Some of Blest’s best and brightest are here. Pilots, mechanics, scientists, strategists, you name it.”

“And which of those are you? All of the above?”

“Mostly scientist, I think,” Red rubbed a sheepish hand over his hair. “There’s better pilots. Pan, Neon, and I serve better in the lab than on the field most of the time.” He paused, watching her cautiously, before adding carefully, “And… which will you be?”

“I’ll be working in the clinic,” she said quickly. “As a Healer. I’m not… ready to be around Jaegers again. I might never be.”

“I understand,” he assured her, reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

They fell silent after that, and stayed that way until they stopped in front of a door labelled Administration. “This is Shery’s office. She’ll get you all set up.”

“Thanks, Red.”

“Anytime.” With one final quick hug, he turned to leave, only to stop halfway down the hall. “Oh, and Wen?”

“Hmm?”

“Welcome to the Shepherds.”

---

It was two weeks before Iorwen finally met the Marshal, and it happened entirely by accident.

She had just finished a shift in the clinic, patching up minor burns and bruises on unlucky mechanics and restless pilots. The silence between Kaiju attacks left everyone on edge, and that led to carelessness, which inevitably meant stupid injuries. She didn’t mind. All things considered, she’d rather have the silence.

As she turned a corner, she noticed a light was on in the training room, and curiosity led her there without much input on her part.

She recognized the man in the room easily enough. Even if they’d never spoken directly, she’d seen him around enough to know who he was. He commanded the attention of a room like no one she’d ever met before. He was hard to look away from, even here, out of uniform and either unaware or uncaring of her presence.

Magnetic. That’s what he was.

He was also much younger than she expected for a Marshal. He was close to her own age, or at least she assumed he was. She wondered about the story there - obviously there must be one - but knew better than to ask the rumor mill. Gossip was like dust: inevitable, everywhere, and harder to see through the more you stirred it up.

The Marshal’s back stiffened, and Iorwen knew she’d been caught staring even before he glanced over his shoulder in her direction. She stepped into the room as casually as possible. “Hello, Marshal.”

He simply nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “Ranger.” She bit her lip to stop herself from correcting him. “Emroth, right?”

“Yes, sir.” She approached until she could finally see his face. “Iorwen.”

Another nod. “Blade.” She thought he would leave it there, but after a moment, he spoke again. “Antiqua speaks highly of you.”

“Of course he does. He's biased.” She laughed, rolling her eyes at the idea that Red was going around extolling her virtues to anyone who would listen. When the Marshal - Blade, she mentally corrected herself - gave her a look that she interpreted as curiosity, she elaborated. “We trained together as cadets. He was my first Drift partner actually.”

“But you never piloted together?”

“No. It…” Iorwen broke eye contact, the floor suddenly fascinating. “It didn't work out that way.”

“It's not too late,” he said, almost softly.

“Yes it is. I'm not a Ranger anymore. Not after…” Xer name got stuck in her throat, like it always did. She took a couple of deep breaths until she could comfortably breathe around it again, but her smile was still sad. “I'm happier on the ground. I'm a good Healer. It's where I should be.”

She could feel Blade’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back up to meet them. Eventually, all he said was, “I see.”

He turned his back on her again and it didn’t take long before her gaze was drawn to him again. He was wearing a tank top, like most people did when they came here to train or spar, and standing this close she could clearly see the web of electrical scarring trailing over his arm and shoulder.

She knew those scars well. The scars of someone forced to solo pilot a Jaeger. She should know, she had a matching set.

Blade did an admirable job of pretending he didn’t know he was being observed, but he moved too carefully for it to look entirely casual. Or maybe he just always moved like that. He picked up a bo staff and tested the weight of it.

Iorwen took the opportunity that presented without thought or hesitation. “Looking for a dance partner?”

The briefest flash of surprise crossed his face before his expression smoothed back out. “Are you… sure?” he asked carefully. If she didn’t know better, she might say he almost sounded nervous.

She found it charming. She found him charming, with his not-quite-smile and his cool confidence, this magnetic man who could simultaneously terrify the cadets while inspiring absolute loyalty in them.

But she didn’t tell him that, of course. She just grabbed a staff of her own and grinned as she lifted it in a fencing salute. “On your guard, Marshal.”

---

After that first night, it became a regular thing. Not every day, not even on a set schedule. But sometimes after she was done in the clinic or in the garage, Iorwen would stop by the training room, and sometimes when she did, Blade would already be there. Not waiting for her, not exactly, but never surprised when she arrived.

He never really said much, but she didn't mind talking for the both of them. She could tell he was warming up to her, as the weeks passed; his silence felt much less formal and stiff and more cordial. Eventually, even friendly.

Two things were apparent from the very beginning, though. Well, three things. The first was that Blade, as a fighter, was completely out of her league. She never stopped by with any expectation of beating him; she was content to follow his lead. It was nice to be active again, to feel the familiar burn in muscles left dormant in her self-imposed retirement.

The second was that they were extremely drift compatible. While Iorwen could never beat him, she could consistently predict him. They could both be blindfolded and still know what move the other would make. There was an effortlessness to the way they understood each other that bordered on the supernatural. It was a kind of connection that she hadn’t felt since Zori had been killed.

The third thing was that neither of them were willing, in any way, shape, or form, to admit the second thing.

It was barely a week before Red found out.

He flopped down on the bench next to her in the cafeteria. “I brought those papers you were looking for to your room last night, but you weren’t there.” He didn’t say it as an accusation, but it still managed to feel like one.

“I spent a couple hours in the training room,” she said as casually as possible. “Trying to get back in shape.”

Red blinked a few times, letting that sink in, before smiling wide. “That’s really good. Let me know if you ever need a sparring partner.”

“I kind of… have one?”

“You do?” His smile went from friendly to devious, the look of a man who had four sisters and was willing to tease her as if she was a fifth. “Who?”

Before she could stop herself, she looked across the room at Blade. He sat at a table with Trouble, whose laughter was loud enough to reach them even from the other side of the busy cafeteria. The Marshal’s face remained impassive, looking like he wasn’t even listening, but Iorwen knew him well enough to tell he was amused.

As if he could feel her watching him, his eyes snapped up and locked on hers. She smiled at him; he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Red cleared his throat, and she looked away quickly, turning her attention back to the smugly amused grin of her best friend. “Well, I guess maybe it’s not everyone he doesn’t like.”

“Guess it’s just you.” She nudged his shoulder and he rubbed at it as if she’d hurt him. “He’s not as bad as you made him out to be.” She couldn’t stand his knowing look anymore and turned away, but doing so led her eyes right back to Blade. “He's nicer than he looks. And surprisingly funny. He doesn't treat me like I'm fragile. Like I'll break if someone talks about… Zori.” 

Mentioning her former Drift partner and copilot didn’t hurt as much as she expected it to this time. Less like twisting a knife in her heart and more like being poked in a fresh bruise.

Mentioning xer also stopped whatever comment Red had been about to make right in its tracks. He studied her with obvious curiosity, mouth still half-open in surprise. Whatever he saw on her face had him leaning forward and tapping his forehead against hers, a quick gesture of affection and understanding. She leaned into it until he pulled away.

And then his teasing smile was back as if it had never left. “Plus, he's handsome.”

She eyed him warily, but let him have the subject change. “That too.” She picked up a piece of fruit from her plate and popped it into her mouth. “Please don’t say anything about this to Pan or Neon.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I mean it, Red. Not a word.”

---

“So I hear you and the Marshal have a thing.”

Iorwen sighed from the very depths of her soul. “I hope Red knows how very dead he’s about to be.”

Panrachus looked legitimately confused at her response. “What? I didn’t hear that from Red, I heard it from Caine.” Then he gasped, eyes widening with sudden, delighted recognition. “What does Red know?”

She only barely bit back a groan. “Why are you even here?”

“Right! We’ve got something you oughta come see.”

She followed him, with more than a little trepidation, out of the clinic, through the office labyrinth, and out into the hangar. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings and realize where exactly they were going. “Why are we going to the Jaeger bays?” He didn’t answer. “Pan?”

Then they turned the corner, and she had her answer.

Looming over her was a Jaeger unlike any she’d seen before. It looked almost lanky, the proportions lean and sleek instead of the more familiar bulky designs. It would be unbelievably fast with the right pilots; she could tell that just from looking at it. From the top of each wrist, a wicked-looking blade extended over the hand, almost long enough to drag the ground. It was painted black, navy, and silver, but its eyes glowed bright blue.

From the ground, it almost looked like iladrin. Like the same blue light that lit Iorwen’s own eyes.

“What’s her name?” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the Jaeger.

“Stellar Enigma.”

“Who’s piloting her?”

“You are.”

She jumped at the unexpected voice behind her and turned to see Blade, Red, and Trouble approaching, along with an entourage of what looked to be equal parts Shatterdome leadership, actual engineers, and nosy onlookers.

“You are,” Blade said again, quieter, softer, “Ranger.”

“Blade, I--” Iorwen started, but she wasn’t sure what she actually intended to say.

He reached up and lightly pinched her cheek, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ll be alright.”

Before she could reply, Trouble gently but pointedly cleared his throat, reminding her of their audience. She glared his way, just for a second; he grinned back, unabashed and unrepentant.

“Who’s my copilot? Sir.” She added the last as an afterthought, trying to act some semblance of professional.

“I get the feeling you already have someone in mind.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Bit early to be reading my thoughts, isn’t it, Marshal?”

---

Iorwen’s suit didn’t fit as well as she remembered. Tight around the shoulders, too loose at the waist. Like it was meant for someone else, no matter how many things tried to tell her otherwise.

Blade’s fit him like a second skin. He looked like a Jaeger cockpit was where he was always meant to be. Like it was the rest of the world that didn’t fit him right instead.

She met his inscrutable gaze before ‘admiring’ could cross the line to ‘ogling’. “You look good.”

He paused for a long time, staring back at her in silence, before finally clearing his throat. “You too.”

She grinned, both at the compliment and at the sight of the Marshal so off-balance, but she took pity on him and changed the subject. “Do you want the left or right?”

“Right.”

“Good. I prefer left.”

They didn’t speak anymore as they connected to their harnesses and their suits started interfacing with the Jaeger, the computerized voice talking them through system checks. It took longer than Iorwen remembered, but it had been a long time since she last Drifted with anyone, let alone with someone new.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, once their helmets were in place and they’d run out of checks to do. “I’m not--”

“Yes,” he interrupted sharply. “You’re ready. We both are.”

There were a lot of things she wanted to say. To thank him, mostly, for a list of things that seemed to be growing bigger by the hour. She kept quiet; he’d hear it in her thoughts soon enough.

“Initiating neural handshake in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… neural interface drift initiated.”

Between one breath and the next, she was somewhere else. Images flowed over her, some familiar, some new. She did her best to let them pass, to not cling too hard to any of them.

The destruction of Drummond's Point, the first attack the day the Kaiju came. Iorwen, dragging Zori's unconscious body out of town as fast as thirteen-year-old legs could carry her. Blade, stern and silent even as a child, a soldier from the day he was born. Zori, tears at the corners of xer eyes as xe laughs at a joke Pan told, Red and Neon joining in, the three of them always together even then. Blade's older brother, startlingly similar to him in appearance and demeanor, the two of them either sparring or fighting; for them, there had never been much difference.

Zori's scream as xe's ripped out of the cockpit. Gladius didn't make a sound as he met the same fate.

Iorwen's grief washed up against Blade's, soothing in it's familiarity. A gentle reminder that they weren't alone anymore, that thanks to the Drift they'd never be entirely alone again.

She saw him in her memory of their first meeting. Stern, aloof, but warm underneath, like a fire behind frosted glass. Captivating her before he even so much as looked at her. 

And then herself through his eyes at that same introduction. Sad, withdrawn, but still burning bright. The embodiment of stubborn hope, like a flower blooming in a snowy field.

And then they broke through the surface, both gasping as they came up for air. Below them, Stellar Enigma came to life. The rush of memories and emotions settled into the background, present but no longer demanding attention.

“Pilot connection stabilized.” It wasn’t the computer’s voice this time, but Shery over the intercom. “How do you feel?”

Moving as one, Blade and Iorwen lifted their hands, right fist resting on left palm, and bowed. Stellar Enigma did the same, moving as smoothly as her pilots did. Iorwen couldn’t tell which of them the wave of elation came from, but it burst out of her in a laugh.

“It feels like coming home.”

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The little details: A Morgan and Tilith story

The shuttle carved through the upper atmosphere of the planet like a hot knife through butter and smoothly made its way through the swirling cloud banks. 

Aboard the security detail sat in the front of the craft going over the security details one final time while the diplomats in the rear made their own final preparations. 

They were a rather somber group; the weight of what they were meant to achieve bearing down on them as steadily as the gravity of the world they were speeding towards. 

“Shall we go over the talking points once more?” 

The Parziean delegate Jaldel’s voice was quiet but still held a tone of authority. She had asked the question yet was already opening the data packages with her nimble blue fingers as if she had issued a statement. 

Opposite the Parziean the Flinchestet and Brumark delegates were nodding in agreement and opening their own data packages. Jaldel turned and looked at the remaining delegates behind her. “Would you care you care to join us?” 

Occupying the rear corner of the diplomat sat the Hive delegate Tilith. Her size had required the crew to remove several seats to make enough space for her to sit in. When the crew had inquired if she would need specialized safety harnesses for when the shuttle breached atmo Tilith had politely refused, displaying her leg talons piercing through the lush carpet of the cabin and biting into the metal decking beneath it. 

Tilith had not moved for the entire duration of the flight from the federation worlds. Jaldel would have paid her no mind had she not mumbled and made rapid clicking sounds underneath her silver veil covering her mandibles.

“Delegate Tilith I believe is communicating with the Hive mind and no doubt rather engaged to join you” came a voice next to Tilith. 

Sitting next to her sat the human delegate, Earl von Morgan. He was considered a wild card in the federation; his elderly exterior appearance rarely matching his youthful and somewhat bold actions. Rumor was he had pulled a gun on a member of the inner ten when they attempted to black mail him into joining their group shortly before the Secessionist Schism war had broken out and that he was favored by not only Tilith but other members of the Hive ruling caste. 

Morgan calmly shook his head at Jaldel’s offer and instead pulled out a paper wrapped herb from his coat pocket. “I must decline, as I have a feeling that any laid plans we may concoct will be any use to us once we get down there.” 

He placed the wrapping into his mouth and reached into a his opposite pocket to retrieve a small lighter while Jaldel looked at him reprovingly. 

“More of your human wisdom?” the Flinchestet quipped drawing a chuckle from Brumark. 

Morgan lit his wrapping and took a deep inhale of it before blowing out a thick cloud of smoke in the Flinchestet’s direction causing them to cough and wave their hand in the air to disperse the smoke.  

“Rather more of a feeling.” Morgan said, taking another deep inhale as the shutters along the shuttle windows began to rise slowly and for the first time the delegates got a look at the planet they were here to save. 

“Something here feels very wrong.”

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

The shuttle doors finally opened and the ramp descended to the muddy surface of the planet much to Jaldel’s confusion. She tapped her communication device in her ear and spoke.

“Pilot, are you sure these are the coordinates you were given?”

“That is correct, mam.” The pilots reply was swift, but held a hint of uneasiness that Jaldel was feeling. “This is the location they gave me to follow for your meeting with the prince.” She looked out of the doorway once again to the world below and found herself hesitant to leave.

The coordinates for the discussion had led them to the front lines of the conflict rather than a safe location far away. the landing pad was nothing more than a hastily assembled cleared area that had been covered with metal grates while all of the buildings surrounding it were somewhat dug into the ground itself. The sounds of distant fighting could be heard and if she listened closely over the spin down of the shuttle engines she could hear the thumping sound of artillery gun.

Across the makeshift landing pad stood a trio of Tugundans. Two were dressed in full battle armor, their faces hard and seemingly uninterested while their weapons were held firmly at their sides. The third Tugundan standing in the middle wore a rather over decorated officers uniform, though even from this distance Jaldel could tell it was stained and hadn’t been cleaned in some time. 

The Flinchestet behind her was looking rather pale, even for one of her kind, and the Brumark was attempting to hide their nervousness by clenching deeply into the cushioned chair beside them. Jaldel stood atop the ramp taking it all in while considering her options when the pilot cut in again. 

“Mam, I’m being told that the delegation needs to exit now or we take off again as medical supply vessels are being held in holding patterns till we clear the pad.” 

Before she could respond Morgan began descending the ramp followed by Tilith who had woken from her trance like state only moments before. Jaldel was struck by how seemingly calm Morgan was as he walked into the warzone and realized she could not be shown up by this human and quickly followed after him down the ramp. 

The delegation made their way across the landing pad and stood in front of the trio of Tugundans. Jaldel stepped forward to the officer and produced a document. 

“By order of the Cosmic Federation, we are here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities between both the Tugunda and the-”

Before she could finish her sentence  the officer held up one hand to forestall Jaldel while the other went to a communication device in his ear. The officer was nodding at something that only he could hear. Without saying a word he pulled out a device and entered in several keys. Behind him large doors opened from the earth entrenched building and he quickly motioned the delegation inside.

“We have just received word that an enemy chemical strike is inbound.” He pointed to the delegations shuttle. “Tell your pilot to get back into the space as quickly as possible and enter the bunker.” 

The Flinchestet and Brumark delegates looked shaken and quickly entered the bunker followed shortly by Tilith and Morgan while Jaldel relayed the officers warning to the pilot. Jaldel watched the shuttle take off again before stepping inside the bunker just as the doors began sealing themselves. 

The group was led through a series of tunnels and passage ways. Overhead the loud thumping of artillery shells impacting could be felt as the tunnels would shake every so often. 

Much to the surprise of the delegation the tunnels were far from empty as row upon row of injured Tugunda soldiers lined either side of the tunnel.  Soldiers rushing passed in the opposite direction left the delegates single file and bumping into the injured soldiers much to their displeasure. 

After some time the group was led into a small room lit with a flickering overhead light. A wide metal table sat under the light with simple metal chairs surrounding it while military maps and charts decorated the walls. 

The officer sat at one side of the table while the two accompanying soldiers left the room to stand guard outside. He motioned the delegates to the chairs opposite him which they reluctantly took. 

“My name is Kucvulan, war strider and second in command to prince Marsov.” He removed his cap to reveal several bandages and dressings covering the back of his head which he bristled at. 

“I am Jaldel, head diplomat of this delegation.” Her emphasis at this was clear to establish her superiority fr the negotiations.   “We are here to negotiate a ceasefire between both parties of this conflict.” At the mention of the ceasefire Kucvulan appeared irked. “Did you not see the dozens of wounded outside? All a result of our enemies brutality; and you would us break bread with them?” 

The Flinchestet delegate coughed. “Forgive me, but we are here to negotiate with prince Marsov. Your feelings are irrelevant to these discussions.” 

“Prince Marsov is currently organizing the war from the front lines and is indisposed of. In his place he has appointed me as his representative.”

Nearly all of the delegates looked surprised at this save for Morgan who quietly sat at the corner of the table next to Tilith. As the negotiations continued he said very little in fact save for the casual remark but otherwise was quiet and calmly stroked his mustache. 

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

Several hours had passed before the negotiation broke for the day and the delegates returned to their ship with the ride back into space certainly had a more somber mood as the everyone slowly absorbed what they had seen. It was some time before Jaldel spoke and broke the silence.

“It is clear the Tugundan’s are not at fault for this conflict.” 

Both the Flinchestet and Brumark delegates nodded in agreement. 

“The horrors they have endured no doubt leaving their resolve to finish this conflict iron.”

A soft chuckling drew the gathered groups attention to the back of the shuttle to see Morgan lighting another herbal wrapping.

“What do you find so amusing?” Jaldel said, a tone of anger slowly rising in her voice. 

Morgan took a deep inhale and blew out a small cloud of smoke and looked back at the delegates. “You’ve all been played for fools like a fish biting down on a hook.”

The trio looked confused at this remark as Morgan stood and went to the refreshment cabinet and began pouring two glasses of the finest Gloven wine before returning to his seat and handing one to Tilith. 

“The whole point of our negotiations was to bring about an end to this conflict for both sides.” Morgan began before he took a sip of his drink. “But would it not be better for the Tugundan’s to have the frame of war cast so that it makes them out to be the victims and thus garner more support from us?” Morgan noticed the trios confused faces for the first time. “Are you telling me none of you saw the signs?” 

Jaldel bristled at that remark, taking it as an insult to her intellect. “I believe it is you with the faulty perspective. I was paying attention to every detail from the moment we stepped off the shuttle.” Morgan nodded. “Then let us begin the breakdown of events from there shall we?”

He sat down again and took a fresh inhale before continuing. “Does it not strike you as somewhat odd timing that the exact moment we set foot on this world was to coincide with an artillery attack?” 

“Hardly.” Jaldel counter. “They have been fighting for months on end.”

“A fair point I grant you, but the other side must have known we were arriving as we are scheduled to meet with them as well in the coming days. Why would they jeopardize their negotiating position by launching an attack that may have very well killed us all?” 

Before Jaldel could counter again Morgan continued. “And then there is the manner of the attack itself. Kucvulan said it was a chemical attack, correct?”

“Indeed.” the Brumark spoke. 

“Then where was any of the hazmat protection gear for the soldiers?” 

The trio were silent and so Morgan pressed on. “If these chemical attacks that have badly disfigured their forces have truly been going on for months then every soldier we passed should have had some sort of protective gear they would have been scrambling for at the mere warning of a chemical strike.” 

“We were underground in a secure facility.” the Flinchestet added, “There would have been no need to have such protection.” 

“By that logic then why do ships have escape pods if they were built to not to be destroyed?”  It was here that Tilith spoke for the first time, her voice soft but with a tone that seemed to extend each syllable longer than it needed to be. 

The Flinchestet looked as if they were going to say something but stopped themselves as if realizing Tilith’s point, but Jaldel was still not convinced. 

“Kucvulan himself did not carry one and that confidence must have inspired his troops take comfort that if there commander did not need protection then they must be safe.”

Morgan stubbed the butt of his herbal wrap into the arm of his chair and then tossed it aside into a waste container. “Since you brought him up I think we should discuss the war strider himself next.” 

Jaldel scoff and reclined in her seat. “What is there to discuss? He seems the perfect model of a Tugundan officer.” 

“A bit too perfect for my liking?” Morgan said downing the remains of his drink in a single go. 

“Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your voice?” Jaldel prodded. “Is this all some big show to hide your displeasure at being shown up?”

Morgan laughed loudly and swatted his chair arm at Jaldel’s words. It took him some time to recompose himself and wipe the tears from his eyes before staring down Jaldel. 

“Why would I be jealous of a man so eager to get his head blown off by the first enemy sniper?” 

The trio once again looked confused and now it was Morgan’s turn to lean back into his chair. 

“No sane officer would wear such a brightly colored uniform covered in medals and commendations on front lines. You might as well tie a little sign around your neck saying “Shoot me, I’m important.” Tilith chuckled and the Brumark coughed loudly when Jaldel glared at him. 

“When we passed the soldiers I touched several of them. Though it was brief their minds were full of anguish and pain from the previous days.” 

The Flinchestet’s mind entering ability through physical contact appeared to back Jaldel’s perspective. She nodded to the Flinchestet and smirked at Morgan. “You can not hide the secrets of your mind from a Flinchestet.” 

“Unless you’ve seen a few slasher flicks so I’m told.” Morgan remarked under his breath.“I will grant you I can not deny our colleagues ability, but the evidence does appear to tell a different story.” 

“Any other points that concerned you?” Tilith said, sipping once more from her glass.  

“The last item that struck me as odd was the absence of the prince for our talks.”

“You heard Kucvulan; the prince was on the front lines directing the war.” Jaldel’s rebuke was swift as it was to the point. 

This time it was Tilith to voice her concerns. “This did strike me as odd. What knowledge we Hive have of the prince.”

“Why do you say this?” the Brumark spoke, his attitude suddenly now more interested in the discussion. 

“I entered the Hive subspace and connected with the Hive directly and learned all information we had regarding the prince.” Tilith began, he talons slowly clacking against the decking. “We know that the prince is brash, direct, unimaginative, and hopelessly narcissistic. He is of the kind that would not have missed a chance to show himself off to members of other species.”

“I agree.” Morgan said, much to the surprise of Jaldel. “But all of this leads to a far more dangerous question than the ones we have been contemplating on.”

“And what would that be?” 

“If the Tugundan’s are not capable of such deception, than there is some unseen force here guiding them in the ways of subtly and misdirection.”  Morgan cupped his hands and rested his chin on them as he stared out the window. “And if there is such a force aiding them in this war, we must wonder if they are far more dangerous than the Tugundan war machine.” -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kucvulan watched the shuttle retreat back above the clouds before returning to the command bunker. He waited until the doors slammed shut behind him before removing a compact communication device and activating it. 

“Everything was done per your request. The delegation is none the wiser.” 

A small image began flickering into place and a man cloaked midnight black coat appeared before Kucvulan. 

“Did it?” the shadowy man remarked. 

Kucvulan was confused for a moment. “Yes, we did exactly as you said and performed the roles assigned to us.” 

The man in the image looked frustrated and shook his head. “You did not. You improvised and put the entire plan in jeopardy!” 

“I-” Kucvulan began before the man continued in a far angrier tone. 

“You were to wait until the first shells hit the ground before ushering the delegation inside but instead did so before the fact! Do you think they are stupid?!” 

Kucvulan remained silent as the man continued to vent his anger. 

“You were aware of how events would play out but instead of keeping that knowledge to yourself you blatantly shared crucial information to them without even being asked for it! It is not a misdirection if you loudly announce “Look here, don’t look over there!” you half wit imbecile!”  

Had it been anyone else speaking to Kucvulan he would have removed their arms from their body and beat them to death with it for such insults. Yet this man had earned the respect of the royal family and his words were theirs. He could not disobey. 

“Forgive me, Yuri. I am not accustomed to such acts of... deceit.”

Yuri pinched his brow and took a long slow breath as if he was explaining his anger to a child. After some time he opened his eyes once more and glared at Kucvulan. 

“Do not endanger this war when we are so close to winning it. We do not need the Cosmic Federation’s intervention just as we have regained the initiative.” 

Kucvulan nodded. “What are your orders now?” 

“I am sending you further instructions for you and your men for events in the coming weeks while negotiations continue. Follow them to the letter. No deviations, no improvisations, no off the top remarks. Just. Follow. The. Instructions.”

With that the communication was disconnected and Kucvulan was left a mix of duty and rage. 

Leave it to humans to make things complicated, he thought as he went to get the new orders.

[ask-them-bois]

Blood of My Blood

TW: Needles, lots of blood, animal death and gore.

TLDR: Vornik gets his happy ending.

***

Vornik sat in the small hive of the village medic, twisting his claws around the hem of his cloak as said medic bustled about in front of him.

“Alright, guardian, after this one, I think we’ll be able to stop these sessions. Blood transfusions are a nasty business as it is, and for someone like you… well, they can be borderline dangerous.” She turned around, a bag of jade-hued ichor and its attached needle in hand. “Necessary as they may be, after you nearly lost your arm, but still- we should be careful all the same.” She added.

“Jade?” Vornik asked quietly, surprised, “Don’t I usually get olive, since it’s the closest-”

“Mhm. Unfortunately, Mr. Andrin- the fellow who usually donates the blood- broke a wrist last week when he was working on his hive’s roof. Fell off, shattered a horn on the way- nasty business.”

“Oh.”

“This time, the blood’s been donated from a passer-through. Heard we had a wriggler in need of some, and when we told her about our dear guardian, she happily offered some of her own.”

“I’m not a wriggler.” Vornik mumbled as the healer took his arm and began to rub an ointment on the juncture of his elbow. “I’m eight sweeps old.”

The elderly bronzeblood smiled and pat his shoulder. “I know, dear, but you’re a wriggler to me, guardian of our village or not.”

Vornik made no comment, turning his head away as the needle punctured his skin. The healer hung the bag on a hook above his head, and pat his shoulder again.

“Just sit tight, dear.” She hummed, before she turned away.

Vornik did as he was told, watching the emerald blood slide down the tube and into his arm. Even through the thin plastic casing, he could smell the coppery scent of blood. He suddenly sat up slightly, frowning, and took another sniff of the air.

There was something off about the blood, he thought; it smelled… strange, yet familiar at the same time.

“Are you sure this blood is clean?” He asked, squinting at the bag.

“Mhm! I checked the jadeblood for any abnormalities.”

“And?”

“And there was only one, but the jade assured me it was normal for her caste. I had to take her word for it, I’m not an expert on jades.”

Vornik nodded slowly and tried to relax, but his gaze kept drifting back to the bag.

Two hours later, the bag was drained, and the needle was pulled from his skin. The healer tenderly wrapped his elbow in gauze, then passed him a caramel candy.

“These are your favorites, yes?”

Vornik happily took it, nodding as he popped the sweet into his mouth with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear. Go on, now- best get home before the sun rises.”

Vornik bid the healer goodbye and slipped out of her hive. He made his way through the village, sucking on the candy. The night was cloudy, only a handful of stars visible through the mounting cloud cover.

Vornik made it to the edge of the village without being stopped, for which he was grateful; as much as he loved the villagers, he felt nauseated and tired, as he often did after transfusions.

After his mountain came down, his arm had been nearly shorn from his body. The muscle had been severely damaged, and the bone cracked. The giant scar he bore now was a giant callous of pinched skin, where his flesh had mended over the lost muscle. After the heavy loss of blood that accompanied the wound, Vornik had been made to undergo blood transfusions to aid in the healing process.

The first bags had been from Innocent, his ancestor’s generosity boundless. But after giving too much at once, the healer had shooed Innocent away so he could recover, and had gotten the blood from other greenbloods in the village. Olive was the closest match, and Vornik’s body had been receptive of it, so every two weeks, Vornik had found himself back in the healer’s hive to receive another dose.

Now, with jade in his veins, he just hoped his body wouldn’t reject the ichor. He’d been healing well- physically, at least- and it didn’t hurt to lift his arm anymore.

Even so…

Alphadad leaped to his feet at the sight of him as he reached the edge of the village, six ears standing alert and three noses nuzzling against his torso.

“I’m okay, alpha. I’m all done, let’s go home.” Vornik smiled softly, petting each howl-beast muzzle in turn. He clambered onto the giant beast’s back, and Alphadad turned, bounding for their mountain.

Vornik shut his eyes and turned his face into the wind as they galloped past his old home, trying to ignore the wrenching of his blood-pumper.

By the time they reached the mountain, the horizon was growing light. Vornik quickly dismounted and hurried inside, with Alphadad just behind him. His pace didn’t slow until he stepped out onto the ledge, and saw his hidden forest spread out below him.

Tension unraveled from his shoulders as he descended the slope, entering the blue-shining trees. The sound of birdsong and insect chirps wreathed around him, buzzing in his ears pleasantly. A stag was drinking from the pool when he passed; it paused and raised its head, but Vornik paid it no mind; the creatures in his mountain were comfortable with his presence now, and he with theirs. He’d forbid his howl-beast brethren from harming any of them, unable to stomach the thought of the near-mystical creatures being harmed.

Ascending the slop on the far side, he entered his den.

Since moving into it some perigrees ago, it had slowly become more and more like his old den; like home.

He had a new pile of furs and blankets and pillows to sleep in, only now they were cradled in a half-egg-shaped frame, to keep them from getting dirty. Barrels of water stood against one wall; back then, he’d set the barrels out on the cliff during storms to gather rain water, but now he just dragged them to the pool when they were emptied.

Above them, with the help of Innocent, Vornik had mounted some shelves into the stone. Utensils, food, tools, knickknacks, paint cans and brushes- all neatly organized on said shelves.

He’d dug himself a proper fire pit, where the embers of the early evening’s flame still smoldered.

At the back of the den, next to his bed and on a small pedestal, was the painted stone from his original home, surrounded by pretty crystals and shells.

Finally, there were the walls; he no longer had miles of mountain tunnels to paint, but he did have blank slates, and luminescent paint. In the flickering light of the embers, glowing howl-beasts and antler-beasts and faceless trolls danced among swirling designs and stars.

Vornik tossed a log and a few sticks onto the embers, coaxing them back into a warm flame. He glanced at the provisions waiting him on the shelf, but he still felt queasy after his treatment. He retreated to his bed, carefully removing his cloak and laying it aside before he curled up among the furs and pillows. Alphadad settled at the mouth of the cave, keeping watch on the trees.

It was as Vornik buried his nose in a howl-beast pelt, already half asleep, that he distantly realized why the jade blood had smelled familiar.

By morning, he’d forgotten. As soon as he was conscious that he was awake, his stomach was gripped with pain. He sat up with a bark of surprise, clutching his torso. Alphadad grunted, concerned, two heads rising to look at their charge.

Vornik panted, his eyes wide with alarm; he’d never felt this hungry, even after going without meals in winter, when food was scarce. He was dizzy, his mouth flooded with drool as he caught sight of the food waiting on the shelves. He scrambled out of his bed and lunged across the cave.

He ripped a loaf of bread from the shelf, barely pausing to unwrap the wax paper as he devoured bite after bite.

Halfway through the loaf, he dropped it, stumbled to the mouth of his den, and emptied his stomach of bread. He moaned in pain, eyes rolling back as he was gripped with more hunger pangs.

Stumbling back to the shelves, he pulled everything down, sniffing them for proof of rot or mold, but it all seemed fine. As his nose passed over a bundle of dried meat, he thought he might pass out again as a new wave of dizziness and drool washed over him.

He didn’t hesitate, ripping the twine off and shoving the meat into his mouth. He threw back his head and groaned in delight; that was what he needed, it seemed, and in what felt like moments, the meat was gone. He tore through the rest of his food, looking for more.

Raw beef slid down his throat next, followed by grilled chicken and smoked fish. Sniffing around desperately, he realized he was out of meat; only fruits and vegetables and bread remained, and his gastric-sack did unpleasant flips at their smell.

“More… alpha, I need- I need more!” He whimpered, turning to look at his lusus. Alphadad didn’t hesitate, leaping to his feet and bounding out of the mountain.

Vornik groaned again, dragging himself to the water barrels. He dunked his head in one, fears be damned, gulping down water in an attempt to stifle the hunger. He pulled his head back out, hair spraying water everywhere, and stood, clutching the edges.

He panted, staring down at his warped reflection; what was wrong with him? He’d never reacted this way to blood before- it was the only reason he could come up with for the sudden hunger. Maybe he *had* rejected the jade blood, and his body was trying to purge it.

He should see the healer, he decided. He spun about to fetch his cloak, stumbled over his own feet, and collapsed.

He groaned, stars exploding behind his eyes; he felt too weak, his temples and stomach pulsing in harmonious pain. It seemed to be moving, too, the pain rolling down each limb until it reached his fingers and toes, making them twitch. Even his horns felt electrified; he reached up to touched one, and cried out as a jolt shot through him.

He dropped his head, pressing his cheek to the cold stone. He tried to focus on breathing, shudders wracking his body as he dug his claws into the floor. There was a whine in his ears, distant and shrill like a broken radio.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there; he was going in and out of consciousness. But when he managed to lift his head again, it was in response to the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Blinking blearily, he found his lusus standing before him, a dead antler-beast on the ground at his paws, blood oozing sluggishly from a tear in its throat.

The coppery tang hit the back of Vornik’s throat, and he was moving before he was even aware of doing so. With his claws, he rend open the carcass, and was tearing out flesh.

He ate like a frenzied beast, blood coating his hands and mouth as he devoured flesh and muscle and organs. His knees became sticky and hot as the blood pooled around the rip in the belly. He was snarling, snorting, and panting, like his howl-beast siblings did when they devoured meals. He paused to lick away the blood that ran down his arm, before gouging out the liver and tearing into it.

He didn’t stop until he physically could eat no more; the carcass was in shambles, nearly half of it now in Vornik’s stomach. Finally sated, he slumped over to stare at the deer’s head, reaching up with bloody fingers to pet its ear.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for sustaining me.” He rasped, throat thick with blood; it was something he said at every kill, before he and his siblings ate. It was the closest he ever came to prayer- yet this time, all civility and grace he usually held during the meal had vanished until he was quenched.

Vornik laid for a while, eyes closed and breathing deep; sanity seemed to have come back to him, as did a warm strength that filled out his limbs and chest.

He felt… good. Content. Suddenly exhausted, he passed out right there on the ground.

It went on like that for several nights. He’d wake, eat, drink, and pass back out, to be consumed by fitful sleep and nightmares. He’d toss and turn, wake with a jolt, and devour more meat. Alphadad doted on him diligently, bringing fresh kills nearly every night. The cave was filled with carrion and bones, but Vornik didn’t have the strength to remove them.

Then all at once, he felt like he’d woken up; he was clear headed, able to breathe fully. He had the strength to get up and make his way to the pool, where he drank and cleaned the blood that caked his face and claws.

He sat back, looking up at the giant crystals that hung from the ceiling; through the cracks in the stone, he could see purple and green-tinged light; the moons were out and full. He didn’t feel sick anymore. Didn’t feel thirsty or hungry. His skin itched, but other than that, he felt fine.

Looking back down, he jumped in surprise as he caught sight of his reflection. Leaning over the surface, his eyebrows shot up; was the really him? He looked… bad. Haunted.

His eyes were empty, shadowed below by dark circles. His mouth was set in a grimace, the scar over his eye vivid. That wasn’t him, he thought; that was the shell of a troll he’d become. That wasn’t who he wanted to be.

He reached up with shaky claws and ran a finger down the mark. The smell of sea salt, blood, and a flash of fuchsia filled his mind for a moment, before he shook his head and dropped his hand. When he looked back at his reflection, he saw his eyes were glowing. He frowned; they only ever did that when he used his powers, why were they-

Agony tore through him once more, rocketing up his spine and bursting into his thinkpan like a firework. He screamed, the sound echoing through the chasm and causing birds to take flight.

He clutched his head, falling forward, into the shallows as he writhed. The ground shook, and Alphadad was at his side, barking and whining in alarm.

Vornik couldn’t breathe; his body was refusing to listen to him, pain buzzing down into his teeth. He snapped his jaws in the air, clawing at his mouth. His eyes suddenly shot open.

“Out!” He shouted, “I need out! Outside! Alpha!”

Alphadad didn’t argue. He shoved his muzzle under Vornik’s body, and the boy grabbed on, clambering over his lusus’ center head to clutch at his scruff as the monster hounded for the exit. Pressed flat against his lusus’ neck, the roof of the tunnel scraped against Vornik’s back and made him wail.

They burst out onto the mountainside, and Alphadad bound down to the forest, where he lowered himself to the ground. Vornik slid from his back and hit the dirt, pain pulsing through his very veins.

Everything was overwhelming; the forest was quiet, yet he could hear every insect chirp, every rustle of the leaves and the footfalls of deer. The smells of the woods, once pleasant, were rancid in his lungs, until he was heaving, trying to cough them back out. The moonlight stung his eyes, the wind slicing at his skin like knives.

From among the trees, he heard the near silent padding of his fellow howl-beast’s approach. A dozen of them appeared, sniffing the air as concerned grunts and growls rolled in their throats.

“What’s- happening- to me?” Vornik croaked, staring at his siblings pleadingly. They paused, turning to snuffle at one another. A knowing look seemed to dawn on all of them at the same time, and they suddenly retreated- all but one of them.

Vornik recognized her; he knew nearly every howl-beast in the mountains. This particular one was a she-wolf with red fur; Vornik had named her Russet, and had pup-sat for several of her litters when she went hunting.

Russet stepped forward, brushing her nose along his jaw comfortingly, before she stepped back, only to lunge forward and slam her head into him.

Vornik fell back with a yelp, pain skirting up his back like electricity. “Russet-?!” He gasped.

She leaped back, bowing in a play stance.

“No, Russet, I don’t-”

She barked, knocking into him again. She turned and vanished into the trees, before she came back and barked again, her tail wagging.

Run!

The word exploded in his head, a painful energy surging through him like a wave. He scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly.

Run!

He took off.

Vornik wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement that made him move, but he was suddenly tearing through the trees, his lusus and packmate at his sides. Other howl-beasts bled from between the trees to join them in their race.

Vornik didn’t know where they were going, but he was a man consumed; run, his body told him, the pain fading to a background feeling. Run. Run!

He vaulted over a log, lost his footing, fell, and leaped back up, racing on.

They burst out of the woods and onto the plains, where a heard of mega-fauna antler-beasts were grazing. The beasts startled, bellowed, and wheeled about to flee. Vornik bellowed right back, and his vision went red.

He screeched to a stop, throwing back his head as his muscles seized.

He screamed, screamed, screamed- and his skin rent open as he was transformed.

He fell forward, his body shaking and jerking from side to side as he convulsed. He thrashed his head, snarling, his claws digging into the dirt. His lusus and howl-beast siblings watched, silently circling around him to wait.

The base of his spine burned in a white hot, needling pain. His every fang pulsed and throbbed, his eyes squeezed shut as his thinkpan scattered to the wind.

His jaw was stretching, his bones snapping and reforming, his fangs growing as he snarled at the moons. His form doubled, tripled in size, new muscles and flesh rippling into being across his limbs.

His hair turned white from the roots, as bright white fur burst into being along the rest of his body. He heaved with a great shudder, and his spine elongated into a tail with a flourish. His ears grew longer, the tips sharper, as he tossed his head. His hands and feet became broad and thick, his fingers and toes into heavy, sharp claws.

His clothes were suddenly too constricting as his chest broadened, expanded, and he tore them off with a snarl.

With a final burst of pain, he threw back his head and screamed, only for it to change into a roaring howl, before he collapsed.

Vornik lay in the moonlight, heaving for breath as he tried to figure out what just happened. Terror and pain faded away until they were barely echoes. He whimpered, peeling open his eyes and sitting up slowly to look down at himself.

He… He was a howl-beast.

Or partially one, at least. A monster, caught between troll and howl-beast. He reached up, patting his head, and was relieved to feel his horns still remained. He stood on wobbly feet and twisted about, looking at himself. He was huge! He must have been nearly seven feet tall, at least! He was covered in thick white fur that made him look even bigger, and he had a tail! He focused, and managed to make it wag a little. He looked down his arm, and saw his scar still remained, but it was mostly covered by his fur.

Dropping back down, he finally looked up at his family. Alphadad was regarding him, with only warmth and pride in all his eyes.

“Alpha?” Vornik tried to say, but it didn’t come out in his voice. His body spoke for him, his ears pressing back and head cocking to the side.

“Little Omega.” His lusus responded warmly, all six ears pricking up and middle head tossing back and forth as his tail wagged.

“I’m… a howl-beast.” Vornik’s tail thumped and he bowed his head.

“Always been a howl-beast.” His lusus leaned down and nuzzled each muzzle against Vornik’s head. “Only now you look like one.” He chuffed affectionately, nipping Vornik’s ear gently.

Vornik nuzzled his nose along one jaw, before he looked at his siblings. Each one of them had their ears pressed back, tails tucked, and were respectfully looking away from him. Vornik whined at them, assuring them it was okay.

“What do I do now?” He whimpered, his own ears falling flat and tail tucking half-way between his legs.

Alphadad pulled away to regard him. “What do you want to do?” He asked, all three heads cocking to the right at the same time.

In response, Vornik’s stomach gave a mighty rumble, and he heard amused chuffs from his siblings.

“Hunt.” Vornik bared his teeth, his muzzle wrinkling and eyes beginning to glow as energy surged through him.

Alphadad stamped his feet, tail high as he barked with excitement. “Then we hunt!” He snarled, tossing a heads.

Vornik slammed his claws against the ground as a sudden, ferocious elation- borderline bloodthirst- filled his chest. He threw back his head and let out another roaring howl that echoed through the mountains.

Above him, the sky lights burst to life, as if called by his song. Greens and blues and pinks and yellows snaked across the sky, stretching across the canvas of midnight and stars. The other howl-beasts reacted, throwing back their heads to howl, too.

“Ancestors! The ancestors join us!” Jawbreaker- a male with black fur- howled.

Vornik couldn’t sit still another moment; he thought if he did, he might explode. He shot off across the plains, reveling in his new power; he had questions, lots of them, but for the moment he let them go, all but throwing himself, willingly, into the nature he’d denied himself the past sweep.

He could feel his blood-pumper beating against his ribs like a caged animal. He felt every ripple of his muscles as they bunched and released as he thundered forward, his claws tearing into the grass.

Every sense was heightened, but it was no longer painful; he could hear his brothers, his sisters, and his father racing along behind him, but none of them seemed able to keep up with his speed. He could smell the earthy musk of his prey, somewhere ahead in the hills, so strongly that he could taste it on his tongue. His vision was sharpened, so much so that every blade of grass was distinct, even as he ran by.

With a leap full of lupine grace, his form changed again.

He nearly lost his footing in surprise, but managed to stay upright as his body morphed, painlessly and seamlessly, into a full-blown howl-beast body. He wanted to stop and check it out, but to pause meant he had to stop running. He could still feel his horns atop his head. Adrenaline was pouring through him, churning through his veins until he could barely contain it. He threw back his head and howled again, and heard the answering cry from his pack.

The mountains came alive as the other packs responded, too, reveling in the glee their brother had found once more. Vornik crested a hill and finally slowed as he spotted the prey up ahead. His flanks heaved as he fought for breath, his head was spinning with hunger and euphoria, and drool dripped from his jaw. His muscles ached from the sudden growth and use, but it was dull. Satisfying.

Finally, he thought, his tail wagging behind him as he eyed the herd.

Finally, he was himself again.

He was Vornik again.

[theunredeemable]

The Silent Breeze lurched violently in the vacuum of space as another explosion wracked its corpse. Debris and bodies orbited it, caught in its small, gravitational pull as it hung limply, the survivors watching from their escape pods just outside of the gravitational pull. It had been hours since the death of the captain, since the Sun Dragoons laid waste to the ship, though it was not they who sent the ship to its demise. Captain Gole's execution had created a power vacuum within the ship, and those hungry for power tried to capitalise on it. Their infighting further damaged the weakened hull and life support systems, and the sublight engine’s explosion had killed many. Those that survived were the ones who fled in the escape pods as the fighting started, and now waited for rescue.

"What's the chance that anyone's even coming?"

Jaune turned in his seat to look at the asker, and the sight nearly broke his heart. The boy was barely a man, no doubt pressed into service to pay off debts not his own, sent to die so far from home. Though The Silent Breeze was a transport ship, it was still in service to the Empire, if through the SDC. Jaune tried to give him a reassuring smile. "I won't lie to you, I don't know. But we have to hold onto hope. I'm sure someone's picked up our signal by now."

A scoff came from the scowling, silver haired man sat next to him. "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were either of you. There weren't many aware we were even coming out here."

Jaune glared at him, disgust written clearly across his face. "Your negativity isn't helping anything, Black."

"That's Agent Black to you, Arc."

Jaune rolled his eyes, turning back to the young man. "Ignore him, Rookie. He gets paid to be a dour jerk. We're going to be fine, someone will come." He gave a final smile before returning his attention to the communication screen. "You'll see. Any minute now..."

Another hour passed in uneasy silence, the noise of the console's steady beeping and the crew’s heavy breaths filling the air. Even Jaune was starting to lose hope. Another hour and they'd start to run out of oxygen. Quietly, under his breath, he offered up a prayer to the divines that a miracle would come soon. As if they were listening, a series of beeps came from the communications console in a repeating pattern of three, signifying a large vessel was approaching. Looking out the window, he could see a ripple in space, then a flash of blue as The Nevermore appeared in the void. Shortly after, several smaller ships spilled out of its many hangers, like wasps swarming from their hive. In unison, his comms crackled to life as a feminine voice came over. "This is Winter Schnee, Captain of The Nevermore. Please identify the senior most officer."

Jaune moved to respond, but the man next to him moved faster, pushing the button to open communications. "This is SDC Special Agent Mercury Black, requesting immediate pick up."

Static answered Mercury's claim, and Jaune took no small amount of delight in the unpleasant man's frustration, until the comms kicked in again. "Recognised, Agent Black. However, there are escape pods in worse condition than yours, and need to take priority. You will have to wait."

Mercury scowled and nearly shouted down the comms. "SDC and Empire regulations demand that the highest ranking officer is recovered first and foremost!"

"Under normal circumstances, you would be correct. However, I have looked at the crew manifesto for The Silent Breeze and you are...suspiciously absent from it. Officially, Agent Black, you are not here. Something I am sure you arranged for whatever secret mission my father has you on. But seeing as you are not officially here, you do not currently take priority." There was a pause, before Winter's voice picked back up again. "Now, unless my sister is in that pod with you, I need to find the highest ranking officer. One that, officially, actually is present."

Jaune pushed Mercury's hands away, pressing down on the button himself. "I believe that's me, Ma'am. At least, I'm the highest ranking surviving officer."

"What is your name and position?"

"Jaune Arc, Chief Security Officer. Ma'am, if I may...if there are damaged pods out there, please prioritize their recovery. I've already lost enough of my crewmates today."

Static answered once more as Jaune looked out the window, watching as rescue crews found the other escape pods and dragged them back to The Nevermore. Many of them were damaged from the sublight explosion, or from drifting debris. "Very well, Mr. Arc. But both you and Agent Black will be answering my questions once you are aboard. Such as why my sister doesn't appear to be in any of your pods, and you better hope I like the answer."

The line went dead as Winter cut off communications, and Jaune felt a sense of dread wash over him as Mercury laughed. "Well pretty boy, depending on how you answer her you're either getting promoted today...or getting shot." The way Mercury was grinning, Jaune got the feeling the man was hoping for the later.

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

Winter stood in the war-room, waiting impatiently for her 'guests' to arrive. She commended Jaune for his selflessness in ensuring his crewmates were safe before he was, but now she wished he was a little more selfish. Or, at the very least, in a different pod than Mercury Black. She sneered at the thought of the unsavoury individual, before tempering her ire and marshalling her features into a mask of neutrality. "There will be plenty of time to get angry later, Winter. For now, get the facts, assess the risk...find my sister." She took a deep breath, turning around as she heard the door hiss open. There stood Mercury Black, his uniform the same colour as his name and suspiciously pristine, and Jaune Arc, whose uniform was tattered and coated in dust and oil. With naught but a glance, she could easily tell which of the two was worth her time.

"Mr. Arc, I must formally commend your loyalty to your crew. You made a lot of friends today by putting them first." Jaune flushed at the praise as Winter's gaze turned to the other in the room. "Agent Black."

"Captain Schnee."

The two stared at each other, the tension in the room becoming palpable before she turned her back to the both of them, moving to the other side of the holo-table, dragging her hand across its surface. "So, which one of you will tell me how this happened?" Pushing a button, the table activated to show The Silent Breeze's derelict state.

Mercury sneered, showing no sign of answering, so Jaune cleared his throat and began. "We were set upon by pirates while in the process of transporting Weiss Schnee, code named Songbird, to Argus Augmentics." He ignored the withering glare Mercury was shooting his way and carried on. "Before the attack, Songbird made an attempt to flee the ship, but was stopped by Agent Black and brought before Captain Gole. I...am unsure of what transpired on the Bridge as I was not present. What I do know is that after the pirates took what they were after and escaped, Gole was dead and Songbird was missing."

Winter nodded, the room growing cold with her barely contained rage. Jaune thought he could see ice forming on the viewports, but chalked it up to a figment of his imagination as Winter looked to Mercury. "Agent Black, would you care to fill in the blanks?"

"No."

Jaune winced, and took a step away as Winter's eyes narrowed. "No?"

"You are not the Schnee I answer to, and as such I am under no obligation to tell you anything."

Winter was silent for several minutes, tension returning to the room as she stared a hole into Mercury before she turned her attention back to Jaune. "Mr. Arc, you are dismissed. Go get some rest, we will speak more later."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Jauned saluted, hesitating to leave. "Just...one more thing, ma'am."

"What is it?"

"I was a part of the defense, and I managed to see the emblem the pirates wore. It was a drake devouring a sun. There might be something in the records about them."

"Thank you, Jaune. That helps. Go rest." Winter gave a rare, reassuring smile, before switching back to her icy demeanour as she turned back to Mercury. "You are both dismissed." Jaune saluted once more, leaving the chamber, though Mercury remained where he stood. "Do you have something useful to say, Agent Black?"

"I demand transport back to the core worlds."

"Then you are more than welcome to borrow one of our fighters. Not that it will get you far, maybe to a nearby world with a port where you can requisition a transport ship." Mercury opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped before he could. "Agent Black, just as you do not answer to me, I do not answer to you or your organisation. I am a servant of the Atlesian Empire, not my father, for he is not the Emperor. I am not beholden to give you anything, and seeing as you have been uniquely unhelpful I'm not even inclined to give you the time. Officially, you aren't even here. My mission takes priority."

Mercury scoffed, glaring at Winter. "What mission? Saving your little sister?" His voice dripped with venom as he sneered, though Winter only smiled.

"Hunting down the pirates I was sent out here for. And, thank you."

"For what?"

"For confirming my sister is alive. Now, get the hell out of my sight before I decide the brig will be better accommodation for you."

Mercury's scowl deepened, annoyed for giving information away, but obeyed as he made to leave. "Where are my quarters?"

"There is an ensign waiting to escort you." Winter waited until the doors closed behind him until her countenance shifted to one of anger. Ice formed around her feet, crystallizing on the floor and air as her hands curled into fists and she trembled with rage. "Of all the self-important...arrogant...irritating pieces of filth, why did it have to be him?” She was certain that if everything in the room weren't bolted down she would have trashed the place by now. Instead, she took a slow, calming breath and smoothed down her hair. Shaking the ice from her feet, she waved a hand and caused it all to melt into the floor as she pressed another button. "Please send Sustrai in." She seethed in silence for the several minutes she was alone, hands flexing as she brought her emotions back under control before her CCO arrived.

"You called, Ma'am?"

"Yes...I need you to bring me everything you can find on Mercury Black. It'll be hard considering he's a SDC Agent, but I don't trust hi-" She paused upon noticing the way Emerald tensed. "What is it?"

"When the two of you were talking over comms...I prayed that it was someone else, a different agent with the same last name."

"You know him then?"

"I did...once. Friends, though we were more like family at the time. But we went down different paths." She let out a sad sigh, hugging herself as she looked askance. "He became distant, then cruel, because the universe was cruel to us and he wanted to be strong enough to be the one calling the shots, while I chose to not let it define me anymore."

"I..I am sorry, Emerald. I didn't know." Winter dropped her professionalism, looking at her friend in concern.

"It's fine, there's no reason you would. It was a lifetime ago, after all." She let out a sad chuckle, before shaking her head. "I'll make a dossier for you with what I know and what I can find. Anything else?"

"Yes, one more thing. Do you know which pirate crew uses the emblem of a drake devouring a sun?"

Emerald thought for a moment, before nodding. "Yes...I believe the Sun Dragoons use that symbol." She moved over to the holo-table, and pressed a series of buttons. When she was done, The Silent Breeze fizzled away, and was replaced with a much larger ship, as well as an image of it's captain. "Their ship is called The New Dawn , and their captain is..." She paused, smiling lightly. "Yang Xiao-Long, daughter of Taiyang Xiao-Long. She matches the description of the pirate we're hunting."

Winter allowed herself a small smile, the flame of hope sparking in her chest as her rage started to abate. "How...serendipitous. Thank you, Emerald. You can go, I'll have orders for the crew soon." Emerald saluted, and left her captain alone in the room, only the light of the holo-table illuminating her as she stared at the image of Yang. "So you're the one who kidnapped my sister....prepare yourself, Pirate. I'm coming for you."

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

Mercury glanced about his sparse room, sneering in disgust. It reminded him too much of his old room at the orphanage, and he had grown accustomed to the finer accommodations as one of Jacques' private agents. He suspected he was in this room due to Winter's clear dislike of him. "Not that the feeling isn't mutual..." he mused to himself, before shrugging. "No matter, I won't be here long." Moving to the center of the room, he pulled out a small, circular device. Pressing the activation button, he spoke into it before throwing it to the center of the floor and stepping back. "Open a secure line to Councillor Jacques Schnee."

He was forced to wait for almost half an hour, before the device beeped loudly and a holographic Jacques materialised from the device. He was in the middle of fixing the cufflinks on his own uniform as he looked down his nose at Mercury. "What is it, Black. You interrupted a rather important meeting."

"Songbird flew the coop, and I require transit back."

Jacques seemed to freeze in mild shock, though he soon recovered as he clasped his hands behind his back. "What do you mean, flew the coop? Was I wrong to entrust such an...important delivery to you and Gole?"

"Gole is dead. She was taken by pirates."

"Did he run his mouth before he died?"

Mercury nodded. "Unfortunately. Songbird attempted to escape on her own, and Gole used the truth to cow her. Then the pirates attacked."

"Do you know which faction?"

"I believe they called themselves the Sun Dragoons, or something equally idiotic."

Jacques' calm demeanour dropped as he sneered, swearing in High Atlesian. "Those are the same pirates Winter was assigned by that fool Ironwood to hunt down." Mercury grimaced, knowing what his boss was about to say. "I'll need to assign you to her for damage control..."

"Well, sir. You're in luck. I'm already on board. It was The Nevermore that answered the distress call."

"In that case your request is denied. You will stay aboard and keep an eye on things. Assist only in hunting the pirates down for the express purpose of returning Songbird into your custody, if you can. Keep her away from her sister at all costs. Oh, and Black."

"Yes sir?"

"Kill Weiss if she starts to talk."

[kell-be-belle]

A Moment of Your Time

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo​

Prompt: Vanilla/Missionary

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: Mature 

Content Warnings: None

Summary:  While traveling on the Path, certain needs tend to fall to the wayside. When Jaskier and Geralt finally work up the courage to ask for some alone time, things don't go exactly as one would expect, but needs are met all the same.

Ao3

The fact that Ciri was looking up at them with those wide, innocuous eyes was what really made Geralt feel as though he were trapped in some kind of waking a nightmare. He had attempted to dissuade Jaskier; assure him that this was wholly necessary and that the two of them could contain themselves until they arrived at Kaer Morhen. Initially, they had agreed upon the matter, but with their destination still off by weeks of hard travel, the resolve wore thinner with each passing day. No, Jaskier had insisted, this was something that had to be done. With the distraction of their situation effectively satiated, they would be better equipped to see themselves safely home for the winter. It was a logic that was difficult to argue with and Geralt was hard pressed to agree, but that did not make the situation any less… mortifying.     

“Ciri,” Jaskier began, clearing his throat into the curved shape of his fist. “Geralt and I have been doing some talking and there is, uh… there is something that the two of us must, uh… m-must do. Well, I suppose we don't well and truly have to, I mean we are capable of self restraint, b-but it would honestly be a great relief to us both.” 

Geralt could not believe this was happening. He could not believe that he was allowing himself to sit complacently by and watch it all unfold. Blushing was not something Geralt was physically capable of doing, but if it were he was sure his face would be as alarmingly red as the wild beet stew they had eaten for dinner last night. Ciri looked up at them with those doe-like eyes, her head quizzically tilted to one side. The very picture of innocence.  

Sweet Melitile, they were really doing it. 

Jaskier continued, his hands fluttering restlessly about him like a pair of escaped birds, “You see, Ciri, when, uh… when adults are in love they need, err- oh, how do I…. Adults who are in love need time. Alone. Yes, time alone. To reaffirm to each other that they love each other. And while Geralt and I love each other most ardently, it has been, um… well, quite some time since we’ve reminded each other in this particular fashion. Three weeks and two days, but who’s counting.” The bark of his laughter bordered on hysterical.  

If the Earth could have opened wide and swallowed him whole, Geralt desperately wished it would at that moment. He was not opposed to spontaneous combustion, either. Honestly, anything so that he didn’t have to witness the way Ciri furrowed her pale brows. Watch the way her gaze flickered between the pair of them. 

“Are… are you guys asking me to give you alone time so you can… have sex?”

Geralt immediately answered with a harsh ‘no’ promptly at the same moment that Jaskier answered with a resigned ‘yes’. Geralt whirled on Jaskier, astounded that he would admit such a thing to a young girl so freely. 

“What?” He snapped upon seeing Geralt’s scandalized expression. “She clearly knows what she’s talking about and I am not going to disrespect her by pretending she doesn’t…. So, in answer to your question Ciri, yes. Geralt and I are asking to have some alone time so that we may have sex.” 

Geralt had wished for his spontaneous demise before, but he now called upon every demon, deity, and flea-bitten magic goat to make it so.  

For several moments, Ciri looked silently between them, the corners of her mouth drawn back in a display of disgust. Just when Geralt thought the shame would eat him alive, she grumbled, “Gross.” and planted her palms into the dirt beneath her, pushing herself to her feet. “You two are almost as bad as Grandmother and Eist.” 

Geralt and Jaskier watched aimlessly as she bustled about their little camp and began to gather provisions. She loaded her satchel with half a loaf of bread and some hard cheese. She then proceeded to rummage through Geralt’s pack and procure his battered copy of the bestiary as well as some parchment and a quill from Jaskier’s bag. Geralt could hear Jaskier swallow thickly as he noticed it was his most favorite quill clutched in her little fist, but he dared not to say a word.    

After she had finished her raid, Ciri whirled back on the two of them with a look of resigned determination, “I am going to be down by the stream. I will be back in exactly one hour. If I come back and find any,” She swallowed as if resisting the urge to gag. “Evidence then I swear I will leave you both here.” She hefted the satchel over her shoulder and turned in the direction of the aforementioned stream. “And no noise! I want to hear nothing more than the rustle of leaves and birdsong!” 

Bewildered by the smoothness at which their request was granted, Geralt and Jaskier stared aimlessly at the empty space Ciri had occupied for several moments. Jaskier at last broke the silence with a breathless affirmation, “That worked.” He huffed a little laugh and pushed a hand through his hair, “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

Geralt is still so dumbfounded by the success of the exchange that he is caught off guard as the front of his tunic is snatched in the remarkably strong grasp of Jaskier’s slender hands. Geralt is entirely pliant, swept helplessly away in the current of Jaskier’s movements. One moment he is being shoved bodily towards the patch of flattened earth where their bedrolls lay in their customary fashion of side by side. The next, he is blinking up in the pale patches of sky that peek between the thinning canopy of the trees surrounding them. His hips are pinned into the straw of the mattress by the bracket of Jaskier’s muscular thighs.    

Jaskier brings their mouths together in a fervent clash, all clacking teeth and pressing tongues. It knocks the breath from Geralt and leaves him gasping into Jaskier’s mouth. There are stars bursting in the darkness behind his eyelids by the time Jaskier releases him. 

“Melitele’s sweet, merciful tits,” Jaskier groans as he withdraws, swiping a tongue along the freshly swollen curve of his bottom lip. “I needed this so badly.” He rolls his hips gingerly against Geralt’s and he can already feel the hard curve of his cock pressing against the inner seam of his trousers. The roguish grin that splits across his mouth is positively devastating. “See how much I’ve been in want of you, darling? You’ve got me half hard already just on the sweet taste of your mouth.” His lithe musician’s fingers are already engaged in a heated battle with the fastenings of Geralt’s tunic. “How long has it been, my love? Weeks, months, centuries?” 

Geralt hisses as his flushed skin is exposed to the chilled forest air, “As I recall, it’s been three weeks and two days.”  

Jaskier leans over him and nips vindictively in the hollow beneath Geralt’s ear knowing full well that it would drive him mad with wanting. “Now, now don’t be a smartass. Three weeks, three months, three years, my point is it has been far too long. I’ve nearly forgotten what it feels like to get railed by your massive dick and I am in desperate need of a thorough reminder.” 

Geralt chuckles, “There is still a lot of walking left to do. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Jaskier growled and nipped again at the sensitive spot. Their lack of contact in recent weeks had left Geralt feeling raw and overly sensitive like an exposed nerve. A keen swelled in the back of his throat and he trapped it behind the clench of his teeth. “I will be bitching the rest of the way to Kaer Morhen no matter what and I think we would both rather it be from a thorough dicking than dissatisfaction.”  

Arousal spiked inside Geralt with a dizzying ferocity; hitting him like a second glass of wine swallowed down too quickly. The edges of him feel blurred, like his thoughts and his movements have fallen out of sync. He can feel himself reacting, feel the tightening in his trousers as his cock swells. His mind is struggling to catch up, delayed by the processing of all the new stimuli. The damp smell of the earth beneath him, the weight of Jaskier atop him, the sting of the fresh bite below his ear and the hot breath panting against the shell. All of it buzzes in his skull like a hive of disturbed bees and he struggles not to be overwhelmed. 

Geralt’s heart thumps hard in his chest, teetering precariously on the line between thrilling and maddening.

Jaskier grinds his hips down in a sinuous roll. The friction created by his weight and the drag of their thick winter clothing sets Geralt alight. Heat simmers under his skin like water just on the edge of boiling. Instinctively, his body arches up into the pressure, seeking more of that delicious friction. “An hour is plenty of time.” Jaskier breathes against his jaw. Geralt can feel the impish curve of his grin. “With your stamina, you could fuck me at least twice. Three times if we’re efficient about it.”  

While the thought of fucking Jaskier senseless still registers somewhere in Geralt’s mind as something he very much wants to do, it is scattered in the throng of other things. Honestly, Geralt hadn’t expected any of this was going to work. He had been fully prepared to spend the evening as he had been, with a frustrating ache in his balls. It was not something he was unused to. Before Jaskier, he went without more often than not. Waking up with Jaskier’s morning wood prodding into his backside admittedly made things slightly more difficult, but Geralt would ultimately survive. The unexpected shift in plans partnered with Jaskier’s enthusiasm, while welcome, made him feel overwhelmed.

There was heat in stomach and coursing through his veins and the drag of his trousers on his cock, the bracket of Jaskier’s hips caging him in. The scent of the earth and the musk of arousal and Jaskier’s sweet almond oil. Heat. Scent. Birds fluttering through the trees. Heat. Jaskier. The sting of the bite in the hollow of his ear. Heat. 

Geralt was so disoriented by the maelstrom of his own thoughts that he hadn’t registered the sound of his name. Jaskier had said it three times before it reached him through the din and he blinked up at the bard with wild, blown out eyes. Jaskier looked down at him worriedly, melding the curve of his palm against Geralt’s jaw. It cupped his face flawlessly as if that were the only purpose it was ever meant to serve. “Is something the matter? You have this look on your face.” 

Maybe it was because he was used to compromising or perhaps it was because Jaskier looked so pretty with his flushed cheeks and mused hair, but Geralt clenched his jaw and shook his head. “N-no, nothing.” Which was about as wholly unconvincing as he could be. It didn’t take Jaskier’s shrewdness to know something was amiss.      

“It’s not nothing. You know better by now, dear heart. Your feelings are important to me.” The tempered scrape of Jaskier’s calloused thumb against his cheek mollified Geralt like a child soothed by a lullaby. It quieted the din of his thoughts to the point that he could hear over them once more.  

With gentle pressure Jaskier tipped Geralt’s face, prompting him to meet his gaze, “Talk to me.” 

Faced with the boundless blue of Jaskier’s eyes Geralt felt his resolve promptly melt away like the last of winter’s frost with the first ray of spring sunshine. Yes, he did know better. In all the time they had known one another, Jaskier had never once made Geralt feel as though he were invalid; that his feelings were anything other than the most precious of treasures. 

Geralt worked his jaw, swiped a tongue across his kiss swollen lips as he took a moment to form words, “Sorry, it… it was just a bit much all at once.”

Jaskier clucked his tongue. Brushed a loose strand of white hair behind Geralt’s ear. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Geralt’s forehead and the soft huff of his breath in his hair makes Geralt’s stomach flutter as if filled with butterflies. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not feeling up to it. Despite my lamenting, I won’t actually die without sex for a couple more weeks. Or ever if that was what you wanted.” 

Geralt chuckled, “No, definitely not that.” And Jaskier chuckled, too. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, it’s just…” He trailed off and Jaskier waited with the patience of a saint. Caressing Geralt’s cheek and pressing tender, encouraging kisses into his hair. “I just… I know we don’t have much time, but I want to try and take it slow. Enjoy it. I… I’ve missed you.”  

The fondness in Jaskier’s gaze made a warmth pool in Geralt’s chest; filled him with an effervescence like a goblet brimming with honeyed mead. “And I you.” He leans down to take Geralt’s lips once more. It is just as passionate, just as wanting, but he takes his time to savor it. He sucks Geralt’s tongue, traces the edges of his teeth. The fringe of his ridiculous bangs tickle pleasantly against Geralt’s forehead like the brush of a feather.

When Jaskier pulls away once more, the light from the sun shines around him in a halo and Geralt thinks him something dazzling and otherworldly. “It is as I said, isn’t it? Sex is just another way to show the person you love just how much you love them. And I love you, Geralt. Truly,” He punctuates with a kiss to the Geralt’s forehead, “wholly,” then one to the apple of each cheek, “unconditionally.” and at last his lips. An hour wasn’t much time, but they would be sure to make the most of it.   

[littlefrenchfryesblog]

Hi there! ♡Can I request a cute moment between Jacob Frye x reader( like hugs, cuddles or kisses)? Something like that: reader is sad because many people have been ignoring her for being busy or worried with another things and never having time to talk to her. then Jacob notice that reader is now more quiet and isolated than before. ( I would thank you so much for doing it,I'll be honest here, I really felt sad and isolated last week and what saved me and made me happy was playing ac) ☆ peace ~

Of course Anon! And don’t forget if you are sad, you can always text me!! I hope you’ll like this (Cause I didn’t really like what I wrote) I love you!!❤❤❤💗

---------------------------------------------------------------------------Can You Hold Me?

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Warnıngs: Maybe a little angst but after all, it’s just Fluff

   People can be busy. That's pretty normal. And it's pretty normal at Frye's Train too. Evie was generally busy, Henry was busy cause he was helping Evie. Jacob was busy with improving his gang. You were used to it.

   But so many things happened in your life these days, you been stalked by a Templar at London's streets, you've been harassed by people around you. But, everybody was soo busy and because of it, they never knew what was going on in your life.

   But one day, it all blew up inside of you. You were nearly crying when you went to Evie's carriage to tell everything about the stalker. But she said ''(Y/N) if it's not so important can we talk about it later?'' you said ''Okay.'' and you went to Jacob's carriage to talk about the stalker but he acted like he didn't hear a single thing you said, and he started to talk about how to improve his gang. You helped him in every way you can. And then, you gave up.

     You went to your carriage after helping Jacob to improve his gang, when you were inside of your carriage you closed the curtain of your carriage door to make sure nobody saw you from outside. Then you put every book you can find, and you put everything you need to work on (If you are a student you put your study subjects, textbooks, notebook etc.) you even went to Charles Dicken to borrow some books from him.

       After that, you started to get out of your carriage lesser and lesser every day. You were always reading books or working /studying. And at dinner times you didn't get out of your carriage. So, Henry was putting your meal in front of your carriage door and you get it from there. But you started to eat less and less every day.

And when Evie was giving you some easy missions you were going to missions by yourself. When you were going to missions not alone, your partner was always Jacob. But you weren't talking so much. You were mostly just listening and saying ''Yes'' or ''Okay'' nothing more than that. On your alone missions, you always come back with succeeding your mission. Then going back to your carriage.

       When Evie calls everybody to talk about the new mission, you wouldn't say a single thing. Then you would go back to your carriage as usual. And when Rooks and Jacob were celebrating their ''Freeing London'' plans, at first you would say ''Sorry guys I'm busy tonight, maybe another time'' then it turned to ''Sorry guys I'm busy'' then it turned to you just smiling and walking away when they call you to come.

       You thought nobody was caring about you anymore. And that they never cared about you. And nobody was realizing how you isolate yourself from people.

        But someone was seeing everything. Jacob Frye. Jacob was the one who puts your meal in front of your carriage door. And he was the one who sees your body going skinnier and skinnier every day.

        When Jacob saw your body going skinnier, his heart broke a little, when he couldn't hear your voice anymore, he missed your voice, he missed how you smile, how you laugh, how you would cheer him up every day, how you would dance with him when he celebrates with Rooks. He was seeing you from the carriage window since your curtain wasn't so thick. But one day when he was with Clara and the Urchins and he was playing with them, Clara came to him and asked what's wrong with you. She said ''Mr Frye I know it's none of my business but is everything okay with Ms (Y/N)? Her face is skinnier than ever. Is it about the Templar stalking her?'' Jacob was taken aback by what she said. And he agreed with her. He said ''I don't know Clara but I'm trying to find it too.''  then Clara said '' Can you Promise me something, Mr Frye? Can you protect (Y/N)?'' He didn't understand it, when Clara understood it she said ''We need to protect Ms (Y/N), she's too good for this world.'' It was so near to Jacob to cry right there and he said ''I promise''.

         At that exact day, they freed another place of London from Templars and they make that Templars a Rook for his gang. They decided to celebrate it. And they went to the train's bar. They drank they sang, some of them even danced. But Jacob wasn't paying any mind to all of those, his eyes were trying to find you. You weren't in your carriage, so he was waiting for you to pass him and going back to your carriage, your safe place.

           For his luck, you passed just in front of him. He got up from his seat and he followed you to your carriage. Then he heard the voice he was achingly wanted to hear, your voice. ''Why are you following me, Jacob?'' then he realized that he was at the door of your carriage. And you were just behind the door with your back facing him. And he started to beg you to open the door, and you did. But your back was always facing him when you did so. So, Jacob caught you from your wrist and he turned you to face him. But when he saw your face his heart broke into billion pieces. Your face was so skinny and your eyes were watering. He put one of his arms around your waist, and he put ane of his hand to your face. Then he hugged you like if he releases you, you would disappear. He felt so bad to not being there for you, the woman/man he loves but never said. So he kissed the side of your head and then rested his head between your neck and your shoulder then whispered one word to your ear ''Why?'' and then he started to cry too. You rested your head to his neck too and said ''Why should've I, you all were too busy with your work and I thought that you don't need me anymore.'' Jacob then faced you and said ''Don't need you anymore? Are you crazy do you see what happened when you were gone, I burned a whole theatre and I didn't even think about it.'' then you giggled, so he continued ''Why you didn't tell me anything about the stalker you had?'' then your face turned to a serious face and you said ''I tried but you were so busy with them'' as you looked to the Rooks behind him. And Jacob remembered that day, you needed protection but he was too busy with his plans, but even that time you helped him. And now, here you were, all sad and depressed, and isolated yourself, so Jacob started to tell you everything he felt when you weren't there with him. ''Look, (Y/N) I'm so sorry to make you feel this way, I should've been there for you, and when Clara said that your heart was too good for this world and I need to protect you, I remembered all the times when you were so stressed, sad, and ignored you were still trying to stay strong. I know that I'm stupid cause I wasn't there for the woman/man that I love, can you please forgive me, love?'' then you looked to him and say ''First, Jacob you are so many things but you are not an idiot, and second you don't need to be sorry, and third I don't think you realized you said that you love me but I love you too Jacob Frye, so, Can You Hold Me? If it's not a problem for you'' Jacob was so happy after you said those three words and he said while smiling ''Of course, love''

         Then you and Jacob laid in your bed with him behind you and resting his head on your neck and wrapping his arms around you. After some silence, he said ''You have no idea how much I missed and your voice, love. And don't forget, after all, I'm here for you.''

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

@llamasofthefrenchfrye

@bumble-bee-assassin-hive

@servalans-flowers

@sassenach-on-the-rocks

I hope you guys don't mind me tagging you❤

[xxlittle0birdxx]

Every Story Has a Beginning

Read on AO3

'Erp!' The training droid's lightsaber slipped past Obi-wan's defenses and tapped the back of his calf. The jolt of energy temporarily seized his muscles in the grip of a painful cramp, and he fell to his knees. He waved a hand at the droid, shutting it down, then collapsed onto his back, panting for air, and lay gazing up at the dojo’s high ceiling, criss-crossed with several rafters. Karking stupid mistake, he moaned to himself. It was the sort of error a youngling would make. He’d allowed his concentration to slip for a tiny fraction of a second. He swiped his face with an already-sodden sleeve and sighed, acknowledging the source of his lapse of concentration.

Anakin.

Obi-wan sat up and rested his forearms on his bent knees, letting his hands dangle between them. What had the Council been thinking to let him take Anakin as an apprentice? True, he’d done his share of baby-tending in the crèche, but infants weren’t nine year old Padawans. And Obi-wan had little experience with being solely responsible for the well-being of a child.

And Anakin wasn't a mere child.

It had nothing to do with any of the Chosen One prophecies. Anakin's life experience made him far more jaded than his age would suggest. He was, what Rael would call, street-smart. The years of toiling for that Toydarian on Tatooine made him more proficient that most adult Jedi with machinery, and he was forever neglecting his studies to tinker with something. The few times he’d casually offered his perspective as a child slave in one of his classes resulted in shocked, horrified silence, so heavy with disapproval, that it took Obi-wan days to reassure Anakin that no, he had done nothing wrong, and the disapproval wasn’t aimed at him. The concept of play was an alien concept to Anakin. For all their supposed solemnity, Padawans played hard in their leisure time, with their chosen pursuits ranging from dejarik to the rather odd game from Chandrila that involved a stick and a ball, with a great deal of running, throwing, and catching. For a child who'd spent most of his days working, idleness of any sort was anathema. He struggled to find the stillness within him to meditate. He struggled in his classes. Not with the material. He soaked up everything like a sponge, analyzed it, and applied it to the next lesson before it even started. He chafed against the expected behavior of the more typical Padawans. 'He's fidgety!' one of the instructors had sniffed to Obi-wan, like it was a disease. His flight instructors, though… One of them had already quietly informed Obi-wan — with no small sense of awe — that Anakin had already passed the qualifications to fly starfighters and small shuttles, and was well on his way to the larger vessels. The flight simulators were one of the few places where Anakin felt truly comfortable. That, and the dojo.

Obi-wan shivered as the sweat on his body evaporated, but he didn't move.

He felt he was always chastising the boy. Eat your vegetables. Fold your tunics, don't just wad them up in the drawer. Have you finished your homework? You must calm your thoughts. For Ashla's sake, Anakin, where the hell are your socks? Slow down; no one's going to take your food away. Anakin, you must go back to your classroom.

Obi-wan was completely over his head, and he didn't dare ask for help. It would have just reinforced Yoda's doubts about Anakin’s suitability as a Padawan and Obi-wan’s as a master. Obi-wan had initially thought the Council would let Anakin ease into the Order with the rest of the younglings, but they’d plopped Anakin the Apprentice into his unprepared and gobsmacked lap. He heaved a pitiful sigh. 'Be mindful of the past and future, Obi-wan, but not at the expense of the present,' he reminded himself, imitating Qui-gon's burr.

'That wasn't half-bad.' Obi-wan's head swung up. Rael Averross leaned against the doorframe. He still looked as scruffy and rumpled as he did when Obi-wan first met him on Pijal nearly seven years ago. Perhaps his robes were slightly less shabby. 'Time honored tradition to mock your master's voice,' Rael laughed. He took in the glowing holocron, the training droid, and Obi-wan's disheveled form, then pointed to the holocron. 'Form III?'

'I… Yes.'

‘Suits you.’

‘I suppose.’ He picked up his fallen lightsaber. Three months ago, he would have argued that he could master Ataru. Even two months ago, he would have still said as much, and used its aggressive style to defeat the Sith on Naboo. And then he started replaying the final moments of the duel at odd moments, thinking of all the ways it could have gone so horribly wrong, had the Sith used a good defense. But now… He'd started to wonder if the best offense was indeed a tightly-woven defense.

Real merely grunted and walked into the dojo. ‘You know what time it is?’

Obi-wan waved a hand at the holocron to close it, then sent the droid back to its charging dock. 'I honestly don't know.'

‘After twenty-three hundred.’

Obi-wan’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

‘Sounds like you missed dinner, too,’ Rael observed.

‘I’ve got some ration bars stashed somewhere.’ Obi-wan pushed himself to his feet and ran his hand through his shaggy, sweat-soaked hair with a grimace. 'After I've had a shower.' Preferably a long one with water as scalding as he could stand it.

‘Might want to find your Padawan first. It's why I came looking for you.’

Obi-wan’s shoulders slumped. Not again...

‘He wasn’t at dinner with the rest of the Padawans,’ Rael continued. ‘Thought he might be eatin’ with you, but he never made it back before curfew.’

Obi-wan bit back a curse. It wasn't the first time Anakin had disappeared between his last class of the day and the Padawans' dinner. The first few times, Obi-wan had found him in one of the rooftop gardens or in a hidden corner of the Temple, his round cheeks wet with tears, feeling the press of resentment and antipathy from the other Padawans, their disdain for his lack of knowledge about the finer points of the Jedi or the Force. Or he'd crossed paths with Mace Windu, who seemed to have a special glower reserved just for Anakin. There were thousands of nooks and crannies where he could hide. And Anakin was very good at making himself small when he didn’t want to be found. He hooked his lightsaber to his belt and glanced at Rael. 'Does it get easier?'

'What? Havin' an apprentice?'

'Taking care of a child,' Obi-wan retorted, letting the weariness creep into his voice.

'Honestly?' Rael scratched his scraggly beard with both hands. 'No.' He sighed. 'Be a damn sight easier if they came with instruction manuals.' He squinted at Obi-wan. 'The Code doesn't help, either. No attachments, it says, like we don't get attached to them or them to us.'

Obi-wan closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. 'Brilliant,' he muttered. He let his hands fall to his sides, and breathed deeply, letting his consciousness fly through the Temple on the swift wings of the Force. Anakin wasn't in the gardens, or in one of the pools. He was endlessly fascinated by so much green, even limited as it was to the gardens, and with the sight of all that water contained in one place, just so the Jedi could swim. He wasn't in the kitchens sneaking food, nor was he in the flight simulators or the Padawans' dojo. Obi-wan didn't bother with the archive. Anakin disliked Jocasta Nu on sight. Where are you, Anakin? He despaired that the boy had left the Temple and was somewhere in Coruscant, boasting about his podracing or piloting skills in some flea-bitten hive of scum and villainy that didn't care that a nine year old boy's life was in danger. Something flickered in the corner of Obi-wan's mind, and he took a sharp turn toward it.

There.

Anakin was in his quarters. Just as Rael had suspected.

Obi-wan blinked. Then broke into a dead run. Something was terribly wrong.

The thick carpeting that lined the corridors muffled his footfalls as he pelted through them, panic making his heart pound in his chest. Why were his quarters so far from the dojo? He smacked the control panel of the door to his quarters with the Force and skidded to a stop just inside.

Anakin lay on one of the meditation platforms, bundled into the duvet that he'd apparently dragged from Obi-wan's bed. Despite the warmth of the duvet, and Anakin's tinkering with the climate controls to make the room as warm as possible, the boy shivered. Obi-wan laid a hand over Anakin's forehead. Kriff me… Anakin burned with fever. He scooped the sleeping child into his arms. Anakin mewled a weak protest, but wrapped his arms around Obi-wan's neck. Obi-wan balanced Anakin’s bottom on his crossed forearms. 'I'm going to take you to the infirmary,' he murmured. 'You'll feel better soon.'

Anakin's head lolled on his shoulder. 'You stink,' he rasped.

'My apologies.' Obi-wan rolled his eyes. If Anakin could comment on his current lack of personal hygiene, he must not be terribly ill. Then Anakin spoke again.

'Hurts,' Anakin complained.

Obi-wan peered at him. One thing Anakin never complained about so far was physical discomfort. 'What does?'

'Head. Throat. And I'm cold…' He burrowed into Obi-wan's chest, who grew more alarmed. He was most definitely not cold to the touch. Obi-wan could feel the heat radiating from him and walked faster.

The infirmary was just ahead. Obi-wan's strides lengthened, and he burst into the dimly lit space. The medical droid rolled up to them, and scanned Anakin before Obi-wan could so much as speak. The droid returned to a workstation, and retrieved a small bottle that it shoved into one of Obi-wan's hands. 'Give him these. Two pills every six hours until the fever breaks.'

'When will that be?'

The droid didn't shrug, but the pattern of blinking lights suggested one. 'As long as it takes. Could be as few as two or three days. Could be six.'

'What's the matter with him?'

'Nerf-pox.' The droid turned away. 'Nothing to do but ride it out.'

Obi-wan felt outraged on behalf of his apprentice. Surely there was more to be done then ride it out. 'Are you joking?'

'It's not in my programming to make japes about illnesses,' the droid retorted sharply. 'Pills every six hours to help with the fever. Put him to bed, and let him rest. Keep him hydrated.'

Obi-wan refrained from sticking his tongue out at the droid, even though he dearly wanted to, then left the infirmary. He stopped and let the relief course through him. Nerf-pox was a common childhood illness. He took a few steps toward the Padawans' dormitories, but stopped and pivoted toward the Knights' barracks, returning to his quarters at a much slower pace than he'd left them. The Padawans' sleeping cells were barely large enough for one person. He couldn't imagine trying to care for a sick child in one. His own quarters were quite modest, but he did have his own 'fresher and a minuscule kitchen area.

Rael waited on one of the meditation platforms. He stood when Obi-wan entered, and lifted a bundle of clothing. 'Nerf-pox?' At Obi-wan's nod, he sighed. 'Figures. Most of 'em have it when they're in the crèche, where he should be.' He motioned to Obi-wan to follow him, and went into the small bedroom and laid out a set of small pajamas. 'Musta had chores in the crèche this week. It's runnin' through the three year olds…'

Obi-wan set Anakin on the edge of the bed and began to peel off the layers of his clothing. The boy was barely conscious, limbs heavy and limp. 'How did you of all people end up in the crèche?'

Rael sighed and handed him the pajama top. 'Fanry. To make up for what I didn't do with her.' Obi-wan glanced up at him with an upraised eyebrow. 'See her as a person. I only ever saw what I wanted to see. I kriffed it up on Pijal.' He shrugged and passed the pajama bottoms to Obi-wan. 'So when I came back… I asked the Council if I could work with the crèche masters.'

Obi-wan tucked Anakin into the bed and stood. 'And now you're one of the resident advisors for the Padawans.'

Rael snorted, gathering Anakin's clothing and folding it. 'Not sure how well I advise, but I do look out for the Padawans whose masters have to leave 'em behind.' He cuffed Obi-wan on the back of the head with a muttered, 'See ya 'round.'

'Rael?' Obi-wan's head ducked. 'Thank you.'

''M not the best one to ask, but if ya need help with your Padawan… Y'know where to find me.' He left with a wave.

Obi-wan found the small bottle of pills and scanned the label. 'May be administered sublingually,' he read aloud. He glanced at Anakin, sprawled on his back. 'There's a relief. I won't have to try and wake you.' He shook two tiny pills into his palm, then poked them into Anakin's mouth, belatedly thinking he should have washed his hands first. Too late to bother now. He grabbed a clean set of clothes and headed for the 'fresher, trading his much-desired hot water shower for a sonic one. He intended to spend the night in the single armchair in the other room, but a scratchy whisper halted his steps.

'Don't go.'

He turned. Anakin was awake, his blue eyes glassy and bloodshot with fever, silently pleading for Obi-wan to stay. Obi-wan hesitated. The others would insist he must be firm with Anakin, teach him true Jedi detachment. But he couldn't say no. Just as he couldn't say no when he woke up in the middle of the night, and nearly tripped over Anakin, sleeping on the floor next to his bed. 'All right.' Obi-wan slid onto the bed, bracing his back against the wall. He lifted Anakin's head and pillowed it on his thigh, just above his knees. He wasn't going to sleep anyway. He could meditate in here just as well as the other room.

Anakin sighed and coughed, his breath rattling in his lungs. 'I miss my mom,' he murmured.

'I know.'

Anakin turned on his side and curled into a ball. 'Why is it bad to miss my mom?'

Obi-wan felt this was a serious philosophical question from Anakin, and not a querulous complaint. He was silent for several minutes, trying to think of an answer, and not just quote dogma at him. 'I'm not certain I'm the best person to ask,' he finally said. Anakin's only reply was a soft snore, for which Obi-wan was grateful. He was still grieving Qui-gon's death. It had left a gaping hole in Obi-wan's life. Rael was right. For all the Code's admonishments against attachments, masters and apprentices did form emotional attachments to one another. How could he not, when he'd spent the past twelve years following in the formidable footsteps of Qui-gon Jinn? Two months on, and the memory of Force leaving Qui-gon's body still made his hands twitch. He leaned his head against the wall and slowly exhaled. Satine Kryze likewise occupied a corner of his heart and soul, even more than seven years after he'd left her on Mandalore. Leaving had been the correct decision — and a mutual one — but he often wondered if they'd been in the right to close the door their friendship as well. He could do with her counsel right now. He called his datapad to his hand and entered the codes for his personal data archive, then pressed his thumb to the indicted location to read his thumbprint. Then an iris scan. One can never be too careful, he mused, tapping on the message from Satine for what was probably the hundredth time. She hadn't sent it directly to him, but to the Council. Master Plo Koon then passed it along to him.

Please offer my deepest condolences to Obi-wan. Nu kyr'adyc, shin taab'echaaj'la.

'Not gone, merely marching far away,' Obi-wan muttered. For a Mandalorian saying, it hewed rather close to the Jedi way of viewing death. He glanced down at Anakin to assure himself he was still asleep, then switched to the HoloNet, and searched for a tidbit about Satine. It was never a regular habit of his. Just when he needed to feel good about something he'd done. Truth be told, he seemed to look her up nearly every night lately. He felt like he was failing Anakin, and by extension, Qui-gon. Seeing Satine flourish made him feel as though he had done one thing right with his life so far. A holovid appeared of her touring a new hospital on Kalevala. Mandalore seemed to be thriving under her leadership.

Time unspooled around him, while the miniature image of Satine moved through the sun-drenched room, over and over.

Anakin stirred and squinted at the blue-tinged hologram over his head. 'Who's that?' His breath whistled through his clogged sinuses.

'Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore,' Obi-wan told him. 'An old friend.'

Anakin watched her for a few moments, the blue light from the holo making his pale face even more pallid. 'She's pretty.'

‘She is,’ Obi-wan agreed, although he felt he was terribly biased. He switched off the datapad.

Anakin yawned and blinked a few times, eyelids growing heavy. 'Not as pretty as Padmé,' he sighed before falling asleep once more.

The corner of Obi-wan's mouth tipped up with a rueful grin. Anakin was rather taken with the young queen of Naboo. The Naboo penchant for pomp, and the queen's correspondingly elaborate wardrobe did little to dispel the notion that they were in some sort of fairy tale. Obi-wan had little doubt that Anakin dreamed of defending Padmé Amidala against Star Dragons, the bold and fearless Jedi Knight wielding his trusty lightsaber.

Hours passed before Anakin stirred again in the peculiar light before dawn that leeched the color from the room. 'They think we're gonna fail,' Anakin remarked, pushing the duvet away. 'Hot,' he mumbled.

With a few gestures, Obi-wan brought a cool, damp cloth to his waiting hand, and draped it over Anakin's forehead. 'Oh?'

'Mmm-hmmmm.' Anakin gazed up at him. ''M too old to be a youngling an' too young to be a Padawan. An' you're too young an'…' His brows drew together as he groped for the word. 'Inexperienced.'

Obi-wan wiped Anakin's cheeks with the cloth. 'Who told you that?'

'No one. But they all think it. All the other Padawans… Master Windu…'

Obi-wan smiled grimly. Why am I not surprised? He ran his hand over Anakin's hair. 'Well, I suppose we'll have to succeed beyond everyone's wildest dreams.' Anakin started to shiver again, and Obi-wan tucked the duvet around his skinny shoulders, struck anew by how small and frail he felt. You will be a Jedi, even if it kills me, he thought.

[i-do-trash-fanfictions]

Thera’s Journal Entry #37

I walked into Spider’s lair, passed Spider himself without so much as a glance, and walked into Crow’s small area. 

He was shuffling things around on his workbench. He turns and smiles when he sees me walk in. “We’re on the verge of the coup de grace.” He says. “I’ve tracked the high celebrant to the Dreaming City, but the lure will need to be upgraded one last time before we can make our move.”

Crow holds up the bauble and examines it. “Here it is: the final piece.” He smirks. “Well then, like Spider always says, we’re in business.”

The lure was already charged, so I simply took the small thing and upgraded it quickly. Then I headed to Spider to get coordinates.

“The high celebrant is finally within reach.” Spider says in his gravely voice. “Crow and the warlock Osiris have used what you’ve been learning on your hunts to track it to the Dreaming City. My hunter.. exemplary. An embleplatic paragon. It makes me wonder why I needed you.” He chuckles. “I jest, of course.”

I roll my eyes underneath my helmet.

“Though I have to admit, I carry some trepidation.” Spider says. “My pet,”

I grit my teeth at the word pet.

“Stands at your shoulder like an equal. Your encouragement makes him think himself a Guardian. Ha... the vanity.” He says cruelly. “Do not let him so close, or spoil him with pretty dreams.” He points to me. “Kill the high celebrant! Break Xivu Arath’s hold on my Shore, and you can claim any prize in my lair as your reward. You’ll have earned it.”

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

I arrived at the required coordinates. 

“Remember: the celebrant must be killed in the Ascendant Plane.” Osiris reminded me over the coms. “Destroy it, and you’ll deal Xivu Arath a crippling blow.”

“Right,” Said Scout. “No celebrant, no cryptolith. No cryptolith, no wrathborn.”

“Crow, you there?” I asked.

“Somewhat. I tracked the celebrant through a portal into swirling darkness.” He answered.

“A gateway to the Ascendant Plane.” Said Glint.

“As I said: swirling darkness. I’m learning its tricks now, studying how it moves through these realms. It’s like a shark cutting through black water.”

“Keep an eye on it.” I told him.

“I can do more than that.”

“And stay safe, okay?” I added.

“I’ll be fine Thera.”

I fought past a few hive with Riskrunner and a door opened. I saw the cryptolith and went to it, then slammed the lure into the ground beside it.

“Ha! Tagged it!” Crow exclaimed. “It’s bleeding energy and on it’s way back to you.”

I heard the screech of hive and the celebrant appeared. I readied Riskrunner and began to fire, aiming at the head the best I could. Any smaller hive that got to close, I fired at with my shotgun. And when I got the chance, I used my grenade launcher, while also occasionally using a dagger of solar light.

After a while, it screeched again and disappeared.

“It fled back to the Ascendant Plane! But it left something behind.” Said Scout.

“Told you I tagged it.” Came Crow’s voice. 

I looked at the green liquid that stained the floor.

“That’s residual energy.” Crow said. “A blood trail. Destroy it, and the essence in your lure should reopen the portal.”

“The celebrant seeks to bring more territory under Xivu Arath’s control.” Said Osiris as I jumped from area to area. “Be quick. She will not be pleased with trespassers...”

I made it to another portal and walked through, landing back in the Dreaming City.

“We made it through the portal back to the Dreaming City.” Scout said in the coms. “No sign of the celebrant. Crow, where are you?” He asked.

“At your coordinates, walking the other side of the same coin. The way I see it, as long as it’s in both planes, it has nowhere to hide.”

“Celebrant sighted!” I exclaimed as it shrieked then appeared.

“Do your thing.” Stated Crow.

I aimed at the celebrant and fired at it many times.

“This isn’t working.” Scout stated. “We can’t truly damage the celebrant without reclaimed light!”

“Hold tight. I’m on it!”

A few seconds later a few fallen appeared where I was. 

“We’ve flushed them out of the Ascendant Plane and into the open.” Said Glint.

“I just shot them until they ran, but I like the way you put it better.” Said Crow.

I laughed.

I continued to fire at the fallen. Mostly I aimed at the ones with swirling green light above their heads. When I killed them, it allowed me to do damage to the celebrant. I was able to do just a bit more damage, when it disappeared again. I ran towards the portal it left behind and went through it, into the Ascendant Plane once more.

“To think you can enter this plane using only dead essences...” Stated Osiris as I followed the trail of green liquid that the celebrant left behind.

I made it to another portal and went in again, making it back to the Dreaming City.

“Xivu Arath strikes where Savathun first pushed through the veil and entered the Dreaming City.” Said Osiris. “Has she no ambition of her own?”

I shot more fallen with Riskrunner, then took care of the Barrier Knight quite quickly. I stood at the door as it opened, revealing the celebrant standing right there. I jumped back, reloading my gun to prepare for the fight. It disappeared and reappeared again on the stairway. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it scared the crap out of me.

I followed it down the set of stairs, but whenever I would get too close, it would disappear again, appearing just a bit away from me. Finally, it appeared at the center of a circle in the room. But once again, as I got close, it disappeared.

“It stopped bleeding energy. We can’t get through.” Said Scout.

A large ogre appeared in it’s place and my eyes went wide. I quickly ran behind cover and reloaded my grenade launcher.

“I think the Celebrant realized we marked it. It sealed the portal behind itself.” Said Glint.

I fired a few grenades.

“We’re trapped in here?” Crow asked with a hint of panic in his voice.

I fired a few more and the ogre soon collapsed, dead.

“If your companions are trapped in the Ascendant Plane with the celebrant... then they are already lost.” Said Osris. “Like Sagira.”

Oh no, I thought to myself. I’m not giving up that easily.

“The portal is closed.” I told him. “But maybe there’s enough Hive magic in the lure to open another one.”

I took the lure and slammed it into the ground, then looked up. At the top of the small obelisk in front of me, was a portal. I got close to the railing and a piece of flooring appeared in mid air. I jumped on it. Another appeared. I jumped on that one too.

“I hope you can hear this.” Came Crow’s voice. “The celebrant turned it around on us-the hunter, becomes the hunted.” He sighed. “I wanted to- Listen, if things get ugly for us in here, just know it’s not your fault. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to. Thank you.” He said. “For letting me have a choice.”

I jumped through the portal.

“Crow, I’m in the Ascendant Plane!” I said. “Do you read?”

“Nothing in here I can’t handle.” He answered.

I didn’t believe him.

“What are you talking about? The celebrant broke your legs and threw you into an abyss!” Exclaimed Glint.

I couldn’t help but grin.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Crow repeated. “The high celebrant is just up ahead, and I think I have a plan.”

I continued jumping and shooting. Eventually, I made it to a large area and there was a woosh as the high celebrant appeared.

For Sagira, I said to myself.

I began to fire.

“Are you keeping it busy?” Crow asked. “I’m nearly at the portal where you came in.”

“You’re leaving?” I asked.

“Like Osiris said, the celebrant must die in the Ascendant Plane, and you’re our best shot at making that happen.”

“He’s leaving.” Stated Osiris.

“Energy reading are spiking.” Said Scout. “It’s going to create another portal.”

“I’m on position on the other side.” Crow told me. “You’re smoking it out Thera, but if I block the exit- it burns.” I continued to fire Riskrunner, occasionally using my grenade launcher, and my light. “I survived by watching the world around me and learning from my light. I’ve studied how that thing creates those portals. This time, I’ll be ready.”

A trap appeared and I got sucked into it. I fired at the bars of green light with Riskrunner. The celebrant was in front of me, about to teleport away.

“Crow! The portal!” Shouted Scout.

“I see it. Now finish it!”

The high celebrant kneeled and I finished the final blow using my golden gun.

“The high celebrant of Xivu Arath is no more. How did you manage that?” Asked Osiris.

“Oh, you know. You gain some skill when you kill a god. Or two. Or more.” I answered.

“Crow destroyed it’s portal from the other side when it tried to escape.” Said Scout. “I knew he wouldn’t really leave us.”

“Nooo, never.” I heard Crow say.

I started to laugh again at his sarcasm.

“Oh, bring it’s head, will you? Spider will want proof when you come to collect.” Crow added. “It’s been an honor, Thera.”