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jungwonenthusiast · 3 years

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Friends Don’t Lie Ch. 7, 8, and Epilogue

A/N: This is the end of the series now I hope u guys enjoyed it, it was a lot of fun to write :)

Pairing: Jungwon x reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: major character death

Based on: Stranger Things

Chapter 7

“Okay but before we get to the gate, we need to know where in the Upside Down he is.” Jake says then turns to you. “Can you do the radio thingy again?”

“That won’t tell me where he is.” you say. “I need to go to the bath.”

“The bath?” they all say.

After some explaining, Jake finally gets the jist.

“So what the hell is it?” Jay asks.

“It’s a sensory deprivation tank.”

“And why does she need that?” Heeseung says.

“Because it let’s her be alone with just her consciousness. I guess it’ll help her see more in the Void.” Jake explains.

“Well how do we get it to?” Sunghoon asks.

“We can’t,” Jake replies. “We have to make one.”

“Do we do it in an actual bath tub?” Niki asks.

“No,” Jake chuckles. “Heeseung do you still have that kiddie pool we used when we were babies.”

He nods.

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Jungwon puts duct tape over a pair of scuba goggles as the rest of the boys fill up the pool and steal the bags of salt the school keeps in case of a snow storm.

“Is this good?” he hands them to you and you nod.

“I’m gonna get these clothes wet.” you look down at your outfit that Jungwon took from Jooyoung’s closet.

“It’s fine, Heeseung brought some clothes you can change into later.”

You’re sitting together in a classroom and his knees are only an inch away from touching yours.

“You’re very brave, you know?” he says and you tilt your head. “Like way braver than any super hero.”

“Super hero?” you ask. “Didn’t Jake call me that once? Is that a mean name?”

“No no no,” he shakes her name. “It’s a compliment. A super hero is someone who can do things that other humans can’t, and they use their powers to save people. My favorite is Scarlet Witch.”

“Scarlet Witch.” you say and he nods.

“You’re way cooler than her though. We should give you a superhero name.”

“Like what?” you ask.

“Hmm,” he ponders for a moment and then his eyes light up. “How about Bird of the Night.”

“Why bird? Why night?” you frown. “Do I look like a bird?” you touch your face and he laughs.

“No no, you don’t. I chose bird because you remind me of an owl.” he says.

“An owl? Why?”

“Because owls are wise, and you know a lot of things,” he says. “And I chose night because we met at night.”

You nod, understanding his decision.

“What would your superhero name be?” you ask and he looks down.

“I don’t know, normal guy of the normal day.”

“What do you mean? Are you saying that you’re not super?” you frown.

He looks at you. “I don’t have any powers like you do.”

“Yeah you do,” you say and he raises an eyebrow. “You made me laugh, remember? No one has done that before.”

He smiles and looks away.

“Your cheeks are doing that thing again-” you point and he stands up abruptly.

“We should go check up on the other guys.”

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Jungwon holds your hand for leverage as you step into the pool. You sit down in the warm water before pulling the goggles over your eyes.

You relax into the water and allow yourself to float peacefully.

You enter the part of your mind that you haven't visited in a while. It’s completely dark, and it goes on for miles and miles.

You approach a small wooden fort and read off the sign.

“Castle Sunoo.” you say and Heeseung scoots towards you.

“Can you go inside?” he asks frantically. “Is Sunoo there?”

You slowly pull away the white sheet, revealing a boy curled up in a ball and shivering from the cold.

“Sunoo.” you say and Heeseung gasps.

“Tell him- tell him I’m coming for him,” he says. “Tell him to stay put and that I’m coming.”

You kneel down next to Sunoo. He’s so pale and his lips are purple. His blond hair is stuck to his forehead and you gently push it away. His eyes open, but barely.

“You’re hyung, he’s coming for you.” you tell him.

“Heeseung hyung?” he croaks and it comes through the walkie talkie.

Heeseung’s heart twists. “I’m gonna find you Sunoo, just stay put. I- I love you so much.”

“He said that he’s gonna find you, and that he loves you.” you tell him.

“Hurry.” Sunoo whispers.

You begin to hear a low growling and just as you realize what’s happening, Sunoo and the castle begin to disintegrate into the air. You grab onto his hand.

“Sunoo no! Wait!” you cry. “Not yet not yet!”

But it’s too late. You’re alone again. In that deep dark abyss that you thought you left in the bad place. You can never leave it though, it’s a part of you.

You sit up and tug the goggles off your head.

“You okay?” Jungwon scrambles to grab your arm and you lean into him, shaken up from seeing Sunoo just disappear like that.

Heeseung pulls you into his arms, not caring that you’re getting his shirt soaked.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know that must’ve been scary, you did so good.”

You rest your forehead on his chest, already feeling tired.

“Here you should get out now.” Jungwon interrupts and grabs your hand.

He pulls you out of the pool and wraps a towel around your shoulders. He hands you a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.

“Let’s go to the bathroom so you can change.” He takes your hand and leads you to the lockers.

He turns around as you peel wet clothes off your cold body.

“So what’d you see?” he asks quietly.

“I saw him… in his fort.” you reply. “He was curled up on the floor. So blue. So cold.”

You tug the gray crewneck over your head and pull the jeans up your legs.

“Is he… okay?”

“No,” you say. “He doesn’t have much time left.” you tap on his shoulder and he turns around.

Your hair is dripping and pooling wet patches on the sweatshirt.

“Your hair is still wet.” he says and you shrug.

He grabs the towel and places it over your head, scrunching around to soak the water up. He throws the towel onto a bench and then pulls you against him, chest to chest. He rests his cheek on your hair and rubs your back.

“What?” you ask oblivious to his affection.

He pulls away. “I figured you were cold. I was trying to share some body heat.”

“Body heat.” you say and he nods.

You wrap your arms around his waist and embrace him. “I am cold.”

CHAPTER 8

A/N: There's a bit where Jungwon is thinking about how he wants to touch the reader. Please know that this isn’t sexual. I wanted to portray the overwhelming feeling of liking/loving someone so much that you just want to feel them all the time and be connected in a way that isn’t through words. This thought he has is endearing, not sexual.

“Well what do we do now?” Jake asks.

“We need to go to the Upside Down.” Heeseung says.

“How do even do that, we’ve been trying to figure that out forever.” Jay says.

“Okay well we know that the gate would create a lot of power right?” Sunghoon says. “Enough to disturb the electromagnetic field.” Jake nods. “So what if we…”

“Compass.” Jake says. “We need compasses.” he gets up and rushes out of the gym.

“Where are you going?” Niki calls out.

“Come with me!” Jake says and Niki dashes after him.

“So who’s gonna go?” Jungwon asks. “Someone needs to stay with El, she’s too tired.”

You shake your head. “I can go.”

He groans. “We’ve had this argument like three thousand times.

“Well she can be our weapon.” Sunghoon says.

“She’s human you know, not a machine gun.” Jungwon says.

“She’s been low on juice for a whole day now, what if she can’t help us.” Jay says.

“Why do you guys talk about me like I’m not here.” you rolls your eyes. “I can go, I promise.”

Jake and Niki come running into the gym with their hands and pockets full of compasses.

They throw them onto the floor.

“What the hell.” Heeseung sneers.

“Look at this.” Jake points at the arrow. “It’s pointing south.”

“What?” Sunghoon’s brows knit.

“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, making north that way.” he points behind him. “But all of the compasses are pointing south.”

The group looks at him, confused.

“Remember, the gate is so powerful that it can manipulate the magnetic field. So whatever these compasses are pointing to is where the gate should be.” Jake explains.

“Ohhh,” the group vocalizes.

“Let’s go then.” Heeseung leaps to his feet and pulls his keys out of his pocket.

Jungwon helps you stand up and you link your arm around his as you walk to the car.

“Left,” Jake says. “Okay now keep going.”

Five minutes pass when Niki asks. “How are we gonna know when we get there?” And right on que, you all arrive at Hawkins National Laboratory. Jungwon feels your arm tense around his.

“The fuck is this place?” Niki asks, sitting on Jay’s lap.

“The lab, my dad told me it’s a government thing.” Jungwon says.

“We can’t go in there.” You whisper and Jungwon turns to you.

“Why not?”

“Bad place.” you say and he cocks his head.

“This is the bad place? This is where you come from?” he asks and you nod. “We’re probably gonna die if we go in then.”

“I don’t care, Sunoo’s in there, I need to find him.” Heeseung unlocks the door and you drop your head into your hands.

“No no no no no,” you mumble to yourself. Jungwon turns to you and grabs your hands as the boys quietly exit the car, snooping around the building gate.

“We have to go in, we don’t have any other choice.” he says.

“I don’t wanna go back. It’s too scary.” you whimper.

“I know, but we’ll be with you the whole time.” he tries to assure you. He hadn’t styled his hair today and it’s poking into his eyes. “Heeseung is tall, he can be our shield.”

You giggle.

“And once we save Sunoo and this is all over we can listen to my vinyls like I told you we would and I’ll tell my parents about you so that you won’t be a secret anymore and we can hang out all the time and- and I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Snow Ball with me.” he says timidly.

“What’s the Snow Ball?” you ask.

“It’s this stupid dance we have at our school. I’ve only ever been to homecoming but I thought it’d be fun for us to go.” he explains, still bashful.

You touch his cheek and he looks at you. “You should tell me what this is. Is it some kind of condition?”

“Oh,” he looks away and giggles. “It just means that I’m… I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” you ask him.

Jungwon

He knows what he wants to say.

“BECAUSE YOU’RE SO PRETTY AND COOL AND I NEVER THOUGHT I’D LIKE A GIRL UNTIL I MET YOU. I LOVE YOUR VOICE AND YOUR FACE AND EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. I WANT TO BE WITH YOU ALL THE TIME I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. I WANT TO TOUCH YOU AND HOLD YOU. I WANT TO SHOW YOU EVERYTHING I KNOW I THINK I LOVE YOU.”

But of course he doesn’t say that.

Instead he settles with a trembling “Because… I like you.”

You smile. “I like you too.”

His heart leaps but then he realizes that you don’t understand what he’s saying. “Who else do you like?”

“I like a lot of people.” you reply and he squints.

“Like who?”

“Mm, I like Jay and Jake and Sunghoon and Niki and Heeseung.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t like you like that.”

You tilt your head. “What do you mean?”

“Uhmm,” he thinks for a second. “I like you in a different way. Like like like.”

You Sit there, confused.

“Can you close your eyes?” he asks and you giggle.

“Why?”

Your giggle makes him giggle. “Because I can’t do this when you’re looking at me.”

“Okay.” you close them.

He takes a deep breath. You can do it, don’t be a pussy, he thinks. He leans into you and plants a short kiss onto your cheek.

Your eyes fly open and you look so surprised and adorable he could die.

Then he leans in again and pecks you gently on the lips. His heart is basically sprinting now.

You smile and he does too. Your smile is intoxicating. He wants to fall into it.

He doesn’t even get a chance to speak because of the banging on the window.

Jungwon opens the door.

“Come on, we need help!” Niki ushers you two into the lab.

“How’d you guys even get in?!” Jungwon whisper yells and you two run after him.

“Heeseung hyung found a back door. We literally almost died.” Niki says. He opens the door. “Here, go go.”

You guys run through the hallway. There’s two men passed out on the floor. Looks like Heeseung's work, Jungwon thinks.

“Go down the stairs!” Niki orders, leading you to this underground dungeon.

“What the fuck,” Jungwon whispers as he lays his eyes on the casm on the wall, covered in these indescribable vines and drippings of green goop.

He sees Heeseung stepping into a yellow hazmat suit. You run towards him and Jungwon follows.

“Here,” Heeseung hands you and Jungwon each a suit.

Jungwon’s palms are sweaty from all the adrenaline. “O-okay.” He tugs the suit up.

There’s banging and shouting coming from the glass chamber.

“Hurry, they’re coming!” Heeseung rushes everyone as you all get suited up.

You don’t waste a minute walking through the cavity.

You hold onto Jungwon’s hand as you and the boys run through the dark and foggy scene, hoping to get far enough that the staff can’t get you.

The Upside Down is just as you imagined. It’s Hawkins, but everything is wrong. It feels like death.

“The castle is this way!” Heeseung points to the dense forest ahead.

You don’t have time to freak out and think about how you’re in an alternate universe. The only thing keeping you tied to reality is Jungwon’s hand in yours.

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You run through branches and leaves and eventually get to the fort.

Heeseung throws the curtain open to find Sunoo just as you saw him earlier, curled up and hopeless.

Heeseung drops to his knees and tries to shake him awake. The rest of the boys follow suit.

“Sunoo, Sunoo it’s me, it’s your hyung!” he yelps but Sunoo stays motionless.

“Sunoo? Sunoo man it’s us.” Jay says.

Jake takes his mask off and brings an ear to Sunoo’s face. “He isn’t breathing.”

“Fuck, oh my god-” Heeseung wails.

“It’s fine it’s fine,” Jake leans over Sunoo and holds two hands on his chest, “Just breathe into his mouth when I tell you to.”

Jake begins to pump on the boy’s chest as Heeseung rips his oxygen mask off. Your grip on Jungwon’s hand tightens anxiously.

“Twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, okay go!” Jake says and Heeseung blows air into Sunoo’s blue lips.

“Keep going.” Jake says but Sunoo doesn’t wake up. “Please Sunoo,” tears begin to drip down Heeseung’s face. “I love you so much, I need you. You’re all I have.”

You notice Jungwon beginning to hiccup and you lean into him.

“Come one man,” Jake says.

Heeseung breathes one more time into Sunoo’s mouth when he coughs.

“Sunoo?! Sunoo it’s me!” Heeseung says, delighted. The whole group leans forward to get a better look.

Sunoo’s eyes crack open. “Hyung?”

Heeseung pulls the boy into his arms, petting his hair and kissing his forehead. All of the boys bear hug him but he’s too weak to fully understand what’s going on.

You’re still embracing Sunoo when you hear a low growl.

“Wait,” you say as the boys continue to celebrate Sunoo’s survival. “Shut up!” you say louder. “I hear something.”

You slowly stand up try to locate the sound. Your heart drops into your stomach.

“The demogorgon, it’s here.” you can hear them all hold their breath. You take your mask off and unzip your suit before stepping out of it, you feel like it’ll hold you back.

Just as you’re about to walk out, the monster tears at the fort and it comes tumbling down.

You muster some strength and send the thing flying before walking towards it. You know what this will do to you, but it’s the only choice you have. Maybe you’re a fool too, just like Jungwon.

You hold a hand out and muster all of the strength you have left. And as the Demogorgan slowly starts to disintegrate into the dirt, so does your spirit. You drop to the ground.

Jungwon

He runs to you.

He can’t hear anything over the thought of you.

He cradles you in his arms. He can't even imagine you leaving him.

Your eyes are barely open and your fingers are already turning to ash.

“El no! No no no!” he holds you against him, desperate to keep you here. “What about the Snow Ball! What about- what about everything?”

You smile a small smile and his heart shatters like glass, the small fragments puncturing every one of his organs.

He tugs his mask off. “Please no, I-” he holds your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly one last time.

You wipe the tears off his cheeks with your thumb. And just like that, you’re gone. Like you never existed. Just more flecks of dust in this dust filled world.

Jungwon doesn’t realize that he’s being dragged to his feet. He feels deaf like the scenes in war movies where a bomb goes off and they can’t hear anything but ringing. He’s stuck in a haze. It’s like being drunk but being drunk off of acetone and arsenic, not alcohol.

Jooyoung’s arms are around him for the first time in years. There are tears streaming down her face and she’s saying things that Jungwon can’t understand. All he can see is the look on your face before you disappeared. He could tell that you were in pain but you were hiding it with a smile. He cries into Jooyoung's shoulder, wishing that it was yours instead.

EPILOGUE

The police got involved, and then the FBI, then the government, then the president. Jungwon and the boys were on the news at least fifty times.

Sunoo seems fine and things are back to normal. Except for you. Sometimes he’ll catch glances of someone who looks just like you and have to do a triple take. All the clothes you ever borrowed from him are in a box in his closet. Everything reminds him of you: the basement, his walkie talkie, his bed, his posters, the living room, anyone with the same colored hair or eyes as you, even his own face reminds him of you. Every time he looks in the mirror he remembers the places you touched him. His cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, his waist, his hands, his lips.

He went through a phase of being angry about what you did. He hooked up with as many girls as he could, trying to forget you. But all it did was make him feel dirty, and like he was betraying you.

“You have to move on eventually,” Jay said.

But he didn’t think he could.

Know one could compare to you. No matter how smart or how popular or how cool, you were always better.

Jungwon’s washing his face when the light flickers. Then again, and again, and again in a peculiar pattern. He tries to remember the morse code he learned when he was in boy scouts. He stands there, trying to calm his heart as he translates the lights. I, M, I, S, S, Y, O, U.

I miss you.

taglist: @shawkneecaps @wonwoosh @strwberrydinosaur @ferxanda

#enhypen angst #Jungwon angst #enhypen fluff #Jungwon fluff #Jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader

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dragons-bones · 3 years

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FFXIV: A Rising Chorus

A/N: \o/ It’s done! Been working on this off and on since Balmung finished its Firmament, and I’m so happy I finally get to share it.

RATING: G WORD COUNT: 3032 WARNINGS: Spoilers for the final Ishgard Restoration quest line that begins with “Not By Bread Alone;” tooth-rotting fluff. Crossposted to AO3!

After months of hard work by Ishgardians and outsiders alike, the Firmament lies finished: the last of its homes ready to welcome the indigent of the Brume; its new businesses awaiting eager customers; and the warmth of Snowsoak prepared to soothe the aches and pains of its residents.

They’ve already had one impromptu party...time for an encore!

---

Hoarfrost Hall cast a long shadow over the Firmament as the sun set, the welkin overhead shading from gold to rose to inky blue with the first of the stars beginning to twinkle into existence far to the east. The image of the Hall’s belltower crept down the Abacus, ever closer to the crowd gathering at the far end of Saint Roelle’s Dais, but the growing gloom was offset by the work of the lamplighters, steadily making their way from Featherfall to the New Nest and Eastern Risensong, and the warm glow of candles and hearthfires spilling from the windows of newly-occupied homes. A low susurrus of noise echoed from the Dais as the assembly talked amongst themselves, the sound broken by the occasional bright peal of laughter or the strident twang of a violin being forced back into tune.

Synnove leaned on the railing overlooking the Dais, chin propped in her hand as she watched the Risensong Players warm up for their encore concert. The piano wasn’t Rereha’s usual choice of instrument—she was fonder of violin and lute and harp—but she had cracked her knuckles and thrown herself into that first practice before the first concert with relish, pulling a swirling song from the instrument even as she had complained about being horrifically rusty, the show-off. And better Rere than herself.

She shuddered. Just because she could hear aether as music did not mean that she had any talent or inclination for the art. And wouldn’t that have been the omen, a Warrior of Light and participating skybuilder mucking up the Firmament’s celebratory concert?

At least Rere could say she had participated during the Restoration; her creative talents lay strictly with music and storytelling, but she could plane wood into lumber.

She caught the sound of footsteps coming up behind her, and Synnove turned around in curiosity—and smiled. “Fancy meeting you here,” she drawled.

Aymeric, dressed down in simple leathers, laughed softly as he came to stand beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Synnove pushed herself to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek—he beamed at her, as pleased as any knight when their love bestowed their favor—while he said, “I hope this time I’m not too late!”

“Just in time, my love,” she said fondly, leaning into him. “They’re finishing warm ups, by the sound of it.”

Her knight pressed a kiss into her hair, causing her to beam in turn, and they settled into comfortable silence, looking out to the Dais as a similar hush fell on the crowd. Synnove could vaguely see familiar forms in the press of people, even at this distance: Uncle Edmont with Artoirel (no doubt still wearing that expression of bewildered delight at having his own composition as the showcase of these concerts) and Honoroit; the Haillenarte siblings clustered close to where Francel sat at his piano, radiating pride so fiercely they nearly flavored the aether of the Firmament with it; Heron, off to the side so she wouldn’t block anyone’s view, Amandina and Roksana perched on either shoulder and Arvide with his jaunty beret beside her. Alakhai lurked among a group of Forgotten Knight staff and regulars and Tailfeather hunters at the back of the crowd, and not far from there, Lucia successfully snuck up on Hilda and her Hounds.

(Nobles, commoners, outsiders, even a few of the dragonets who perched on streetlamps and statues. The sight of so many disparate peoples coming together set a warmth in her chest.)

Even this far from the Risensong Players, anticipation made the air nearly hum, no less potent than it had been for the noon show, and Synnove drew in an expectant breath along with Aymeric beside her as the Players raised their instruments or bows to the ready. And then—

—the first notes from Rereha and Francel’s pianos rang out, and their fellows—Handeloup and Emmanellain still on flute, Elaisse and Lizbeth still on violin, and Potkin and Augebert still on cello—joined the symphony.

For all that she didn’t consider herself musical, Synnove found herself humming along, and both felt and heard Aymeric do so, too. She recognized some of the melody Artoirel had used as part of a popular Halonic hymn, but rather than the martial or dirge-like tones of the versions she had heard when she had first come to Ishgard, it had been transformed into something happy and brilliant and celebratory and hopeful. The Firmament was practically giddy with the music, its ambient aether overwhelmed…or perhaps it was harmonizing instead.

Aymeric drew away from her, and she twisted around to look at him in surprise that quickly morphed into delight when he bowed and held out his hand to her, smiling fit to burst all the while. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Synnove took his hand with a grin and replied, “My lord, it would be my honor.”

He pulled her close, his other arm going around her waist as she brought her other hand to his shoulder, and he dropped a kiss on her nose. As she giggled, he twirled them around, turning her giggles into breathless laughter. They made up the steps as they went along, an awful mix of a minuet and a rigaudon, nearly tripping over their own feet, Synnove’s laughter becoming inelegant snorting cackles and Aymeric snickering into her hair. Over the sounds of their mirth, Synnove could hear the crowd clapping along with the music, and out of the corner of her eye she spotted the movement of other spontaneous dancers.

Aymeric and Synnove collided to a halt as the song ended with a final flourish and the crowd cheered, pressing their foreheads together as they tried to catch their breath between residual giggles. The air between was white from their panting, and she was about to suggest they go to try one of the new food and drink stalls in Featherfall for something hot when the cheery twang of a fiddle rang out across the Dais.

They turned their heads, and even from here they could both see Rereha had abandoned the white piano in favor of her beloved violin, and her bow whipped across the strings to begin a popular reel that was quickly picked up by the other Players, flutes and cellos and piano. Another raucous cheer went up from the crowd, and without prompting, they began to clear a large, open area where lines of dancers quickly formed of both Ishgardians and skybuilders; couples like Lucia and Hilda were hand-in-hand, and friends and family dragged loved ones into the merry scrum. The hulking form of Marcelloix, shaking his head and hunching his shoulders, was easy to pick out, and though the person leading him determinedly through the crowd to the lines couldn’t be seen, there was no doubt in Synnove’s mind that it was Audaine. Those that weren’t lining up to dance instead clapped in time, and in a few more beats, the dancers had begun to dip and spin and whirl about one another in a fast-paced cotillion.

“Turning it into a proper party, this time,” Synnove laughed softly. “Shall we join them?”

Aymeric kissed her temple. “In a little while,” he said. “I’d like to have you to myself for a bit; I’ve barely seen hide nor hair of you in the past sennights.”

“That likely could have been mitigated if a certain someone hadn’t been holed up in parliamentary meetings for whole days at a time…”

“Now that, my love,” he said as they began to dance again in a proper waltz, turning up his nose in faux affront, “is unkind and unjust.”

“But not untrue!”

Their teasing continued as they danced, stepping lightly as the laughter of the crowd and the joy of the music echoed from the Dais. They were coming to the end of the song and slowly twirling towards the Abacus to head to the Dais proper, when—

[Oh! Oh! Is that dancing?!]

The pair glanced up in surprise at the voice that rang out, just in time to see Ehll Tou swoop out of the lamp-studded gloom to gracefully backwing and land a few fulms away. Hautdilong, in a boy-sized fleece-lined leather jacket popular with airship pilots, slid off her back and pushed his flying goggles up to the top of his head, blinking rapidly against the light. His dragon friend, meanwhile, dashed over to the railing, placing her dexterous front hands on the stone and leaning forward with an excited, gravelly trill.

“Oh, goodness,” Hautdilong said, looking out at Saint Roelle’s Dais with wide eyes. “What did we miss? Ehll Tou and I were visiting Gullinbursti and the moogles at Bahrr Lehs the past few days.”

“We finished the Skybuilders’ Monument,” Synnove said, grinning down at the boy when he looked up at her, mouth dropping open. She fought the urge to burst out laughing when Hautdilong’s gaze slid from her to the man next to her and he registered just with whom she had been dancing, and saw Aymeric give a brief half-bow to the lad in acknowledgement. “To make a long story short, a few of the residents wanted to put together a thank you for Francel for his work in overseeing the restoration, and put together a music troupe that performed for the first time earlier today. This,” she gestured at the reforming lines of dancers and the swelling crowd as the Risensong Players began a new song, “is the encore!”

“That explains why I saw Lord Tarresson begin to pack for a trip just as we left this morning!” Hautdilong said. “Someone must have sent him word; he had been speaking to us of how excited he was to see the Firmament finished.”

Ehll Tou suddenly barreled over in the manner of a dragon who sometimes forgot she was much bigger than she used to be, skidding to a halt before she could topple into her two-legged friends. [I want to learn to dance like a child of man!] she said, hopping from foot to foot and wearing her wide, excited smile. [Will you teach me? Please?]

Synnove blinked, momentarily stunned, but it was Aymeric who recovered first. “It would be our honor, Sky Lady,” he said warmly. “Perhaps one of the circle dances to start?”

[I have no idea what that is,] Ehll Tou said, her smile still in place. [But it sounds like fun, so yes!]

“You’ll have to teach me, too, lover-boy,” Synnove teased good-naturedly, poking him in the arm. “You, Hersande, and Baptistaux taught me quadrilles and other court dances, but none of the properly fun ones.”

“Then we will correct that deficiency posthaste,” he said cheerfully. “In fact... Master Hautdilong?”

The boy whipped his head around to Aymeric. “Ah, yes, Lord Speak—er, Ser—” The poor thing had the look of the suddenly nervous and overwhelmed.

“Just ‘Aymeric,’ is fine, especially among friends,” her knight said with a broad wink. Hautdilong slowly smiled back, while Aymeric continued: “Would you happen to be familiar at all with Coerthan circle dances? Particularly the ones from Eastern Coerthas like the branle?”

“I am!” Hautdilong said. “My mother is from the Eastern Lowlands and I was fortunate to travel with her to her home village for the spring planting festivals before the Calamity.”

“My own mama was from the Eastern Highlands,” Aymeric said. “And there’s just enough similarity in some of the town traditions that I believe we’ll manage to teach the ladies well enough. And perhaps some of our other friends, too?”

At that last, he raised his voice, calling out in the shadows, and a with a whoop, a gaggle of children came pelting up the Abacus and rounded the corner to their overlook. Synnove recognized Maelie, Noalle, and some of the Rolanberry Fields children—Lycelle, Peyraquile, and Julchiezain at the forefront—among the group, and following them were a handful of the shier dragonets whose names she had yet to learn. She had been so intent on Aymeric and the music and their mutual joy that she had completely missed the audience they had acquired.

Hautdilong was beaming and, without prompting, began organizing the group of Ishgardian and Dravanian children into a proper circle, with Ehll Tou and her cousins obediently tucking their wings close to avoid knocking other dancers off balance at his suggestion. Synnove dutifully allowed herself to herded elsewhere, exchanging a grin with Aymeric as she was shuffled into the circle between a blue dragonet on her left, who stood on tippy toe to ensure she could properly reach, and Julchiezain on her right. Synnove took a moment to ruffle Julchiezain’s hair—the boy tried to duck around Maelie on his own right to get away from it, but Maelie deftly dodged in turn and shoved him back into his spot and Synnove’s reach with a giggle—before her attention was drawn to the little dragonet tugging at the bottom hem of her vest.

“Hello, little one,” Synnove said, bending down so her face was at level with the dragonet’s. “What can I do for you?”

[My name is Ahm Sorn,] she said shyly, and Synnove melted only a little bit at the sweet, fluting notes of her mental voice. [May we teach this dance to the moogles and our other friends when we return home?]

“You absolutely may!” Synnove said with a smile. “Dances like this are the kind to be shared.”

Little Ahm Sorn made a small, purring little burble in the back of her throat. Synnove’s heart skipped a beat, but she absolutely did not gurgle and try to yank the dragonet into a cuddle. Aymeric shot Synnove a warning look anyway, which she ignored with only a slight pout as she stood up straight once more. She wasn’t actually going to forcibly adopt every sweet little dragonet that crossed her path!

(…She would ask Ehll Tou later who Ahm Sorn’s dam was, and if her dam would like an occasional minder for her daughter.)

Finally, once everyone was settled and hands and paws firmly linked, they all turned to Aymeric expectantly. He smiled at them all and said, “All right, the first set of movements goes like so…”

The next handful of bells were spent stumbling, tripping, and laughing their way through multiple circle dances, most of them Coerthan, until Aymeric made a sly, off-hand comment about Gyr Abanian dances that had the group of children clamoring for Synnove to teach them what she knew. Then Ehll Tou took lead to show them a grounded version of the fluttering, hopping dances that the moogles and dragons of Bahrr Lehs performed, and finally, as children always did, they took turns in making up new dances from what they had learned, until their laughter nearly drowned out the music soaring out from the edge of the Dais.

But all good things came to an end, and eventually the children began to droop with exhaustion and the party wound down. They fit in one last circle dance—a bit too slow for the song the Players were performing to end the encore show, but easier on tired feet wanting to shuffle rather than skip—and finished to the applause of parents and guardians come to take their charges home. They dispersed to all corners of the Firmaments, though most headed south into the New Nest; Noalle passed out almost as soon as her father picked her up, her cheek pillowed on his scaly green shoulder, and Marcelloix and Audaine fell into easy conversation with Rasequin, Gontrandoix, and Pehainel for the trek home while Lycelle, Julchiezain, and Peyraquile helped herd their fellow orphans along, with the older children each carrying one of the smaller ones piggyback. Ehll Tou crouched down to help Hautdilong onto her back, and they—and Ahm Sorn and the other dragonets—waved goodbye before winging off into the night for the sanctuary of Ehll Tou’s workshop roost.

Synnove and Aymeric collected the twins from Heron, off to the Forgotten Knight with Alakhai, and they meandered arm-in-arm up Quill’s Trace while Roksana and Amandina dozed in the crook of Synnove’s opposite arm. When they reached Bright Ballad’s Passage, without saying anything, they simultaneously turned to look out over the Firmament.

The district glowed with golden light, a mirror to the river of stars spangling the black velvet of the sky above. The soft blue glimmer of the new aetheryte system provided spots of color among the shadows, and the faint shapes of people passing in front of windows could be spotted in the houses closest to the Passage. And even with midnight nearing, the Mendicant’s Court still bustled with the night owls of the skybuilder corps, hard at work crafting goods for the residents of the Firmament or lifting off in manacutters from the Skysteel Workshop for the Diadem.

Sighing quietly, a sense of pride and satisfaction settling in her chest, Synnove leaned her head against Aymeric’s shoulder. Her knight kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek on her hair, moving his arm to wrap around her waist and squeeze tightly.

“Even seeing it,” Aymeric said, voice hushed and reverent, “it’s difficult to believe the work is finished. The repairs to the Brume and Foundation are still ongoing, of course, but knowing so many of my countrymen no longer need to worry about where to sleep at night…”

“It’s difficult to fathom the hopes for one’s home coming to fruition within your own lifetime,” Synnove replied, leaning into him. “I never thought I’d see Ala Mhigo free. I never thought a cure for tempering would be found. But here we are: griffon flags fly in Ala Mhigo; capture by a primal is no longer a death sentence; and Ishgard stands at peace and ready to do whatever is necessary to take care of her people.”

Her knight sighed, as satisfied sounding as she felt. “Our star is far from perfect, and its people less so,” he said. “But by Halone, it’s wonderful to see them try, and succeed.”

Synnove hummed her agreement and together, they turned, the Firmament at their backs, and wandered home.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ishgard restoration #ishgardian restoration #oc: synnove greywolfe #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #ehll tou #hautdilong #dt's writing #IT DONE

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only-in-december · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3 of "I'M GOIN'..." is done! Here's the AO3 link. Or read it below. (...Or don't read it at all. I'm not your mother. Do what you want....but don't forget to brush your teeth. And get a decent amount of sleep. And brush your hair. And-)

I'M GOIN'... Chapter 3: "Friendship"

Danny went home after a couple long days in the hospital. He was glad to be home. The very first thing he did was run to his bedroom, jump onto his bed, and look up at the stars on his ceiling. He heaved a heavy sigh, naming the stars, looking for his favorite constellations. Maybe things would be back to normal soon.

He was just beginning to believe that things were still normal, that things were safe, when suddenly his arm fell through his bed. A yelp escaped him as he pulled his arm back out of the mattress. "Danny? Are you okay?" Jazz poked her head into his room, her eyebrows knit in concern. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything's fine Jazz." Danny scowled lightly and crossed his arms over his chest. He really hoped that she didn't see anything. "I just want some time alone if you don't mind."

"O–okay." Jazz's eyebrows somehow managed to knit together even tighter. "I'll leave you alone for a bit then." She looked a little hurt, and plenty worried. But Danny didn't really care. He was too caught up in his own panic, because as Jazz left the room, his legs both seemed to vanish.

He stopped himself from screaming, and tried to make his lower-half visible again. The issue was, that Danny didn't know how to control what was happening to him.

Danny was panicking. He changed. He was different. He wasn't himself anymore. There was a flash of white light, and then he was different. He could feel it. See it. And sense it all at once. And he didn't know how to change back.

He was practically touching the ceiling and curling in on himself because he was freaking out.

Then his bedroom door opened. And shut. So quickly he almost didn't notice. There in front of him stood Sam and Tucker, looking concerned.

Danny suddenly turned back to normal, and fell hard on his bed. His panic didn't die down though. "Guys! I….it...just"

"Danny, calm down. It's okay. We're here to help." Tucker sat on Danny's bed, and put a hand on his knee. "Best friends don't leave best friends to deal with sudden mutations on their own." Danny looked over at Sam who nodded her agreement.

"We're not going anywhere."

"W-what am I?" Danny's choice cracked. "I'm not–not completely human anymore. I can–I can tell. I can feel it when I change. So what am I?" Sam and Tucker shared a concerned look.

"We'll have to figure that out together." Tucker scooted closer to Danny, and elbowed him lightly. "I'm sure your parents have something that can tell us what's going on."

"Y-yeah. You're right." Danny nodded.

Tucker handed him a small acrylic pin. It looked like a classic alien head, and the bottom said 'out of this world.'

"I thought you were gonna stop with the pins for a while Tuck?"

"After everything that happened, I think this is a justified purchase." Tucker said with a shrug. "Plus Sam brought you a couple things too." Sam stuck her tongue out at Tucker before tossing a plastic shopping bag at Danny.

"Here. For your collection." Danny looked inside and saw four 'Ghostie Energy' cans in bright colors.

"Thanks. You guys rock." Danny smiled softly at his two best friends, and gave Tucker a half-hug. "Let me put these away, then we can raid the fridge downstairs."

Getting downstairs proved to be a slight challenge, when Danny's left leg suddenly fell through the second step. He almost fell all the way down, luckily Sam and Tucker had fast enough reflexes to catch him before any real damage was done.

Danny's parents were both in the kitchen working on some new project. It looked like a handheld computer of some kind. "Hey Dad, we're gonna get some snacks from the fridge and play some video games in the living room, okay?"

"Alright Danno. Just try not to make a mess okay?" Dad looked up from the blueprints he was studying.

"Sure thing Dad." Danny flashed a smile at his Dad as he opened the fridge up.

"Danny, could you Thank your friend for calling an ambulance for you after your accident, for me?" Mom had her goggles pulled down but Danny could still tell she was looking directly at him.

"Okay. Guys my mom says thanks." Danny said distractedly as he grabbed more snack foods from the cabinets.

"No, your other friend. The athletic one." Dad chimed in while writing a note.

"Athletic one?..." Danny almost dropped his armload of snacks when he realized who his parents were talking about. Then it hit him, he realized the one thing he had been trying not to think about. Kwan. Saw everything. Kwan saw what happened to him! "You mean Kwan?" Danny managed to choke out. "He's not really a friend. He was probably here looking for Jazz."

"Still. Make sure to thank him for us." Mom smiled sadly. "I don't know what we would have done if he hadn't called for an ambulance." She shuddered, and Danny nodded.

"Yeah okay." Danny nudged Tucker on the arm and handed him some of the snacks. "We'll be in the living room. We might head back upstairs in a little while though."

"Alright. You kids have fun!" Dad said, with a slightly distracted wave.

————————————

Meanwhile, Kwan tried not to think about everything that had happened at the Fenton's. Over the past few days he had been mainly attempting to pretend that it hadn't happened, and that he has been in no way involved. Although that didn't really happen, because The A-List inadvertently "adopted" Jazz into their group...at least tentatively.

Kwan looked up as Dash entered through his front door, dragging along a slightly confused looking Jazz. "Hey, Kwan." Dash tossed a football softly at him. "You wanna hang? The other girls already packed an entire picnic." Kwan couldn't help but grin at that.

"That sounds great actually. But, when did Star have the time to pack a picnic?" Kwan and Dash both knew that Paulina wouldn't pack anything herself unless she was forced to, and Val was absolute trash in the kitchen. Dash shrugged.

"No clue. 'Lina just called me about half an hour ago, and asked if we could all hang and have a picnic, I said sure, got Jazz, and now I'm grabbing you." Dash grinned as they started making their way toward their usual picnic spot in the park. (Luckily Kwan lived close by.)

As they reached the picnic spot the rest of the girls were all doing their own things. Star was weaving together flower crowns, Paulina was reading a fashion magazine, and Valerie was laying on her back on the picnic blanket, watching the clouds.

"Hey! Did we miss anything exciting?" Kwan skipped a little bit as they got closer.

"Nah. Star made PB&Js for everyone except 'Lina." Val said, sitting up to make room on the picnic blanket.

"No worries though! I made her a very nice sunflower butter and honey sandwich." Star dropped the flower crown she was working on and leaned over to hug Paulina.

"You guys do this kinda thing often then?" Jazz asked as she sat down.

"Not all the time, but whenever we get the chance." Kwan told her, he sat next to her and smiled. "How's your brother doing?" He didn't want to think about all the things that happened, but he did want to make sure that the Fentons were all doing alright.

"He's doing better, thanks for asking. He's back to kicking me out of his room, only talking to his friends. So that's a big plus." Jazz gave a half-hearted shrug.

"I'm so glad things are getting better!" Star beamed. "If you need anyone to talk to, you're welcome to talk with us." As if to prove her point, Star placed the crown she'd been working on, on top of Jazz's head.

Kwan looked over at Dash and Paulina, he knew those two worked hard to make sure the A-List was only the most popular kids in Casper High. Dash looked uneasy, and Paulina looked like she was working out who could possibly be bumped out of the group. While Jazz and Star kept talking about the picnic, Kwan pulled Dash and Paulina aside to discuss it.

"Guys. I think it's fine. We don't have to be an exclusive group. Plus, we all know that Jazz is cool. No one would question her hanging with us." Kwan kept his voice low.

"It's not her that we're concerned about." Dash admitted softly. "Her parents really take her down the social ladder." The football star sighed. "I just don't know if she's got enough to stand on her own in the social climate."

"Plus she's just a tad nerdy." Paulina wrinkled her nose. "We don't want nerds. That takes us from the A-List, to like… the F-List."

"Guys. She isn't that nerdy. Plus we've all needed her help with homework plenty of times." Kwan defended. "She's good at moving between social groups anyway. So we don't have to make her an official A-Lister. We just need to be open to talking with her in public." Dash and Paulina still looked unconvinced. "We have been hanging with her for the past few days already. We brought her along on a picnic for goodness sakes! Get a grip! We're the only ones who care about social standing!" It took everything in him not to yell. Kwan had to stop and take a deep breath, otherwise he might have snapped.

"Kwan. We can let her join peripherally. Anything more than that and...you know how it is." Dash held his hands up in surrender sign of mock surrender.

"Dash. You're my best friend. I would jump off a bridge for you." Kwan narrowed his eyes. "But if you're lying to me. If you don't put your best effort into making this work out. I'll step down and let her take my spot on the A-List." Kwan didn't know where this was coming from, but he did recognize that Jazz needed friends. Especially right now.

"I'll do my best. Let's get back to the picnic and have some fun." Dash lightly punched Kwan on the arm, and Kwan relaxed. He knew Dash would keep his word, he may have overreacted a bit.

@i-cant-go-ghost

#danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfic #jack fenton #information interception: a kwan au #in between fudge and needlepoint: a jack fenton au #Kwan #jazz fenton #dash baxter #star #paulina sanchez #valerie gray #the A-List

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wille-zarr · 3 years

Text

The Mandalorian: "Not to a Mandalorian’s Standards”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Six ~ “Not to a Mandalorian’s Standards”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated T for language; violence; angst

word count: 8.1k

chapter summary: you must make a challenging decision concerning your arrangement with din, but all is threatened when old dangers arise

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: uwu

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Six: “Not to a Mandalorian’s Standards”

“Tell you what, Starlight-” your father’s eyes twinkle down at you- “there’s no better place in the galaxy to make a tough decision than on the back of a speeder bike, going faster than your mother would ever approve.”

Great advice, Papa.

Too bad that advice is about to get you killed.

Though, you do have a slight suspicion that when he told you “fast”, he never meant quite this fast.

But then again, knowing your dad, maybe he did.

“Oh-” you reach up, wiggling your goggles down into position- “blast it.” Gritting your teeth tightly together, you accelerate the speeder bike, shooting over the dried desert landscape of Arvala-7.

The cool evening air prickles the exposed parts of your face like a thousand sharp needles sinking into your skin, but the discomfort doesn’t distract you. You stare straight ahead, focused only on the tangled thoughts rolling back and forth in your brain in a jumbled, glued-together mess.

“Running away? You’re good at that.”

Faster. Faster.

If you could just go faster, maybe the voices would fall behind, leave you alone.

You lean forward on the accelerator, pushing the speeder bike to its absolute limits. The old bike begins to vibrate under your body, rattling as if threatening to blow apart in a thousand pieces. If you were still that adrenaline-seeking teenager, you might would take that as a challenge.

But hey, you’ve cheated death this long. It’d be a shame to lose the game at this point…

That and Cara’s the last person you’d want to upset if you destroy her bike.

You notice a cliff-wall looming in the horizon, rapidly approaching at the speed with which you are traveling. With a sharp hiss, you slam on the brakes, bracing, squeezing your eyes tightly together as you spin around in tight circles.

One…

Two...

Three…

Four spins.

You stop.

You don’t fight the grin that stretches across your face.

“Banthaspit! Hell yeah.” You peel the goggles off your face, harshly rubbing your eyes with a dust-encrusted hand. “If I wasn’t forced into hiding, the Keolith racing circuit wouldn’t know what hit it!” you snort.

With a sigh, you kick one leg over the speeder bike, positioning your body sideways on the seat. You force yourself to slowly exhale, shivering as all of the tension pent up within you tiptoes its way up your spine, releasing out into the fresh open air.

A temporary relief. Your stress rushes back in droves to fill the void.

“All wound up. You’re all wound up,” you mutter under your breath, “for no reason!”

With a groan, you flop backwards … wildly flailing your arms as you fall back against the open air.

“YIPE!” you squeak, sliding right off the bike and landing back on the ground below with a sharp oof. Groaning pathetically, you rest your head back against the dirt.

Well, at least no one saw that.

You’re not sure how long you lie that way. Not long enough, if your opinion means anything. Eventually, you gather enough motivation to crack one eye open and grimace up at the darkening sky.

All of this- this melodrama! All because some Mandalorian warrior pinned you to the ground? With his body?!

…

Oh, shit.

A Mandalorian kicked your ass and called you a brat.

You’re done for.

Your face explodes into flames. You know yourself all too well… You crave the mysterious, the exciting… all of which your proximity to the curious, cryptic Mandalorian has brought you more than an abundance of.

You can no longer ignore the red flags ding-ding-dinging in your head.

Hell.

It would probably be a… bad idea… to travel in close quarters with the Mandalorian. Not with your overactive imagination working overtime hours. Besides, when you made the deal to travel with Din, you had no idea a child would be involved.

Those dark, piercing eyes of the Mandalorian’s son appear before you, along with a pang, a squeeze in your chest.

If…if a bounty hunter tracked you down on the Razor Crest- the child… he could be hurt and…and-

Grinding your teeth, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands until you are sure you must be drawing blood.

No. Never again.

You need to talk with Din.

You know what you must do.

-------

Pulling back up to the homestead, you are met by a herd of stampeding whomp rats, also known as the Sorgan children.

“She’s back!”

“Hello!”

“We’ve been looking for you!”

“Whoa, whoa-” you toss your hands up- “One at a time, will ya?” You crack a grin. “I haven’t been this popular since a Hutt promised me his eternal love.”

“Huh?”

“What’s a Hutt?”

“Ah,” you laugh, kicking your leg over the speederbike, “I’m only joking.”

“Look, Ms. Cara, she’s back with your speederbike!”

You tear your eyes upwards, inwardly cringing as you watch Cara approaching.

“Um, look, Cara,” you laugh, rubbing your arm up and down. “I-I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your bike, um…”

Cara crosses her arms, eyeing you with a pointed expression.

Oh, Hutt fudge.

“You wouldn’t hurt me in front of children!” You bounce back, placing the bike between you and Cara, ignoring the children’s shrieks of laughter.

Cara takes a few steps forward, inspecting her speederbike with a few brief glances. “I suppose it’s still in one piece… You sure left in a hurry.” Rubbing her hands across the handlebars, she continues inspecting the bike. “Didn’t have a chance to finish your self-defense lesson with Mando.”

Maker!

For the love of all that is holy, Cara-

“Wait-” she smirks- “are you blushing?”

KARKING HELLS!

“I’m. not. blushing.” you hiss through your teeth.

“She’s turning RED!” Birdie shrieks.

“But why?” Winta asks. “I’m confused.”

“I’m not!” Your voice cracks along with your composure.

Blast you, Cara!

If Cara wasn’t capable of twisting you up like a Bothanian Pastry, you’d have some choice words right about now.

“It’s red from-from racing this bike against the wind- is all!” You knit your brows and cross your arms tightly across your chest. “Come on, kids-” you wave your hand to the side, your strained voice giving yourself away- “I’m… I’m sure your parents don’t want you out after dark.”

“I’m so confused.” Winta sighs, trotting towards the huts with the five other children marching along behind her.

Birdie pauses behind the rest. Finally, he twists around and races back to you. Throwing his arms around your legs, he grins up at you with his adorable little missing-tooth smile, turning your heart to mush.

“See you at the bonfire!” As quickly as he threw his arms around you, he spins around and dashes away.

“Bonfire?” You raise an eyebrow at Cara.

“Yeah,” she sits back against the seat of her bike, checking over the instrument gages. “The villagers’ idea.” Cara flashes you a quick glance. “They always do this when a visitor arrives, me or Din. I do have to say, for a bunch of country folk-” Cara smirks- “they sure know how to have fun.”

Celebration. Stars, you haven’t attended a party of any kind in months! Parties were usually a thing of business for you on Nar Shaddaa. A way to make connections, play politics, earn some extra cash- whatever. The point is, they were rarely enjoyable. At times, they were downright miserable.

Maybe that association will change tonight. Yes. Yes, you will have fun; you will relax. No use getting all worked up over the conversation you must have with Din tonight…

Which is easier said than done.

“Well,” you sigh, throwing both hands on your hips and meandering away, “guess I better get cleaned up then.” You let your eyes sweep the homestead yard, noticing, sure enough, a bonfire is being constructed several yards away from Kuill’s hut. But more importantly-

No sign of Mando, thank the stars.

You aren’t prepared to face him just yet after that, um, tussle earlier…

“Sorry about giving you a hard time.”

You twist back around at Cara’s voice.

“At least, I’m sorry for doing it in front of little ears.” Cara shrugs, but she is hardly hiding the amusement etched in her eyes.

You snort. “Don’t lie.” Rolling your eyes, you spin around, marching determinedly towards Kuill’s hut. “See you tonight.”

-------

“YIPE!”

“Look, I’m sorry!”

“Fu-… uh, um, I mean, stars!” You clutch your scalp, wincing against the relentless barrage of brush strokes. You hear a snort from behind where you sit.

“You don’t exactly sound sorry, Omera.” You tilt your head backwards to find Omera, a hand on one hip, a brush in the other, shaking her head in defeat.

“I think the easiest option-” Omera angles her head to the side- “would be to just cut out the tangled bits.”

“Kriff,” you whisper under your breath, absent-mindedly tightening the bathrobe Omera lent you around your waist. “Well, still better than another twenty minutes of this torture.” You pout your lips like a child.

“Why is it so tangled?”

Twisting around in the chair, your eyes find Winta in the corner of the room, braiding her hair with a dark green ribbon.

“Eh-” you toss her a smirk- “I don’t think you’re ready to hear about Taek just yet.”

“Hmf.” Omera grunts. “Would this Taek story also explain why one side of your hair is a good bit shorter than the other?” You feel Omera’s fingers rake through the ends of your hair, tugging when they reach a tangle. “Look at that! It’s a good three inches shorter!”

A bright grin stretches across your face. “No, that’s a different story altogeth- OUCH!”

“Sorry!” The amusement in Omera’s voice is thinly veiled. “Get my scissors, Winta.”

“Bloody hells, Omera!” you hiss under your breath. “Why does everyone here take such enjoyment in tormenting me?” You lower your brow when you are met with a melody of snickers.

“What,” Omera laughs, “have the children been giving you a tough time? Or Cara? Din?”

Din.

You could really use your own Beskar helmet right about now. You feel the entirety of the blood in your body blast up to your face, radiating warmth at just the mere mention of his name.

It’s like the longer you avoid him, the more embarrassed you grow.

Tucking your face under the collar of the bathrobe, you are met with the sharp rap of scissors against your head.

“Hey!”

“Head up. Do you want straight hair?”

“Not if you’re going to keep doing that!” You crinkle your nose. “Have you even cut hair before?”

“No.”

“Maker!”

At the threat of being smacked with scissors again, you decide it is your best bet to remain perfectly still. Silently listening as Omera and Winta rattle off about what she should wear to the bonfire and what games the children could play, you feel the tension drain off your shoulders. It sounds just like a conversation you and your mother might have had once… The air grows thick, and you let your eyes slip closed, breathing deeply, imagining the room you sat in was that of your Sularian home…

A tug on your sleeve from a little hand rips you out of your reverie.

“What are you going to wear?”

“Hmm?... What? Oh.” You blink, struggling to gain back your composure. Your eyes focus in on the little face in front of you.

“Um, I guess what I always wear,” you sigh. “…Don’t have any other clothes.” A teasing smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth. “A krayt dragon ate them all up.”

Winta bursts into giggles. “It did not!”

“Nah, maybe not.”

“You could wear a dress of mine.” Omera interjects.

“Really?” Your eyes widen in delight. “Um, I- uh, could I have one with sleeves?”

Better safe than sorry… You can’t risk questions about your forearm tattoos. Besides, if

Cara and Din recognized them… things would turn, no doubt, a wee bit awkward.

“Of course! And just in case you wanted to-” Omera’s voice takes on a knowing tone- “Din and Cara will be heading into the nearest outpost tomorrow to buy up supplies before Cara heads off.” Her voice softens. “You could go along with them and buy anything you nee-”

“Blaster,” you yank around in the chair, ignoring the yelp of frustration from Omera. “Need one like-” you frown- “yesterday.”

“Fine, fine.” Omera lowers her brows. “Now, please, could you just keep your head straight?”

“Haven’t I been?”

-------

You step out of the protective darkness of Kuill’s home, grinning brightly to discover the homestead yard bounding with life. The flames of the bonfire dance, bobbing back and forth from one log to another, casting a flickering golden haze over everything in its vicinity. Chairs and colorful blankets are spread out, circling the fire. Smiling, you watch with delight as the children race around underfoot, their parents shooing them away from the tables overflowing with food.

Speaking of food, the wafting scent of it carries along with the light nighttime breeze, triggering your stomach into growling like a Rancor. With a wistful sigh, you begin to walk forward.

But, oh dear.

To get to the food, you must pass by Kuill, Cara, and Din, who’s standing against the wall of a hut, his armor gleaming reflected golden light. You don’t think they’ve noticed you… yet.

Stars, stars, stars! You haven’t prepared a mask for this. You aren’t ready to face him!

Gulping a deep breath of air, you rip your eyes away, pretending to be otherwise occupied with the starry sky.

Blast it all! How could you have been so manipulative, so charismatic on Nar Shaddaa and yet fail so miserably now?

Damn, you’re out of practice!

Carefree.

Confident.

Yeah, that’s what you’ll be. With a sharp nod of the head, you settle for a self-assured expression, hoping it’d be a solid enough cover, at least strong enough to resist any ribbing from Cara.

You instinctively reach up to your brow line to grab at what would have been your hat brim to lower it. Cringing, you stare at your open fingers. You really miss the protection of the hat… You feel… vulnerable without it.

Again, you’re beginning to more and more understand the appeal of a helmet.

“Wait, look!” One of the voices of the children interrupts your stride. “She looks like a mom!”

“Hey,” you snort, crossing your arms, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Your eyes widen with an unease only children with no filter are capable of eliciting as they corral you, inspecting your new appearance with an intense, terrifying scrutiny.

“Stars!” You back up a bit. “It’s just a skirt! Please be kind!” you chuckle and kneel down, ruffling up the hair of the littlest boy. Your face softens as you take note of the Mandalorian’s son peeking at you from behind the children, a bit shyer than the rest. Smiling, you give him a little wink, stealing a little grin out of him.

“Enjoy their fascination while it lasts.” Omera chuckles as she walks up, resting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “They shower new people with attention until another new face shows up and steals the spotlight. Din was the favorite until you arrived.”

“So then, I stole you guys from the Mandalorian, did I? I’m cooler than a Mandalorian!” You chuckle with the kids as you stand back up. You tighten the knot on the front of your blouse, uncomfortable with a sudden sensation of being watched.

You know, you can just feel, that the Mandalorian is staring at you.

Oh hells.

“But-” Birdie frowns, tugging on your skirt- “you can’t fight in that!”

“Fight?” You jerk your head back, trying to make sense of his words. “You planning to fight me or something?”

Giggles.

“No, Kelsa saw you with Cara. Said she beat you up. We all wanted to watch.”

“Yeah… well.” You feel your cheeks flame when a bark of laughter reaches your ears.

“Cara!” you shout, spinning around on your heel and staring daggers in her direction.

“Sorry!”

You are about to shoot off a snotty reply when your eyes are drawn, magnetized to the singeing glare of the Mandalorian’s visor. You instantly shut your mouth.

He stares you down, arms crossed in a relaxed manner, as he leans up against the wall beside where Cara sits. You suddenly feel very, very small.

Oh… Stars.

You frown at Din, shifting your eyes away from him. You immediately slip back into your carefully crafted persona, shaking off your unease.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never been much of a fighter.” You twist around and face the children. “I’m… not very strong, much like you lot.” You sigh, pointing a finger at yourself.

You carefully tiptoe through your words. “I’ve busted my nose, broken bones, dislocated my shoulder-” you motion to each of these areas- “trying to fight with these.” Lifting both of your hands up, you clench them into fists.

Feeling a sly smile tickling at the corner of your mouth, you continue. “I think you’ll find the best fighter-” you let the smile grow- “uses this.” Pointing at your head, you chuckle and cross your arms.

“That’s fine and all-” Birdie frowns- “but I don’t see how your head could defeat the Mandalorian’s rocket dart things in a fight.”

“Rocket… darts?” You gulp. The things he hides in that armor... You steal a glance over at Din. His head is angled in that curious manner, watching your interaction with the children with great interest. You tear your gaze away, fearing your face would warm if you stared any longer.

“She means using your smarts, silly!” Winta groans.

“She is correct.” The new voice in the conversation belongs to Kuill. Grunting with exertion, he hobbles along with his cane to join the circle. The children immediately fall silent, listening reverently to the wise Ugnaught.

“Fighting isn’t everything.” Your face grows solemn with the respect that Kuill seems to elicit anytime he speaks. “Sometimes,” he grunts, “the most dangerous power… is held by the smallest among us.”

The way everyone sneaks glances with each other, you can’t help but feel everyone is in on a secret behind Kuill’s words. Discomforted, you clear your throat, letting your lazy outer rim accent slide forward.

“Gotta secret weapon, Kuill?”

Kuill’s chuckle is interrupted by a frowning Birdie.

“Maybe…” Birdie whines. “But we still wanted to watch a fight.”

You snort. “Stars, these kids are bloodthirsty.”

“Maybe if we asked politely, children,” Kuill grunts, “the Mandalorian would showcase some of his fighting prowess for us.”

The children burst into pleas and cheers, turning every ounce of their attention to tormenting Din into obliging them.

“It would be-” Kuill motions his cane at Din- “our honor to observe.”

Flopping his head back against the wall, the Mandalorian stares up at the sky. You bite back a grin when you hear him release a heavy, long-suffering sigh, detectable even at a distance.

“Stand back.”

The children and villagers fall silent, crowding together, as he shifts forward, stalking away from the building. Only the heavy clank, clank of his Beskar armor is audible, echoing in the thin night air. Everyone watches in anticipation, curious as to what the Mandalorian has in mind.

Plopping down on a blanket spread out on the ground, you cross your legs underneath yourself. A light dusting of movement against your hand startles you forward a bit. You gasp lightly, mouth falling open, as the Mandalorian’s son, the baby, crawls up beside you.

“Oh. Hello,” you chirp, taking his little three-fingered hand into your palm. “Um, ready to watch your Papa show off?”

He responds with a giggle.

Those large expressive eyes… stars! You want to turn into a pool of sugary liquid right here, right on this blanket.

Sweet face.

Sweet laugh.

The dagger twists in your heart. Grasping onto the necklace around your neck, you swallow hard, squeezing your eyes tightly together before opening them again.

You can’t think about her right now… not without losing it.

As if sensing your turmoil, the baby’s ears droop to the side.

“Don’t mind me,” you mumble. You take the baby into your arms, squeezing lightly. “L-let’s watch.”

You watch as Din freezes a good distance from the bonfire. “Cara,” he shouts with a wave.

You bite your lip, bursting with excitement when you see he has that big-ass rifle of his at the ready. He rests it pointing downwards, angling his head towards Cara as he crosses his gloved hands over the butt of the rifle.

You snicker.

Look at him.

Trying so hard to look bored. You know good and well he is thrilled to show off for everyone. You’ve seen his bathroom. Any man that uses as many hair conditioners as him would have to be a secret show-off.

Not to mention his sparkling, eye-catching Beskar.

“Diva,” you snicker under your breath.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the start of the show.

“Toss!”

Cara heaves back, launching something small and round into the air.

Din pulls back.

Rifle to shoulder.

Aim.

Blast.

A thousand sparkling, rainbow-colored lights rain down out of the night sky from the explosion, just like fireworks. You passively join the clapping and cheering, smirking to yourself as the Mandalorian continues raining sparkling shots in the sky as quickly as Cara can throw them.

You glance downwards, sharing a knowing look with the baby.

Yup.

Dad’s definitely a show-off.

You think he agrees.

After several minutes of this display, Din has adequately appeased the children’s lust for excitement and entertainment. Omera and the other two pairs of parents shoo the children towards the awaiting food. You watch from a distance as Din unloads his gun, striding towards Cara.

With a sigh, you stand, holding the baby against your chest, smiling softly when Winta motions to take him.

“I’ll take him to Momma.” Winta chirps. “I can feed him!”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. Pretty sure I had his stomach growling,” you chuckle, throwing Winta and the baby a quick wink.

You clasp your hands tightly together behind you and walk over to the side of Kuill’s hut shrouded in dark shadow. A longing smile faintly brushes across your lips as you watch the commotion centered around the tables of food. Sighing wistfully, you lean your shoulder up against the wall of the hut.

This is the closest you’ve been to recreating your childhood peace in years…

There’s a part of you that wants to ask if you could hang around for a bit... But the child you used to be on those snow-covered mountains is long-gone. You cannot replace what you have lost, what’s been taken.

Besides, you would only bring danger to these people if you stayed.

You have to move on.

The clank, clank of metal rips you out of your deep introspection. You spin around on your heel, unease building in your chest as the Mandalorian strides towards you, his rifle resting carelessly across his arms.

Okay. Okay. Don’t blush. Um, just… try not think about him on top of you.

Wait, that sounded bad. KRIFF. Now you’re surely blushing!

QUICK. SABBAAC FACE.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to focus on the present. As he moves closer, you didn’t need to see his face to know that a smug expression graced his face. You could see it in his stride.

Smirking, you cross your arms and lift your chin at him.

“Not too shabby, Din.” You raise an eyebrow when he stops to stand beside you, letting his weapon flip to rest the end of it on the ground. “You handle that big-ass rifle pretty well, I’d say.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders forward, only enhancing his intimidating presence that much further. Leaning against the weapon, he tilts his head sideways to stare down at you.

“Pulse rifle,” Din rumbles, amusement lacing his tone. “And as I said before, you handled my rifle pretty well yourself, Ka’r’ika.”

“But certainly-” you lower your eyebrows- “not to a Mandalorian’s standards.”

“Nope.” He jerks his head to the side.

“Ah well!” You sigh and throw your arms out. “Well, then, were my fighting skills at least up to Mandalorian standards?” You bite your lip to resist the smirk tickling at the corners of your mouth.

A deep, raspy chuckle slips out from underneath his helm. He leans over you as he walks past.

“Depends on which Mandalorian you ask.”

Oh.

Oh Maker!

MAKER!

TACTICAL ERROR!

Slapping a hand on your forehead, you spin around to rush away from the hut, deeper into the hidden darkness as you berate yourself for mindlessly flirting yet. again. You would have run off to escape again, but the wafting food lures you into turning around and staying.

That, and you’re not about to steal Cara’s bike again.

With no Mando in sight, you grab a bowl of stew. Sneaking over to an unoccupied blanket beside Omera and Cara, you curl your legs up under yourself…

…And you practically bury your nose in the bowl to hide your face when Din sits beside you to be near his son. The baby gleefully reaches his little arms out for his father who takes over feeding him.

Kriff! How could this evening get any more awkward!

“So, tell me,” Cara asks, “why’d you decide to leave Nar Shaddaa?”

You drop your spoon, coughing as you choke on the stew.

“OH-” cough- “I, uh, you know-” cough- “got… um-” cough- “…tired of it.”

“Really?”

“…Really.”

Wow. That had to be the lamest lie you’ve ever told.

Cara stares at you, mouth tight as if considering whether or not to prod you further. Din is leaning sideways, occupied with his son, but you know good and well he is listening to every word.

You return Cara’s stare, unflinching, daring her to question you further. You’ll lie much better now that you’re prepared, thank you very much.

“Nar Shaddaa?”

You have never been more grateful for an interruption! You shift your eyes over to Omera.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

You snort, perhaps a little harsher than you intended.

“Yeah, well-” you pretend to be occupied with something in your stew- “no surprise. A lady such as yourself would never work there.” You place your bowl down and tuck your knees up under your chin. “Hutt and syndicate casinos… Enough said.”

“Oh.”

You feel a bit guilty for coming on so strongly in response to a harmless statement. You feel responsible to lighten the mood, show Omera you aren’t upset. Shaking your head, you flash a manufactured grin. “Stars, you should be grateful to not know what Nar Shaddaa is like… or wow!” You pretend to gag. “The Hutts!”

“I’ll drink to that.” Cara shrugs, swigging back something the Sorgan villagers called “Oriot Juice” that smelled suspiciously of alcohol.

“Cara…” Omera chides.

“What?”

Leaning back on your elbows, you chuckle. You begin mentally drawing away, leaving Omera and Cara to their fussing.

“What did you do there?”

You rip your eyes to the right, into the unreadable visor of the Mandalorian.

“You said something about… dealing cards?”

“Uh, yeah.” You blink, a bit taken aback. “For a short bit. I- uh- mostly performed.” You really hope he doesn’t prod for more details.

He turns his head away from you, and you could have sworn you heard him mumble something under his breath.

You need to shift the topic, fast.

“I sure do miss singing though.” You flash Din a cheeky grin. “All the attention, all on me.”

He makes a noise.

“That would be in character for you.”

You stick your tongue out at him for that. “Anyway, that guitar I brought off from Taek?” You smile slyly. “Let’s just say, through some creative finagling, I ‘acquired’ it hoping to sing on the streets to earn some cash.”

Your grin plummets into a scowl. “Let’s just say that it didn’t pan out.” You cross your arms tightly across your chest. “Cheap bastards,” you grumble.

The Mandalorian laughs, a deep, hearty sound.

You blink, stunned by this victory.

A laugh! Not a chuckle, you pried a full-on laugh from the stoic warrior!

Din leans in towards you, pulling you out of your elation.

“Well, we aren’t much of an audience,” he rasps, voice grainy through the vocoder, “but we’d be better spectators than what Taek provided.”

You beam. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t respond, just leans over on his side, his son tucked in beside him asleep.

You clasp your hands together. “I need my guitar!”

He looks in the direction of the Razor Crest. “Take my key unlo-”

“Nah, don’t need to. I grabbed the guitar out of the Razor Crest earlier today.”

He stares.

“But it was…”

“Yeah?”

“Locked.”

“Yeah.”

“…How?”

You blink.

“When I said I didn’t have any skills?”

He stares.

“I actually have a few…”

“…and you really should upgrade the Crest’s security system.”

…

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

-------

You can’t believe your voice or feet or both haven’t given out!

Cara was right, these Sorganians know how to have a damn good party. When you provided the guitar, the villagers responded by pulling out their own traditional instruments.

For hours, everyone (minus one stick-in-the-mud Mandalorian) danced, spun, twisted, frolicked, and skipped until no one could barely move. As fun as all the rowdy dancing was, your heart felt warm, full after sharing your own traditional songs: one a love ballad and the other a lullaby in the Sularian language.

Exactly what the energized children needed to calm them down and help put them to sleep.

“Thanks again,” Omera whispers as she walks past you, carrying a conked-out baby inside the hut. “Those songs were absolutely beautiful.”

You only smile.

Watching the other parents carry their children in for bed, you can’t help but feel keenly…. bitter.

This should have been your life.

Should have been your siblings’ life.

Should have been her life.

…

Imperials, go straight to hell.

You clench your hands into tight fists.

“When you’ve lived as many years as I have-” you jump at Kuill’s voice- “you learn to recognize… patterns in behavior.”

“I-” you blink- “not sure wh-”

“Sadness. Anger. Loss. Fear.” He pauses to point his cane at you. “All I see in you. You’re on the run.”

Your jaw drops. “N-no-”

“It’s not my place to question.” Kuill, grunting, begins to move away. “I hope you find the peace… you seek.”

Was…

Was it really that obvious?!

You’re understandably shaken up after being directly called out like that by Kuill…

You… need some space.

Stalking, practically running, from the hut, you freeze mid-step, nearly falling over your own feet.

There he is, both arms resting atop the fence, helmet fixated on the stars. He almost looks heroic with the way his cape swirls around his legs in the light night breeze.

Well…

Good time as any to have that conversation with him.

With a begrudging sigh, you fidget with your hands as you quietly tiptoe up behind the Mandalorian. He does not move or make any indication that he’s aware of your presence, though you know by now that he must.

You grab on to the post next to him. Grunting, you begin scampering up the boards to try and sit on top of the fence beside him.

“Oh,” you growl, struggling to climb up it in a dress. “Blast this damn skir- OOF.”

Two firm hands grab at your waist from behind, steadying you.

“Easy, Ka’r’ika,” his voice, low, rumbles near your ear.

His grip releases.

You squeak something incoherent, your tongue tangling up on itself. “Um-” you nervously laugh as you balance sitting on top of the fence- “uh, thanks…?”

He leans his arms across the board right beside you, angling his helmet to stare up into your face.

“Go to bed.” He inclines his helmet in the direction of the hut. “You should rest.”

“Hmf.” You cluck your tongue. “Always telling me what to do. If you wanted me to leave, you shouldn’t have helped me up here.”

He lets his visor drop to face the ground, and you can’t help but hear the sigh that slips out from under his helm. Admiring the stars glittering against his Beskar, you follow Din’s line of sight as he shifts his gaze upwards.

You bite your lip, uncertain of how to broach your pressing topic at hand...

“The stars,” you stall, “are so bright here. That’s the only thing I like about living outside the city.”

You have Din’s full attention now.

“They remind me of the eka-worms back home on Sularia.” You sigh heavily, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion on your shoulders. “During the darkest, coldest part of winter, the worms would twist and weave the most breath-taking, astonishing nets of webbing, absolutely littering the trees with them until the limbs would sag under the weight.” You wave your hand through the air, re-imagining them in your mind.

A smile brushes across your lips, and you glance upwards. “In the moonlight, the webs would sparkle like stardust. Weddings, proposals, everything.” You pause. “We all wanted it done under those glistening webs.”

Your eyes finally fall back to Din, and your heart squeezes at finding him focused on your face instead of the stars.

He glances away as if considering something.

“What?” you prod.

“…How did you escape?”

You shrug your shoulders, leaning as back as far as you could without tumbling off the fence. “Would you believe I only survived the Empire’s bombardment because I was a head-strong, disobedient child?”

He didn’t answer; just continued listening to your story with full attention.

So you continue.

“I-I was twelve… Papa told me and my four siblings to run out the front door. Long story short, I went out the back.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and take a deep breath.

“Bombs dropped. I lived. They didn’t.”

Your shoulders stoop even lower, collapsing in on yourself, and you find that you don’t have the energy to continue pretending that you’re okay- that your life hasn’t always been one big… hot… mess.

“I- I found Grandpa c-coming up the mountain… to see… To find us. And- I was… I was running down it.” You cover your eyes with a hand. “He was the only f-family I had left... then he went and… died too.”

Your fault.

It was all your fault.

“Stars,” you mumble under your breath, lower lip quivering as you tighten your palms against your face.

“My family… they died, too.”

You rip your face out of your hands.

“Victims of the Clone Wars.” His voice is a whisper, barely audible.

“Well,” you sniff, roughly rubbing your eyes to hide your emotion. “I- I guess we’re not too different after all, huh?”

He shifts back on one arm, angling his body closer to yours.

“No, I suppose not.”

Maker, you feel really awful about what you’re about to bring up…

“Din, we’ve… shared a lot together in such a short time.” You purposely avoid looking his way.

You have to just say it.

“You should know that I am eternally grateful for the kindness you’ve shown me.” At that, you force yourself to face him. “I’d still be stuck on Taek if it wasn’t for you…”

His visor is glued to your eyes.

“Mando, I’m…I’m really eager to get to Keolith.”

Liar.

“So, I’m… leaving with Cara tomorrow.” You are taken aback at how hard it is to form the words, the pain squeezing in your chest. “Then I’ll jump on a transport.”

Silence.

“If… that’s what you wish.”

Even through the modulation, you can sense the confusion, the hesitation lacing his tone. Stars, you can’t even bear to look at him! How can you explain, make him understand you have no choice? His son’s safety, your own stupid overactive imagination… No, it just wouldn’t be a good idea to travel together.

“I’m sure you’ll be thrilled anyway to get me out of your ship,” you mumble, awkwardly laughing as you push at his shoulder.

He shifts, stepping back away from the fence, away from you.

He inclines his head to the side.

“Come here.”

Oh- OOF!

His gloves curl their way around your waist, and you slap your hands onto his pauldrons for balance. He drops your feet down to the ground, but his hands remain secured, glued to your waist.

“Go to bed,” he rasps. “You need sleep.”

His hands abandon your waist, but the warmth, the heat left behind burns long into the night.

-------

“Hey!” you shout out Kuill’s window. “Wait up!”

Cursing under your breath, you continue tucking your shirt down into your pants as you stumble out the door. Standing beside the two speeder bikes, Cara and Din watch, arms crossed, as you approach. Your fingers fumble around the brim of you hat, lowering it down till your eyes are practically hidden from sight.

Hell, you feel lousy. You hardly got any sleep after the previous night’s conversation with Din. You know he is just another random acquaintance, the same you are to him, but…

Oh, kriffing fine.

You like him.

You’re… you’re going to miss him.

Ah well, you’ll just have to be sure and annoy him a little extra today as a parting gift.

“I need a ride to town.” You stop and throw your hands on your hips. “Gotta buy a few things.”

“Sure,” Cara lazily responds, throwing a leg over her bike. “More the merrier, right?”

You grin and nod. “Thanks.” You throw your leg over the seat of the second bike, flicking on various switches.

“This is going to b- HEY!”

A hand grabs your shoulder, sliding you roughly back away from the controls.

“Hold up,” the Mandalorian grumbles. “I don’t think so.”

“Din!” You swat at his hand. “Stop, no! Let me drive! You drive like an old man!”

“I mean, he could feasibly be one, for all we know.”

“Cara-”

“Din!” you growl, tumbling off the opposite side of the bike. You leap up to your feet, but it’s already too late. Din is settled down in front of the controls, watching you with his helmet inclined to the side.

He places a hand on his thigh and jerks his helmet towards the open seat behind him.

“Fine.” You stick your tongue out at him and spin around on your heel. “Then I’m riding with Car-”

Cara blasts off, leaving a trail of dust wafting behind her.

Slowly, you turn back around.

Din shoves out a hand, motioning again to the empty speeder bike seat behind him.

“Kriff it,” you grumble, throwing your leg back across the seat. You let your body slip down, molding itself completely to the back of his armor. You reach up, lowering your goggles over your eyes.

“Fine,” you bark, wrapping your arms around his middle. “Let’s ride.”

He kicks the bike into gear, and with a satisfying rev of the engine, away you blast into the desert horizon.

Definitely faster than expected.

“Guess you took my ribbing to heart,” you think with a grin. You let your arms relax their grip around his midsection, resisting the urge to throw your hands up and feel the passing breeze.

His hand grabs yours, pulling it back tighter around himself.

“Fine!” you shout over the noise. “Mother hen.”

He releases your hand, and you sigh, snuggling down into his cape, relaxed in the knowledge that you are safe for a few more days, as long as you are with him.

-------

Din and Cara park out of the way in a side alley where the bikes should hopefully remain unnoticed and undisturbed. You walk ahead of them, staring up and down the main street of the outpost. You lift your goggles off your head, reading over the various shop store signs.

Ah, yes, you see exactly what you need.

“Cara, Mando!” You turn back around. “Meet you back at the bikes later!”

“Stay out of trouble.”

You flash Din a grin.

“Always.”

Your first stop is to pick out a few new garments to replace those that flew away for a permanent vacation with the smuggler’s crew. You’ll wait until you’ve actually settled on Keolith to replace everything, but a few undergarments, blouses, pants, and gloves, and you are good to go for the time being. You stuff these goods away in your side satchel.

It… feels strange to own things again.

Next stop: weapons.

With a downright mischievous grin on your face, you enter the shop like a kid in a candy store.

“How can I help you?”

“Yeah, I need a blaster pistol, preferably something small but still packs a punch.”

You pause, eyeing something out of the corner of your eye.

“And a vibroblade.”

Oh, hell yeah.

-------

Walking back in the direction of the speeder bikes, you turn the vibroblade over in your hands.

“Maker! This thing’s sick.” You try twirling it in your hand, giving it a toss, cringing as it flies sideways. “Um, no one saw that,” you mumble, picking it back up. “Guess I’ll need a little, uh, practice.”

Lost in your own amusement, you march around the corner into the alleyway, focused only on the viroblade in your hands.

“Hopefully, Cara and Din won’t tak-”

Wait.

Hold up.

Who are…?

“Hey!” you shout, throwing a hand on your hip, “I don’t know who you are, but those are not your bikes.”

You pause, cringing inwardly. You may own a weapon again, it’s still a pretty bad idea to smart-mouth strangers…

The blue Twi’lek male and a brown-haired human female, both cloaked in black, remain motionless, leaning against the bikes with their arms crossed.

“Uh,” you hesitate mid-stride, falling dead still. “…C-can I help you?”

The two strangers share a glance.

“It’s her?”

“It’s her.”

Oh.

…

OH SHIT.

You launch backwards, hand flying to your holster, but before you have time to even think, a blaster is trained on your head.

“Drop the blade,” the woman barks. “And carefully throw that blaster aside.”

“Shitshitshit,” you hiss through your teeth while slowly, cautiously obliging the woman’s demands.

Bounty hunters. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

No, no! You can’t- you won’t go back! Not for him!

“L-look, th-this has to be a misunderstanding-”

“Listen carefully,” the woman interrupts, speaking your full name aloud. “You’re the companion to the Mandalorian?”

Mandalorian… they’re… they’re not here for you?

You blink, mouth gaped open.

Oh, bloody hells!

What has Din gotten himself into?

“I am she,” you keep your hands pressed against the thighs of your legs. “But, specifically, which Mandalorian do you refer to? I know sev-”

“Stop being cute.” She marches over, grasping your upper arm with a steel grip.

“Hey!” you yelp against the fingers digging into your flesh.

“Against the wall.”

She pushes you towards it, sending you stumbling over your own feet. You press your back as tightly as you can against the wall, shifting your eyes in all directions for any possible escape…

Oh, kriff kriff what do you do what do you do-

“Listen carefully.” The woman takes a step back, crossing her arms carefully. As you stare into the eyes of what very well could be the reason for your immediate demise, you force your breathing to even itself out.

Stay calm.

Whatever it is, you can talk your way out of it.

They want Mando, not you.

“You assisted the Mandalorian in taking something that I must have back.”

Oh karabast.

They do want you.

“Whu-? Marek?” you blurt, mouth gaping open a bit. “Marek’s datachip?”

“It’s not Marek’s,” the woman’s voice turns harsh. “Marek is but an employee of a crime syndicate…”

“…On Nar Shaddaa.”

Your blood freezes.

…

Oh.

Oh no.

This….. this is bad.

If- if they recognize you…

You have to talk your way out.

“Listen,” your voice turns firm, commanding. “I barely know the Mandalorian. I met him on Taek. I know nothing about the chip or who he stole it for.”

“None of that matters.” The woman takes a step back. You try and hide your intense relief at the space she’s given you. You can’t appear weak, not right now.

“We only wish to have it returned.”

Somehow you seriously doubt that…

“We can cut a deal.” The statement tumbles out of your mouth before you even realize what it is you’re saying.

“The chip- it’s in his ship, the Razor Crest.”

Bloody hell if you know where it is! He wouldn’t tell you blasted anything! But if you can stall these two long enough… it will give Din and Cara time to figure out what’s going on and save your ass.

“Well-” the woman raises her eyebrow- “I suppose we know where we are going then.” She motions you towards the bike. “Drive, but keep in mind-” she waves her blaster- “this will be at you back.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you snort, “just all part of the business, right?”

Right…

-------

You slow the speeder bike to a halt on the side of the Razor Crest facing away from Kuill’s homestead. Though you originally whined to Din about the distance, you are now intensely grateful the Mandalorian kept the ship anchored way far off from the homestead.

Keenly aware there’s a blaster pointed at your back, you step up to the ramp of the ship with a gulp.

Locked door, of course.

Thank the Maker you’ve already hacked the system once before. This shouldn’t take long… unless you happen to make a few little- oops!- mistakes that cost time. As you walk up the ramp, inwardly, you begin cycling through the racing, rolling thoughts clambering around in your head.

“Stars! Where are you Din? They should have come back by now, found the speeder bikes gone… I drove slower on purpose. Do they know something’s wrong? Do they think I’m pranking them? Curse my mischievous nature! I bet they think I’m pranking them!”

“What are you doing?” the man harshly demands.

“Uh, I- uh- don’t have a… key on me.” You throw your hands up. “But wait! I can hack the system- no problem!” You nervously laugh.

They both share a glance.

“Fine. Hurry.”

You turn back around, smirking to yourself.

Time for a bit of stalling.

“I just have to pull on this-” Sparks.

“Re-wire this-” More sparks.

“Punch in this-” Fire.

“Get back!” The woman snarls, clamping the panel protecting the wiring closed to stop the flames from growing.

“Get. This. Door. Open.”

“Y-yes, sure, no problem.” You fling the panel back open and start back to work.

Oh stars…

You are able to stall no more than five minutes without raising suspicion. As you step back inside the Razor Crest, you feel absolutely sick to your stomach. Having these Nar Shaddaa syndicate members enter this ship, this home… it’s violating. This ship was a place of refuge, safety after your traumatic time on Taek. And here you are- with yet another new tangled mess.

“In the cockpit,” you bark, stepping towards it. You are yanked backwards.

“He goes first. Then you. Then me.”

Biting your lip, you slowly nod your head.

You lead them up and over to the pilot’s seat, sitting down and punching on all the buttons you can find. “It should be… ahh… here it is! Oh wait, no….”

“What?” the woman snarls, clearly growing very agitated with your obvious game-playing.

“The chip! It’s gone!” You fake a gasp. “Let me check down in the hold!”

Not waiting for any commands, you practically fall down the ladder into the hold, racing towards the far wall and punching at the buttons of Din’s holo display, feigning dismay.

“Gone! It’s- he must have it on him! Oh, karking hells!”

“Hmm.” Her face hardens. “How inconvenient.”

“Sure is!” You shrug, knocking the brim of your hat back. “Look- new plan. The Mandalorian- I’m sure you heard about how he surrendered for me… at Marek’s base.” You throw your hands out to the side.

Think, think, think.

“…So, uh, you hold me hostage. He’ll come.” You nod your head. “H-he’ll give the chip over. Especially if I talk to him.”

This- this is bad.

Stars! This couldn’t get much worse!

The woman angles her head, eyes boring straight into your own. “Hmm, he probably won’t surrender for you…”

“…But maybe he will for them.”

You blink.

Them.

You spin on your heel.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Hi,” Winta waves, placing the baby down on the floor.

“Are they bad guys?” Birdie grins, pointing at the woman’s blaster.

Things just got worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: @sana-katarn @barrissoffee77 @royalhandmaidens @dracos-jedi-marvel @sinnamon-bunn @theclonewarsbrokeme @obirain @beskar-boba @disneyjedi19 @kyjoraven @orla-dahl @babe-dont @jdjdjdididisisiei

a/n: YEAH SO THE STORY REALLY RAMPS UP FROM HERE

First things first, THANK YOU TO EVERY PERSON THAT LEFT A REVIEW ON THE LAST CHAPTER! Tumblr AND Ao3! Guys, I nearly CRIED at how sweet and kind they were! It REALLY pushed me, even through the challenging past few weeks, to write for YOU GUYS.

Guys, this is only half of what I was planning for chapter 6! As usual, the chapter grew OUT OF HAND! So the other half will be included with chapter 7, which, you'll be thankful to know, is already mapped out and ready to be typed up! After all, I did end here on a cliffhanger of sorts, so it'd be cruel to make you wait too terribly long! 😉 Let's just say chapter 7 is going to be a lot of FUN with DRAMA. (I might have laughed/cried my butt off when mapping it out...) And a lot of ANGST. 👀 I see you, my angst-loving fans. I'm here to D.E.L.I.V.E.R.

GUESSING GAME: A new character will appear in chapter 7! This character has been alluded to already in the story! Let's just say, it's NOT what you're expecting! Any guesses?

Last note, about two weeks ago, I did a clean up/edit of chapter one. As it was my first chapter, I didn't yet have a grasp on the tone/voice of the story. I cleaned it up to make it fit better with the following chapters.

ANYWAY, see you soon! Please leave feedback here or on Ao3 (wille_zarr). (Shoutout to @sana-katarn for inventing the term "hutt fudge" at my request. She's out here being the real MVP.)

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acmetraitor · 3 years

Text

the art of evasion

“You two did a lot together,” Hawkins says outside the coliseum in Rome, and that draws Jules out of her reminiscing, draws her away from the memory of Carmen’s victorious smirk when they finally slapped the cuffs on the boss of that smuggling operation. “What happened? I mean, why did she leave ACME?”

“...Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,” Jules manages to reply around the rising lump in her throat. “For now, let’s concentrate on tracking her down.”

It’s easier to dodge the question than to admit she has no idea.

Carmen was always a loose cannon, even back when she worked for ACME.

Once, on a stakeout in the dead of night, she and Jules trailed a suspect to a warehouse where the heads of a trafficking ring were temporarily hiding out. Carmen peeked inside to survey the situation while Jules called the Chief to send backup, but any teams were at least two hours away and the culprits were already in the process of clearing out.

“There’s no time,” Carmen concluded. “We have to catch these guys ourselves, now.”

“We can’t!” Jules hissed in protest. “There’s got to be at least ten of them in there!”

“Fourteen,” Carmen said. “But we have these.” She pulled out two pairs of night-vision goggles from her bag and shoved one into Jules’s hands. Then she dashed for the circuit breaker before Jules could stop her.

Once the lights went out, it was too late to turn back, so Jules went along with her partner’s crazy plan as her heart hammered in her throat the whole way. In the end, with the cover of darkness as their aid, they successfully neutralized all the suspects, but Carmen got a bullet graze wound to her shoulder because one trigger-happy goon got lucky.

After everything was over, Jules punched her in that shoulder. Carmen laughed through the pain.

That’s just who Carmen was. She knew she could do anything, she was an unstoppable force, and nobody could ever hope to rein her in. Not even Jules. So whatever reasons Carmen had for leaving ACME, she made that choice on her own, and everyone who blamed Jules for her partner’s betrayal honestly gave her too much credit.

Nothing Jules did could have made Carmen leave.

(Nothing Jules did could have made Carmen stay.)

Hawkins thinks he can do anything. He almost reminds Jules of Carmen in that sense, except Carmen didn’t think she could do anything, she knew it. And Jules knew it, too. Hawkins, though, is still an impulsive and overconfident rookie, and he doesn’t truly understand what he’s up against.

Jules cautions him in Cape Town, keeps him from breaking down the door because recklessness will only get them in trouble. But then Carmen leaves the scene in her chopper, and Hawkins is livid.

“What were you thinking, Jules?!” he cries. “Did you want her to get away?!”

He doesn’t really mean that, Jules knows, he’s just lashing out because he’s frustrated. But those words still hit her, somewhere deep inside.

So Jules dodges the question. She’s found herself doing that a lot with Hawkins.

What Carmen and Jules had wasn’t a romance.

They agreed on that from their very first kiss—Carmen was just doing what she wanted, and Jules wanted that, too. So they kissed, they fooled around, they made each other feel good, but the relationship was never serious. Sure, Jules was a little in love with Carmen, but loving Carmen also meant accepting that she was the type of person who could never be tied down to anyone.

So Carmen never opened up about herself, and Jules never asked her to. Jules never asked for anything more than what she got. Being Carmen’s partner was enough, and Jules was happy with their life together at ACME.

It never really occurred to her that maybe Carmen wasn’t.

Carmen had been MIA from ACME for a week when she announced the success of her very first heist via a video broadcast to the world. “I have stolen the Crown Jewels,” she proclaimed, and that was definitely Carmen on screen holding Cullinan I in her hand, her smug smile and twinkling eyes framed by a bright red fedora Jules had never seen her wear before. “And this is just the beginning. For I, Carmen Sandiego, am going to become the world’s greatest thief!”

The next morning, the Chief called Jules to her office, asked very seriously if Jules had ever noticed any signs that Carmen had been planning to defect. Jules told the truth: she hadn’t had a clue. Protocol demanded that Jules be taken off all her cases and thoroughly vetted anyway, but for what it was worth, Chief seemed to believe her.

Nobody else did, though.

“Maybe she and Sandiego had a fight,” her coworkers whispered amongst themselves, when they either didn’t know Jules could hear or didn’t care that she could. “There must be something Argent isn’t telling us. I mean, how couldn’t she know? She was her partner.”

Jules vowed to be the one to capture Carmen Sandiego, if only to prove to her peers that it wasn’t her fault. That just because she’d been Carmen’s partner didn’t mean she’d been anything more. She’d certainly never been Carmen’s confidant. Perhaps she’d never even been Carmen’s friend—

Except, Jules remembered: Carmen once took her to the top of the Eiffel Tower on one of their nights off, and kissed her breathless as they watched the Paris lights. Carmen once agreed to try all of Jules’s favorite restaurants in Chengdu, persevering even as her face flushed red because Jules liked her food much spicier than Carmen did. Carmen once went undercover as a musician for a case, and for a moment as she performed on stage, strumming her guitar and singing a love song in her native Brazilian Portuguese, she stared right at Jules’s spot in the audience and for those beautiful three seconds, it felt like the song was just for her.

...Okay, so maybe Jules was more than a little in love with Carmen.

(And maybe the idea of locking Carmen behind bars was just as painful as her coworkers’ censure, if not more.)

“You’re practically burning holes in your journal,” Hawkins tells Jules, during the plane ride to Germany right after retrieving the Mayan calendar. “What are you thinking about?”

Jules looks up from the entries she was reading: the ones from the mission where they retrieved the Mok’o fish gong. “I’m remembering the wolf statue in Quebec, and that Sorbonne poster in Paris.” The proof that Carmen Sandiego donated a lot of money to causes she cared about. “There is some good in Carmen,” Jules murmurs, an echo of what she said back in Mexico.

“There was some good in Carmen Sandiego,” Hawkins says. “I’ll believe that much. But Jules, she’s not your partner anymore. The past is the past. You need to focus on now, on this case.”

“I am focused on this case,” Jules insists. “If...if I can just figure out Carmen’s reasons for doing all this, I can figure out what she’ll do next.”

“Figure out...” Hawkins repeats, and something seems to click into place in his mind. “You don’t actually know why she left ACME, do you?”

Jules might as well admit it to him now. “I really don’t. When it happened, it surprised me as much as anybody.”

She’s half-expecting Hawkins to express disbelief like everyone else: How couldn’t you know? You were Carmen’s partner. But instead, he just cocks his head to the side and asks, “In that case, what makes you so sure she even had a reason?”

“...It’s Carmen,” Jules says, unable to produce a better answer. “There must have been a reason.”

Hawkins doesn’t really seem convinced at all, but he doesn’t push the subject any further.

Jules appreciates that.

Jules knew Carmen better than anyone else did. That didn’t necessarily mean she knew Carmen well, but at the very least, she was positive that Carmen wanted to make the world a better place. Whenever Carmen had talked about conserving the environment, about preserving world cultures, about learning from the past so that we may improve the future, there was real, undeniable passion there.

(If nothing else, Jules certainly knew Carmen’s passion.)

But the Carmen who Jules knew, the Carmen who had wanted nothing more than to do good—how in the world had she become the Carmen who stole, who laughed at the law, who left taunting and sometimes cruel messages behind?

Hello Julia. Still trying to prove yourself?

Maybe you’ve lost your edge, Jules.

You’ll learn, Agent Hawkins, that Julia can get quite frustrated at times. Not to mention opinionated.

The remarks hurt, honestly, but they also just didn’t make sense. Carmen hadn’t cared enough about Jules to stay, obviously, but...she had cared. Jules knew Carmen leaving ACME had never been about her, yet now, Carmen was acting as if she had something personal against Jules all of a sudden.

It’s almost as if, a voice whispered in the back of Jules’s mind, Carmen is trying to make you hate her.

And when Jules thought about it like that, she realized: if the Carmen she knew had, for whatever reason, believed she could somehow better the world by making herself into the villain...

She would have.

One hundred percent, she would have.

“Maybe she masterminded these thefts so the whole world could benefit,” Jules ponders aloud, after Carmen escapes her and Hawkins in the lost city. Even as she says it, she knows there’s no proof. There’s nothing there but her own intuition, and maybe too much hope, and a love for Carmen that will never truly be able to leave her heart.

Hawkins doesn’t believe it. The Chief probably doesn’t either. And even if Jules ever caught up to Carmen, even if Jules ever managed to pin her down long enough to ask if her theory was correct, Carmen would never answer her honestly.

That’s just who Carmen is. And Jules will just have to live with that.

“I still think Carmen Sandiego is a bad apple. Rotten to the core,” Hawkins says, because he and Jules don’t agree on a lot of things and will likely never agree on Carmen. But even so, his can-do attitude as the Chief reports Carmen’s next heist is contagious, invigorating. It honestly makes Jules feel better.

Carmen would never answer Jules honestly. But there is still the possibility that Jules could find out the truth for herself.

So, with the chase back on and her confidence renewed, Jules turns to Shadow and smiles.

#treasures of knowledge #jules argent #shadow hawkins #carmen sandiego #julethief #2001 julethief to be precise cuz buddy i been riding this ''enemies who used to be partners'' ship since i was 8 #but also jules & hawkins being bros because i love their relationship too it's so fun #my writing

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

Text

( gif, again, by @barissoffee ! )

— STARJOCKEY & CO. ; 2 of ?

summary: the bad batch gets a pilot, and they get a mission. acid rain happens. hunter & zip still don’t get along. no one is surprised. pairing: twi’lek!reader (zip nickname) x hunter word count: 3.2k a/n: pumping this out so i can write some hunter/reader content tonight to follow this character arc! we love some good ol’ action adventure acid rain! also, don’t try and neutralize acid with water, kids. that’s not how that works. but this is star wars, and it works here.

previous chapter | next (coming soon!)

It’s too early for this.

Despite having a steaming thermos of caf in your hands, you still have to pull your eyes open wide and try not to sway on your feel as you remind yourself this debrief is important. Very important.

Very early, but very important

Sleep, too, especially after the amount of hours you poured into repairs on the Havoc Marauder last night, is equally as important — but the debrief takes priority. For now.

Maybe you can bribe D-M1 to pilot for a bit once you take off. Just so you can plant your head on the dash and doze for a minute. A loth-cat nap.

Ugh -- a nap sounds good right about now.

You take a long sip of caf and rub your face as Cody continues to speak, gesturing to the glowing blue holomap that casts a glow across the entire room.

Through the thick of the swirling mission debrief, Hunter is staring.

Well, more glaring, really.

(Can you blame him? His senses have been cranked to 12 since he was made, and still, he can’t ignore the smell of your morning beverage of choice. All he can smell is your caf and the elaborator creamer you’d put in it. It smells like cocoa and star-cherries and caf and it’s all Hunter can smell. It’s giving him a damn headache.)

You’re beginning to wonder if that’s all his stupid -- albeit handsome -- face does. The scowl there digs in deep, and you have to try your hardest not to roll your eyes as you take another sip of your caf.

He’d walked in here, hauled the helmet off, and you’d realized Cody was right when he said they didn’t look like the other clones you knew. They were all different -- higher cheekbones on Crosshair and a sharper profile on Hunter. Tech was small and boggly-eyed, while Wrecker towered over everyone in the room with his round ol’ dome.

They were nothing like the others from the 212th.

Your lekku twitch, swatting a bit, as your attention moves from challenging Hunter’s glare back to the debrief at hand.

Hunter, as he pries his eyes away from your cock-hipped posture, wonders how in hell a civvie like you managed to land this job. He’d much rather have a reg flying him and his brothers around than a ex-criminal and her junkyard droid.

... He heaves an inward sigh.

Maybe he’s being a dick.

Cody trusts you. Hunter can at least try...

... Right?

Hunter diverts his attention back to Cody’s words, ignoring the unsettling idea of being civil with you. “What’s the status of Yanibar’s alliance?”

“None,” Cody drops a hand to his hip, resting it on his holster, “Neutral -- but it lays between the Outer Rim and Unknown Regions. The inhabitants tend to be those running from things like the war. But, I’m sure the Separatists will have their eye on the space ports for GAR officials. It’ll be basic recon. You fly in under the radar, scope out the manufacturing lab on Yanibar, and get out.”

Cody pauses, takes in the affirmative nods of the room, then continues:

“And lucky for all of you -- that ship in the hangar has no Republic tags. You’re gonna be a ghost.”

“No Republic tags?” Hunter asks, dark brow lifting.

“We’ll be off the books -- Seps will think we’re probably just smugglers,” you shrug, explaining as Tech hums quietly at the realization, “Knowing them, they won’t wanna start anything with locals. Especially if they’re break neutrality laws and mining a planet in the grey zone.”

“Exactly.”

You cop a smirk Cody’s way. “Now I know why you kept that bucket of bolts.”

“Repo’s have their uses,” the Commander shirks, “And civvie pilots, too.”

Now this is all starting to make sense. They wanted you to play the part -- and with any luck, the boys in the back cargo hold will go unnoticed as you carry on on Yanibar.

D-M1 pipes up from her spot below the holo-map. “Zip plays a wonderful smuggler. Four varying counts of weapons, drug and wildlife trade have made her --”

“Alright, alright,” we swat at the droid’s bobbing head, “I swear, who ever programmed you should be shot.”

The droid makes a sound akin to a laugh. Cody snorts.

Hunter ignores the distrust settling under his skin.

“Everyone got the plan?” Cody asks, looking around the command center. When he’s met with silence, he nods to dismiss the Bad Batch and their new pilot, “Alright. Head out. Comm in if there’s any trouble.”

“You got it, Commander.”

“Hunter?” Cody calls, “Zip?”

You both linger in the doorway.

“Play nice, yea?” he grins, “And good luck.”

-- ↯ --

You realize, six hours later, as you hang yourself out of the landing ramp mid-flight, trying desperately to get a hold on Crosshair who’s trying to get a hold on Hunter, that Cody jinxed you.

He most definitely jinxed you.

-- ↯ --

The mission had started just fine, after all -- the ride was fast, the travel checkpoints passed with no trouble, and you’d entered Yanibar’s airspace on a pretty mild day. No questions were asked when you dropped the Havoc Marauder down fifteen klicks outside of the nearest space port. The boys off-loaded and headed for the manufacturing plant.

The landscape gave enough cover as if it.

Large, sweeping stone outcroppings punctured the dunes and climbed high towards the sky, casting long jagged shadows in the golden sand. Creatures moved with the shade, relaxing along the cooling surfaces as the suns moved high in the sky.

Parked in a ravine and hidden from sight, you’d spent the first two hours monitoring the location of the Batch; every half hour, Tech would radio in giving an update on their location. By hour four, they were close. By hour five, the line had gone silent.

And you were starting to get nervous.

Their geo-coordinates marked them about 30 klicks East -- in the estimated area of the manufacturing lab they were slotted to recon.

By hour five and a half, the sun was disappearing. Slowly, with clouds shrouding the sky, but... the spaces between the brown clouds were turning a muddied color. You leaned, squinting over the dashboard with a confused look, before moving to the back of the ship and punching open the landing ramp.

When you stepped into the hot, mid-day heat, you realized exactly what was happening. You kicked yourself for not realizing sooner.

D-M1′s the one that made a panicked sound.

“We’ve got a problem!”

You were fast, bounding up the ramp and skidding inside as you slam the lock for the door on your way to the cockpit -- in a flash, you’d started up the engine and flicked alive the comms.

“Boys,” you yelped, pulling the headset on over your lekku, “We’ve gotta get a move on, now.”

Hunter, elbows deep in a dune with his eyes plastered to a pair of specs, cursed. Your voice crackled from his helmet, resting between him and Crosshair, and Hunter was almost inclined to ignore it.

But, the sniper tapped his wrist without looking from his scope and spoke.

“Go ahead, Zip.”

“Acid rain storm,” you blurted out, leaning as D-M1 points at the meteorological gauge in her little hands in a panic. The radar swept across the map once and showed the brewing storms, “About five klicks South of me.”

You knew acid rain storms. The planet you’d grown up on had them enough -- and even Coruscant had them. But, the color of these clouds...

Your father always used to say, the dirtier the cloud, the quicker the shroud.

Y’know, like death shrouds?

“-- Shit.”

Hunter was hoping that feeling in his gut was nothing. He should have listened to it.

“She couldn’t a’ told us sooner?” Hunter gritted out, pushing up from his elbows in a flash. Not entirely fair, but damn. This was not going according to plan. First the patrol droids and now --

A deep bellow of thunder rolled in the distance, then.

And now this.

Crosshair inhaled sharply and proceeded to silently snap the attached scope from his rifle in one swift, practiced move. He’s not gettin’ in the middle of this.

“Unless you boys wanna melt your pretty armor,” came your voice, crackling alive in Hunter’s helmet as he pulled it over his head, “I’d say we hurry this little play date up --”

And that’s the precise moment Wrecker snapped one of three patrol droids over his thigh, much to Tech’s despair, and sent the entire op down the shitter.

You found the squadron, then, pinned in a rain of blaster-fire, trading shots with the handful of B1′s -- their shots lit up the kicked up sand from the winds, beginning to howl as the dark brown clouds to the South began to loom over the once sunny dunes.

“Bring it down low, Deemi!” you hollered, throwing your headset as you moved to the back of the ship, “Get ready to go when they’re loaded on!”

“Got it!”

You punched the ramp, pulling your green tinted goggles down over the slop of your nose as the door opened. Taking a braced step out, you were fast to spy the boys as the Havoc Marauder began to lower itself slowly.

Then, a blaster bolt skimmed your head -- it leaves a charred sizzzzle against the matte black paint job of the repo’d ship.

You leaned back, tugging your pistol from you hip and firing a quick volley back at the droid who’d aimed for your head. After three shots, you nailed the B1 unit down, and turned your attention back to the Bad Batch.

You’re about to wave Deemi down, to tell her to plant the ramp on a rising dune then, when an entire squadron’s worth of battle droids lumbered from the back entrance of the manufacturing plant and began laying down fire on you and the ship.

“SWING IT AROUND!” Hunter screamed, waving you off.

Deemi listened, and you fell back through the door as the ship pulls away fast from the oncoming fire. Your back hit the navicomputer’s paneling hard as the ship banked left, and your breath flew from your lungs as you did, gritting your teeth tightly at the impact.

You scrambled, quickly, to watch from the open side-ramp as the entirety of the plant came into view.

It’s huge.

A main control tower rises high in the sky, above the three conveyor bays that spark through the small slitted windows three stories up. The walls are encroached by dunes, and the desert threatens to swallow it up.

As Deemi banked wide, you planted your boot on the doorway as you watched the firefight disappear around the edge of the massive building.

And that’s when it started to rain.

You hissed loudly then, immediately drawing a hand back when a fat droplet of brownish water hits your skin. Cursing as you swiped away the acidic liquid, you scowled at the welt it left behind.

And if the from the drop in temperature was any indication, it was about to pour.

“Deemi,” you screamed, “I’m gonna need you to speed it up!”

You were fast to stagger back from the doorway, moving to haul the bottom of your flight suit up -- the sleeves, tied neatly over your belt, are yanked onto your arms and over the black compression top. You zipped the collar up tight and moved to the storage built into the bunk atop the navi-console.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, digging around. You knew you saw a poncho somewhere and -- “Aha!”

It’s not much, but it at least covered your lekku. If anything it will keep the sensitive skin of the head-tails safe enough for a few minutes. You hauled the black, weatherproof poncho over your head and ignore the musty smell coming from it -- just in time, too, as Deemi had propelled the engines into a kick for the banking maneuver and the Bad Batch was in sight again.

The moment you and Deemi get in range, the skies opened up.

It starts raining so hard you could hardly see -- and the headlamps of the boys illuminated the muddied downpour a few feet ahead of them. Deemi bought the ship down low enough that the ramp connects with the tip of a dune, and you staggered a bit on the impact.

The ship’s lights cast bright cones of light into the acid rain storm, and Tech is the first one through the doors. You curse, ignoring the tingling sting of the rain splashing on your face, and call out to the others.

“GET ON!”

Wrecker is next, passing you and launching himself through the doors with a curse -- the droids have seemed to back off, leaving the squadron to book it as the acidity begins to gnaw at their armor. You can hear a commotion behind you, and assume it’s Tech snagging the gallon of filtered water stored under the refresher sink to dowse himself and the heavy artillery man.

Next is Crosshairs, who you reached out to as he planted a boot on the edge of the ramp -- without warning and rather suddenly, the ship gave a terrible moan. Then, unceremoniously, the dune the ramp had been perched upon tumbled downwards into a slip of mud.

The landscape was melting, and so was your poncho.

In a panic, you grabbed Crosshair’s vambrace and barely managed to snag the ramp’s guard rail; in a flash, Crosshair had Hunter’s hand secured in his own. Good thing, too, since the Sergeant’s boots now hung thirty feet in the air where the tip of the towering dune used to be.

And that’s where you find yourself now.

Cursing, you strain to readjust your grip on the railing as rain runs down your chin. It stings like a bitch -- but you can’t help but think the pull of your arm is a little worse.

You curse sharply in Ryl, and scream Wrecker’s name so harshly the trooper’s heart nearly stops. His helmeted head whips around.

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE!”

Your knuckles, beneath the thick flight gloves have gone from a warm peach to a pale yellow -- the strain there is only relieved when Wrecker finally moves to the other side of the ramp and grabs Crosshair’s upper arm; together you both haul the two troopers up onto the ramp as Deemi’s banks backwards -- a few moments too late -- and sends a pile of acid rain soaked bodies tumbling back into the belly of the ship.

The droid closes the ramp as she banks away from the manufacturing plant.

You don’t even have time to celebrate the sheer survival of the stunt -- you’re instead stripping off the poncho that’s now got Republic credit sized holes eaten into it. You whip off your goggles, and curse again -- your flight suit is starting to sizzle and the acid on your face hurts and --

Suddenly, you take a whole bucket of water to the face and it all stops.

Tech, standing there clutching the now empty bucket, looks rather sheepish.

Your shoulders immediately sag in relief, and the troopers behind you are the next victims of Tech’s hose-down. Deemi, from the front of the ship, asks if she should drop into hyperspace and the entire cabin gives a dejected chorus of yes at the same time.

You wipe the neutral water, running over your nose and chin, from your face as you sit down in one of the chairs by the navicomputer.

Hunter drops his hands to his waist, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, and opens his mouth to speak.

You, instead, cut him off with a single raised finger and a pointed look.

“You,” you snap, “Don’t get to say a word to me until my face is not swollen and Tech can confirm I don’t have acid rain poisoning. Understood?”

Hunter just snaps his mouth shut. You have welts down your cheeks from where your goggles met your skin. Your lekku, too, don the same blistered orange marks. Guilt suddenly washes over him, only for a second. He’d gotten off easy. The acid rain had only eaten through the first layer of his composite armor.

The whole cabin, suddenly incredibly uncomfortable, decides to go their separate ways. Hunter, though, doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as you stand and inspect the now shredded flight suit that hangs off of you. You move across the cabin quickly, not bothering to avoid him.

You slam your shoulder into his and keep moving.

-- ↯ --

You don’t have acid rain poisoning.

Which is good, you guess.

But, the residuals still hurt -- bad.

You throw yourself into the far-too-small ship refresher for a rinse off -- Wrecker was nice enough to insist you get to go first (“For savin’ our skins an’ all, Zippy!”) and you can’t help but snort at Tech’s face when you emerge in a clean flight suit. He looks worried.

You’ve got welts all over your face.

“I think it’s a cute look,” you jab playfully, leaning to inspect your reflection in the polished chrome door, “Don’t you, Tech?”

“Looks painful.”

Crosshairs laughs.

The welts on your lekku are. You’d had to smother the startled yelps with your hand when the hot water made contact. You hope the boys hadn’t heard.

(Hunter certainly had, and he wasn’t even in the lower level of the ship. He was up top, ignoring the dull ache in his arm and pretending he didn’t need to rinse off. It had sparked a little worry in him, though, and he’d casually muscled his helmet on to do some digging on the holo-net about potential complications from injured lekku. The results were... not ideal.)

You massage the point on the back of your neck where your headwrap normally clasps together, keeping the animated little appendages under control and out of the way. You’ve forgone it now, and Crosshair watches as you sigh quietly as you rub the tension point.

You look different without it. A bit softer.

“It doesn’t feel great, but,” you shrug, shoulders a bit more relaxed than before, “I’ll be fine. Definitely the worst acid bath I’ve had in a while.”

“You’ve been caught in those storms before?” Tech asks, surprised. He’s placing his helmet down, stripping his armor as he speaks.

“I grew up in the South Tann Province,” you explain, “The jetstreams would carry polluted air through during the summer months, and sometimes the rain would be bad -- tarkona taka, my dad used to call it. But, that, back on Yanibar? That was worse than anything I’d ever experienced when I was a little girl.”

“Tarkona taka,” Tech sounds out, “What does it mean?”

“Brown weather -- or, storm, actually,” you grin, “Tak is brown, and tarkona is storm.”

“Yeah, well,” Wrecker supplies, muscling around through the barely stocked fridge in the far corners of the meager living quarters. Behind the microscopic kitchenette lay a hall of four bunks. Wrecker closes the door looking dejected, “I can’t wait to be back on Coruscant. No brown rain there.”

“On the lower levels there is!” you call out, spurring Wrecker’s shoulders to sag.

You move towards the ladder, planting a boot on the bottom rung when Crosshair’s calls out.

“Careful, Zip.”

“He still pissy?” you ask, loud enough that you know Hunter can hear, “Shame.”

The three members of the Bad Batch snort quietly as you move up the ladder anyway.

They like you.

And Hunter, still, doesn’t.

#bad batch imagine #tcw imagine #hunter x reader #clone trooper hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #star wars imagine #starjockey & co #hehehehehHHEHEHEHEHEH

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missfay49 · 3 years

Text

Just Speak

Summary: Janus and Remus being domestic. Well, as domestic as they can be.

Warnings: body horror, space, aliens, suggestive content, food, poison mention, venom mention, talk of medical procedures

Word Count: ~2060

AO3

Down Time

“Say it. Say it, pleeeaze? Please, please, please, please-”

Remus is crouching in front of the kitchen table, only the top of his head and his fingertips visible from where he’s gripping the edge. His eyes are wide and teeth bared.

Janus is sitting across from him, elbows on the table, face in his hands, staring at Remus through his fingers. He looks tired and more than a little disturbed.

“Remus, honestly? I don’t know if I can take another one. Do I enjoy a good philosophical debate now and then? Yes. That’s not this. You’re trying to destroy me!” He squints and sits up, lowering his arms. “It’s rude.”

“Hee! Last one, I prom-ise.” Remus rolls the ‘r’ and jumps from his crouch onto the table. By the time he lands, he’s an eight-legged Boston Terrier, bouncing and giving Janus authentic puppy eyes - several of them.

Janus releases a shuddering sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth, a thousand-yard stare overtaking him.

“Pinky,” he asks. “Are you pondering... what I’m pondering?”

Terrier-Remus erupts into a full-grown side again, standing on top of the table. Janus leans back, looking up at him and grimacing.

“YES!” He cackles in triumph, then pauses, confused. “I mean, no!” He smirks again.

“Unless, of course, you are also pondering the expansion of the universe and its correlation to black holes, because if matter disappears into the black holes of our universe, yet we continue to grow, then that implies not only that pocket universes are forming on the other side of those black holes, but that our own universe is also a pocket dimension formed on the other side of a black hole we cannot see - in a universe above our own - supplying our universe with matter at such a rate that we cannot lose it fast enough?! And are you further pondering whether life first formed in our universe or the one above ours, and if it formed there first, does that mean that they put us here on purpose? Are they watching us? Are we just an experiment to them, CURSED,” he screeched. “-to struggle for the sick curiosity of an ancestral yet alien race that may decide to terminate us at any moment?!”

Remus stands over him, hands clutching the air, panting at the end of his monologue. Janus stares up at him, mouth agape. Logan laughs.

Logan?

Janus turns slowly, reluctant to take his eyes off the spectacle before him. Logan is sitting cross-legged on the couch behind them, apparently having watched the whole thing.

“Hilarious.” He puts a hand to his chin. “The odds of Janus pondering that exact same thing at the same time are preposterous. Excellent joke, Remus.”

“Spaghetti!”

“That was not a joke - it was an existential crisis!” Janus yells at the both of them.

“I am not sure why it should cause any distress.” Logan says evenly. “While it is technically possible for that scenario to be true, it is not more true now than it was before you were aware of it. And there is literally nothing we can do about it, given our species’ current technological progress.”

While Logan speaks, Remus climbs down, sits at the table, and conjures a plateful of piano wire covered in marinara. He’s spinning a fork into the mess, nodding sagely all the while. Janus watches him take a crunchy bite.

“This is why Virgil left, you know.” Janus simpers, summoning a glass of�� soup.

“Oh, boo, Janny.” Remus speaks out of a second mouth he’s just added to his shoulder. It’s grin belies something sinister. “He left for much worse reasons than that!”

Janus sighs into his wine. Logan walks over to join them at the table, summoning a notepad and pencil.

“Remus, could you describe what is happening to your teeth right now? I’m curious.”

“Absolutely!”

On a Mission

“Remus? Darling, where are you?” Janus calls from the kitchen. A shape appears to the side, just catching the corner of his eye. Remus is inexplicably soaking wet.

“Ah, there you are.” Janus claps his hands together. “Remus, dear, did you place this giant terrarium here just off the kitchen?” Remus peers into a thick jungle sprouting out where the oven used to be.

“Sounds like me, but I don’t remember. Are there dangerous creatures in it?”

“If the shrieks are any indication, undoubtedly.”

“Then, yes!” Remus shimmies, shaking off the water. Janus admires the spray, smiling.

“That’s exactly what I wanted, thank you. Come along, now, we’ve got specimens to collect.” With a flourish, Janus twirls around and strides into the foliage. Remus snaps his fingers, donning a stained and battered explorer’s outfit, equally as wet as before, and leaps in after him shouting something about ‘smashing!’.

Working Late

Remus tiptoes down the hallway, leaving a trail of flour-based footprints behind him. He’s dusted halfway up his shins with the stuff. He slows and stops when he sees the light still on under his target’s doorway. Janus is usually asleep by now. He twists the knob, willing the hinges to squeal with their utmost spooky capacity.

The bed is empty and neatly made. Janus is at his desk instead, cape and hat hanging off the back of the chair. His gloves are nowhere to be seen. There’s a pen still upright in his hand, but his head rests on his arm and he’s fast asleep. Even the noise doesn’t stir him.

Looming over his shoulder, Remus examines what was keeping him up so late. Small stoppered vials full of pale liquids are lined up in a specially-made wooden crate. Latex gloves, wash cloths, and a mask are discarded atop a metal tray. A pair of safety goggles are resting on Janus’ head.

Half the vials are affixed with permanent labels in a clean handwritten script. The rest just have sticky notes and scribbled words.

Taxine alkaloids, Taxus brevifolia

Abrus precatorius

“Oo hoo hoooo!” Remus claps excitedly as black tentacles tear through his clothing. They wrap around Janus and lift him from the chair with surprising grace. Janus only startles for a moment, settling back down when he recognizes the feel of the limbs surrounding him.

“I’m nearly finished,” he murmurs. Remus just presses him down into the bed, tendrils pulling down the blankets. As the tentacles pull away, Janus shivers; nothing but his boxer briefs remain on him, the rest having vanished somewhere between the bed and the desk. He pulls the blankets up tight as Remus perches on the footboard. The tentacles are slowly slurping back into his body.

“Prenez une petite mort. Your nightmares are more interesting when you get more sleep.” Remus grins wide, revealing rows of shiny, dagger-like teeth. A tentacle passes by the desklamp and hits the switch. In the darkness, he sounds ravenous.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay right by your side…”

“Fine. Goodnight, Remus.”

Janus sleeps soundly knowing nothing will get past his bodyguard tonight.

Almost Ready

“What scent should I use?” Remus has brought three different perfume bottles for Janus to choose from. “Ozone, battery acid, or meat?”

“Oo, tough call...” Janus deadpans, focusing on tying a bow onto the crate just so. “Sure you don’t have bloody mouse-y with a dash of hot sauce?” He slaps a hand over his own mouth when he realizes what he’s said.

“A classic! You got it, Santa-snakey.” Remus snaps his fingers. The first three bottles vanish, and a fourth appears. It’s filled with a thick, bright red paste.

“For the love of Liza Minnelli, do not spray that in here.”

The Gift

Logan sits unsuspecting in the living room having a cup of tea and reading an article about Maria Skłodowska-Curie on his phone. The dark duo appear out of thin air on either side of him, the rustle and movement of the couch his only clues, except… Logan puts his tea down.

“Remus, what is that smell?”

“Best not to think about it too hard,” Janus interjects. “Here.”

Janus holds a hand out before Logan, a mysterious shape underneath a black cloth. He flings the cloth away dramatically to reveal a present wrapped in gold-foil paper and a black silk ribbon. Logan blinks at the surprise.

“This wrapping is quite aesthetically pleas- oof!”

Remus drops a ten-pound box in Logan’s lap, knocking his phone to the ground. Janus deftly moves his gift out of the way. The box is wrapped in yesterday’s paper and tied in a series of reef knots. The top facing article features the latest alligator attack suffered by yet another “Florida Man”.

“Thanks!” Logan squeaks out. “I will just open this first, if you don’t mind, Janus?” The other side nods.

Logan carefully unties the knots and opens the box - the cake box. Because inside is a pale blue frosted cake with rock candy cutting through the side.

“It is beautiful. Is it meant to resemble blue agate?” Logan carefully lifts the cake out of the box and places it on the table.

“It’s meant to resemble a vagina! It’s a vageode cake! I made it last night.”

“Is this another reference I need to learn?” Logan asks them both, but Janus just shrugs while Remus pokes holes in the cake and laughs.

“Mine next,” Janus reminds him.

“Ah, yes.” Logan accepts the gold package Janus hands him and undoes the bow with one pull. Underneath the foil is a smooth wooden crate holding eight vials.

“Oh! ‘Nerium oleander’. ‘Atropa belladonna’.” Logan starts reading off the labels. “Poisons?”

“And venoms-s-s.” Janus says low. “So you can help Thomas’ competitors- I mean, his fellow actors, take a well deserved break. Or, you know, develop life-saving antivenoms, or whatever. Your choice.”

“Thank you? I am not going to poison Thomas’ colleagues.”

“You can test them on me!” Remus winks at him.

“Surely that won’t be necessary. Although, testing does provide a lot of data.” Logan looks thoughtful for a moment. “Say, do you think- wait, no, that’s unethical.”

“Who cares about ethics, you’re not a doctor! Tell me tell me!” Remus bounces on the cushion, making a horrible sucking sound with each rebound.

“Well, I would need to do some research first. Is it still considered an autopsy if the patient is alive?” Logan picks his phone off the ground and starts opening tabs.

“Wait!” He stops himself. “I’ve got your gifts upstairs. I didn’t know when you would be popping in. I’ll be right back.”

Logan leaves the two sitting on the couch. Janus preens.

“Another highly successful encounter. Do you think he’s caught on to our devious plan, yet?” He smirks at Remus.

“Definitely not. What was the plan again?”

Janus tsks.

“Our very evil plan to befriend the nerd under the guise of traditional holiday celebrations, reconcile all the sides with his help, and thereby help Thomas achieve self-actualization? You know, the ultimate plan?” He squints at Remus. “Did we not go over the plan?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Then why did you make that cake?”

“Cause we harvested all those poisons and I wanted to try my hand at creating a vagina!” Remus tears a chunk of cake off and starts to eat it. Blueberry filling starts to pour out.

“You know they’re not blue, right?”

“Maybe not the ones you’ve seen.” Crumbs are falling everywhere. Janus withholds any more questions to prevent a bigger mess and texts a warning to Logan not to eat the poisoned cake.

At that moment, the front door swings open. The pair on the couch freeze. Roman and Virgil start loudly carrying in armfuls of groceries, complaining about the lack of snow.

“Patton, we’re back!”

Footsteps upstairs are rapidly approaching. Janus nods to Remus.

“That’s our cue.” They stand up as one.

“Hey!” Virgil shouts. “What are you two doing here?!”

“Villains! We’re being invaded by villains!” Roman cries out, rushing into the living room.

“Now, Remus!” Janus drops out of sight with a swirl of his cape just in time to avoid the explosion of glitter as Remus’ form erupts like a balloon.

When Patton comes downstairs, Roman is standing in the middle of the room spitting out neon green glitter with his sword drawn, and Virgil is ranting about perimeter security and motion detectors, floor sensors and alarms.

Logan comes down a moment later carrying two gift bags.

“Hm.” His phone buzzes.

The cake is a lie.

Come visit anytime.

@sanderssidesgiftxchange @on-and-on-we-go-forever

17 notes · View notes

openheart12 · 4 years

Note

Hi, yes, hello beautiful! Can you write a fic where MC accidentally sends Ethan her entire fanfic folder by mistake 😂🤣

How To Get Away With Fanfiction

I’m reliving my embarrassment 😭 but it is done and idk wtf happened with this lmao. This is also to make up for earlier kmjhygfd

Only tagging @ao719 @oofchoices @loveellamae @burnsoslow because no one else should have to read this unless they click on the read more and if they do... god bless. And thank you to Maroe for helping me come up with some of these ideas!

It had been a long day at work when Dr. Gertrude-Sue Claws made her way home to do the one thing that relaxed her; writing fanfiction.

She had thought of the perfect idea for Spirit and Rainbow Dash and her fingers flew across the keyboard.

There was something about the multi colors in his mane and tail that drew him to her. He lived by the phrase, “hump ‘em and dump ‘em,” which he planned on doing with Rainbow Dash, but not without consent because horse jail wasn’t fun. He had heard the horror stories from his human friends, Kurns and Bryce.

“Rainbow Dash,” he neighed.

“Spirit…” She neighed back in response, she knew all about his...extracurricular activities. He was the biggest fuck horse out of the herd. Ever since Rain had died from drowning, god bless, he hadn’t been the same. It was also why he paid more attention to Rainbow Dash because she had Rain in the first part of her name.

“Let’s do this,” he smirked with his horse mouth.

“Fine…” She turned her back to him as he reared on his hind legs and mounted her, letting out a series of neighs.

She laughed silently to herself before moving on her Owen Hunt fic and she knew how much she was going to enjoy this one especially.

Owen was walking through the halls when he saw five women stalking towards him like cats, one even had whiskers drawn on her face. “Anitah with the h, get him!” He heard one of them command and watched as she came up to him, kicking him in no man's land. He felt them drag him into an empty exam room.

“MAROE! You got the chainsaw?”

“Nah bruh, Bears and Rams were in charge of that,” she explained.

Anything but Krista, cocked her half shaved eyebrow at Burns and Ella. “Y’all got the chainsaw?”

“No, but I have the cream for the burn I’m about to inflict,” Burns snickered to herself at her own joke, the others joining in before getting back to business.

“Burns, Ella, go scope out the cafeteria for some good food because I can’t kill in good faith on an empty stomach and as me and Ella say, we always get food first,” Anything but Krista said, turning her attention to the two people left, throwing them both a knife. Then proceeded to stab Owen numerous times, but making sure not to hit any major organs yet.

“We need a blender,” Anitah with the h announced.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Anything but Krista and MAROE said at the same time, looking at each other and bursting into laughter at the jinx.

“If that was making a human smoothie, then yes. We’ll show him that no one messes with Derek Christopher Shepherd,” Anitah with the h said smugly, pulling a blender out from behind her back and plugging it into the wall.

“You...you pulled that out of your jacket?” MAROE asked in a surprising tone.

“Y’all don’t keep blenders in yours?” Anitah with the h asked as if that wasn’t common, but it was good to know that she was always prepared.

Suddenly, the walkie talkie came to life, “Team Bears/Rams to Team CA, what y’all want from here? Over and out.”

“Team CA to Team Bears/Rams, we want CookOut. Over and out.” Anything but Krista responded. “It’s about time y’all tried a little piece of heaven,” she looked at Anitah with the h and MAROE.

“That’s a negative ghost rider, the closest CookOut is on the other side of the country. Over and out.”

“Well you better get on your way because you two also need to try a little piece of heaven, we’ll save the good stuff for when you get back. Over and out.” The trio resumed their slice and dice game, taking a short break to play Choices because the latest chapter of The Nanny Affair had just been released and even Owen wasn’t going to keep them away from Sam Dalton.

A couple hours later, Burns and Ella arrived with the food, handing out their respective trays to their respective orderers, they were able to keep the milkshakes from melting by their cold hearts.

“Ahhh gimme my milkshake,” Anything but Krista snatched it from Burns’ hand, earning a slap on her hand from her adoptive mother and a threat of taking away her pony...again.

“Yooo this shake hits different,” Ella exclaimed.

“You could even say that it slaps,” MAROE added making her squeak.

“It’s the one good thing North Carolina has to offer for me,” Anything but Krista chimed in, fist bumping Anitah with the h because the struggle was real. The cows really did outnumber the people, they just hoped that there wouldn’t be a cow revolution because that would be awful except the yeehaw folk would probably survive since they did have a song called “A Country Boy Can Survive.”

“Burns, we left you the honor of picking the perfect weather for us to dispose of the body which is more like liquid at this point. We need rain, thunder, and lightning to erase all of the evidence. Watching “Forensic Files” has finally come in handy. And Ella, we need you to pretend to be a nurse or something to help us get out of here. I’ll be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead…” Anything but Krista admitted, but they expected that from her so they already had a plan in place.

“If anyone happens to see Derek Shepherd, I ask that you tell me,” MAROE added.

“Not if I find him first,” Anything but Krista said.

“He’s like fifty four years old…” Burns said being ever the good adoptive mother.

“Then I call Spencer Reid!” Anything but Krista exclaimed.

“I have Lucifer then,” MAROE challenged knowing that would get under her skin.

“Children, calm yourselves.” Burns shook her head.

“Hey, I’ll be eighteen in like a number amount of months,” Anything but Krista said.

“I’ll be eighteen before you,” MAROE said, sticking out her tongue.

“I’Ll Be EiGhTeEn BeFoRe YoU,” she repeated, placing her hands on her hips and doing that Spongebob meme. After thinking of a better comeback, she grabbed her knife she used on Owen earlier and plunged it into MAROE’s back.

“Et tu, Brute?” MAROE said with shock in her voice before her body crumpled on the ground.

“Yes, bye bitch.”

The other three just stared as the blood drained from her body before turning their attention to Anything but Krista. They were the epitome of 👁👄👁.

“What? She wanted to “due” anyway. And at her funeral we can play “To Be So Lonely” because well she will be lol.”

“Anywaysss, we gonna get food or what?” Ella asked as she covered Owen’s body with a sheet.

“Wings?” Burns suggested and they all agreed. After arriving at the restaurant, they were very shocked to see MAROE sitting at a table waiting for them.

“It’s the trying to kill me for me,” she said upon taking their seats, glaring at Anything But Krista specifically.

“It’s the stealing my fictional husbands for me,” she retaliated.

“It’s the acting like children for me,” Burns' authoritative voice came.

“Sorry,” they both murmured as they looked over the menus to order their food. The rest of their lunch going smoothly, their victims already forgotten about. Don’t mess with hangry chicks who hate Owent Cunt.

“So who’s next?” Anitah with the h asked.

“Ahh you’ve gotten the first taste of blood and now you’re addicted,” Burns observed. She would make for a good profiler for the FBI at Quantico. She would have a cool nickname; Cunt Punter.

“Why not just kill everyone we hate?” Ella questioned.

“That’s a great idea! I say we kill Guy and Vanessa,” Anything but Krista suggested.

“And Landrat!” MAROE added, the whole group agreeing, finishing their lunch before getting to their killing spree.

Gertrude-Sue was laughing at her made up characters and story when she received an email from Ethonk Remy to send him a folder that she had. Goggle Drive was acting stupid so she didn’t realize that she had shared her fanfiction folder with her boss before it was too late. She saw a little giraffe pop up in the right hand corner telling her that he was already viewing what was inside the folder.

“Holy donkey claws,” she cried out loud, smacking her hands against her face.

Meanwhile, Ethonk was going through her folder when he came across a document and his eyes went wide. “What are they doing with the dog?” He said to himself.

Wonder pets, wonder pets

We're on our way

To help a friend and save the day

We're not too big

And we're not too tough

But when we work together, we've got the right stuff

Gooo wonder pets yaaaaay!

The phone

The phone is ringing

The phone

We'll be right there

The phone

The phone is ringing

There's an animal in trouble

There's an animal in trouble somewhere

“What the hell are Wonder Pets?” He continued inspecting the different documents ranging from murder of one Owen Cunt, horses having sexual intercourse, Wonder Pets stuff, four kids and a dog where they did questionable things with each other, a sponge and a starfish were high on marijuana, a game where Gertrude-Sue had made him and her a family that looked way too realistic for his liking, two bunnies who kept hopping around with one of their little brothers, and multiple documents about Matthew Gray Gubler, Tom Holland, Tom Ellis, Patrick Dempsey, and Harry Styles which were all quite disturbing.

He took out his phone to call her. “Hey uh, Gert, what is this?”

“Oh well you see, the funny thing is that I accidentally sent you the wrong folder so if you could just pretend like this never happened, that would be fantastic. Okay thanks bye. I’m sending you the right one this time.” And she hung up, ready to throw herself off a cliff at her stupidity.

One thing was for sure, she would never make this mistake again.

#CA chronicles

27 notes · View notes

heartwoodventures · 4 years

Text

Flaming Hearts

It was nearing nightfall by the time Aislinn and Rolanda returned to Camp Drybone. The desert had a way of cooling considerably after the sun went down which made Aislinn all the more thankful for the leather duster she wore. The two women had been assigned to scout out Red Argos’ next ritual site in the crumbling ruins near Highbridge and though they found it just as Momori directed, there was little they could do in the way of disrupting what was already in place. Sigils writ into the stone had been hidden with aetheric wards so well done that Aislinn could barely sense the magicks below them, let alone dispel them. At best, all she could do was take a guess at where each one lay and write an absorption shield over top. It was arcane math done on the fly with no assurances her variables were correct.

But, if Momori’s information held, the ritual itself was going to take place that night. They would be rejoining a contingent of Heartwood and leading them back to the ruins. The group assembled near the aetheryte in twos and threes just as their linkpearls buzzed with a great deal of static.

“Is everyone gathered at the aetheryte? I have news everyone should hear.” It was Momori.

Aislinn looked around and counted heads before tapping her pearl. "Most...of us. What news?"

There was a pause, and one could assume Momori was nodding at the linkpearl. “Signal’s good on my end as well. Let’s get right into it then.” the lalafell continued, her voice tinny through the pearl. “Highbridge is no stranger to being besieged. The place is attacked daily by Qiqirn, bandits, and Amalj’aa. Usually, a few passing adventures are all that the local guard needs to fend off such attacks. Tonight....is different. Fire and chaos have broken out on Highbridge. Someone has drenched the place with alcohol and set it ablaze.” she delivered the news without much of a pause or feeling. “...Think of it as you will. But the Brass Blades squadron originally set to reinforce our attack at the ruin site have been rerouted to deal with the more visible, and pressing threat.”

"...Nothing ever goes smoothly does it?" Jorgund sighed, looking around at the rest of them.

"Somehow, I doubt it's a coincidence." Aislinn hummed in agreement.

"Tis not a coincidence at all in my eyes." Haila said, turning to look at the woman.

Momori laughed on her end. “As smooth as Raubahn’s beard stubble, I’d say. I agree with everyone’s sentiment. The timing of this attack on Highbridge is far too convenient for our pirate friends.”

"So what is the plan now?" N’ana asked.

“.....It depends. Do you think the Brass Blades capable enough to repel the attack on Highbridge? Or would we go forth with our original plan and disrupt the ritual?” Momori hummed to herself. “If it were up to me, I would press on to the ritual site.”

Haila lowered her head, "Although the humanitarian choice would be to help the Brass Blades... My vote would also be to press on."

Aislinn snorted. She had no love lost for the Blades. "The trouble at Highbridge is what the Blades are paid to handle."

“A choice I can get behind. I believe two of us have already been to the ruins? By their lead, let us make haste," Momori said, and then the static cut off.

Following Aislinn and Rolanda’s careful lead, Heartwood navigated their way to the ruins beneath Highbridge. As they passed, the smell of smoke, even at a distance, was suffocating The sound of guns firing, of steel clashing, could be heard above the fire’s roar. It was only somewhat quieter below as everyone stepped into the ruins.

The ritual site itself was a wide, crumbling courtyard that overlooked a dizzying drop down the cliff-face. From the shadows of the corridor, Heartwood spied a small crowd gathering around the six sigils that had been masked earlier. A skeleton crew of six Seawolves and one hooded fellow, significantly shorter than his escorts, kept their six victims in check. Each of the victims had a bag over their head and a gun to their back. They were being forced into a circle around the mysterious robed figure. A familiar sight to those of the Company’s number who had come too late to the other two rituals, and a prelude to a coming disaster.

Jorgund kept his voice extremely low "Alright...how do you figure we go about this? Gotta decide quickly, though."

"I don't like any of it at all..." Haila muttered, slipping on her goggles for a moment. "How about a quick distraction, pay back what they did with our backup?"

"That's one option, but there's a chance a loud entrance will make one of them panic and shoot their captive. That's preferably avoidable." Jorgund countered.

Aislinn tilted her head. "Seems they need those people. I bet if they shot one, they'd ruin the whole thing they got set up here. I think the guns are more of a scare tactic for the victims than anything."

"I agree with Aislinn on this one. They have needed the sacrifices for the ritual in the past. Perhaps we can call their bluff.” Rolanda added.

"A distraction might be good actually, if you can all distract them I can sneak in to grab those that are captive." Nyscera pointed out.

In the end it was decided that if Haila and Jorgund could stun the pirates from a distance, that would be the best shot they had to retrieve the victims unharmed and to halt the ritual in its tracks.

The hooded figure wasted no time in raising the Helm, and it floated above their head, the crystal bringing light to the dark. A feeling of comforting aether washed over everyone present, and for a moment each of them could swear they could hear the gentle mutterings of a mother spirit, promising paradise and salvation. Time was running out.

To varying degrees, the Company members shook off the soothing voice. Not wasting any more time, Haila climbed to higher ground, setting up into position. The Viera reached for her gun, tampering with a button or two until she was satisfied. "Everyone ready before I start shooting?" she asked into the linkpearl.

For her part, Aislinn wondered why there was any need to do anything at all. They should all just sit down and relax. She was about to do just that when some instinct, sharpened to a ruthless blade’s edge, took a hold of her and shouted she was crazy. One look over the edge of the cliff was enough to drive the voice from her head and the fear of the Twelve back into her.

"Right. Yes. Ready." she said into the linkpearl.

"Ready" came Jorgund’s whisper.

"Do it" and Rolanda.

"We are waiting on you!" N’ana huffed into the pearl.

Aiming carefully from her spot, Haila focused first at the grunt closest to the hooded figure. Taking a deep breath, she shot at the grunt, followed by two more shots in succession at the other targets.

Before the first shot, the smallest of the Seawolf escorts tensed. She raised a hand over her victim and the glow of aether leaves her palm. No...could it be? Though ever so faint, she could feel the touch of someone else’s magick above her own ward. Her eyes opened wide and she dashed to the hooded figure at the center, casting a hasty shield around them both. “Kurr!”

Haila’s shot hit the still figure, paralyzing them and bringing them to their knees before the shield could be raised. Her second shot hit as well. The third grunt, with two others brought down, was wise enough to dodge the shot by dashing under cover, leaving their captive behind. However, they didn’t expect fire from above. And Jorgund fired an arrow that hit his target, the stoneshot shattering and knocking the grunt out cold.

Seeing the shield go up, Rolanda did what she always did in these situations, and shot an arrow at it. "Take that you magical jerk!"

The arcanist’s shielding ward holds, though it flickered against the attacks. She huffed, the force of her magic blowing back her robe and hair. “Kurr! We must needs retreat! We cannot afford to lose the Helm!”

Aislinn watched the activity from her hiding place, her attention zeroing in on the small Seawolf who had seemed to be able to detect her magick. That was the arcanist. And, recalling Wyda's words on her last visit to the jail, the highlander used Momori’s device to take a snapshot of the woman.

Suppressing fire down, N'ana charged in at the remaining grunts and with a jumping slash tried to cut one of the men in two.

Quick on the miqo’te’s heels, Aislinn rushed in, using N'ana's charge as a distraction in a bid to get some of the victims down the corridor and out of the way.

The remaining grunts attempted to let loose a covering fire, but one was forced to stay behind stone by Jorgund’s suppressing fire. This left Heartwood dodging the gunshots of one foe, who primarily shot in Aislinn and N’ana’s direction.

Seeing the gun, Aislinn drastically shifted course, dodging swiftly behind the nearby pillar. With a hasty calculation, she drew her own aetheric shield around herself. Pulling the firearm from her back, she cocked it and checked for the man's position once more.

She needn’t have worried. From the darkness, Nyscera shot forward in a blur and went straight for the man shooting at her company members. Her hand snatched the grunt’s arm and twisted it with a sickening snap of bone. With her other hand she placed it behind the grunts head and sent him down with enough force to collide with the stone below. Once that was taken care of, the Xaela went back to hiding and waited for the next attack.

The threat had been summarily handled. Gun held in a protective stance, Aislinn hurried to the victims and began pulling the hoods from their heads.

"Someone see if they can break that shield! Having the Helm would be nice!" she called out into the chaos as she ushered victims down the ramp to safety. The men and women hugged the wall, the ledge and a fall into the canyon’s depths was just a few steps away.

Taking advantage of the ongoing commotion, Haila fired another set of shots, all aimed at the mage's shield rather than the rest of the grunts in an attempt to wear it down enough to face against the pair that was left in its protection.

"Nothing I have with my bow could break it without potentially electrocuting you all, which isn't ideal!” Jorgund yelled down to Aislinn.

"You know what, good call! I appreciate that!" the highlander yelled in reply. One could never be sure, but it was possible the woman’s words had a sardonic bent.

Rolanda continued loosing arrows at the shield as quickly as she could manage, in an effort to put pressure on the mage.

"I'll keep the one behind cover pinned until you can incapacitate him!" Jorgund offered instead.

A detail that was swiftly taken care of by Nyscera as she came out of hiding once again. The grunt groaned as they’re dealt with by the Au Ra, an invisible threat to their eyes. The arcanist looks around herself, cursing...and in that moment of distraction, her spell wavered. The onslaught shattered the ward, leaving her open to N’ana’s blazing sword attack. She made a guttural sound and hit the floor, still breathing, but downed.

The hooded figure hissed and raised a frail, finned hand up. “Shhhorewalker foolsss...You dare raissse your arms against we messengers of the whhhorleater?” He brandished the Helm, channeling its power through himself and releasing it as a powerful torrent of water aether. It crashes down like a tsunami, washing anyone in the courtyward level back with the force akin to the ocean’s mighty waves.

Jorgund and Rolanda could only look on in helpless horror.

"Shit!" he yelled.

Rolanda braced herself against the stone pillar as the waves crashed into her comrades. "NO!" she shouted, attempting to get a glimpse of anyone through the deluge.

Haila cursed under her breath, the current would have easily dragged her away, had it not been for the thick pillar she had been hiding behind and she held onto it for dear life.

When the shield fell, Aislinn attempted to raise her weapon but she wasn’t quick enough. The wave knocked off her feet and sent tumbling down the ramp. If not for the victims at the bottom, who scrambled to catch her, she would have gone over the side and disappeared into the canyon below.

N'ana tried to hold her own against the deluge but fell to her knee and planted her sword to anchor her as the water poured over her.

Nyscera felt herself get pushed back, grabbing her daggers she stabbed them into the stone to hold herself in place.

Haila, Aislinn, N’ana, Nyscera. It was too much for Jorgund to simply sit and watch.

"...Well, a good a time to test this as any, I suppose." Jorgund sheathed his bow and drew his sword, taking a breath, and whispering a single word, infused with aether "...justice." At the word, the sword came alight with fire along the blade. He took another breath, focusing his aether into his flesh and bones to toughen himself "...please let this work" Jorgund leapt off the ledge above and plummeted down towards the hooded figure, raised to slash downwards as he reached them.

Jorgund’s sword hit, severing the hooded sahagin’s arm clean off. It flew aside, glowing white blood trailing its arc, before being washed away by the water. Surprisingly, the sahagin turns to Jorgund, giving a wicked and rotting smile to the man. “Ahhhh...thissss one. Thissss one hasss moxie...”

Jorgund grinned at him, already steadying himself from his fall. "You're goddamn right I do."

Nyscera shakily let go of one of her daggers and the Xaela summoned the water that the pirate had used on them to herself. It swirled around her before targeting the hooded figure staring Jorgund down, trapping it in what would be a water prison. "Shoot it!"

Haila jumped into action once more, knowing that would be her cue as she shot at the sahagin, hoping that the stunning properties of her shot would be just as effective on it.

Aislinn was ushered back to her feet by the victims, and breathlessly clambered back up the ramp just in time to see Haila's shot.

The wind picked up, reaching a fever pitch. An invisible force hovered nearby, forcing dust into the air. At this, the one-armed sahagin blinks, and grabbed his downed comrade by the neck. Haila’s shots sink into the sahagin’s face, tearing deep holes that bled white with unnatural blood. “....Ssso you all mussst be our ssstalkerssss...you hhhave done well, thisss time.” His body moved, as if propelled by some external force, ripping legs through the water in a self-destructive manner.

"That doesn't seem good...!" Jorgund yelled, falling back a step.

Aislinn stared at the sight in bewilderment. "Seven hells?"

"What in the world...." Haila muttered, lowering her gun knowing that more of her shots wouldn't be enough to stop it.

"No you don't!" N’ana lunged forward and swung her blade to strike the creature's head.

The strike sliced the sahagin’s head off, and the body remained, puppeted by invisible strings. It seemed slightly inconvenienced as it bent over to retrieve its own head, forcing the flopping thing back into the stump of a neck it had left.

“...Hhhave this sssmall victory. We concede thessse sssix lambsss...” With the arcanist brutally held by her neck, the sahagin, radiating aether, stepped off the ruins’ ledge. He turned, standing seemingly on nothing but air, and stared back with a dead fish’s eyes, before disappearing into the air with a slam.

Aislinn stared where the Sahagin had just disappeared. "Seven Hells?!" she repeated, just a little bit louder this time.

"...Now I've seen some strange shit. But that's amongst the weirdest..." Jorgund said.

"We seem to be running into more and more questions each time..." Haila commented, coming out from her hiding spot.

"At least we saved the six..." He said as he lowered his blade.

Aislinn holstered her firearm and turned to look down the ramp at the victims. "Aye. There is that."

Jorgund sighed and relaxed a bit but suddenly paused. "...wait, did we deal with the one behind cover?"

Nyscera pulled her daggers out of the ground and secured them to her hips again, her glowing orbs looked the group over. At the mention of the hidden target the Xaela's gaze snapped into the direction where the grunt was hidden.

Adrenaline shot back through Rolanda’s already adrenaline-ravaged veins as she noticed the remaining guard. "OHWHATTHEHELL" she hurriedly nocked an arrow.

Following the Xaela’s gaze, Jorgund turned to walk casually behind the cover, holding his still flaming sword up towards him "...you wanna come quietly?"

Aislinn turned quickly to the sight of her companions closing in on the remaining guard like a pack of wolves. "We should hand them over to the Yellow Jackets. Supposedly they're Red Argos, the -real- crew the Maelstrom is looking for." Such a thing could go a long way to securing Wyda’s release.

"I, personally, don't kill. Not unless absolutely necessary. I don't, however, have an issue if they rot in a cell forever.” Jorgund locked eyes with the remaining man. "Nor do I have an issue with beating the seven hells out of someone."

The Seawolf glared back at Jorgund, and brought a gun to his head. “Till sea swallows all, ye dirty ‘heroes.’” A shot is fired, echoing off the mountain walls...when the ringing stops, the Seawolf is...dead.

"...Twelve above." Jorgund said, his voice quiet.

Aislinn was anything but. She cursed. Loudly. And vehemently.

That left one paralyzed grunt, and six victims. Very wet, very confused, and very afraid victims.

No longer concerned with the victims, Aislinn strode across the courtyard and secured the last remaining grunt, kicking his weapon off to the side. "Fine. One to turn in to the Yellow Jackets."

"Grab the paralyzed one, let's bring the captives to Heartwood to get them looked over by G'lewra and get a meal in them. We'll get them home once they're no longer in shock." Nyscera said, dishing out orders to her team.

Aislinn nodded once to Nyscera. "I can get the grunt to Aleport."

The six victims, a mix of hyur and Seawolf, were in varying states of shock. Some simply stood and watched Heartwood with dead eyes. Other rocked back and forth. But they were all well enough to follow the company to wherever they needed to be brought. They were certainly ready to leave this place behind.

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #Heartwood plots #Into the Tempest #wth a rolling head?!#Jorgund Stone #Nyscera Alarone #momori mori #haila wetyios #Rolanda Deschain #aislinn north #N'ana Firesong

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

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Thrill Seeker

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Alan, Grandma, John

And another fic for @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief! The prompt used here is “Alan + regrettable life choices” from @eirabach.

“Launching a rocket into space most days not enough of an adrenaline kick for you, kid?”

Sometimes, Alan could admit his decisions might not have been the smartest. Taking his new mountain bike up to the top of the tallest peak on Tracy Island with the intention of cycling all the way back down was one such decision, but here he was, perched on the saddle right at the start of the sharp incline, starting to wonder if this was such a good idea.

His brothers would say no. Then again, he already knew that. That was why his comm unit was safely tucked underneath his rug, so John couldn’t spot his little red triangle moving towards the peak and alert the others – especially Scott. For someone so dismissive of his own neck, he had an annoying habit of caring an awful lot about other people’s necks, particularly those that belonged to younger brothers.

Scott was away on a mission. Alan would never have dared attempt to sneak out from under his nose. Virgil and Gordon were easier to avoid – Four had taken a battering on her last outing, and they were buried inside the sub’s internal workings trying to fix her before any of them were needed elsewhere. John was the simple case of pretending to be asleep and then slipping off his comm… okay, he’d needed to do a teeny bit of computer work as well so John didn’t immediately notice he wasn’t in his room anyway, but that was nothing, really.

Besides, John should be busy with Scott. It was all fine.

As was the fact that he was about to hurtle all the way down a craggy mountain peak on his new bike. There was a trail to follow, at least – he would never have got the bike up there if there wasn’t – but it was going to be a lot more exhilarating going down than up. It was also going to be a lot more dangerous, and Alan had been a part of International Rescue long enough to know that safety was not something to be sniffed at, and that danger should be avoided where at all possible.

Therefore he had made sure to wear all his safety gear – helmet, shin pads, knee and elbow pads, and his basic IR suit without the sash for extra protection. Risks were cool. Stupid risks were not cool, although if he was honest the disappointed looks from his brothers were the biggest incentive he had to not take stupid risks. That and the absolute panic he would be on the receiving end of if he did get hurt.

The more he stood and thought about it, the more he started to think that this really wasn’t his brightest idea. But he was already here, and there was only one way down short of calling- nope, he’d left his comms behind. Even if he could bear the humiliation of calling his own brothers for help on their own island, that wasn’t an option.

So, down it was. On the bike.

He took a deep breath, surveyed the trail in front of him, and pushed his bike forwards.

Wind rushed past his ears as his tyres ate up ground in the blink of an eye. The goggles he wore helped to stop it sting his eyes, but not perfectly as moisture welled up. He didn’t dare blink it away – while he was not travelling anywhere near the speed of a Thunderbird, without a cradle of machinery around him it felt even faster than One, and a single error judgement would throw him off the trail.

This was the sort of thing Alan thrived on. Conscious thought took a backseat, instincts and reactions taking over as though he was dancing Three through a comet’s coma, or playing one of his many video games. Boy and bike became one, dodging scree patches and jumping rock clusters that couldn’t be evaded as they hurtled down, down towards the rocky beach marked as his end point.

“Woohoo!” he cried after a particularly sharp bend in the trail almost threw him off the edge, grin splitting his face in two. This was what life was about! Heart pumping in his chest, adrenaline surging through his limbs, body clinging to the bike as though they were merged together.

Nothing in the world could be better, and his rapid, insane descent ended far more quickly than the laborious ascent had done, tyres kicking up shingle as the pebble-dashed beach welcomed his entrance with crashing waves and the taste of saltwater spray on his lips.

And-

His heart sank, euphoria of the previous moments fleeing as though it had never been there, at the sight of crossed arms and a tapping foot.

“Launching a rocket into space most days not enough of an adrenaline kick for you, kid?”

Grandma did not look happy.

“I… uh… sorry?” he tried, a childish urge to hide the bike behind his back barely quelled.

She strode towards him, each crunch of shingle sounding like another nail slamming into his coffin. Oh, he was doomed. He was so, so, doomed. His bike was going to be confiscated, he’d be pulled from International Rescue – sent back to school, to sit in classrooms and have to rely on patchy news reports to know how his brothers were doing, if the rescue was going okay or if his brothers were getting hurt.

“Sorry for what, young man?” she asked him as she stopped in front of him. He’d grown taller than her, but the additional height meant nothing as she towered above him in all but stature, blue eyes that he and Scott had both inherited pinning him to the spot with steel. “For having fun? Or for reckless, idiotic behaviour like not telling anyone where you were going, what you were doing, and leaving without your comms?”

When she put it like that, it really did sound stupid.

“For not telling anyone?” he offered. “And not taking my comm unit with me?”

Her gaze didn’t relent, and he squirmed under it, unable to meet her eyes as he focused on a random pebble at her feet instead. It didn’t do anything to help.

After what felt like an eternity, she sighed and pulled him into a hug.

“Don’t you ever do that again, young man,” she scolded, but her voice was softer now. “Promise that next time you go out on that bike of yours, you’ll tell me and one of your brothers, and maybe I won’t tell Scott about this time. Deal?”

Scott. Oh hell, Scott would be even worse. And Grandma wasn’t the only one that could report to him – in fact, she was least likely to.

“Can we upgrade that to me telling all of them in future and none of them now?” he tried.

A familiar, male, laugh sounded and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Nice try with the feed loop, kid, but it’ll take more than that to fool me,” John said. Alan cringed but looked up as Grandma stepped back from the hug to see him hovering from Grandma’s own comm, looking faintly amused.

“Sorry, John,” he fidgeted, forcing himself not to look away again. “I thought you’d stop me. Or tell Scott.”

“I would have done,” the ginger said bluntly. “At least, told Scott and the others. What if something had happened, Alan? No matter what precautions you take, or how good you are, things can always go wrong, and if we didn’t know where you were and what you were doing, we wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

“I know,” he said, abashed. “I’m sorry.”

John softened, like Grandma.

“I know, kid,” he said. “How about this deal? You tell me, Grandma, and one of our brothers on the island whenever you want to go biking, and the three of us will keep this little adventure under wraps? How does that sound?”

Much, much better than a terrified scolding from Scott. Alan agreed.

“Don’t worry, Alan,” John added as they headed back towards the villa. “You’re not the only one I have a similar agreement with.”

“What, who?” Alan demanded, as Grandma laughed.

“They haven’t broken it,” the ginger shrugged, then signed off.

“Joooooohhhnnnnn!”

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #eirabach #alan tracy #grandma tracy #john tracy #mountain biking #thunderfluff

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vanaera · 5 years

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You Will Feel A Flash of Red

Synopsis | Seokjin colors your life with his outrageous ideas and unnecessarily wild adventures, along with his stupid mission to always scare you whenever you run into each other. Against your better judgment, you’ve already started to entertain foreign feelings in your heart concerning the certain boy. And it doesn’t help you already get scared easily without him adding his shenanigans in the mix. You just want Seokjin to stop…making you feel too much all at once. Genre | Fluff, semi-crack Characters | Seokjin x Reader (College!AU bc I’m soft and my uni life is mundane af) Wordcount | 2.7k A/N | Hi hons, this is something short and fluffy I came up with while I’m resting from my recent 21k-wordsmash-work Daffodil Rings. Hope you like this!

Everything can be colorful if you will them enough to. Grocery shoppings can be filled with oranges and greens that warm you up as you push past the cold airconditioned mart. Laundry days can be cooled with the tranquility of blues and whites that coax your eyes to relax from such a fast-paced week. You learned to make this your coping mechanism ever since you started associating colors for everything that lived in your grey, mundane life.

Your study table and work station are your usual pliant canvases to your color imageries. However, your biggest coloring book has to be the people that surround you. For instance, your bestfriend, Park Jimin, is a golden drizzle of yellow for his unfailing optimism whether it be finals week or rush hour dashes. Meanwhile, your other friend, Kim Namjoon, is an inky indigo for his strange concurrent displays of placidity and chaos wherever he goes. Your roommate, Wendy Seon, is an easy magenta for her innateness to attract attention wherever she goes. Unlike her, Min Yoongi, your batch representative, was a hard-to-determine cream white for his introvertedness and tough-bitch acts. But among these people you have met, there is one who stands out like a sore thumb: Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin is a friend of Namjoon and you only knew about it when you shared a general education film class with him in sophomore year. He was easy to say…a different story from anyone you’ve met.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

Your eyes flit to your left to meet the eyes of the boy seated next to you and you nodded slowly. How did he know you? Much more your name? You’re sure you’ve never met him before and you’re much surer you’re someone everyone can easily miss.

“Namjoon told me your name when I asked him about you. I’m Kim Seokjin,” he offers a hand. You shook it slowly, your head tilted to the side, still bewildered as to how he knew you. Unfazed by your questioning stare, Seokjin grins. “I didn’t know you’re also taking this class.”

“I…I like films so yeah,” you shrug.

“Me too!” Seokjin chuckles. He leans closer to your seat. “You’re in the biochemistry program right?”

Your forehead furrows. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I am in the biology program and I saw you going out of the lab when our class was about to start in the same lab. Your blue scrunchie gave you away.”

Your hand deftly reached up to your ponytail and Seokjin laughs. “Don’t worry, you look cute with it,” he waves off and the furrows on your forehead only grow deeper. What is this man spouting about? Is he outright hitting on you–

The door swings open and the professor barks the usual morning greeting. Your thoughts were immediately halted. A few minutes is all it takes for everything to settledown into a metronome of students whispering across each other and pens scribbling notes. You wouldn’t have found yourself bothered again by the strange man sitting beside you if Seokjin didn’t just open his mouth to say the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life when the professor asked everyone what names they would like to be called in class.

“Señorita. Call me señorita.”

Needless to say, the class erupted into a hysterics and you’re left wondering for days (and oddly irritated) why everyone finds it so funny to bring that scenario up again and again until the next two weeks.

Such small timeframe is also enough for you to say Seokjin’s a mess. But oh, everyone will disagree. They will say “Oh my God, how can Seokjin be a mess? He’s like the university crush and he has damn good grades and have you seen him wearing those goggles during lab hours?! He’s the only one handsome enough to pull it off as a fashion statement! ” in their wistfully annoying voice. First of all, you don’t care whether he’s good in what he does or he has a really good-looking face. What else but a mess will be someone who’s all-over-the-place?

Some days, Seokjin is a calm sky blue you can actually have fun with talking about film what-ifs and chemistry memes.

“Yo Y/N, imagine if The Princess and The Frog was remade and instead of a frog, the prince is a pterodactyl.”

“I don’t want to imagine that.”

“The solution of the plot will still work though. You can’t kiss pterodactyls though, but guess what?”

“I don’t want to guess.”

“C’mon, just play along!”

“Fine, what?”

“They will peck you!”

“Have you ever wondered what Australia will be called if it suddenly finds itself abundant of silver.”

“No. Leave Australia alone.”

Seokjin doesn’t hear you and bursts out “Agstralia!” He guffaws at his own joke and you can’t help but snicker at his priceless face and laugh at yourself in pity for finding it even remotely funny.

When his laughter dies down, Seokjin goes again, “Then what if it’s filled with copper?”

You don’t want to answer him, already biting your lip in silent laughter.

“Custralia!”

Most of the days, Seokjin’s a fiery orange of fireworks who drags you into the wildest rides of your life with his ever loud, but oddly inviting, “Yo, Y/N!” Like that one Monday afternoon he coaxed you (in some goddamn way you dumbly agreed to) to scavenge for some specimen of Bermuda grass to see it under the microscope and check if it has any semblance to the Bermuda Triangle (of course it has none). You accomplished nothing that day but run around like cockroaches with no heads when an old woman chased you for trampling on her “garden” which is just a plain expanse of grass. Or that one Wednesday morning he asked you to accompany him in his dorm just in case he managed to summon a demon when he tries to cook using an old Latin cookbook he found in some thrift store. You didn’t summon anything that day but you ended up with you two getting summoned by the condominium’s landlord because Seokjin accidentally set off the unit’s fire alarm.

There are also times when Seokjin’s an endearing bloom of pink. Like those days when his hand casually brushes against yours as you walk side by side to your film class and he’ll send you one of his goofy smiles. Or those weekends where he’ll accompany you to study in the library, helping you make flash cards for your upcoming long quizzes. Seokjin makes you feel warm at the slightest of stares and lingering gazes. Especially in those nights where he lays his head on your shoulder as you watch required films, and he’ll stare at you while doing kissy faces when you tell him his head is too heavy. You never knew you would be able to fill something, no someone, in such a delicate color you know you have already started to reflect on your cheeks just at the sight of him.

But all of that gets ruined because Seokjin always, always, makes you see blazing scarlet everytime he carries on his life mission to scare you whenever you meet. It started when your professor assigned your class to watch The Shining for a horror genre essay and you, like the scaredy cat you are, begged Seokjin to watch it with you. Of course you didn’t tell him you’re not too fond of horror films, afraid of being called out. Obviously, it only takes one stare at your curled up form for Seokjin to put two and two together and realize you’re such a…coward. And of course, like the obnoxious boy he is, Seokjin takes advantage of such knowledge and decides you need a little spice in your life–a spice you didn’t really need, nor will ever need in your entire life.

Whenever you’ll meet him on the corridors of your film class, Seokjin is now nowhere to be found. Instead, he’ll demand you to answer a quick survey first, a condition for him to show up, and you, like the exasperated idiot you are, answer it just to get on and over with it. Like always, you end up screaming at a scary video mid-answering the questions and you never learn your lesson. Everytime you’ll pass by each other in hallways, Seokjin bellows a loud “Boo!” with a thunderous clap of his huge ass hands and you always jump in shock like a cat on her hackles. You never knew how to expect the shits he pull up because Seokjin always changes his patterns. One day, he even pulled up a Scream mask by your locker just right after you closed it shut, making you scream as you fall on your bum.

At the end of the day, Seokjin always makes sure to apologize and assure you that it’s just his way to bond with you. “I just can’t get enough of your priceless face” he snickers and you start to chuckle too at his attempts – because even if you’re scared, his shenanigans actually helped you, in some way, get less scared of horror film jump scares.

However today–today is a different straw.

It was nine o'clock in the evening and you just got out of your building after an org meeting. The campus gate you usually take in your commute home was already locked closed at eight so you have no choice but to take the other gate–the one on the far left boundary of the campus. All would have been fine about that gate if you hadn't read the Facebook freedom wall post concerning it yesterday. Apparently, some student was jogging around the route towards the gate every night before he goes back to his dorm. In the entirety of his jog, he hears footsteps behind him that he didn't mind at first– until he passes by a guard who greets him and asks him what's he's doing alone so late. When he glances to the left, there was actually no one following him.

At the thought of the Facebook post, you grab the straps of your bagpack tighter. All is well. You just have about twenty meters to go before the gate and after that, you'll get on a bus. Just a little bit more and–

Step. Step. Step.

Jesus fucking Christ. You bit your lip and walked faster. Your steps are frantic and you could feel cold perspiration start to form on your nape. You could feel yourself tripping on your shoes anytime soon but the only thought running in your mind now is outrunning the thing behind you.

However, the steps behind you also quickened its pace.

Fucking shit. You break into a run. You don't care about social conventions nor how ridiculous you probably look right now with your eyes teary, mouth dry, and hair frazzled. All you know is that you have to get OUT of there.

But your effort is not enough because just five steps in, a hand shoots out behind you and you have nothing to do but scream. Scream, drop down, and cry.

“Leave me a-alone please. Just let m-me go home. I'm to-too young to die!”

“Yo Y/N. It's me, Seokjin.”

You cried harder.

In the next second, you feel him squat down and gesture toward your arms, tightly corded around your knees with your head still buried between them. But you didn't move. You can't move. Your fingers are still shaking, and your heart won't stop pounding too fast. And you feel like any second right now, you're about to explode.

“Y/N, I'm sorry I scared you. I just saw you going out and I have something to say to you before you go home.”

You couldn't hold it in. You pin Seokjin with the meanest glare you can muster. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO COME AT ME LIKE THAT THEN?!”

“I was just running after you! You were walking too fast and you didn't see me so I–”

“I thought you were a ghost! Jesus Christ!”

“A ghost?” Jin sputters before breaking out into a loud guffaw. “I'm so handsome to be a ghost. Seriously, Y/N–”

“It's not funny anymore you know,” you whisper. Seokjin's chuckles immediately die down. “Can you just stop,” you hiccup, “scaring me everytime we meet? It's not good for my heart.”

“I...I didn't know you felt like that,” Seokjin mumbles and he looks down, rubbing his nape. “I...I thought you were also having fun because you always laugh after it.”

“It was fun,” you admit, “but it's also scary. I'm a coward you know. I have my limits.”

“I'm sorry,” Seokjin mumbles. But before you can reply that it's alright as long as he doesn't do this shit again, he has already cupped your face in his hands, leaving you no choice but to look at him. Look at him in all your snotty glory.

Seokjin however, doesn't seem to care. “I'm sorry I scared you that bad. I would not have started doing this scaring thing if I knew it will end up with you breaking down. I'm sorry I didn't know you get scared this bad. I don't like...making you cry.” At this, you feel his thumbs pressing on your cheeks and wiping away the tears that have streaked down in your panic. You can't move, this time for a different reason. You can't feel anything but the presence of the boy in front of you. His warm, beautiful eyes that only look like that when they meet your eyes; his much warmer hand that feels too big on your face–big and secure enough for your hand to hold with an assurance he’ll never let go. His cheeks are rosy, just like his ears and you feel oddly elated it has grown pinker just in five more seconds of staring at his eyes. And his lips–pink and plump and looking so soft–fills your senses into sensory overload that you honestly feel you're heating up like a boiling kettle by now.

Good for you, Seokjin doesn't question your frozen stance and silently helps you up on your feet. “Sorry’s not enough. I'll make up for what I did. C'mon.”

Before you knew it, he's already steering you away from the gate and back into the campus. And now at ten thirty, you find yourself munching on a strawberry ice cream cone with Seokjin beside you, your knees bumping into each other.

“Why do you do it anyway?”

“What do I do?”

“Scaring me,” You answer, wiping your lips.

“Are you...still angry about it? I'm sorr–”

“No,” you wave off, “I'm just...curious, yeah. I've never had someone doing that to me and you're probably the only one crazy enough to do that. I'm just curious why you do it in the first place.”

“Well, you already said it," Seokjin chuckles. “No one has ever done it to you yet. So I did.”

Your brows raise, your forehead furrows. "Wh-why?”

“Because I want to be different when it comes to you. I've seen you goofing off with Jimin on hallways and–I don't know why, I just get this feeling that I have to be unique when it comes to you.”

“Why? I mean," you sputter, "I don't require you to be…different to be my friend.”

“I just want to. It feels good that I get to be the wild adventure of your life. It feels good that I get you to look only at me like that–begrudging but curious, skeptical but willing, and," he smiles, "cute. Especially when I get you to laugh.”

You look at him, mouth agape, but Seokjin just laughs and gestures you to eat your ice cream because it's starting to melt. You oblige, but you can't help but let your eyes linger on the boy next to you. The boy you didn’t know was like the biggest hotshot of your batch but was the one to actually remember you from the crowd just by your favorite scrunchie. The boy who used to be your greatest dilemma but now the best highlight of your life. The boy that annoys you to no end but oddly makes your heart flutter at the same time. Seokjin, the boy you can now begrudgingly admit you're definitely crushing on. Because you know there's no other answer to the overwhelming, warm flash of soft red you feel on your chest whenever you're with him.

You know you're right because after that night, you start to associate Seokjin mostly with red. Fresh roses, picnic dates, heart-shaped promises, sweet laughter, cherry kisses–a plethora of everything your heart started to long for.

A/N | HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST GIRL @sophrosinn!!! Thank you for being a stable shoulder I can lean on in times of problems, for being a great listener to everything I rant about, and for being one of my bestest friends who never failed to support me in my dreams. (Thank you for also comforting me when I broke down in our live news presentation in our media literacy class. I’ll never forget that). I never imagined you’ll be one of my few friends I get to keep ‘til now since it’s only two years ago we got to really, really talk with each other. Remember how we just used to pass by and greet each other in our freshman until 11thgrade year in high school? Such a great plot twist. Time sure flies fast when you’re with the best people. Meeting you is surely a blessing. I wish you more amazing years ahead of you and may you accomplish all your endeavors. I love you!

P.S. I hope you liked this fluffy fic hehe this idea started to bother me ever since your birthday started to near. And yeah, I HAVE to include the pterodactyl joke because it’s your and Jin’s trademark uwu

#kwritersworldnet #bangtan bookclub #btsguild #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #seokjin scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fluff #seokjin fluff #bts x you #seokjin x you #AHHHHH IT'S HERE #FINALLY SOMETHING NEW

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