#i was like hm but military uniforms all look similar surely

[lokh]

ENOUGH. why does his uniform look like a nazi uniform. japan stop using nazi aesthetic challenge

[kitkatsudon]

A brief foray into the military ranks of TKEM characters…

It’s no secret that our favourite boys from the Kingdom of Corea have a history in the military - but apart from Gon being bottom of his class in the Naval Academy (as confirmed by Choi Gitae in Ep4), what else do we know? As with every tiny detail that sparks my interest in this show, I took it upon myself to find out, and gave myself a headache in the process. Let’s have a look, shall we?

Lee Jihun:

I’m starting with him because he’s the only one I could find a concrete answer for, thanks to him being from a universe very similar to ours. Though we only see him very briefly in Ep16, from that short scene we can glean a little bit of information about what he was doing:

To find his rank, one needs only to look at his epaulettes. You can see that his are black, with three gold stripes: two thick ones, with a thin stripe in the middle. This identifies his rank as follows:

He’s a Soryeong, which is the equivalent rank to a Lieutenant Commander.

However, what I find perhaps more interesting for Jihun is this badge he’s wearing:

Though it’s blurry when you zoom in, I’m pretty sure it’s this one:

You heard it here first, folks. Lee Jihun is a Navy SEAL. They didn’t have to include this detail - you’d probably have to be quite familiar with the military to recognise it straight away, and I doubt that even most Korean fans would be able to recognise it, because I can tell you for a fact that I wouldn’t be able to recognise the equivalent for my own country. Someone on the production team decided this, and I want to give them a big kiss on the mouth, because now it’s confirmed that the sweet little Jihun we saw grew up to be totally badass after his abusive father passed away. I sincerely hope that it was a good life that led him to joining this branch of the military, and not some combination of horrible factors that pushed him into joining one of the most intense and dangerous branches… hm. I’m not going to dwell on that, actually. You can all make your own conclusions here.

Now… to the Kingdom. *sigh.* This is where things start to get more vague and confusing. I’m going to start with ranks first, and then go onto what they were doing as one big section because, spoiler alert, I haven’t got any sort of concrete idea.

Lee Gon:

His rank is easiest to determine, because Choi Gitae says it explicitly when they met at his father’s funeral in Ep4. I cross-referenced this with the closed-caption Korean subtitles, and everything adds up nicely: though he’s the Commander-in-Chief of all the armed forces in the Kingdom, thanks to his position as the monarch, while he was actually serving, he rose to the rank of Daewi, or Lieutenant - the highest rank of the junior officers - before leaving the navy.

Jo Yeong:

When we see Yeong in his navy uniform in Ep6, this is what we can see:

Once again, that same pattern emerges on his epaulettes of two thick stripes surrounding a thin stripe - he’s a Soryeong, a Lieutenant Commander. This means that Yeong ranked one rank higher than Gon before he left the navy, which is something that brings me quite a lot of joy.

However, something I like even more than that is Yeong’s current title, as the leader of the Royal Guard. We all know him and love him as Captain Jo, but in Korean he’s referred to as 조영 대장 - Jo Yeong Daejang. This is what Gon calls him in the iconic “Are you having fun, Captain Jo?” and you can also see that title of Daejang on his character page on the official TKEM website. On WordReference, this is what happens if I search for 대장:

Ignoring the results about other things, it doesn’t seem to mean “Captain” explicitly, it’s more like a general kind of leader title. His rank isn’t necessarily “Captain,” it’s whatever Daejang is equivalent to. So… how good is a Daejang? Looking at the South Korean armed forces, in the army, air force, and marine corps, Daejang is equivalent to General, and in the navy, Daejang is equivalent to Admiral. To put this into context a little better, the only rank in the South Korean navy higher than Daejang is Wonsu, and this rank only exists on paper and has never been given to any officer of the South Korean armed forces. To achieve this rank of Wonsu, you’re appointed from the rank of Daejang when you have “distinguished achievements.”

In conclusion: Yeong has an incredibly high rank in the armed forces, second only really to Gon himself, assuming no one from the Kingdom has ever been appointed the rank of Wonsu either. However… there’s a first time for everything, and though I’m only speculating and of course could never say anything for sure, if anyone was going to get those distinguished achievements needed to be a Wonsu, it would be our Jo Yeong Daejang.

Choi Gitae:

I’m including him briefly because I have a bone to pick with the subtitles. In English, he’s Captain Choi. In Korean, Gon refers to him as Hamjang, which, as far as I can tell, doesn’t exist in the South Korean navy of our universe. In the Korean subtitles in Ep4, he’s named as 최 소령, Choi Soryeong, and he’s just… he’s not that. Let’s take a look at some pictures:

The epaulettes on the first picture and the star badge on the second tell us that his rank should be this:

He’s a Junjang, equivalent to a Rear Admiral (lower half). Not a Captain, and not a Lieutenant Commander. As for the Hamjang/Junjang disparity, I’m going to suggest that Hamjang is the Kingdom of Corea’s equivalent to the Republic’s Junjang.

So, what was everyone doing in the navy?

The only clue we have is a badge:

This is from Yeong’s uniform, but in Ep6 Choi Gitae was wearing the same, and Gon was wearing a gold version of it. However, for the life of me, I can’t seem to figure out what it is! The design seems to be that of a ship sailing through the waters, but that just gives ✨navy✨ in a general sense. Browsing google images, I’ve noticed the same golden badge that Gon wears on other high ranking members of the South Korean navy, so maybe it signifies a high rank? Or maybe it just means that the wearer is in the navy? I don’t know! I can’t work it out! What it tells us at least is, if Yeong isn’t wearing a “specialised” badge like Jihun… it’s unlikely that he served in any kind of special forces… which I feel is a piece of information that might break some hearts in the fandom as their headcanons shatter into pieces. I’m disappointed too, because when I saw Yeong’s badge without paying attention to any of the other characters, I thought that the two shapes on the sides looked a little like submariner dolphins, so I’ve spent half a year or so thinking that’s what Yeong did in the navy, before I realised that Gon and Choi Gitae had the exact same badge.

So, if anyone has been bothered enough to read this far and also happens to be a Korean military buff, I would love you forever if you could tell me exactly what this badge means, and whether it gives us any indication of what Yeong or Gon or anyone else was doing in the navy. However, maybe it’s good that it’s unclear, because that leaves fic writers plenty of room to wonder about what Gon and Yeong were doing in the military - whether they were doing different things, strengthening their bond as best bros doing the same thing, and if you’re on the same side of this fandom as me, whether they were repressing some big feelings at seeing each other in their military uniforms, or whether they were engaging in certain activities that are maybe stereotypical of sailors cooped together on the same boat without women to spend their nights with… there’s plenty of room for interpretation :D

[vanilla-phantoms]

I am thinking SO ridiculously hard about pre surak Vulcan rn, specifically about hairstyles

Most Vulcans we see have that very uniform bowl cut, but not all of them, and I figured it must be something to do with practicality because it would be illogical to value appearance over functionality, but we also see most romulans with this hair, and I thought maybe some of this could be attributed to most of the romulans we meet being of some military status

Anyway I’m trying to think about what pre reform hairstyles would look like, since I’m trying to design a character for a fic I’m writing, and I don’t love the long-hair-on-men styles that I see most fanartists assign to pre surak vulcan (love how they look but don’t love the. Hm. Well it’s a bit racist innit. But that’s another post. Hope this isn’t hitting the hornets nest but please think about the traits and images you automatically associate with “violent primitive alien culture”). And I don’t see any reason WHY Vulcans should have long hair in the past other than it maybe being distinctly different from the present and a visually appealing design

Vulcans at the time of Surak were not pre industrialization. They had NUCLEAR warfare after all. They’re referred to as a “warrior race” but this was MILITARY warfare. Surely, the military officials of the past would’ve had practical haircuts too, maybe similar to the Vulcans we see on the show. The only difference I can think would be that they would be less uniform. More room for trends and self expression. (And there was surely more hairstyle variation among civilians but the character I’m making is a military official)

So that opens up a lot of possibilities, once we’ve figured out what would make sense it becomes a question of “what would’ve been popular then”. I think I’m going to find a time period of earth to base the hairstyles off of

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 5

I feel like now would be a pertinent time to mention that this is my first attempt at writing a sort of drabble series. The majority of my work is 50k-100k word nerd ass novels, and I think that this part will make that unfortunately abundantly apparent. I’m sorry for just how long it is, but I’ve absolutely loved writing these characters, and I got a little bit carried away with fleshing out the world a bit more ^^

Also, I feel I should probably mention that, though characters in this story speak Latin, I do not know any Latin. I wrote this using dictionaries and very basic grammar guides, and I sincerely hope I did not mess up too bad.

Thank you for reading! It’s a long one, but I hope you’ll enjoy.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, hypothermia, military setting (kinda), pet whump, dehumanization, past trauma, muzzles, restraints, conditioned whumpee, depiction of an implied panic attack, denial of water

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

Villain couldn’t help but shake and buck their head as a corrugation of metal and leather was slipped over their face, securing their jaw in its current position and forcing them to bite down against the pressure. It had been fitted since last time, they noted rather hollowly-- with a piece of padding now standing between the bridge of their noise and the harsh metal wires. Regardless of how many adjustments were made to the piece, however, making it comfortable seemed beyond their ability.

They, in this specific circumstance, referred mainly to the two soldiers before Villain. Trainer was the only one of the two that they knew the name of-- though they were nearly unrecognizable beneath the layers of gear shrouding their appearance.

The helmet they wore resembled more so that of a motorcyclist rather than that of an armed combatant, but the rest of their kit was far more military. Beneath their uniform bulged the clear outlines of a tac-vest, with their hands shielded by Kevlar gloves, constructed of an intricate mesh of triangular pieces, in a similar manner to chain-mail.

The other soldier was dressed in nearly identical kit, just without the gloves-- those were for handlers, which this other soldier must’ve surely not been. They turned to Trainer, noises in an odd language curling off their tongue. Trainer replied with a laugh.

With practiced hands, Trainer took the muzzle’s straps and secured them behind Villain’s head, tightening the metal until it dug into their skin, tearing at old sores created by the same device. Their leash was quickly hooked to a ring protruding from the muzzle’s wires.

“Manibus.” Trainer’s voice spoke. They nearly flinched at the sheer speed at which Villain offered their hands. Momentarily, Trainer ghosted their fingers over the leather mitten restraints that kept Villain’s fine motor abilities under control. They checked the wrist straps, ensuring their tautness, nodding their approval.

“Abeamus?” The other soldier suggested, to which Trainer gave another nod. They wrapped Villain’s leash around their wrist, halving its length, until there was negligible slack in the line.

Another group of soldiers, all dressed in military-style garments of their own, loitered together by the door to the staging room. They looked to Trainer, marginally straightening their postures, and, presumably, minimizing the amount of swearing in their speech.

With a few words and a flick of the wrist, the squadron was off.

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Leader couldn’t stop looking at Villain’s eyes.

They weren’t quite certain what had pulled them into such an odd trance. It was nothing about color, certainly, nor anything else physical or inherent-- they were unremarkable, in such respects. No, it was certainly something about the expression they portrayed.

A moment ago, they’d seen shattering fear turn to fury in these eyes. Now, they seemed blank, as though constructed of glass and merely painted upon. There was no expression beyond them, no recognition, no indication that Villain’s mind was occupied by anything at all. Their gaze stared straight through Leader, through the ceiling above as well.

Leader was torn from their daze by a commotion from behind them as the door was thrown open. Medic was nearly knocked over as Hero burst in, followed more ploddingly by Counselor.

“Be careful.” Leader warned, looking up and turning to the group. “There’s broken shit everywhere.”

Hero’s eyes darted around the room, seemingly taking in the mess. Broken glass coated the tile floor in a thin dusting of shards, while various mechanical parts still smoked in whatever place they had happened to end up. The lights had been blown out completely, leaving the lighting in the room to be provided by a flashlight laid on a countertop, as well as, now, the light soaking in from the hallway.

After their panicked scan, Hero settled their gaze on Villain.

“Are they...”

“They’re fine.” Medic interrupted.

“They’re not moving.”

“Well... I’m going to hazard to say that that’s a good thing. If I had to guess, it seems like a shock response. It’s not exactly my biggest concern, right about now.”

“What about the, uh, bleeding hole in their chest?”

“That would be my biggest concern.”

Medic grabbed a variety of, miraculously undamaged, medical supplies from a cupboard, setting to work at Villain’s wound. It was small, deliberate, having been incised to be used as an access point for the dialysis machine, but Leader had a feeling that even minor blood loss could be a death sentence, at this point.

Hero and Counselor hovered, for a moment, at Villain’s bedside, while Medic did their work. Leader stood back, nearly having to forcibly tear their gaze from that of Villain.

That odd sort of silence remained for several moments, if not minutes, as Medic’s deft hands worked to close the wound. It was only when the last suture was tied that Counselor spoke up-- one of the only times they had done so for the whole mission.

“Leader?”

“Hm?”

“What’s our plan, exactly? What are our orders?”

They raised a brow. Counselor was never that direct-- nor that military.

“Um...” It felt quite stupid, being caught unprepared like this, but in their defense, they had nearly just been killed by an exploding air conditioner. “I... I don’t want to hazard doing anything until Villain is stable.”

“That was your plan before.” Medic muttered as they pried latex gloves from their hands. “It almost got us killed.”

“Right. Yeah, um, are they stable enough? For transport?”

“They’re not going to bleed out, if that’s your concern. Physically, I’d say they’re stable. Mentally? I think we need to get them to a secure location before they snap out of this fugue state.”

“Alright.” Leader chewed their tongue. “Let’s get the van ready, then.”

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The ship’s deck was notably busy, despite the fact that it was relatively late at night. The vessel’s skeleton crew hurried about, keeping it afloat and on track, while outdated Humvees drove in chaotic paths. What the commotion was about was beyond Villain’s knowledge, or their capacity to care. All that mattered was fighting their instinct to cover their ears, and ensuring that they were keeping up with Trainer.

They could feel it-- the boat-- beneath them. The millions of systems and circuits and electrons, thrumming and being jolted about by a swaying sea.

The small company that Trainer had gathered made their way to the far end of the deck, where a VTOL plane was already humming, waiting for its crew to board. They did so, clustering themselves into the compact cabin. There was, notably, no room the vessel for a pilot-- all steering operations would be handled by an artificial intelligence of sorts. Villain greeted the computer program, but it did not respond.

Trainer settled themself into a middle seat at the front of the cabin. Villain sat obediently at their side, at which point their leash was secured to a handrail sticking out of the wall. They rested their head against the window. Though the cabin was crowded, at the very least, Villain was no longer forced to make the trip in the K9 compartment.

Once every member of the company was settled and seated, the VTOL’s doors slid shut, and the engine thwapp-thwapp-thwapped until the aircraft was off the ground. It shot upwards for a second, traveling several hundred feet in the time, before entering a linear dive and settling for a position around fifty feet above the choppy waters.

Villain closed their eyes, allowing their mind to wander to the creature around them. The VTOL contained what was likely the most complex computer program that the Organization had. Despite all its bells and whistles, however, it paid no mind to Villain’s prodding and wandering.

The plane’s route was not awfully complex. The vehicle was designed, surtout, for water-based travel. Though it could move over land, it struggled to rise above three hundred or so feet, making it useless for far-inland routes. Wherever it was going today was, luckily, on the coast-- somewhere in the forests of Washington state.

If they so wished, Villain could alter the route in any way they so pleased. They could send the aircraft into the ocean below, or back into the ship, or into the first land they saw. It would be simple-- all their problems gone in a moment.

Once the plane’s angle had leveled out, Trainer stood, moving to the front of the plane. Villain gnashed their teeth, attempting to rise from their seat, but finding themself limited by the taut leather line on their muzzle. They were too far, they were on mission, they shouldn’t have been so far, come on, come on. The leash refused to give way, however, leaving them firmly affixed in position.

Trainer cleared their throat, drawing the attention of the gathered company. They began to speak, words taking on quite a commanding air, though Villain only understand a few choice phrases.

“Incursus” was the one that made them prick their ears. They had heard it only a few times before. In conversation, once or twice, but more notably during mission briefings. The last time they had heard it... several missions ago, before they had been briefly confined to the medical wing.

The word itself was meaningless-- its implications less so.

Villain gulped, their jaw straining against the wires of their muzzle.

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Leader walked at the side of the gurney, ghosting a hand over one of the siderails all the while. A pair of doctors pushed the gurney itself, with Medic trailing close behind, and Hero and Counselor at their sides.

In contrast with the upper floors, the hospital’s lobby floor was brightly lit, almost overwhelmingly so, with expanses of floor-to-ceiling windows. The beige carpeting was bathed with the last remnants of sunrise orange-- it had been a long night.

The few patients in the hospital at such as hour were hurried out of the way as the gurney moved through. A scattering of nurses and varied hospital personnel were littered about, watching the Heroes’ procession, but staying several yards away, unwilling to even be in Villain’s vicinity.

Leader looked down at the gurney. A blanket had been draped over Villain, working to keep them at a stable temperature. Their fabric and webbing restraints had been replaced by those made of metal.

Their eyes were open. They had been the whole time. Despite, they had yet to struggle in any form.

The automatic doors at the front of the lobby rumbled open, allowing the gurney to be pushed through. A team of doctors and Leader’s own personnel stood outside, gathered around an ambulance with its back doors hanging open. The doctors pushing the gurney passed it off to some of the stronger personnel, who lifted the contraption into the vehicle’s back, securing it.

Leader nodded their thanks, and moved to get behind the vehicle’s wheel.

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The ship hadn’t been too far off of the East coast to begin with, making the trip to Washington a relatively short one. It took one hour, thirty-six minutes, and eighty-two seconds, to be exact-- far more amicable than the 16-hour trips they had endured in the past.

The VTOL had made a measured descent into a forest clearing, shredding the grass below with its landing gear. With the doors open, the company had scrambled out; Trainer taking Villain’s leash in hand once more.

In the clearing, there had been no sign of life besides a scurrying songbird or two. Villain had only then realized a far more unpleasant aspect of the mission.

They were going to be marching.

Not marching, exactly, they supposed. There was no regimented order to it, it was more like hiking. Just... hiking for hours. The VTOL couldn’t go too far inland, and landing it close to a target was often impossible.

So, they marched.

Sometimes, heaven would be merciful, and the trek would be short, of only a mile or so. On crueler days, though, they would move for hours-- breaking only for water, which Villain would watch the soldiers drink with a parched throat.

Even just from the look of the clearing, and its location, however, Villain had been able to tell that today was not one of those more merciful occasions.

When the plane had landed, the moon at been at its highest point--signifying that midnight had struck. For the first few hours, they walked in darkness, until dawn slowly began to creep up.

All in all, the trek had taken four hours, most of which were spent walking. By the time the group stopped and crouched down, Villain felt their legs were about to snap. It had been far too many hours and far too many miles since they had cared to look at their surroundings. All that mattered was Trainer, and staying awake.

The company made themselves small among an area of heavy undergrowth. Trainer let Villain’s leash loosely hang around their wrist. Even if the technopath had any desire to flee, they doubted they could even get their legs back under them.

One of the soldiers spoke up, somehow sounding hardly winded. Though most of their words served as nonsense to Villain’s ears, one did stick out: Scopum. It was one of the words Trainer had used, back when they were teaching Villain how to search and retrieve objects.

Trainer nodded, took a drink of water from a canteen, and got to their knees. They pointed to something behind the bushes-- Villain got on their knees to look at well.

Over the wall of undergrowth, a building could be seen. It wasn’t particularly notable-- it would be best described as a cabin, with rustic architecture and an array of out-of-season Christmas lights. It seemed to be a vacation home of sorts; large enough to fit a family, certainly, but not a place anyone would live permanently.

Was this their Scopum? Their goal?

Trainer took hold again of Villain’s leash and stood. The real mission was just about to begin, and Villain could hardly stand.

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The drive from the hospital to their base was longer than Leader would have preferred, enough to make them nervously request updates every few minutes, much to Medic’s distaste.

The base stood at the edge of one of Washington’s denser forests, about half an hour out from the city proper. The location provided security, and in their group’s early days, secrecy, but it made transport difficult.

“Hey, Medic?” Leader started.

“Villain is fine. They’re still out of it. Cabin temperature is staying steady at 70, their body temperature is just about where it should be. Keep your damn eyes on the road.”

Leader nodded, biting the inside of their cheek. City traffic had been left behind a few miles ago, leaving only empty back roads. Seven minutes to go, the GPS diligently reported.

“We’re close now, then.” Medic spoke, starting the conversation for once. They weren’t usually the one to do such a thing, but Hero and Counselor were in the ambulance’s back. “What are you thinking?”

“Thinking?”

“Your plans. Please don’t forget that you’re the leader around here, you give the orders. What do we do, when we get back to base?”

Leader bit their tongue to prevent themself from snapping at that passive insult. They were glad for the change in topic, at least.

“Our first priority is keeping ourselves safe. Villain’s safety is second priority-- I’m not sacrificing anything to keep their wellbeing. But I wouldn’t consider them a threat, right now. I assume you would like to keep them in the med bay?”

“For now, at least. They’re stable, but the fact that they’re still breathing is a miracle. I want to have my equipment nearby if they crash.”

“As long as it’s safe, then.”

“And then what?”

“Then... they’re still a prisoner, injured or not. Then we put them in the cells.”

“We don’t have any cells?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

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The company moved swiftly, forcing Villain’s legs to wake up to the horrible feeling of pins and needles. Trainer remained at the group’s head, leading them forth to the cabin.

It must have looked quite ridiculous, to an outsider. Villain would have laughed if they were able.

The group stopped before the quaint structure.

“Aperire.” Trainer ordered. Villain gnashed their teeth.

The command was a simple one, generally. It meant that they were to open something-- usually a door, or a box, or an encrypted device. The wooden door before them, however, had no electric component; it didn’t even seem to have a lock at all.

Still, they dove into the few electronics that the building did host. The Christmas lights seemed to be meaningless noise-- they tore through those, searching instead through the inner electronics. They were uncomplicated, so much so that their purpose couldn’t be so much as guessed.

Villain panicked, gnashing their teeth, shaking their head against the muzzle. They didn’t know what to do. They could feel their heartbeat, pounding in their head, throbbing.

“Aperire.” Trainer repeated. It only increased Villain’s heartrate-- what were hey doing wrong? Please, what were they doing wrong? They dove back into the systems. There was no door to be seen, just the lights, just some random system. They decided on the latter, tripping the system, just as they drew blood from biting down on their own tongue.

The house rumbled.

Instead of opening as a door should, the rustic home’s door slid into the wall, revealing a brightly-lit interior-- devoid of both furniture and interest.

The only point of interest was at the very center of the floor: A ramp, leading downwards.

Villain gulped. With rougher hands than before, Trainer yanked at their leash, forcing them forth. Together, the two descended, the company right on their heels.

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The base-- it had no real name, it was simply “the base”-- was an uncomplicated corrugation of concrete walls and sparse entranceways. It had been constructed as the shell of a factory, years ago, a factory which eventually fell through. Since then, Leader had organized quite a renovation of the property.

They drove the ambulance to the base’s parking lot, backing up to the curb as near to the entrance as they could.

“You worried?” Medic asked.

“Mhm.” Leader nodded, hopping out of the cockpit and to the asphalt below. The ambulance’s rear doors had already been swung open, with Hero and Counselor working to guide the gurney from it.

Villain still laid on the bed, shrouded with blankets, nearly comatose.

Their eyes moved.

Leader did a double-take, looking back to the figure on the gurney. Villain’s gaze had moved, now directing itself straight at Leader. Whatever expression they were portraying... it looked like fear.

Leader frowned. They moved to the transport bed’s side, placing their hands on the rails.

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The ramp descended at least a story into the earth.

With every step they took, Villain could feel their mind become more and more cluttered. At first, they could only hear the simple lighting and ventilation systems, but as they grew deeper, more noises joined the cacophony. Computers and servers, medical equipment and weaponry, it all blended together, all humming, all whirring, all chanting until it made Villain’s head hurt.

At the base of the ramp, which they only reached after what felt like an eternity, stood a simple door. Nothing more than a steel barrier.

“Perdere.”

That command was about as simple as they came. Within a split second, the door, and half of the wall, before Villain had been decimated to rubble.

On the other side of the newly-torn door, a figure moved. Villain flinched, gnawing again on their bloodied tongue. Trainer forced them forward.

The room was empty, devoid, as the past one had been. There was no furniture, no weaponry, no defense. Only a person, standing squarely before the door at the far end.

Their wings brushed the room’s walls.

Leader glared.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

As they leaned over Villain’s bedside, Leader smiled-- an expression as gentle as they could make it. They weren’t sure what had suddenly turned them so soft. Pity, maybe? Somehow, though, it tugged at them in the same way as nostalgia.

They brushed a hand over Villain’s shoulder.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay.”

The next part was the stupid one. The soft one, the one that would have made anyone in any faction laugh. One that, if anyone had heard it, Leader surely never would have lived down. Even they were not sure why they spoke it.

Five simple words. Five words without meaning.

“Welcome to your new home.”

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ one

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 4.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you 

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part one

‎

"You said that you're with the military? I don't recall the military having ships as small as yours." If possible, your eyes would roll all the way back in your head at the man's comment. Instead, you plaster a smile on your lips, gaze flitting around the bridge as you do. 

 "Yes, Ambassador Salvadore. They sent me on a transport ship, as I am here to relieve the captain of his duties—"

 "That is not necessary, Miss."

 "—on military orders, Ambassador." Your grin continues to stretch as you gauge the state of the bridge. It is severely lacking in terms of soldiers, which is good for you on multiple fronts, but the ambassador before you is proving to be more difficult than you first anticipated.

 "Well, that is quite unfortunate then, seeing as I will never have a woman command my ship even if on supposed "military orders". Which division did you say you were from?" The ambassador is too much of a skeptic; he must be old enough to have witnessed – perhaps even taken part in – the First Military Revolt in 2143 when the first female Fleet Admiral was inaugurated, but you don't have time to argue politics with an old man.

 "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Ambassador. It's military orders, whether you like it or not. We are beyond the days of sexist remarks about women commandeering ships, are we not?" You bite out. The smile on your lips falters a bit, and the older man's gaze hardens on you. 

 "Where are your papers? I need proof of your purpose here, as well as a written record of your orders." 

 One hand slips down your thigh, brushing the holster where your pistol sits, but you bring it back up upon second thought. 

 "Papers were not given, sir. The HMS Revenge is less than 50 thousand megameters from Eros and as such, my commander did not think it necessary to send me out with papers." You bring your hands behind your back to resist the urge of putting a bullet between the ambassador's eyes, clasping them tightly and glaring at the grey-haired man before you. Whether he believes your words or not is unimportant, because he can't seem to stay focused on the topic at hand anyways.

 "Where is your seal? What rank are you? Your division? The name of your commander so that I can have a word with him once we dock on Eros again?"

 "I am wearing my seal, sir, along with my uniform. As for your other questions, I believe that if it were a man standing before you, you would ask nothing of him, Ambassador. Thus I do not feel inclined to answer any of your questions." The old man's eyes rake over your form, and once again, you feel your fingers itching to reach for your pistol as he stares. Biting down hard on the tip of your tongue, you push the desire back and grin back at the man. The uniform you're currently wearing fits awkwardly – baggy at the shoulders and waist, along with sleeves that keep falling past your wrists when you let go of them, and overall it's a bit obvious that the uniform did not originally belong to you. The excuse you can think of on the spot is that you were given a recycled uniform, but considering how stubborn and skeptical Ambassador Salvadore is, you don't think you'll be able to slip through with that lie.

 "Your uniform looks like it was taken from the garbage," the man states, confirming your concerns. You sigh then open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off before you have the chance. "You are one soddy excuse for a pirate, girl. One woman against an entire crew? A fool's errand if anything. Not at all some grand heist."

 "I am not a pirate," you spit back between gritted teeth. "I am merely here on military business. Nothing more, nothing less."

 "You see, Miss, that is actually not true. You cannot be here on military business because I would've been informed beforehand. No one elected to inform me of a change in the captainship, however. Thus, you must either be a pirate of another sort of criminal." The man takes a few steps forward, risking to be within a couple feet of you now, and you note the lack of weapon on him. He walks with a slight limp, no doubt a bummed knee from early military days that he never had surgery on, and his left foot drags a bit along the floor as he walks over. "Besides, your face looks quite familiar, Miss. Have I seen you on a bounty paper before?"

 "I highly doubt that," you whisper. Eyes dare to meet yours, and you pass a sinister smirk his way before uttering your next words. "I make a note to not leave anyone alive once they've seen me." His eyes widen. 

 "Grab her!"

 You bring your hand to your holster with the intention to use the weapon this time, but somehow the man is quicker. Well, his men are quicker. One comes from behind you – the guard who brought you to the bridge when you boarded – and another comes from your right, grabbing your arm before you have the chance to pull out your gun.

 "Cute trap, ambassador. Think of it all by yourself?" 

 "In fact, I did. Didn't take much thought since all pirates are the same."

 "This is a mistake, ambassador. You really don't want to be doing this, I promise. And I'll remind you again: I am not a pirate." You don't waste your time struggling against the grip of the men around your arms. Instead, you glare at the old man in front of you as though it'll get you out of this predicament faster. You get what you asked for, just not in the way you were wanting or expecting. The cool touch of a gun barrel finds your temple.

 "Then you're a fugitive. Or a criminal. A pirate is no different. You all bleed the same, so there's no point in making useless distinctions."

 "You bleed the same too, ambassador."

 "Kill her." 

 You brace yourself for the worst, hoping at least for a swift and painless death, but it doesn't come right away. The ground quakes underneath you, then everything jerks for a moment. In a split second, the lights dim and flash red, sirens begin to wail throughout the bridge, and you spot the captain scrambling to return to his post. The ship wobbles, and as it does, your captors lose their balance. You seize the moment, yanking your limbs from their grasp and slamming the back of your head against the man behind you. A sickening crunch follows along with a scream of pain. The man on your left is already beginning to recover his balance so you have to work fast and swing your elbow against his jugular before he can fire his gun. He crumples under the attack and clutches at his throat while you swing around to deliver a similar blow to the soldier behind you as well.

 "Captain, report! What is happening?" The ambassador yells, scampering back as you grab the gun from the man beside you. 

 "I can answer that for you," you huff. Your chest heaves from the sudden burst of exertion, and you rise to your feet slowly. The ship lurches again, sending the crew careening backward, but you steady yourself by ducking down. "You're being boarded by actual pirates. And in my time in the black seas, I've only seen one crew use this boarding tactic."

 "Who? Tell me now, girl!"

 "Give me control of the ship now or you're not getting out of this mess alive," you say, taking several steps towards the ambassador.

 "Absolutely not. I would rather see this ship blown to pieces before she falls into the hands of a pirate."

 "She'll be in the hands of a pirate regardless!" You argue, and your tone grows incredulous when the old man glares at you.

 "They're pirates. They don't stand a chance against soldiers from the Royal Military," he sneers before turning on his heel and walking towards the captain. 

 "Holy fuck… it's the Scourge of the Black Sea." It's another crew member who mutters the words, gun no longer aimed at you but just past your shoulder, and you whip upon hearing the name. You had seen the Scourge's file many many times, yet none of the pictures included in it were accurate in the slightest now that you are face to face with the man. 

 Kim Hongjoong, barely older than you yet still the most notorious pirate in the galaxy. Scourge of the Black Sea, a moniker that serves him well, but seeing him before you now changes that. First of all, he's not nearly as tall as you pictured him to be. The files never shared details about his height or hair color or anything like that, but you somewhat expected the infamous Scourge of the Black Sea to be of intimidating height; however, the three men standing around him are all taller than him, although not by a drastic amount. Still, you weren't expecting the man to look as young as he does. Someone with a track record like his surely would seem much older than his profile depicts him to be. You can't call him out for his age since you are younger than him yourself but after years of expectations about what this infamous pirate would be like, you feel a bit let down. His gaze is piercing and harsh, but a gleam in his eyes shelters playfulness. Behind that sharp gaze lies dark eyes, so dark they almost seem black from the angle you're standing at. Beyond that though, you don't find yourself scared at the sight of him at all.

 He doesn't look your way, in fact, he glances past you as though you don't exist. Someone else is looking directly at you, however, and it's his gaze that redirects your focus. You don't recognize him – or the other two men with the Scourge for that matter – but he has distinct features. Cat-like eyes, upturned and wide, alongside a captivating smile that's a bit too bright for your liking. His grin is strange, but hair even stranger – a solid head of black except for one section at the front of his head cut out like a slice of pure white strands. His gaze doesn't falter, remaining locked on yours as you continue to analyze him. It's almost as though he seems to know you and who you are, a knowing quirk in his expression. 

 "More fucking pirates on my ship!" 

 You maintain a stare with the man beside the Scourge rather than turning to look back at the ambassador again.

 "Now, now..." Hongjoong cuts through the terse silence across the bridge, voice booming throughout the room with little effort. He takes one, then two steps forward, the jacket around his shoulders sweeping back with the movement. It's only two steps, and yet you feel the intimidating aura radiating off of the man in those small movements. "All I want is what's in the cargo hold. Give me what I want, and I'll spare your men."

 "Open fire soldiers!"

 "I guess we're gonna do this the hard way then," Hongjoong mutters as the soldiers scattered throughout the bridge raise their weapons. That's your cue to duck out of the way. As fascinating as the boy with cat-like features may be, you would rather not be riddled with bullets because you were too focused on staring at him. You have no doubts that the Scourge would shoot right through you, and you're going to have to move fast to get what you're wanting without trouble from him. You push forward, running directly at a soldier off to your left, then the gunfire begins to ring in your ears along with the alarm. 

 It doesn't take much effort to wrestle the gun from its owner. One swift kick to the side of his knee and a fist to his nose suffices, and the weapon falls into your hands. You slam the butt of the gun against his cheekbone, not waiting for him to fall to the floor before you're pushing past him to get into the captain's cabin. 

 "Fucking hell," you curse under your breath when the door snaps shut behind you. 

 Gunfire and alarms still ring outside the door. You aren't sure how long the gunfire is going to last, but your getaway ship leaves when it's over meaning that you need to move quickly. Papers are strewn all across the captain's desk, but the ones you're looking for won't be lying about. You drop the rifle to the desk and squat down to be eye level with the drawers, clicking the first open. 

 "Where are you?" You mutter to yourself as you file through the mess in the drawers. Digging to the back, your fingers close around a bundle of papers. You yank them forward, seeing a neat red ribbon tied around the middle along with a wax seal placed directly over the thread. It bears the Royal Insignia of Eros. You sigh at the sight, one finger trails over the ridges of the wax, and you read the words across the front to yourself. "Papers of Free Travel and Safe Conduct. Signed by the king." A small, raspy laugh escapes your lips. Despite the chaos of gunfire and alarms blaring around you, you can't help but feel a wave of calm wash over you.

 "Put the papers down, pirate." You glance up, eyes fixating on the door, and spot the ambassador glaring you down. You tuck the letters into your shirt, your free hand gliding across the desk to grab for the rifle you set down. 

 "Sorry old man. I'm leaving with these papers. It doesn't matter whether you're dead or alive to me." You lift the rifle and point it at the man's head without hesitation. "Cross me, Ambassador Salvadore. You won't live to see the end of it."

 "The papers or your life," he spits back, shakily lifting his own pistol. Perhaps you were wrong about his endeavors in the military previously, or maybe he's just that terrified of you. 

 "Did you misunderstand me? Step aside. The pirates with the Scourge already killed all your men, didn't they? My guess is they're on the way to the cargo hold and plan to kill every soldier along the way. Do you want to join the corpses?" You let the gun slip down a little. The ambassador quakes under your movements but shakes his head once you finish speaking. "Then step aside."

 He does as told, moving away from the door as you keep your gun trained on him. You don't dare look away from him, too wary of him being trigger happy or trying to jump you once you get closer to the door. The cool touch of metal hits your back, and you feel around for the touchpad beside the door. 

 "Why are you doing this?" He asks once you lower your gun.

 "I want my freedom. I don't care what I have to do to get it."

 "So you're going to kill me anyway then?"

 "No. I'll leave that for the Scourge. They say he doesn't take prisoners." You turn away, slamming your palm against the door control. As it slides open, you pass one last glance to your dear ambassador. Eyes stretch wide as he lifts his pistol again, and you're forced to duck away as best you can. Either you're too slow or he's too quick. The resounding echo of a pistol shot follows, and you barely register that you've just been hit until a burning sensation sears through your right arm. If not for the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would be crumpled on the ground in pain. It's a good thing for that too because you don't have much time to sneak aboard your getaway ship. 

 The ambassador doesn't follow you out, and you don't stop to check your wound before darting after the trail of dead bodies. 

 "Shit shit shit," you hiss under your breath. Warm blood begins to trickle down your arm, making the fabric of your ill-fitting uniform cling to your skin. If your studies of Kim Hongjoong's tactics are correct, he should've docked his ship along the corridor to the ballistics bay, and your studies must be accurate because there is one living person near the end of the corridor. Guarding the docking station. With a gun. Just your luck. 

 "Hongjoong, there's a—" You chuck your rifle at him, catching the man off guard, and he stumbles back to dodge your weak attack. Killing him would be foolish and far too suspicious, but you're doomed in hand to hand combat with a gunshot wound in your dominant arm. "Fuck. There's a girl here, she's—" You cut him off again, sweeping a foot under his and bringing him to the floor. His gun clatters to the side. You bring your left hand down in attempts to punch him, but he catches you by the wrist before you can make contact. The fabric of your sleeve slides a bit, you panic, and with frantic movements, you try to pull out of his grasp. The two of you freeze where you are and merely stare at each other for a moment. Then he grabs for his gun again, whipping a leg up to rail you in the side. You hiss at the impact but manage to kick his gun away before he can grab hold of it. 

 "Seonghwa? Seonghwa, repeat." The voice comes from the man's form, no doubt the wristband that glows as the audio comes through. You scramble for your pistol, crying out in pain as your muscles flex at the spot of your wound, but manage to bring the butt of the gun against the man's temple before he has the chance to respond to his captain. "Seonghwa. Are you there? I repeat, are you there?" 

 You sit up, a slight stumble in your steps as you get back to your feet. The man – Seonghwa, most likely – doesn't move, but you can see the staggered rhythm of his breaths as his chest heaves. He'll get away with a headache and minor concussion at best, which is better than being dead for certain.

 "Shit." The voice crackles through Seonghwa's wristband, and you can barely hear it over the still-blaring alarms in the ship. "Yeosang, come in. Go check up on Seonghwa. Kill anyone in your way. We aren't here to make friends." You step over the man's unconscious body, glancing into the ship on the other side. 

 "Cargo bay, cargo bay. Surely you have signs on your ship, Scourge," you mutter as you step onto the foreign spaceship. "Can't be much different than a military ship, right?" You slip your pistol back into its holster, right hand still dancing over the grip despite the pain radiating from that arm. The adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and the more you walk the more you feel the pain. Thankfully, the ship is smaller than anticipated. It's only a short trip to reach the cargo bay, no elevators either, which surprises you. You had initially imagined that the infamous Scourge of the Black Sea would have a ship that's a bit more difficult to sneak onto and carry stowaways, but perhaps you overestimated him.

 The cargo bay is littered with boxes. Some are stacked all the way to the ceiling, while others remain strewn about, all evenly spaced. Despite the volume of boxes, there isn't much space left in the bay. No doubt, they'll decide to make port on one of the trading planets soon to sell off all the stolen cargo, meaning that you'll be able to escape then. Hopefully with relative ease too because otherwise, you're going to be trapped on the ship of one of the most merciless pirates in the galaxy. 

 Slipping between the rows of boxes, your gaze trails over each label. Guns, ammunition, meats, produce, textiles, spices, crafting tools – there seems to be a box for every object in existence. You pause beside a box labeled fabrics and thumb at the clasps, clicking them open to reveal the contents. It's only about half full of spools, more than plenty enough room for you to fit inside, and it would be marginally more comfortable than a crate full of guns. You glance around the cargo bay first, eyes scanning the walls and ceiling for any signs of cameras before you duck into the crate. 

 It's a tight fit, a bit too cramped for comfort, but of course, comfort isn't a luxury you can afford to bitch about at the moment. The searing pain radiating from your right arm is a bigger concern, especially considering that it is getting worse and worse with each passing moment. You bring a finger to your arm, feeling around for an exit wound on the opposite side; however, you can't find one despite all your prodding. Meaning that the bullet is still lodged in your arm.

 "Fucking shit," you curse under your breath. Your arm falls to the bed of fabrics limply. One fucking ambassador with a shaky hand is not going to send you to your grave because of a damn bullet in your arm, and you'd sooner tear the bullet out with your own fingers.

 "Deliver the boxes here!" The sudden intrusion of voices stops your fingers from reaching for the wound, however, and you instead press your left palm over the wound in attempts to slow the bleeding. "If you're done getting beat up by soldiers, that is." The voice no doubt belongs to the Scourge, but the next one is less familiar. 

 "She wasn't a fucking soldier. I told you that." A grunt follows along with the thud of something heavy. It takes a few moments for you to realize that the "she" is, in fact, you, and the person Hongjoong is speaking to must be the man you clobbered at the docking station. "No way she was military. She had a uniform but when we were fighting, I caught her arm and there were chains branded on the inside of her wrist." Your eyes widen despite only seeing darkness around you. Subconsciously, you tighten your grip around your wound, the image of chains branded onto your skin the only thing you can see. 

 "You still got your ass handed to you."

 "Yeah well, maybe she ought to join the crew since she's able to kick my ass."

 "Why would a military traitor be of any use to me?" Silence answers the question, and Hongjoong continues speaking, his clear voice ringing loudly in your ears as though he's right next to you. "Who says that military traitor won't betray me too?"

 "I don't recall you saying that about our dear Royal Betrayer when he joined the crew. Besides, a prejudice against the military does not equal a prejudice against any sort of leadership."

 "Oh, is that so? Would you like to go back onto that ship and get her? If you're so adamant about her joining my crew, why don't you do that?"

 "No sir. I wouldn't like to do that. I am merely trying to be logical. We've lost over half our crew in the past two months, either due to death or desertion. Hongjoong, you really need to consider bringing mo—"

 "You need to consider your position on this ship," Hongjoong cuts in, voice dropping in volume and turning to venom. "You are Lieutenant, not Captain. I am the Captain. Is that not clear?"

 "Crystal clear."

 "I will consider bringing more crewmates in when I deem it necessary. Understood?"

 "Yes, Captain. It was merely a suggestion. Nothing else." Quiet falls between the men, air so tense you could cut it with a knife even from your position in this crate. "What of the survivors, Captain?"

 "Kill them all. Destroy the ship as well. I don't want to see a single trace of the HMS Revenge. We got what we needed. Nothing else matters." 

 You shift and twist in the crate, trying to adjust into a more comfortable position only to slam your arm against the side of the wood. A sharp hiss escapes your lips before you can stop it. Teeth sink into your lower lip as you attempt to contain the sound but the damage is already done. 

 There's silence outside the crate.

 Your heart thrums loud, erratic beats against your eardrums.

 Two seconds meld into five, then ten seconds pass in silence. You hear no sounds of movement, no scraping of shoes or thumps of boots. 

 "You don't have to do this, Hongjoong," the second voice speaks at last. "As you said, we got what we needed. We can just leave now."

 "I do have to do this, Seonghwa. If I don't kill a man every now and then, no one fears me."

 "What of the trail of corpses aboard that ship right now? Is that not enough fear for you? Do you think their families and friends wait at home afraid of you?”

 "I gave you an order, Lieutenant."

 "Yes, Captain." Footsteps resound, the clanking of boots against metal flooring, and the sound grows fainter until you can't hear anything except the thud of your heartbeat in your ears and the rasps of your breath. You don't risk lifting the lid of the crate yet, not until you're absolutely certain that the two men have left the cargo hold. You lie in the darkness, listening to nothing except the faint sounds of your own breathing for god knows how long. 

 When you finally creak the lid open, there is only more darkness surrounding you. The lights throughout the cargo bay are dimmed, leaving you to feel your way around the crate to little avail. The blood on your hand has grown sticky from the length of time you've been lying there but at least the steady flow of blood has subsided to a slow trickle. You grab at one of the spools of fabric in your new home. Tearing a long strip of the material off, you try your best to bandage the wound without being able to see it or have both hands to do so. It's awkward and shitty, no doubt barely a knot keeping it together, but it's just enough pressure to alleviate some of the blood flow. 

 The steady loss of blood has left you dizzy. You crawl back into the crawl with heavy limbs, barely able to close the lid back just enough so that you can still breathe some fresh air. Time seems to stretch on forever, the darkness simultaneously keeping you up and helping you fall into slumber. You finally slip into sleep between the throbbing pain in your right arm and the stinging memory of a hot brand being pressed against the inside of your left wrist, along with the words "filthy fucking traitor". You fall asleep with one hand resting over the place where you tucked the stolen papers into your shirt, the folds of the letters easing your worries enough to let you sleep.

✧  ✧  ✧

a/n: on god, y'all are probably like pleASE calypso no more series istg you don't have the tiME but oh well i may not have the time but i've got the enthusiasm :D ((jk pls don't scalp me i'm just trying to have fun here)) but also hello hello thank you for reading!!! i really hope you all enjoyed it and please let me know what you think of it and feel free to send an ask if you have any questions/feedback/just overall love for me bc i’m really anxious to know what you all think!!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[houseisekai]

House Isekai: A Realm Reborn - Prologue

It has been two years since House Isekai last fought side by side. Everyone has moved on with their lives, growing as people, as well as fighters.

However for some, it has left them nothing to do as they sit around. These thoughts are the first thing that springs to mind for Kazuma...

[Dead Broke - Konosuba OST]

Kazuma sat on the chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest sighing loudly.

No one was in the house currently. Megumin was off casting explosions with Yunyun, Darkness, surprisingly, was off doing Noble duties. And as for Aqua...

Who the hell knows what she was up to right now?

(Kazuma) “So...god damn...BORED.”

He slumped back on the couch, grumbling to himself. Nothing sounded particularly entertaining or stimulating right now.

Kazuma got off and began pacing back and forth trying to think of something.

This was the fourth week in a row he had done nothing. At first he loved it. Then it hit him, there was no one at home to even talk to since they were off doing their own thing.

He had gotten exactly what he wanted, peace and quiet.

Now, he had too much of it. There was no devil king to defeat, no quests to do, no one to even have lunch with. No world to sa-

...No. Definitely not that.

Kazuma had that experience too many times. Granted, it was only twice, but it’s not like he wanted a third.

(Kazuma) “GOD DAMN IT!”

He kicked the table leg in frustration, which only made his foot hurt and made him swear even more.

Kazuma shook his head and went into the kitchen. He swung open the pantry, trying to find any bottles of wine-

They were gone.

Why the hell were they go-

(Kazuma) !!! “THAT BLUE LITTLE BITCH.”

Aqua took all of it. Literally all of it. Even the ones he thought he hid.

To say anyone outside could hear him would have been an understatement. Anyone in a 50 mile radius could feel his anger.

He made one last scream of pure unadulterated anger before he fell to the floor, ready to cry.

There was literally nothing to do. Nothing at all.

...

...

Beep!

Beep!

Beep!

(Kazuma) “...The hell?”

He sat up, feeling a vibration in his pocket.

Raising an eyebrow, he reached into it and pulled out a small crest.

(Kazuma) “When was this in my-”

It was a tiny badge of House Isekai’s logo.

(Kazuma) “Man...That’s something I haven’t thought of in a while...Wait a second, we never had anything like this, why the hell is it in my pocket?”

Beep! Beep! Beep!

(Kazuma) “...How do I make it shut up?”

He tried poking it.

Beep! Beep! Be-

He tried poking it multiple times. Except harder.

Beep! Be-

(Kazuma) “...”

He put it on the table, took a deep breath, then crushed it with his fist.

SLAM!

DING DING!

(Kazuma) “Thank go-”

BZZZRRRRRT!

Kazuma was about to scream before he heard a voice coming from it.

[Arcana Code - Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST]

(Familliar Woman’s Voice) “-...questing immediate assistance from anyone that can hear this. If you are able, please arrive at Garreg Mach. This message will now repeat.”

(Kazuma) “...The fu-Sitri?!”

(Sitri’s Voice) “This is Sitri Eisner of Garreg Mach Monastery. House Isekai, we are requesting immediate assistance from anyone that can hear this. If you are able, please arrive at Garreg Mach. This me-”

Kazuma was shocked to hear her.

He thought that whole deal with House Isekai was a one and done case. They’d team up and whatever, then save the day, then piss off, never to hear each other again.

(Kazuma) “FINALLY SOMETHING TO DO!”

He got up excitedly before it dawned on him. Going back to Fodlan meant it could be really really annoying. Especially depending on who shows back up.

Though...it could mean something like last time could happen.

(Kazuma) “On second thought:”

Kazuma sat down in his couch, refusing to get up.

...

...

...

...

...

(Kazuma) “...Oh for fucks sake-”

He mumbled to himself as he got up and put his adventurer gear on. He grabbed his trusty sword and dagger and headed out the door, grabbing the badge.

(Kazuma) “Let’s go already...Actually, how do I even...?”

There was no Tower in Kazuma’s world. Since Aqua wasn’t here, he wasn’t even sure how to get to Fodlan to begin with.

Kazuma brought out the small badge and stared at it, looking for a button.

After a few minutes, he found nothing.

He scratched his head and held it up close to his mouth.

(Kazuma) “Er...this is Kazuma, I can help?”

Immediately, a portal opened up in front of him, the other side showing a reflection of Zanado.

(Kazuma) “...I swear Slayer, you can make the weirdest shit.”

He stretched his arms before going through the portal.

Once he was through, the portal closed behind him and he was inside a room covered in crystal.

(Kazuma) “Is this...the tower?”

(Familliar Girl’s voice) “Kazuma?”

Kazuma turned around and saw the others that had arrived.

[Musica Universalis - Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers OST]

(Towa) “Oh my gosh, it really is you!”

(Rean) “Hah, long time no see, Kazuma.”

(Aigis) “It is good to see you.”

Kazuma smiled and waved his hand.

(Kazuma) “Yo. I see you guys grew up a bit.”

Towa and Rean were now wearing white uniforms, looking a few years older. Rean at least did, Towa was still as small as ever.

Aigis was now sporting a black business suit. At first glance you couldn’t even tell she was mechanical. And instead of a bow, she now had a tie.

(Rean) “What about you? Doesn’t seem like you changed much.”

(Kazuma) “No I...Pretty much...didn’t...”

He had spent one part of the two years actually doing something eventful. The remaining time had wasted it away doing pretty much nothing.

(Kazuma) “Anyways, why did Sitri call us in? Any of you guys know?”

(Towa) “Oh, so you heard that message too!”

Everyone took out a similar badge, like Kazuma’s.

(Aigis) “I do not recall having this before we left Fodlan.”

(Rean) “Well, I think Slayer had something to do with us having this. He DID develop that call system after all.”

(Towa) “I suppose we’ll ask later. We need to get to Garreg Mach, the message sounded pretty urgent!”

(Kazuma) “Right, right...How do we get there?”

Rean looked at his hand and shrugged, deciding to try his idea out.

(Rean) “Valimar?”

Valimar’s voice could be heard throughout the entire room.

(Valimar’s Voice) “Yes, Rean?”

(Towa) “Oh wow, it worked.”

(Rean) “Could you teleport us to Garreg Mach from the Tower?”

(Valimar’s Voice) “Affirmative. Do you require my presence as well?”

(Rean) “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

A portal opened up once more, and it seemed like it was directly outside the monastery.

(Aigis) “Convenient.”

(Kazuma) “Ugh, we gotta walk...”

(Towa) “Oh come on, it’ll be just a short one! We’re right outside the gates.”

(Rean) “Let’s head out. I don’t think anyone else is coming for right now.”

Everyone went into the portal, and it slowly closed behind them.

...

Hangar, Thor’s Military Academy Branch Campus

Valimar was about to deactivate once more before seeing the members of Class VII walk up to him.

(Juna) “No one else is here, right?”

(Altina) “Correct. It is just us.”

Nodding, Juna turned to Valimar.

(Juna) “H-Hey. Valimar?”

Valimar’s eyes flashed green.

(Valimar) “Class VII. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

(Ash) “Mind explaining what the hell Rean just did?”

(Kurt) “Yes, did he and Instructor Towa just...walk through a portal?”

(Valimar) “Affirmative.”

(Musse) “Is...that normal for them?”

(Valimar) “No. It has been two years since he and the original Class VII used it.”

They all looked at each other, confused.

(Ash) “Hey, open a portal for us too-”

(Kurt) “What? Why would you want to-”

(Musse) “I wanna know where Instructor Rean went! Maybe its where he gets so strong.~”

(Ash) “Actually yeah, good point. I was wanting to follow just for fun, let’s do that instead!”

(Altina) “Data shows that this will end badly-”

(Ash) “Too late, open it!”

(Valimar) “Hm...I suppose if you are in their hands...Very well. Opening portal.”

Garreg Mach Monastery, Gates...

[Life at Garreg Mach Monastery - Fire Emblem: Three Houses OST]

BING, BING BING BING, BONG!

Classes had been dismissed for the day, so the entire monastery exploded into a hub of activity.

Rean, Aigis, Towa, and Kazuma walked through the gates, getting a rush of nostalgia.

As they looked around, most of the damage had been repaired, though there were still some workers fixing rubble here and there.

The four of them walked up to the entrance hall, they didn’t see even a single familiar face.

Even the gatekeeper was someone new. Upon closer inspection, the guards appeared to be from all three nations, Alliance, Kingdom, and Imperial soldiers.

(Kazuma) “Place has certainly changed, huh?”

(Towa) “I had no idea they were able to get things working this fast again in just 2 years...”

(Rean) “Maybe we can ask around, excuse me!”

(Imperial Guard) “Hm?”

(Rean) “We’re looking for Sitri Eisner?”

(Imperial Guard) “Sorry fella, she’s busy.”

(Aigis) “With what?”

(Imperial Guard) “Can’t say. Outsiders aren’t allowed to know the inner workings of Garreg Mach for security reasons.”

(Kazuma) “Outsiders? Ungrateful little, WE-”

(Rean) “-ARE so sorry about him, thank you so much for your time.”

Rean and Aigis held Kazuma off before he could explode into a rant, Towa bowing in apologies, then they left further into the entrance hall.

(Kazuma) “Why the hell did you hold me back?! Outsiders my ass, we’re the ones who saved Fodlan!”

(Aigis) “It is advised we keep our voices down. We do not know what the state of Fodlan, given current data.”

(Rean) “A lot can happen in two years after all...”

(Towa) “We should just look around anyway, we know Garreg Mach like the back of our hand!”

As soon as they stepped through the gates, all of them stopped dead in their tracks.

Lamp posts were put alongside the sidewalks, with a massive hangar in the distance being where the Cathedral used to be.

And outside of the Cathedral, several massive stone golems were walking out, armed with swords. In fact, they looked like rougher versions of Valimar.

Some of the guards had glowing armor with what looked like small cannons on their shoulders.

One guard had a crystal pulled out of his pocket, and displayed a screen of information to him, something straight out of a science fiction novel.

In a fantasy world that relied on magic.

Even the students appeared to have these devices on them.

(Rean) “...Huh.”

(Towa) “Me and my big mouth...”

(Kazuma) “What the fuck?”

(Aigis) “I do believe I am processing an error?”

...

Sitri entered the room and everyone went quiet as she moved to the center.

She took a moment to look at the students in front of her. There were only five, but these were supposedly the best of the best of the three houses.

(Sitri) “Kairos, Astrid, Helena, Elizabeth and...Stefan, yes?”

(Kairos) “Yes ma’am.”

(Astrid) “That’s us!”

(Helena) “Yup.”

(Elizabeth) “Oh good, you took care to remember my name!”

Stefan put on his helmet before responding.

(Stefan) “Yeah, you got it right.”

Sitri nodded clearing her throat.

(Sitri) “Then let’s get started.”

=====

Every end marks a beginning:

The end of the Church, leading into Fodlan’s restoration.

The end of House Isekai, leading into...

A Realm Reborn

=====

[Raise Your Flag - MAN WITH A MISSION]

Raise your flag With all your voice With all your voice Shout it out loud with all your voice One day Someday somewhere Dream on as we wander Under pressure, you are waiting for direction Going on the road without your mind All misleads they give ignoring our decisions Killing yourself your soul we have inside Continue the struggle and feel like you're discouraged Rise up again to run to the end In between the never-ending dream We can struggle and muzzle the world before it fades away Raise your flag With all your voice With all your voice Shout it out loud with all your voice One day Someday somewhere Believing that we will reach that goal Come on and Raise your flag So just Raise your flag No matter how many times we feel defeated or lost As long as we breathe As long as we carry on Dream on as we wander

[windtempos]

Midnight Mission

Adya can’t help but smile. The most advanced bionics money can buy, and the one thing that can take her out is a pretty girl with a melee weapon and metal arms.

Adya runs into some unexpected trouble on a mission, followed by some unexpected help from a very friendly face.

--

Loving one another was never the challenge for Adya and Reese-- acting like they didn’t was.

Neither of them were sure of Goddard's policy for romantic relationships between agents. They weren’t sure if they even wanted to call it one at all. Putting time aside both to a partner and to their jobs would be nearly impossible, especially considering how busy Adya was outside of agent work. Every day, a new interview, board meeting, or diagnostic check seemed to take up any ounce of free time she had. 

But Reese can’t deny that she looks at her colleague and wants everything to do with her. Living with four other agents and being right next door to Adya certainly doesn’t curb the thought, either. Even with the cold, harsh metal beneath her artificial skin, her touch always feels warm. Even when every gesture and expression is the result of 1s and 0s in her computer brain, she finds herself picking up Adya’s idle habits. Even when the world spins too fast for them to get a moment alone, it seems to slow down right when Reese wants it to. Just for a second-- then it’s back to business.

The only alone time that the two get is always under... strenuous circumstances. Luckily, amid the chaos of a fight, there’s one thing that all their teammates can agree upon: Adya and Reese work well under pressure.

Colby’s rifle rests across her lap. The weariness starts to set in; it’s almost two in the morning and she’s been camped out on this fire escape for an hour, waiting for someone who might never come.

“What do you have for me, Colburn?” Adya says from her wrist com.

“Exactly what I had for you two minutes ago,” she answers. “An empty storefront with the lights off. No one coming in or out. The building is big, so I can’t guarantee that they’re not using another exit. What do you have for me, Prisham?”

“Well, I found out there’s a basement. The walls are too thick for me to hear anything; and if I go down any further, I’ll lose your signal.”

“Our mission is reconnaissance only. The people in this building are supposedly picking apart old assembly line machines and reselling the parts.”

Adya keeps her footsteps light and ducks around the corner. The concrete is cold against her back in some spots, warm in others. It might just be the fact that she’s underground in a building that’s decades old, but something tells her that it’s more. “I don’t mind secondhand shopping until it means the difference between a bionic arm and a bomb.”

Colby’s tired eyes wake up when she notices five people look up and down the street before unlocking the front door. “Woah, woah,” she says, peering through the scope of her rifle. When one pulls at the handle, she notices his clawlike, bionic arm. “Adya, you’ve got incoming.”

Static.

“Adya?” she taps her wrist com gently a few times before giving up. The five figures disappear behind the building’s tinted windows.

Willing to take the risk, Adya slips into the stairwell and makes her way to the basement. Idle chatter and footsteps echo two flights above her. Shit, she mutters. The staircase goes down a few more flights, but she takes the first exit she sees. There isn’t enough time to shut it gently; the door swings back and latches with a tremendous thud on both sides. As she dives out of sight around the corner, she holds down the button on her wrist com. If live communication isn’t going through at this depth, all she can do is send out a tracking transmission and hope that no one has to use it.

Both sides of the hallway feature heavy, metal doors and one-way windows. Thermal vision tells her that each room has only a couple people inside; the rest of the space is occupied by machines, she assumes. She peers through one of the doors to see two men in dirty mechanic suits studying an elegant bionic arm propped up on the table. Instead of five fingers, the arm stops at the wrist with a wide opening similar to that of a gun. An arm cannon. We were right about this place.

The weight of Adya’s metal body against the metal door is enough to shove it open, however, and it lets out a creak that resonates down the hallway for everyone to hear. She breaks into a sprint down the hall. Even with the most lightweight bionics money can buy, her steps are heavy and loud against the concrete. She’s met by five pairs of eyes when she whips around the corner.

One of the men steps forward, extending his clawlike hand. “I’m impressed,” he begins. “This is a secure facility. Sneaking in here is pretty bold.”

“Guess I just love the thrill,” Adya responds, a firm hand on the pistol against her thigh.

“No, I think you’re just programmed that way.” He lets out a chuckle that feels almost robotic. Maybe his hand isn’t the only artificial thing about him. “Adya Milana Prisham. First human consciousness in a fully functional, artificial body. Designed for any fight. I’ve read up on you-- marvelous work.”

If she’s programmed for anything, it’s this. Her sense of fear is high enough to keep her safe, but low enough that she doesn’t freeze up in the face of danger. “Technically, I’m not built for combat. They didn’t start building military-grade bodies until after they put me in this one.”

“Hm. How unfortunate for you.” The claw attached to his wrist retracts, replacing itself with a narrow, four-pronged tool that the man presses into Adya’s shoulder. An overwhelming jolt of electricity courses through her system. Her joints lock up and her eyes go wide before abruptly returning to a neutral gaze. The world goes dark as her mind retreats into her limp body.

When Adya comes to, she’s blinded by the white light shining directly into her vision. Her wrists are bound to the wall above her head in tight, metal clamps. The room feels, looks, smells-- sterile. She knows the sensation of a bionics procedure room all too well.

“They say that the best way to learn is by doing,” the man says, noticing that she’s conscious, “and I’m tired of reading articles and analyzing blueprints. Let’s dissect that hunk of metal you call a body, huh?”

A small canister slides under the door and clatters against the concrete the moment that he turns to face Adya. Thick, white smoke fills the room faster than he can kick it away or cover it. He stumbles back into carts and tables, knocking trays of tools to the floor.

The sound of a struggle becomes the only discernible thing among the chaos. Adya notices a second, smaller heat signature has entered the room. When the smoke clears, it’s not the man’s face that she notices first. It’s the long, brunette hair and slim, bionic arms. It’s the brown eyes that could see right through you if they chose to. It’s the casual smile that never fails to be a sight for sore eyes.

“Reese?”

Reese coughs out some of the smoke, making sure that her opponent won’t be getting back up anytime soon. She pulls a key from his coat pocket. In one, swift movement, the staff in her hand retracts and latches back onto her belt. “I see that you turned your recon mission into an assault,” she says. “And I just turned it into a rescue. I got your tracking transmission.”

“At two in the fucking morning?” Adya scoffs, but it comes out as more of a chuckle. She can’t even pretend to be mad. “What are you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep. The apartment feels too empty with you and Colby gone and I was working late anyway.”

Adya stares at Reese for a long while as she wanders over. “You were worried about me.”

Reese rolls her eyes, stretching her metal arms over her head in an attempt to look nonchalant. She wears black skinny jeans and a big, gray jacket over a tank top. While she may look out of her element in civilian clothes, Adya can’t deny that she looks awfully good in them. It’s not often they get to be out and about in anything but their uniforms. This doesn’t exactly qualify as “out and about”, though. “Was not,” Reese says.

“Yes you were! You did this last time I went on a midnight mission. Nate and I didn’t come back until four in the morning and there you were, pulling an all nighter.”

Reese rests a hand on the wall above Adya’s shoulder. She leans in closer with the dumbest, most smug grin anyone’s ever seen. “For the record, I got an hour of sleep that night. But keep talking-- I’ll just leave you here.”

Adya giggles and taps her nose against her colleagues. Too much time around Reese and she starts to short circuit. “The things you do to get me alone, Agent.”

“The things I do? You were here first, tin can. I’m doing you a favor.”

She reaches up with the key and slides it into the lock. Soon enough, Adya’s arms slip out, but now they’re caught in a new grip. Reese holds tight to her hands and locks her lips against Adya’s. For a few seconds, everything disappears-- no bionics, no enemies, no threat of being dissected like a lab project. There is Adya and Reese, nothing more. The earth melts out from under their feet like rocks floating downstream, away from the heavy world.

Static spews out of Adya’s wrist com. “Adya?” Colby says. Great timing.

“I’m here,” she says, still eyeing Reese an inch away from her. “I’m on my way out. We were right-- they’re building black market bionics here.”

“What took you so long?”

“I ran into some unfriendly faces.”

“Followed by a very friendly one,” Reese chimes in. “Hey, Colby.”

Colby’s gasp is so loud that it almost scrambles her transmission. “Reese, the General is gonna be furious that you snuck onto this operation!”

Reese opens the door and follows her colleague out into the hallways. “Which is why we’re not gonna tell her.”

Ever the ambitious member of their team, Reese darts down the corridors, narrowly avoiding eyes and ears with ease. Adya follows close behind, ears still ringing from the kiss earlier. She can’t help but smile. The most advanced bionics money can buy, and the one thing that can take her out is a pretty girl with a melee weapon and metal arms.

[jeminy3]

Blind Roy - Office Woes

This was meant to be part of a series of more Blind Roy drabbles, titled and focused on things like being back in the office, conversations with each individual team member, talking grimly of the future with Grumman, etc. But all my writing juice went into other stories (like the Elicia story, The Things We Carry), so they never really came together. This is just leftovers. 

Features: Blind Character PoV, insecurities, workarounds for disabilities, Team Mustang being supportive like a good team should.

Read on Google Docs

Read on AO3

Twitter Post

Disclaimers:

- Realistically, Roy would be forced to retire from the military because of his blindness, but I didn't double-check that until I'd written out most of this because I'm PRETTY sure that in Brotherhood, he says something about continuing to pursue his goals despite his blindness. But whatever, it's an AU.

- I know Braille wouldn't exist in the FMA verse, or would go under a different name, but whatever.

Also, here’s another Roy doodle.

--

Roy's first day back in the office was difficult - much more difficult than he imagined.

He spent the majority of the day shuffling slowly around rooms with arms outstretched, running into walls, knocking things over, feeling his way around doorways and chairs and tables, much like - well, a blind man. He would've laughed at himself, if not for the quiet shame and anger that gripped him.

And a strange sort of denial did, too. Years from now, he'd look back on these days and realize that his biggest mistake was thinking he could somehow function exactly like he used to and therefore not become a burden to those around him. Because the worst parts of it all were his constant, stubborn refusals to accept help, even from his own squadron.

It takes him almost two weeks before he finally relents to using a cane at everyone's suggestion, after growing incredibly tired of crushing his nose, bumping his head, stubbing his fingers and toes, and wounding his pride in front of other officials while navigating their offices.

The sounds of people snickering softly behind his back hurt more than all his bumps and bruises combined. He expects them to multiply upon starting use of his cane, but to his surprise, they don't, and eventually stop altogether.

He gets a reason why when he offhandedly comments on it one day, as he's getting ready to head home for the evening.

"Another day done, I suppose. Almost surprised I'm still in one piece."

He hears a questioning sound from Riza. "How do you mean, sir?"

"Well, besides surviving the day without hurting myself for once-" He gestures with his cane. " -I haven't heard any, shall we say, disrespectful sounds from anyone in my vicinity. Maybe they're finally wise enough to hold their snickering for when I leave the room."

Riza makes an odd sound, as if holding back a laugh herself. "Well I wouldn't say that, sir..."

"...Hm?"

There's a shifting of fabric from Riza's uniform, as if she were lifting an arm to adjust her collar.

"Just between us, sir, if it eases you... myself and the others may be responsible for that. I've done my best to shut down any potential disrespect towards you during our meetings, and Fuery's encouraged us to take problem folk aside and give them, as he says, 'a good talking-to' about your condition."

There's a lightening in her voice, as if she's smiling. "And it looks like our efforts have paid off."

Roy was silent for a good few seconds, gaping a bit. He was... shocked, a little, that his squadron would go so out of their way for his comfort, even his pride.

Eventually, he'd learn to stop being so surprised.

--

Progress on paperwork nearly came to a complete halt during his first few days.

Unable to read, Roy had asked Riza to read the forms aloud to him before he signed them, but that method quickly proved to be inefficient. Not only was listening to Riza's droning voice a battle to stay conscious by the end of the day, but the strain on her soon proved to be too much.

"-and so, as per the order of Colonel Roy Musta- Agh. Ack." Riza chokes, then breaks down into a coughing fit.

"...Lieutenant? Are you alright?" Roy asks, snapping out of his boredom.

It takes a few seconds before she's recovered enough to respond, and when she does, her voice is still noticeably rough. "I'm- Urgh- I'm sorry sir, but I don't think this will work. I'm losing my voice," she says hoarsely.

Roy does his best to stave off a surge of panic. These forms need to get done. "Er- Well... Then uh, bring Falman in to take over until you recover, Lieutenant."

He hears her sigh softly. "Apologies again, but I have to disagree, sir. Falman has his own duties and can't spend all his time reading to you. Same for the others."

"...Besides, he's not even here today," she adds. "He's out on reconnaissance, remember?"

Roy sighs deeply, sinking into his desk and rubbing his temples. "...I'd forgotten. Sorry, Lieutenant. It's just- the meetings, the forms- it all blends together sometimes. You know."

Riza makes a "hm" noise in agreement, but nothing else. An awkward silence falls, and Roy can imagine her staring him down accusingly, since she'd already suggested a better alternative earlier today, but Roy had refused it, as usual.

At this point he was just delaying the inevitable. He lets out a long, loud groan of defeat. "Fine, fine. I'll stop putting it off. I'll try to learn that 'brell' language you told me about."

"It's called Braille, sir."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes... And we'll have to reprint everything with that special paper... Ugh, the print department's going to moan at me, I just know it."

"I should hope not. Not when their Colonel has a disability that needs accommodation."

Disability. Roy flinches a little at the word, associating it with years of well-meaning but nonetheless other-ing societal norms. Nursing homes, therapy wards, parking spaces and public seating set aside and marked with garishly-colored signs.

"Er- Can you... not call it that, Lieutenant? It's not disabling, just ah- challenging, that's all," he says.

He hears her sigh again, and the sound of her uniform shifting, then feels her hand on his shoulder. Her voice is soft, perhaps softer than intended from her hoarseness, but there's something undeniably sincere in it.

"Roy, please... it's alright."

Her voice is closer to him now, and Roy can imagine her leaning down with a small, gentle smile near his face, offering tender support against his bull-headed stubbornness that masked a deep, all-consuming shame inside him. It eases him, a little.

Roy breathes out slowly, relieving a tension in his shoulders he hadn't noticed was there.

"I... I'll try, Riza. Thank you."

--

Luckily for everyone, the Braille system works out better than expected.

Frustrated with the amount of time it took to reprint everything traditionally, Roy, in his usual manner, came up with the brilliant idea of using Alchemy to convert them instead.

It takes some time and convincing to the higher-ups, but eventually, with the help of Major Armstrong and a few other alchemists, Roy creates a new and fairly simple system. All one has to do is place a stack of documents, along with a small amount of extra wood chips, in an array that instantly thickens the paper and raises the correct pattern of bumps, both for letters and lines to write into.

Then it's arranged for a specialized alchemist to be tasked with learning braille, translating documents, then recreating them using this process.

It turns out to be quite a bit faster and more efficient than traditional printing methods, since mistakes happened rarely compared to the sometimes-unwieldy machines, and in turn, this significantly cuts down on costs from maintenance and wasted paper.

East Headquarters’ Treasurer and Senior Accountants commend him for the idea and its execution, and begin sharing the idea with the officials at every other military office. Soon there’s talk about installing a similar system in every printing facility throughout Central City, even the country beyond, potentially opening up a significant breakthrough in readership for the similarly-disabled.

Roy was just happy he could finally fill out his paperwork by himself with little issue, but he’s certainly not above claiming it as another of his many impressive achievements.

As for writing out new documents himself, the solution was more simple. He has Riza bring in a typewriter to type his words as he says them aloud to her, and uses a ruler to keep his signatures straight on the plain, non-textured paper. Then the proofs are brought to the printers to reproduce as proper forms.

--

It took time - a long time - but eventually, Roy forms a mental map of not only his office, but of his personal apartment, the surrounding hallways and rooms of the apartment building, the whole interior of East Headquarters, and everywhere else he frequented on his daily routine, largely helped by his memory of what they looked like before he lost his sight - and by his squadron, of course.

Eventually, he also learns to stave off the irrational fear that things could be switched around without him knowing, that doorways and furniture would change position for no reason, and he didn't have to feel and re-feel everything every other day just to make sure. Slowly, he learns to trust himself and his connection to this dark world that was familiar, but at the same time strange and terrifying.

And of course, his squadron would never be so discourteous as to move something in his office without telling him.

[dearlazerbunny]

Something Borrowed

Pairings: Poe x Reader, You x friends with the SW Crew

Genre/Rating: G,

Words: 3,000

Summary: So a looooong time ago @molmcb had the hilarious idea of putting all our favorites into a TLC Say Yes to the Dress type scenario. Today, I emerge from my antibiotics-fueled haze to hopefully do this idea some justice? Maybe? I’ll probably re-write this at some point to try and make it actually funny. 

“Poe. Poe!” You tug against Poe’s hand, which has your wrist in a vice grip as he pulls you down the street. “Will you please- stop!”

Your voice is loud enough that he actually complies, pausing in the middle of the busy NYC sidewalk to look at you. “What is it?”

His apparent naïveté almost makes you laugh . Almost. “Poe. You haven’t given me the faintest clue of where we’re going. You have a big black duffel bag on your back- which makes you look like a bank robber, by the way- and you won’t tell me what’s inside, and wherever it is apparently requires a full face of makeup at 11:00 in the morning…? Can I have some context here, please?”

He shrugs his shoulders, and you want to kiss- or smack- that dopey little grin he has on right off his face. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”

You sigh. “And you won’t even give me a hint?” The look on his face says it all- that’s a big fat no. “Fine. Proceed.” Once again he takes off like a golden retriever, you his long-suffering owner just trying to rein in all that energy and excitement.

Such has been your life since you and Poe got engaged almost a year ago- and been dating for two years prior to that. And to be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way. His spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment outlook on life perfectly balances your methodical, calculated headspace. He keeps you on your toes, you have the power to reel him back when necessary; you keep him grounded, he reminds you to admire the stars every once in a while. It’s a match made in heaven, or so many have said, and you’re not sure if you exactly believe in heaven but you definitely believe in the man dragging you down the street. So you follow, tripping over your own feet, knowing that wherever he’s taking you is bound to be an adventure of one kind or another.

“Okay. Close your eyes.” You’ve just rounded the corner of yet another crowded sidewalk, and you glance around at all the people rushing by.

“Here? Now?”

“Yup.” He’s beaming at you. “I won’t let anyone hit you, I promise.”

“A tall order.” Reluctantly, you do so, keeping your eyes open just a smidge, looking at the sidewalk so you don’t trip over an uneven patch of concrete. He leads you slowly down the road, one step at a time, before finally stopping, putting his hands on your shoulders, and turning you towards a particular building. You can’t see anything but the brick meeting the concrete. “Can I… can I open them?”

“Okay, ready- open.”

You do so. In front of you is a huge storefront window filled to the brim with white dresses of all shapes and sizes, some of them twinkling and catching the light. KLEINFELD, written in big black letters, sparkles against the brick. You feel your eyes widen. “You did not.”

“I did,” he says proudly, and now you do smack him, albeit lightly and playfully on the shoulder.

“Poe Dameron! I told you I didn’t want a big ordeal about this dress!”

“I know, I know, but the wedding is getting closer and Rey told me you didn’t have anything- really, this was all her idea, so don’t blame me-”

“I’m going to kill her,” you mutter, and Poe shakes his curly head.

“The appointment is in fifteen minutes. If you really don’t want to, we can cancel it. But I just thought… even if you don’t want it, you deserve something this big, you know? You deserve to know you mean the world to me.”

Goddamnit, how are you supposed to be mad at the man when he gets all poetic on you like that? You pull him into a hug, arms around his neck, then plant a kiss on his cheek. “I think this is one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done,” you say, “but just the fact that you went to all this trouble means the world to me.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “How Did you even set this up?”

Another smile splits his face. “That’s surprise number two. Come on.” He goes over to the double doors and pulls one open, dwarfing him by at least four feet. “Mi’lady.”

“Oh, shut up.” But there’s a grin on your lips as you walk inside the wedding wonderland. Kleinfeld has been made famous in the wedding industry thanks mostly to its TV show and similar spin-offs, Say Yes to the Dress. You’ve seen the show, of course- what girl hasn’t?- and like everyone you’ve occasionally given a thought to someday visiting the behemoth boutique, especially since it’s right in your hometown. But Poe and you are having a simple wedding, with just family and close friends, so there’s absolutely no need to drop thousands of dollars on a dress. You’d be just as happy with something off the rack at Macy’s.

But still… he went to all this trouble. And Rey is right, you don’t have a dress yet. Plus he said there was another surprise? It’s fair to say you’re thoroughly hooked. So you walk into the lobby and are greeted by a slim woman in all black with a pleasant smile on her face. “Y/N?” You nod. “Excellent, we’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Kleinfeld. Can we take your coats? Your party is waiting right over here…” she glides off into the showroom, which is already filled with dozens of brides making the most important decision of their entire wedding. Party? You glance at Poe, wondering what he has up his sleeve, but he just follows the concierge into the depths of white lace.

When you see the couch right smack in the center of the room, you stop, mouth open. Because even though all of the people on it are facing away from you, there’s no mistaking that three-bun hairstyle sitting on the end. Shrieking, you run over and pull your best friend into a hug from behind, not even caring if you’re suffocating her. “Rey! What- how?” You’re completely speechless, and above Rey’s giggles you hear a voice cut through the din.

“What, we don’t deserve a hello?” You turn and nearly scream again, right in Armitage’s face. 

“Oh my GOD, Armi! Hello! Hi!” You hug him as well, and just as you’re catching your breath, you pull back a little. “Wait, is everyone…?” You look around you. Finn is sitting next to Rey, looking very uncomfortable perched on the velvet pillows, but he manages a small wave as you look at him. On the opposite end of the couch, Kylo is rolling his eyes at your meltdown, but when you kick him in the ankle he smiles at you. “Everyone is here. Everyone is here?” After making Finn and then Kylo stand for a hug, you turn back to Poe, who is standing a bit away with his arms crossed, looking on at the scene. “Did you do this?”

He smiles modestly. “I figured you might need some help deciding.”

“How in the world-” you look back at the group, still one hundred percent in shock. “Rey, aren’t you supposed to be in Honolulu?” You turn to Armitage and Kylo. “And I know you two should be on base in, like, Italy?”

The hazards of having friends who are all, in some capacity, in the military, is that they are absolutely never in the same place at the same time. In fact, they are usually thousands and thousands of miles apart from each other, and only come home one at a time. Christmas is basically impossible. You don’t think you’ve seen everyone sitting together in one room since college. “I was,” Rey pipes up, “but I think my best friend’s wedding dress is a little more important.”

You look at Finn, who shrugs. “Rey called my superior and told him I had a family emergency.”

While you give Rey a dirty look, Armitage is unwrinkling his impeccable monochromatic black ensemble from your enthusiastic hug. “I was due for a holiday anyways, and I was in the area.”

“In civilian clothes, too.” You always tease him about his love of fashion, and yet he’s stuck in a general’s uniform most of his days. Finally, you turn to Kylo. “And I suppose the Air Force just let you have a day for a lie-in?”

Kylo snorts. “Technically, I had a training run today, but my engine had a mysteriously complicated malfunction just yesterday.” When you raise an eyebrow at him, he sighs. “Yes, I know how to fix it, don’t worry.” You weren’t really. Kylo knows every bit of his plane, and if he wants to cause a deliberate mess, it’s a guarantee that only he will be the one who knows how to fix it.

“You are all terrible, terrible people,” you say, but your smile is so big you doubt it comes out threatening at all. The group gives various degrees of mock disbelief and woundedness, making you laugh. God, you’ve missed these people. Your eye strays to an empty chair perched at the end of the couch, making you furrow your brow. “Is someone missing?”

“Fashionably late, I’m sure.” Poe checks his watch, but when he looks up his face takes on a tender look. “Leia.”

“Poe.” The older woman comes gliding across the floor, led by yet another employee in black. Draped in robes that make her look more regal than any of the gowns around her, she pats the side of Poe’s face affectionately. “How are you, dear?”

Poe leans down to kiss the side of her cheek. “Set to marry the love of my life, how do you think I am?”

Leia comes over to you next, and you have to blink back a few tears. Now your group is truly complete. It wouldn’t be right to be missing practically the entire group’s surrogate mother. She almost raised Poe, then took in Rey and Finn when they needed a home. And of course, she’s Kylo’s actual mom. It’s easy to forget though- a tall, dark, snarky Air Force pilot next to a demure, kind woman. They both have the same fire in their eyes, though, when you really look. “Leia,” you say as you bend down to give her a hug. She envelopes you in the folds of her sleeves so fiercely you’re almost taken by surprise.

“My dear,” she smiles at you. “It’s been too long.”

You giggle. “We literally went for brunch last week.”

“One week too long them, hm?” There’s a twinkle in her eye as she moves to the rest of the group. Rey and Finn both bound up to give her a hug, clearly overjoyed to see her. Armitage gives her a warm handshake, and while Kylo is clearly a little reluctant, on the inside he’s a mamma’s boy through and through, and stoops to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Once she’s seated at the head of the party- no other spot would do- you have to hold back tears. All of your favorite people in one room. It’s a miracle, and you pull Poe to your side, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Best. Surprise. Ever.”

“Good,” he murmurs back, smiling at you like you’re the whole world. Rey helpfully makes gagging noises in the background.

“Are you the Dameron party?” An elegant woman in a simple black dress glides up to the seven of you, her soft lilac bob somehow perfectly complimenting her angular features.

“That would be us, and I apologize for it in advance,” you respond.

She gives you a soft smile. “And you would be my bride. No, no- I’ve been at this a while, I have a knack for these things.” You shut your mouth, along with the question of how she had guessed. “Are we ready to start?”

Oh, lord. With the complete surprise of having everyone here, you forgot you’re actually going to have to pick out a dress while you’re here. Stars, help you. “I guess so!” You glance down at your sweats. “Oh, gosh, I’m not even dressed for this am I? I don’t even have heels with me.” Not to mention a proper bra. You’re about to not-so-subtly commandeer Rey’s- hey, desperate times- when Poe slings that mysterious duffel bag at you.

“I’ve got ya, babe, don’t even worry.” You unzip the top to reveal everything you’ll need- shoes, bras, even hair ties and accessories.

“I guess I don’t really have an excuse then, do I?”

“Mmmmmnope.” He gives you another grin and a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to let Arm and Kylo talk you into a black dress.”

“It would be slimming!” Armitage throws after him, followed by a snort from Kylo. You give them both a look that says behave, please, we are in public and go to follow your consultant to a dressing room.

…

Over the next two hours….

“A bow around the waist? Maybe if you’re going to dress Rey as the flower girl. When she was like, twelve.” (Cue a swat from Rey, and Armitage deflecting by fixing his hair).

“It’s very… shiny?” (Finn, on a dress with crystals hemming the neckline).

“I thought you wanted something simple? What’s all…? (Kylo, waving his hand vaguely at the skirt of a dress that contains a bunch of ruffles).

“No, nope, absolutely not, because I’M wearing that when I get married!!!” (Rey, who has apparently fallen in love with a chiffon number you’re modeling [she took down the style number for future reference]).

“YES. Perfect. It’s perfect, don’t you think?” (You’d put on some avant-garde high fashion dress you’d never wear in a million years just for laughs, but of course Armitage loves it).

“Needs more black. Or leather.” (Leia gives her son a stern look).

“HOly- how much did they pay you to put that on?” (Yeah, bit too much cleavage in this one).

“You don’t even look like you can breathe in that one!” “On the plus side, those corset laces could be used as a garrote.” “I think the heel of her shoe would be more effective, actually.” (Cue ten or so minutes of the entire group debating on what part of your wedding outfit will be the most deadly).

“Poe is a klutz, you KNOW if you wear a train he’s just going to trip over it, knock over some candles, and light the whole church on fire.”

…

There’s a knock on your dressing room door, and you crack it open to find Leia standing there. “May I come in, dear?”

“Of course, yeah-” you step aside and sit back down in your chair, centered across from the row of dresses you’ve discarded, and resume your thinking.

“Forgive me, but you seem to be having some trouble.”

You sigh. “I kind of like this one?” You hesitantly touch the bodice of a dress everyone seemed neutral towards- but at least they didn’t hate it. “I don’t know. Nothing seems- right. And I don’t mean to be picky, but…”

“Don’t be sorry. You only get to pick a dress once, after all.” As she’s talking, she’s rummaging through her bag. “I brought something that might help. You may hate it, but… well. You always said you liked it in the photos.” She pulls a neatly folded bundle of white out of her purse, and lets it drape to the floor.

“Leia- you didn’t.”

“Go on, try it on. I have a feeling it will look beautiful on you.”

The second you slide on the dress, you immediately forget about all the other rejects. The fabric is still immaculate, the shape timeless. You’re taller than Leia, but it hits you at about tea-length, which is perfect for a casual wedding. Miraculously, everywhere else, it fits perfectly- almost like it was made for you. Facing yourself in the mirror, your mind immediately fills in the details- Poe beside you, in uniform, Rey holding your bouquet just a little behind you, the rest of your friends surrounding you… “It’s perfect. It really is. How did you know?”

Leia’s smile is brighter than all the rhinestones in the entire boutique. “Call it a mother’s intuition. Shall we show the others?”

You nod, quickly twisting your hair up into an approximation of an updo before walking out to meet the group.

There’s a small gasp from Rey. Finn’s eyes go wide. Kylo, of course, recognizes the dress and it puts a smile on his face, however slight it may be. Even Armitage’s appraising eye seems to soften a little as you take your place on the pedestal in front of the mirror.

“I love it,” you say, and there’s overwhelming agreement from the rest of the group.

Rey comes up and stands by your side, her eyes a little misty as she throws an arm around your waist and hugs you close. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

You smile at her. “Think Poe will like it?” “You could show up in a sack and he wouldn’t know the difference,” she says laughingly. “But yes, I think he will.”

Pretty soon everyone is gathered around you, crammed into the space in front of the mirror, all their faces reflecting the myriad of feelings you’ve got filling your chest. With Rey hugging your side, Armitage behind you draping the skirt of the dress just so, Kylo unabashedly tucking a stray piece of hair back into your impromptu bun, and Finn looking terrified to touch you- all the while Leia stands to the side, looking proud- you take a mental snapshot of the scene, never wanting to let this feeling go.

[lunarfanfics]

Jade & Sapphire

Words: 4712

Pair: Eren Jaeger & Annie Leonhardt

Time Skip | Marley AU. PART 3 of THIS fic! It took awhile. But part 3 got pretty long, so I cut it into 4 parts instead. ANYWHO! Enjoy this continuation!

[Fanfic.Net] & [Ao3]

WAVER PT. III

Time was of the essence. Upon leaving the pier, Annie had Thirty-two hours to come up with a plan. She now had twenty-four hours to set the plan into motion.

And counting down.

The day ran its course, hour after hour passed by. The crack of dawn was spent running drills for the young warriors to keep them in shape. As the morning came by, Annie had gotten a hold of Pieck, claiming she needed the cart girl for a special mission.

The ‘mission’ in retrospect just turned out to be that Annie had need of Pieck’s womanly advice in shopping for more enticing clothing. Pieck had reminded her it was against the Marley regiment to be seen out of their standard warrior uniform when out in town. Yet she still gave some decent tips involving fashion. Though Pieck herself wasn't much of a shopaholic either. Her taste in casual clothing often involved long ankle length skirts, stark white blouses and boots. That wasn’t exactly too far off from their own dull standard uniform style.

If there was a way, Annie would have longed to contact her old roommate Hitch Dreyse of the Military Police and ask her for advice regarding quality feminine fashion.

After all, that was an ingredient to the scheme she was cooking. To capture the eyes, to draw away attention. Feed into the obliviousness as to not alert her prey. What better way to do that than to use her own body? It was all part of the plan.

Annie Leonhardt was not above luring in naive men like a black widow does its meals by flaunting her femininity, or feigning innocence for that matter. It was one way to get what she wanted without breaking arms. Though she found she lacked the charismatic charm many young women so often do have; she made up for it with a more salacious wardrobe to tease and taunt. Never too touch, however. She would never stoop that low.

In the end, many men only wanted one thing after all.  

But Eren is different.

Annie crinkled her nose at the sight of a tacky blouse patterned in seashells. She moved the blouse to the side, sifting through the rack of clothing for something to catch the eye.

Well… Maybe not so different. He does want something from me. My loyalty.

Pondering, Annie fingered the sleeve of a cashmere pullover. The material was softer than any of the clothes she owned. Though she grimaced when she caught sight of the outrageous price written on the slip of paper dangling from the hem.

He thinks I’m easy to manipulate. He thinks just because I showed some sympathy for his people I would willingly join his side.

She had mulled over his words after that meeting. What did it matter that she spared a couple of lives in Paradise when she had killed hundreds more? In fact, what did it matter to him?

Annie shook her head, losing interest in the line of colorful blouses and sweaters. She moved about the small shop, squeezing through racks of polished leather shoes and fake pearls. But nothing caught her eye.

Pieck came burrowing out a thicket of frilly skirts than, a bit clumsily on her crutch. She smoothed the stray away tendrils of her long black hair that had gotten stuck on a button. The cart girl’s hair tended to get caught in anything. Annie folded her arms, nodding to the dark silky bundle Pieck clutched to her chest with one arm.

“What’s that you got there?”

Pieck only smiled, she held her arm up, unfolding the garment. It rippled like waves down to her ankles, a navy color greeted Annie’s eye. The dress looked decent; the sleeves stopped halfway down the forearm, the top was loose with a low neckline. And the skirt was cinched at the waist, it wasn’t too long, nor too short. Annie at least wouldn’t have to get it tailored to suit her height.

She gave Pieck a nod of approval. “Not bad.”

“Thought you might like it.” Pieck held out the dress, dropping it into Annie’s awaiting arms.

“Not to be intrusive, Vice Commander. I know you said you wanted to look for more flirty styles. But you yourself aren’t a very flirtatious person. It begs me to wonder who exactly it is you are looking to impress, hm?”

Annie rolled her eyes, turning her back to the cart girl in search of the shop owner. “That’s none of your business.”

“Aw.” Pieck pouted. “Well, if you don’t tell me I’d just have to assume you’re playing dress-up for Reiner.”

Annie made a noise of disgust, to which Pieck giggled at.

She ignored Pieck’s japes after finding the shop owner. Annie had tried on the dress, and confirmed it was indeed a good fit. After she changed, she’d paid the shop owner the dresses full price; which was unfortunately half of the large sum she made as her rank of Vice Commander. It was even more expensive than that cashmere pullover.

Annie knew even Hitch would balk at this. But silk wasn’t cheap, and it especially wasn’t cheap for Eldians’.

Though it shouldn’t matter to her. Money being spent on frivolous things.

It’s all according to her plan. She will avoid engaging Eren in a fight. She will distract him, feed into his ideals of her joining his cause. She will keep him at the Seaport for as long as she could.

He will never board that train to Liberio.

Annie was going to make sure of that.

~*~*~

The Market’s only liquor shop closed during the afternoons. Annie had to meet with Reiner and the young warriors for lunch at a quarter to 13:00. But she had sent Colt to make her order with the old man that tended there. Colt was skittish at first. This districts law was different from that of Liberios when it came to alcohol. They prohibited those under the age of 18 to purchase alcohol under the suspicion that they might try to make off with it across the heavily guarded waters.

Though the old man was an Eldian himself. And Sometimes when the Marleyian authorities were out of earshot, he complained that his eyes were so bad, he couldn’t tell a young adult from an elder.

Her order was quite a popular drink. Marleys’ own special brew of red wine. Made up of fresh black grapes from the farms they’d hijacked from Eldian families in the far country side. Annie had tried it before though. Not being a fan of alcohol, she thought the taste was mediocre at best.

Perhaps Eren would think differently.

Annie waited outside the luncheon Café for Colt to arrive with her wine. She leaned against the boarded windows with Reiner accompanying her. He sat to her left on the bench by the front doors, and held a tin can of boiling lemon tea, occasionally taking sips. The inner skin of his palms was tinged a brighter red than tomato. Annie knew the tea must’ve been scalding him, yet Reiner had no reaction to it.

He welcomes the pain. It keeps him awake, reminds him he’s still alive.

She made no attempt to start a conversation with him. It always ended the same way. She didn’t like looking at his pathetic state. It made her feel almost guilty if she stared at him too long, and she believed she had no right to start sympathizing with him, yet.

From Inside the Café Annie heard Gabi’s proud piercing voice, the young cadet was going on about how she had destroyed the Mid-East Union’s armored train with a homemade bomb she concocted. It’s only the 25th time Annie had heard the story since they had gotten back from the trench. Annie doesn’t understand why Gabi was thrilled to offer herself as a willing sacrifice for a foolhardy plan. Though it worked, it was still reckless.

And stupid.

She wondered what a meeting between Gabi and a young Eren would’ve been like.

Like two stones scraping against each other perhaps. Emitting spark after spark, until they get a fire going. But that fire would slowly grow too big because, as reckless beings, the two would just keep fanning it until that fire became wildfire. And that wildfire would slowly spread and consume any and everything in its way.

In short, they’re both obtrusive, quick-to-fiery people. But that was a meeting only in theory; if she were to compare Gabi, and the Eren she was forced to follow less than a day ago. There wouldn’t be as much similarities. In fact, Eren never truly came off as being enraged at her. Maybe irritated.

Though he was certainly forward…

Annie’s mind came to that not-so kiss he’d given her before she fled. She tsk’d, turning her face away from Reiner so he wouldn’t spot the embarrassing blush that adorned her cheeks. Not that he’d notice anything within a foot of him these days.

“Hey, Miss Leonhardt!”

A voice called out. Both Reiner and Annie swiveled their heads to the owner of that voice—a tall, fair-haired young soldier who was running up to them, clutching a brown paper bag to his chest.

Colt was out of breath once he stopped short of his small Vice Commander. “Hey—” He coughed, trying to catch his breath, “—I got your wine.”

He held the paper bag out to her by the handle of the wine bottle inside. Annie took it by placing her hand on the bottom of the bottle first. She spared a glace to the contents inside to ensure it was exactly what she asked for.

“The bottle is smaller than I expected.”

“The old man told me It’s a little less than the standard size, seven-hundred fifty millimeters, but that’s the kind of bottle you get for the amount of money you gave.” Colt explained as courteous as he possibly could. He had always been intimidated by the little Vice Commander more so than Reiner, and the Warrior Chief, Zeke.

Annie sighed. “This’ll do then. Thank you, Colt.”

Colt gave a nod to Reiner. “What’s that you got there?”

“Tea.” Reiner muttered.

“Ah. So, are you guys going to have your own celebration too?”

Annie shared a glance with Reiner, who shrugged in response. She turned to Colt, drumming her fingers on the wine. “This is our celebration, I guess. Some peace and quiet, it’s too rowdy in there.”

Colt chuckled, “Yeah they’re pretty loud, huh.” He shuffled his feet a bit, looking every bit apprehensive as his light-colored eyes darted from the front doors of the café, to his superiors.

“Erm- Ahem—Miss Leonhardt?”

“You can just call me Annie, Colt. Only the kids address me Miss Leonhardt, and you’re hardly a kid.”

The cadet jumped, a pink hue adorned his pale cheeks. “Right! Heheh, it’s just you’re the Vice Commander and I well— never mind!” He shook his head frantically. “I just—I just wanted to give my thanks to you… for training me, that is.”

Colt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know I’m not a quick learner, but I’ve been getting the hang of the techniques you’ve taught me. I’m hoping to put all your teachings into good use when I acquire the Beast titan.”

Annie stared quizzically at him for a moment. Colt swallowed under her piercing blue gaze.

“Yes well,” She nodded after a couple of seconds, “See that you do. I don’t always dedicate my free time to training soldiers who aren’t my priority.”

Colt grinned at that, pulling up the sleeve of his uniform. “Don’t worry, I will!” He flashed her the underside of his forearm; his sheet pale skin was littered with purple and green faded marks. Courtesy of the Vice Commander herself.

But he seemed proud to bare them. “I didn’t earn these bruises for nothing,” Colt rolled his sleeve back down. “Those kicks of yours really hurt, and you grapple way too hard, sometimes I feel like I’m going to pass out from it.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

Colt laughed again. “I suppose so. Well that’s all I wanted to say. I’ll see you guys later! I promised Porco I’d make up to him by buying him lunch this time.”

“Try not throwing up on anybody.” Annie called out after him. Colt flushed, ducking his head as he entered the café. The doors opened, noise erupted from within—then the doors swung shut behind him, quickly muffling the racket.

Annie took her place against the boarded the windows. Still drumming her fingers against the wrapped wine bottle.

Eren said the same thing to me once too… Didn’t he? During our trainee days…

“You trained with Colt?”

Reiner’s gruff disused voice almost startled her. Almost.

She shrugged. “I trained Colt, for some time. Yes.”

Reiner sipped his chilled tea once, then asked. “Why?”

“Why not?” Annie rubbed her temple, feeling the feather light fingers of déjà vu prod at her brain. A conversation had started like this between them years ago, hadn’t it? It almost seemed like she was a trainee again, back on Paradise Island, back within the walls. Back with the 104th squadron. In that memory she had bitterly answered, “Because you threw the idiot my way.”

In the here, and now. She only sighed, “He asked me too. And Zeke isn’t the best at hand to hand combat. Colt will be at a disadvantage if the only thing he picks up from the Chief is how to pitch a ball.”

Reiner made an airy sound, like a laugh but not quite. “… You know sometimes I see them when I look at the others.”

Annie perked an eyebrow, but she knew what he was going on about. She was glad she wasn’t the only one who did.

“Bertolt, Marcel…” Reiner leaned against the back of the bench, craning his neck up to the cloudy afternoon skies. “… The entire 104th squad. I see them all here. All the time. The dead ones especially.”

He grimaced, “I wish I didn’t. They haunt me everywhere I go. Especially him.”

Reiner took a hard chug of his tea, swallowing audibly. Annie swore she almost heard the man whimper.

“This is my penance I suppose… I hurt him the most.”

~*~*~ 

Thirty minutes to 20:00, Annie hurriedly made her way down the same back alleyways Eren had led her though a day prior. She clutched the top of her long trench coat with one hand, underneath it she carried a satchel. The wine Colt had purchased for her was safely hidden inside. Night had already set in, and the skies were a clear indigo speckled with distant twinkling stars. There was a brisk chill in the wind, coming from being too close to the sea, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle

The silk dress she bought in the morning felt light, and pleasurably smooth against her skin. The hem of the dress swished around her lithe pale legs. She would have worn some woolen stockings she owned too; but they itched badly so she discarded them in favor of shorts to wear beneath the dress.

Annie had styled her hair to the best of her ability. She settled on a loose braid; combing her long bangs to the side, tendrils of platinum blonde still obscured her eyes. She also had applied a bit of light make-up. A sweep of mascara to make her eyes stand out, nude lip stick, a dust of dark eyeshadow for a sultrier look. She even powdered her face to a livelier rouge complexion. This game wasn’t new to her, so she had taken to learning about cosmetics and beauty earlier on.

Though Eren wasn’t the type to care much for appearance. If she was being honest with herself; Annie didn’t know what Eren looked for in a woman. Or if he favored the opposite sex at all.

She’ll find out soon enough though. It’s not like it mattered too much to her. She knew him. And he had known her. They had respect for each other. That’s what mattered most. That familiarity. That admiration. If she played her cards right, she might be able to manipulate him; as he had tried to manipulate her, using only her words.

There might not even be a need for the wine.

Still, she tried not getting her hopes high. This was Eren Jaeger, after all.

“-Isgusting bastard!”

Annie halted in her path.  

Glass shattered in the distance, followed by raucous laughter.

What was that?

Going for a stroll at night pass the Marleys’ curfew hours was dangerous; walking in the back alleys at night pass curfew hours, was even more dangerous. Annie squared her shoulders, continuing down the narrow cobblestone path towards the noise. She walked carefully to avoid having her heels clack too much.

Annie stopped short of a corner, just when that same obnoxious laugh erupted.

“Oh shit, Look! Look at his eye! Haha!”

She crept forward cautiously. Keeping one hand on the grimy wall, she peeked around the corner. There was a dumpster which obscured a lot of her view. But Annie did see two young men. One who was sharply dressed, and laughing like a hyena, and another who stood off to the side with his back facing her, that one’s arms were crossed. But she saw clearly the absence of the star arm band on both men.

Marleyian Civilians? What are they doing in an Eldian neighborhood? …

The dumpster hid her view of what she was certain was a poor incapacitated Eldian.

The laughing man kicked at the body behind the dumpster, Annie heard a low groan.

“C’mon gutter rat, preach to us again. So we can knock you the fuck out some more.”

Annie swallowed inaudibly.

This is none of business. Turn around. Don’t look back. These things always happen.

And she was. She was just about to step away, to put what she saw behind her, and erase it from her memory. Until she heard his voice.

“You’re only going to… damage your delicate fists.”

Annie shut her eyes, sighing exasperatedly.

Damn it.  

“C’mere, you one-eyed bitch.”

Annie peeped around the corner again, the laughing man was no longer laughing, but snarling into the face of the suicidal idiot she was supposed to use her nearly non-existent charm on.

Damn it Eren!

Annie could barely see the other titan shifter, and his long hair fell over his eyes and much of his face. But that well-dressed young man was holding Eren up by his shirt high enough that she could make out the cuts on his cheek, and the smear of red covering his chin. The one holding Eren hissed something, before launching his fist into Eren’s stomach—Eren doubled over, but the suited man caught him, holding him up by his shoulders, before striking Eren’s chest with his knee.

Eren fell limply; Annie winced.

That’s twice he’s been kicked in the chest now.

The well-dressed man who seemed to be doing all the violence gestured to Eren, looking to the other young man who stood idly off to the side. “Walter, frisk him. Dirty rat may actually have something of value on him.”

The one called ‘Walter’ cringed at Eren’s crumpled form on the ground, “Fuck no. You do it. I don’t want to touch him, he looks so filthy.”

The well-dressed one sighed with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Ugh, fine.”

Annie decided that was enough. She stepped out into the open.

“Hey.”

Her presence startled the two young men enough for them to look fearful for a split second.

“What!—Oh…” The suited man jumped to his feet, looking every bit like an angry well-dressed pig in Annie’s eyes.

“it’s just another Eldian…” He smirked, his eyes landing on her armband, then scoured the rest of her body.

“But this one’s a doll, you got money pretty girl?” His smile was lecherous.

Annie ignored him. “That man there, leave him alone.”

“Or what?” The suited man was approaching her now. Sure footed, and cocky.

These types are always cocky.

“What’re you going to do little girl, hm?” He stopped just a foot away from her. He attempted to be dominating but it didn’t work on her, he wasn’t so tall, in fact, he only had three more inches on Annie. She wondered how Eren could let himself get beaten by such a shrimp of a man.

Annie shrugged. “Nothing. I’m only asking you to leave him alone. You’re beating up a defenseless civilian, and for what? I thought the Marleyians of this district were already rich. You certainly look so, why waste your time stealing from the poor?”

The suited man looked bewildered for a moment, then he laughed that hyena-like laugh of his that had Annie, and even the one called Walter cringing at the sound.

“Why the fuck,” He stepped closer, “would I care about what you think? Walter get over here!”

Walter hesitated, “Uh—but I’m watching the gu—”

“I said get the fuck over here!”

“Okay.”

The suited man leered down at her, “You see, nobody gives a shit what you think. You’re nothing, you were born a little squealing rat like that one over there. Little Eldian girl, you might dress prettily but you’re worth no more than shit off my shoe.”

“Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?” Annie dead-panned.

The suited man chortled. “You think you’re tough, huh?” He leaned into her face, this one reeked of musky cologne and sweat. Annie wrinkled her nose but looked directly into his eyes. Challenging him.

“No, I’m just a bystander. Are you really going to force yourself on a frail woman like me?”

“Frail?” His eyes trailed downward, lingering on her chest some. His eyes narrowed upon meeting her face once more, his hand reached out to grasp her, “Let’s see how frail you really are—Huh!?”

Annie caught his wrist, twisting it. The suited man yelped, not expecting any retaliation, he tried to pull away, but she quickly dragged him down to her height.

“Very.”

She kicked his ankles, so he tumbled over, but she still had a firm grip on his wrist. She yanked his arm higher, forcing him to his knees.

“Ah, fuck! What—what the fuck, you bitch! Walter!”

Annie expected this ‘Walter’ to intervene. She acted fast, without a second thought— she kicked the suited man’s head into the nearby dumpster. Her polished black heel went flying in another direction. He was out the moment the impact came, sliding down the dumpster like a forgotten rag doll.

Walter hadn’t reacted quick enough, he stared at his friend’s unconsciousness body. Too overwhelmed to do anything. “Holy shit… Heinz! Fuck!”

Walter waved his hands hysterically. “You fucking killed him!”

Annie rolled her eyes. “I only knocked him out. He tried to grab me after all, we may not be protected against violence, but we are when it comes to sexual assault. I had every right to defend myself against a molester.”

Walter shook his head frantically. “Heinz is not a—a molester! He—Oh, fuck off! I’m going to report you to the authorities!”

Walter turned to run. “An Eldian whore like you should be locked up—”

Annie tilted her head. Eren stood in Walter’s way.

The Marleyian’s hands were trembling. “Get—get out of my way…”

Calmly, Eren took hold of Walter’s throat. Walking him into the same wall the suited man Heinz had held him against.

Strangely, Annie felt her stomach drop. As if this was the part where she knew it was going to get out of hand.

“Wait… Eren—”

He squeezed Walter’s throat, so tightly that the dirty tan of knuckles became a lighter tint. The young Marleyian emitted a choking sound, grasping at Eren’s arms, weakly shoving at his face, Eren merely brushed off the other’s hands.

“Eren.” Annie cautiously approached his side, like one would a rabid dog. With him closer now, Annie could see the damage the two Marleyians’ did to his face. There was a bruise blossoming underneath his right eye, his lip was split, bleeding profusely, and his left eye—Annie gaped— was gone. Where there should be an eye was just shriveled eyelid skin, and a nail length scar running from his brow to his cheek bone.

“I don’t get it,” Eren’s voice was soft but gruff. “I felt his fists on my face, he made me bleed. I never made any attempt to fight back, and yet,” Eren leaned in, “… Yet the true hatred I saw was in your eyes, how you did nothing but watch. You secretly enjoyed watching him beat me.”

The whites of Walter’s eyes were wet and reddening from lack of oxygen. He beat at Eren’s chest, to no avail. Eren observed him with a lack of emotion. He could’ve been looking at the wall itself, the way Eren regarded this Marleyian boy.

“Do you really hate me so much? Is all that hate well-earned for one Eldian? Did I deserve the beating he gave me, for simply existing? To what—atone for what my ancestors did to his hundreds of years ago? This is a new age now, why do we have to stay living in the past?”

Annie tentatively touched his elbow. “Eren, that is enough.”

He looked at her, finally. Annie almost wished he didn’t. His one eye didn’t look like his own, brightly peering down at her through his tangles of dark hair.

Walter was starting to gag, clawing at Eren’s hands. His feet beat on the pavement. Eren focused on him again. Holding him for a moment longer before releasing him. Walter sucked in a breath, red welts lined his throat. Sensing freedom, he tried to run, but Eren immediately shoved him back.

Walter coughed, “Just let me go, please!”

Eren delicately grabbed the Marleyian by the chin, he turned Walter’s head so the Marleyian’s view was focused on the petite blonde before him.

He leaned in so that his mouth was aligned with Walter’s ear. “Apologize to her.”

“W-what?”

Annie stepped back, folding her arms. “Eren, this is unnecessary.”

His behavior was unsettling her. Already had the moment he got back up.

What is wrong with him?

“Not to me.” Eren didn’t take his eyes off Walter. He clutched the Marleyian’s face tighter, causing the man to whimper pathetically.

“This woman here. She’s the Vice Commander of the Warrior’s Unit. In other words. A titan shifter.”

Upon hearing that sentence. Walter’s eyes bulged from their sockets more so than when he was being strangled. His mouth went agape in shock.

Annie’s face rivaled Walter’s. Though she appeared more furious than anything.

This bastard just revealed my identity!

“She’s a high-ranking soldier,” Eren continued, ignoring the blonde’s murderous glare at his side.  “Not a bitch, not a whore. She’s the reason you never became fodder for your enemies.”

Eren let go of Walter’s chin, nudging him toward her. “Apologize.”

Hot tears ran down Walter’s cheeks. He looked even younger, bawling like a child in front of her.

“I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—we didn’t know. I’m… please—” He turned to Eren. “Can I leave now? You were right about Heinz! But I never laid a hand on you o-or that girl, please let me go.  I won’t tell… I won’t tell anyone I swear!”

Eren looked to Annie. There was something in that vivid green eye of his she didn’t like, something that caused her insides to turn cold as ice. Feeling uneasy, she hugged herself tighter. Giving her back to him.  

Eren kept his sight on her but lazily gestured to Walter. “Go.”

Walter sprung to his feet, ready to flee from the dumps of the Eldian tenement back alleys. Eren caught him by the arm before he could make a break for it.

“Bayside Pier, by the docks, where the trade boats come in.”

Walter blinked away his tears.  “H-huh—”

“Your mother lives by there.” Was all Eren said. Walter was silent, comprehending Eren’s words, then he sobbed louder. Eren let him go. For sure this time.

[kalloway]

Is it okay if I read some of the dialogue you've put into your crossover idea. The Camarilla, Anarchs and Sabbat are going to be confused on what's going on.

Oh for sure - I wouldn’t doubt it’d cause quite a bit of chaos tbh!

And sure Anon - just know it’s nothing special - mostly just ideas I had on how I could possibly introduce Magdalene into the mix tbh 😅

I’ll provide a bit of context/commentary, cuz I do literally write *just* dialogue lmao (fair warning: it’s p lengthy):

“What you’re asking me to do is an utmost crime, Sorcerer. I refuse.”

“Even if it means becoming more powerful? Heightening your Clan’s position?”

“I don’t care about that. First and foremost, I’m loyal to the Camarilla, and Diablerie is a capital crime - irreversible.”

“Your kind is already doomed to the Netherrealm. Why bother upholding such a masquerade?”

“Because I don’t see myself as a monster, and I don’t forget where I came from.”

(This is an isolated idea between Magdalene and possibly Shang Tsung, after the latter finds out about the concept of Diablerie - possibly from the Sabbat, but also possibly previous knowledge from the Moroi?)

“If what you’re suggesting is true, then we’ll need to take this to HQ. Can you be present tomorrow morning to meet?”

“That’s not possible. I’m a night person - I only conduct business after sundown.”

(Whispers to the other) “…telling you - vampire.”

“Very well. Tomorrow evening then?”

“Sure. But let’s keep it brief, alright? I can’t stay away for too long.”

(Just a goofy bit where one of the Kombat Kids (as I’ve heard Cassie, Jaqui, Takeda, and Kung Jin referred to), or maybe just another soldier in general, is super convinced she’s a ‘classic’ vampire, but no one else is buying it)

“Woah, woah! There’s not supposed to be civilians here!”

“What are you doing here?”

(Magdalene): “Investigating.” (She glances at their uniforms) “What’re the Special Forces doing in a dump like this?”

“Investigating. You really shouldn’t be here-“

“My superior begs to differ. This matter is of the utmost importance, and he’s sent me to look into it on his behalf. I’m not leaving.”

“Do you know anything about this incident then?”

“…not much. Probably about as much as you do: It’s a strange series of events leading up to this by some unknown and unseen party.”

“I’d call this a bit more than strange.”

“Whatever you call it, it’s a problem - obviously for the both of us. The sooner we find out what happened, the better.”

“You’re going to help us?”

“And you’re going to help me. If we’re after the same answers, why not make this whole situation mutually beneficial?”

“Well, we don’t really know anything about you. Plus, this is SF business, we can’t really release much information. Classified, you know.”

“My name is Magdalene Brandeis. You don’t know me or my superiors, but we’re on the same side for the moment.”

“‘For the moment’?”

“I have no say in their choices. Kinda what happens when you join in at a bad time.”

(i’m not really sure how I wanna write Mags, so she kinda jumps between super formal and more casual here - it’s her encountering the Kombat Kids while investigating an extremely suspicious incident that resulted in a lot of strange deaths in the building/area - definitely Sabbat work. Imo they grow much bolder after the turn of events leading to the news of new realms.)

“Hey Cass, I did some looking into that woman we were with at the scene of that incident, and got something really weird.”

“What do you mean ‘weird’? The whole thing was way outta wack.”

“Yeah but this is… weirder. I did a search on the name she gave and eventually got a match on a Missing Person’s report from over in Santa Monica, but… That Magdalene woman’s been missing for well over a decade now.”

“What? No way… what do you think it means?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I should bring it up to General Blade or not regarding the incident. She didn’t seem like she was involved in it at all.”

“She definitely seemed like she didn’t want to be seen there… like she was keeping a low profile. Maybe she was involved?”

“But she gave us that insight on those other incidents that match this one.”

“Probably ‘cause she knows about them. How would we know if she was involved? But it fits the alibi.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it Cass - a woman that’s been missing and presumed dead for over ten years, suddenly shows up at the scene of one of the most horrific crimes in recent history, then starts talking about other similar instances we’d missed going back a few years? She’s definitely in on it.”

“But we have no evidence she’s an enemy-“

“And nothing to prove she’s an ally either, besides her word. Can you trust someone like that?”

“…I’m not sure.”

“I say we report it anyway. At worst, it’s a bad hunch, but at best we possibly nab the person responsible - or one of their lackeys, anyway.”

(I wanted a bit that touched on Mags’ prior involvement in VTMB, so this is just a small call-back to that)

“How did you get in here?”

“Through the front door, actually. I have information you might be interested in, General.”

“And why would we trust someone who waltzes into a military facility like they own the damn place?”

“Because if my superiors found out where I was and what I was going to say, I’d be dead ten times over by now.”

“…who’s your superior?”

“Let’s call them a Council, for simplicity’s sake. They keep a tight leash on their kind, but I’m not… exactly a normal case. Now do you want to hear what I have to say or not? I don’t have all night.”

“Why come at night?”

“It’s quiet at night. I prefer it.”

“Hm. So long as it’s relevant, we could use any help we could get.”

“What causes these incidents - these murders - isn’t like you or I, but something much more primal.”

“An animal?”

“A beast with a superiority complex, honestly.”

“And you think we’d believe that?”

“What else have you encountered could do something like that?”

“I could name a few things…”

“I believe it’s the work of the Sabbat.”

“…the what?”

“The Sabbat. I’ve been informed you’ve heard the term before-“

“Yeah, and it’s strictly SF information only. How’d you hear about it?”

“Everyone knows about it, where I come from. They’re a persistent problem that’s grown wildly out of hand, in recent nights. Do you know what the Sabbat are?”

“We deduce they’re a gang going around murdering innocent people with no rhyme or reason as to why they’re doing it.”

“Hmmm… not bad, not bad. But there IS a reason, and the rhyme may be… disturbing to you.”

“If you know what’s causing the murders and taking our attention away from other more stressing concerns, then by law you’re obligated to inform us.”

“The Sabbat, in essence, strive to be everything you are not: Inhuman. They reject the basic code we all as a society follow, for the most part. They’re arrogant, have no regard for life, and see themselves as higher beings than you. The Sabbat are dangerous, and we’ve been trying to keep them in check for years. Ever since we all found out about the other realms after that incident years ago, we’ve been unable to get a handle on them.”

“…so you’re saying you’ve let them get out of hand?”

“No. The Sabbat are like cockroaches - you can’t seem to ever get rid of them entirely. They’ve never been this persistent or problematic since Los Angeles.”

“What happened in Los Angeles?”

“…nothing worth noting, to you.”

“I-“

“All I’m here to do, is inform you that these are not people. They are not reasonable, and they will kill every single person - human or not - that gets in their way.”

“So what are they, exactly, if they’re not human?”

(I’m not sure I really like this idea, but it was involving Magdalene going out of the way to try and p much stop these guys (Special Forces) from just waltzing to their dooms while also investigating the Sabbat instances. I liked the idea of them being aware of the name, but not aware of what they are. I never decided how to finish that up though, hence the dead-end here)

“The fact that we may very well be able to ascertain our own origins is an interesting premise, don’t you think? Poetic, even. We’ve spent so long in the dark, only to realize it was only *this* realm that held us back.”

(I typed this up after Beckett was mentioned in a previous ask - idk if it’s something he would say, but it’s a line of dialogue I kind of like so 🤷‍♀️)

Aaand that’s all I got, for now Anon! 

Sorry it’s not much - it takes me a long time to sorta piece ideas together or some up with a *coherent* plot of any sort 😂 (it’s why my in-progress fanfic is taking… so long….)

i’m juggling so many AU ideas rn, it’s not even funny. Idk how you writer types ever stay organized or on top of ur fics in reasonable order… I just wing it every time and hope for the best, ngl ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

[catsundercherryblossoms]

|Ch. 2: What Goes Around Comes Around| Her Forgotten Past //AOT fanfic//

~A/N~ Hey guys, this was kind of a filler but I promise this isn't going to be a story comprised of mostly boring filler chaps. I personally hate those. I like it when a story follows a plot and stays on track. Anyway, thanks for reading xoxoxo 🌹

I was still tired when I awoke the next day. However, the bustling and chatter of the other girls as they got ready made it impossible to sleep any longer, so I had no other choice but to get out of bed. The first thing I discovered upon entering the locker rooms was that the showers lacked privacy. Great. Squirmish, I decided to make this awkward experience as quick as possible and scrubbed myself down with some soap, rinsing off and wrapping a towel around my body. I then went back to the bunks and grabbed my uniform from under the mattress. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a teensy bit excited to put it on.

"What happened there?" said a voice behind me.

I was about to slip on my button-up shirt, but I froze. Damn.

"Sorry, that's probably personal." The girl with blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes said shyly. She had introduced herself yesterday as Krista.

I looked at her and the others nearby, who had also taken an interest. Krista had been pointing at a scar on the bridge of my clavicle. It was small but noticeable, round, and resembled the imprint of a cigarette burn.

Not even I knew how it got there. I've never smoked in my life.

"Um... I don't know, actually. It's just always been there." I said, wanting to avoid the situation. Yes, it kind of bothered me not knowing what had happened, but I'm the type of person to keep her issues to herself. I gave Krista a small smile to let her know it was okay. "Weird, right?"

She smiled back apologetically and finished making her and her friend Ymir's bed. When I finished getting dressed, I looked at my reflection in a mirror on the wall. Not bad, I thought and fixed my hair into a half-up half-down style, with the upper half gathered in a bun. Time to crush day two.

A chill ran up my spine, seeing someone else in the reflection. It was a girl. She had blonde hair and blue eyes like Krista, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of kindness, her features were glazed over with cynicism as she watched me from her bunk bed. Something about her was hawkish and analyzing... And I didn't like it one bit. I turned around and faced her questioningly.

"Can I help you with something?" I cocked an eyebrow.

She didn't seem to react at first. After five or ten seconds, she got up and walked out the door without a single word. Lone wolf, much?

I rolled my eyes. Whatever. The last thing I needed was distractions.

* * *

This could go both ways. I could either balance successfully, or throw up this morning's breakfast.

We were practicing the ODM gear for the first time. It was a bit nerve wracking, really. I'm pretty sure everyone was nervous to test their skills on the balancing prototypes. If you didn't move past this stage, there was zero chance of you ever receiving your own gear, let alone using it in the titan-killing practice.

Here's to good luck.

I checked to make sure I was strapped in correctly. Then I gave the soldier a thumbs up to signal I was ready. He started cranking the lever. Focus, I thought to myself as I was hoisted up. My feet dangled several inches off the ground. My body rocked forward and backwards, not knowing which way to fall. But no. I wasn't going to fall. I wouldn't allow it. The summer heat caused sweat to accumulate on my forehead. Keeping both arms slightly extended at my sides, I gathered all my self-control and next thing I knew, I was completely still. Like a rock in midair.

I looked at the soldier in charge of the machine. He gave me a smile of a approval. "Why don't you try out a few tricks? I'll go help out this guy over here." He said and walked off to another cadet on the courtyard.

I looked down at myself. ‘Hm... this is pretty cool’. Tentatively, I leaned forward. ‘Maybe... if I try hard enough...’ I tucked in my legs and immediately the harness made me roll forward, making a perfect somersault. ‘Yes!’

Minutes or hours, I wasn't sure. But I spent the rest of the time just hanging there, practicing every move I could think of, and even inventing some of my own. It was strangely fulfilling.

"My name's Annie."

I jolted, almost losing my balance. I looked to my left and saw the girl from this morning stationed next to me. She too had a mastered balance on the harness. I narrowed my eyes at her. What did she want? No offense, but I never asked for her name.

Not getting a response, Annie pursed her lips. She looked away as though she had made a mistake. Silence fell between us. All that was left was the creaking of the harnesses as we swayed and the distant talk of the other cadets. This— against my better judgement— made me feel kind of guilty. Maybe she doesn't know how to open up to people.

Maybe she's like me.

"I'm Johanna." I finally said with the faintest of smiles.

We made eye contact again.

"If I made you uncomfortable this morning... that wasn't my intention." She said. This was as close to sorry as we were going to get, apparently. "But how do you forget something like that? A scar like that must've hurt."

"I ask myself that question a lot." I said grimly. I didn't know why I was telling her this, but she didn't seem to be judging me anymore. In fact, I felt calm talking to her.

"Interesting..." She said, "so where are you headed to?"

"Military Police."

She nodded. "Same here. You know, you should meet my friends Reiner and Bertholdt. We don't usually associate with just anyone, but... I get the feeling they'll like you. Sit with us at lunch today."

I hesitated. I had promised myself no distractions. Focusing on getting in the top ten is my main goal here... but perhaps making acquaintances won't be so horrible.

"Sounds good." I said.

"At least you'll be around realistic, down-to-earth people. Unlike others..." she said pointedly, staring all the way across the courtyard.

Okay... What did she mean by that? I followed her gaze and immediately I understood. Keith Shadis was on the other side of the courtyard, yelling at a cadet who by all means possible had failed today's test. The cadet hung completely upside down without any capability to straighten himself up. His expression was a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief.

It was none other than Eren Jaeger.

Unfortunately, the aptitude test had to come to an end. Eventually they let him down from the harness, despite his protests of "One more chance!" and "I can do it, I swear!". Now don't get me wrong... He has a determination like no other, but it makes him look foolish now after all that big talk from yesterday.

His friends Mikasa and Armin sat with him at lunch. From what I could see they tried to console him, but he didn't seem to be listening. I sighed and returned to finishing my soup and bread.

"I can't help but feel bad for him." Bertholdt said. He was impressively tall, with short black hair and a constant, nervous aspect to him. Like he expected to be caught in some wrongdoing. I found it odd at first, but thirty minutes into lunch, it was starting to become normal.

"Well, don't." Annie said in her usual sharp tone. Bertholdt blushed and averted his eyes.

"Wasn't he saying yesterday, 'If you can't handle the pressure, you gotta leave?'" Reiner said.

Damn. "What goes around comes back around, I guess." I said languidly and took a sip of my ale.

"We'll see what happens. There's a rumor that the instructor will test him again tomorrow morning. But anyway," Reiner said, looking at me. His eyes were a light hazel. Intuitive. He was a buff guy. Compared to Bertholdt, what he lacked in height he made up for in muscles. "Johanna, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Annie told me you have a rough past. Well, apparently you can't remember it, but... you know what I mean." He said interestedly, propping his chin up on his hand.

It was nice that they were being so... friendly. But I wasn't sure if I wanted to reveal so much about me yet.

Annie took into account my hesitation. "That wasn't an invitation to ask her about it, Reiner." She said, then to me, "I would be lying if I said he wasn't normally like this."

"Hey, no pressure." Reiner laughed it off. "I'm sure memory loss isn't that uncommon. Right, Bertholdt?"

Bertholdt blinked. "Oh, um... yeah."

We ended up drifting to other subjects. Once lunch was over and we were allowed some free time to do activities of our own, I was still surprised that I'd been welcomed into Annie, Reiner, and Bertholdt's tight-knit friend group. I'm not sure what I did to be liked so much. Whatever it was... it worked. I did like them. They seemed cool. Not the boasting, Jean type of cool. But laidback kind of cool.

Even if they were a little intrusive.

* * *

The next morning was one full of anticipation. Not just for Eren Jaeger, but for other people too. Everyone seemed curious as to what his fate would be. Would he stay, or would he pack his stuff and go? Me, I wish I could say the same. I wish I could pretend that I cared. But the truth was, I much rather have done something worth my time than gather as a crowd and watch him fail for a second time. And he did fail.

Technically yes, technically not.

Okay, alright he didn't fail at all.

Turns out he had a defective piece of equipment. When they switched out his belt for a new one, that son of a gun balanced on the harness with no problem whatsoever. His pride had been ignited again. It was plain to see in his smirk.

Our activity for today was hand-to-hand combat. Also known as beating the shit out of each other. The instructor said that no one was meant to get seriously hurt in this exercise, but we all know he wouldn't care if someone came to his office with a broken leg. In his book, it's no crybabies allowed.

Sasha and I were put into pairs in the first round. It was a pleasant combat session. She tried really hard, which I appreciated, but I would always end up beating her.

"Jo... Jo, how are you so good at this?" She panted on the ground after the third time of me body-slamming her. "It's unbelievable. You're like... so short. AHH, IM SORRY!" She screamed as I made to attack her again.

"Only kidding." I chuckled and instead helped her up. "I don't know... I guess I'm just agile. Or maybe Potato Girl here is too busy thinking of food to actually focus on the training."

She folded her arms like a child. "So people are still calling me that?"

"Sasha, you ate a potato during roll call on the first day. How do you not expect that name to stick?" I said teasingly.

"Hey!" She said defensively. "It was a steamed potato, for your information. How could I resist? It was sooo good." She practically drooled.

‘This girl needs help’, I thought.

"ALRIGHT, MAGGOTS! SWITCH!" Instructor Shadis roared. He read from a clipboard. "Connie go with Bertholdt... Thomas go with Mina... Mikasa go with Daz..."

While he went down the list, I took this opportunity to stretch. The sun was still high in its peak. It was probably two o' clock now. I yawned. What will we have for dinner today?

"Archer go with Jaeger!"

I froze mid-yawn. Did I hear that correctly? Looking around, Eren and I locked eyes from across the courtyard. He started making his way over. Ugh. I couldn't help but want Sasha back.

"Good afterno—."

"C'mon Jaeger, lets get this over with." I cut him off and got in position.

He stared at me, not expecting that. He then scoffed and got into position as well. "Alright, but don't expect me to go easy on you."

Now let me make something clear. We've been going at this for hours. From what I've overheard, Jaeger's actually pretty good. He managed to sack a few significant people like Ymir and Reiner. But right now as I analyzed his stance, I could find three things he was doing wrong: feet too far apart, elbows weren't protecting his rib cage, and knees weren't bent enough.

This should be fun.

"Why would you go easy on me?" I asked. In reality I was just trying to distract him. "Is it cause I'm a girl?"

A pink color warmed his cheeks. "Wha— well, no. Not really. I just—"

Now! I swooped in for the attack and kicked his stomach. He hunched over, grunting. I took the chance now that he was bent and wrapped my arms around his head, holding him in place and kneeing him in the gut. Another pained groan. I let him go and he dropped to the ground, clutching his midsection.

My work here was done.

I dusted off my hands. "Work on your reflexes, Jaeger." I said and turned my back, surveying the area. Was anyone else in need of a partner? Marco looked like he could use one. I was about to walk towards him when—

"Ah!" I yelped as a heavy weight tackled me from behind. I fell hard, palms digging into the jagged ground. An ache settled into my ribs. Damn, that hurt.

The attacker was on top of me. I heard them chuckle and when they flipped me over, I was met with Eren's face again. He grinned triumphantly. From this angle, his teeth were pearly-white and defined.

"What happened to your reflexes, hm?" He said.

No one, and I mean no one uses my own words against me. I blew air straight into his eyes. He scrunched them closed, bewildered. "The hell?"

Didn't expect that, did he? I head-butted his forehead and kicked him off to the side where he landed on his back, hissing in pain. Before he could try anything I got on top and pinned him down. Finally, he was defeated.

"That was a dirty move." He glared.

"I guess you can call me a dirty person." I said nonchalantly. "Now, admit that I'm better than you."

"What? No way." He objected.

I put pressure on his stomach with my knee. "Say it."

"Ow! Okay, okay! You're better than me, now will you cut it out?"

I sighed. This was getting boring. Standing up, I fixed my hair and headed towards the cafeteria to get a drink of water. "Come back to me when you're worth my time," was the last thing I said to him.

End of Chapter 2

[drunkdragondoes]

Summoner AU #5

A/N: Oh man, who remembers this lol

Summary: A summon is almost always a form of expression of who the hunter is. But for a Schnee, there are three unbreakable rules. Do not use summons for menial tasks. Do not summon them meaninglessly. And if your summon looks remotely human, do not fall in love with them.

You can click to see more on tumblr, or if you prefer:

Fanfiction.net

Ao3

Upon notifying Ozpin of her choice, Winter received an email on her scroll that asked her to begin to gather materials. It was creatively titled as an outdoor exercise, perhaps to try to evade any monitoring from her father. If he noticed anything strange, he made no show of it and she was free to begin packing.

Two changes of clothes. Everything was going to feel soiled and dirty after a while.

Survival “kit”. Food and water was expected to be provided, but expect the unexpected. Three days worth of MREs, water, and small camping tools were recommended, though she had the freedom to add whatever she wished. Winter found herself packing additional fire-making tools, a tent for one, and a small knife. Actual MREs were out of the question, however - it would be too easy for her father or someone else in the household to spot. And being a unique product, it would be easy for him to view her financial transactions and see purchases from a specialty store. She decided upon granola bars instead, settling on the fancier, overpriced brands to throw her father off a little further.

And finally personal effects - the fancy term for weapons and armaments. She took her sword, fire dust, and nothing else.

Two days later, when it was finally time to leave, she watched the gateway entrance into the Schnee Manor from one of the windows. A simple black jeep - the color of choice for the Vale-Atlas Military when it came to civilian conduct - made its way up the road. Making sure that no one was watching, she took a deep breath as Qrow perched himself on her shoulders, his ever-presence taking form in small and tiny talons lightly poking against her clothes.

Whoosh

“The time has come. Are you prepared?”

Winter didn’t answer and merely began to walk to the wall. The ash gray mist settled around her once more and she passed through, unfazed by the material. With a hurried step, she made her way down to the curb, and the vehicle pulled up.

She tried not to look back as she got into the vehicle, but as she did she saw her father standing at the front door. He looked tall, shoulders raised and spread back. He blinked, and did nothing else as he watched the car drive away.

You will be participating as a specialist in a one-day march to the northeast through Forever Fall Forest. You will then spend two days at the target location investigating the area to try and learn more about the recent disturbance. Intel is unable to provide additional information about the source and thus remains at large. Regardless of the outcome, you are expected to return to Vale at the end of the fourth day.

For this mission, the Vale-Atlas Military has employed a squad consisting of Hunters:

Blake Belladonna Jaune Arc Lie Ren Nora Valkyrie Pyrrha Nikos Winter Schnee Yang Xiao Long

These hunters will be assisting with the defense of the military’s investigation in the area.

Any questions should be directed at your immediate superior officer, Sergeant Cinder Fall.

They took the first day to explain things to her. Winter’s role was primarily to observe. She was to see if this type of field work was cut out for her before making any final decisions. Should she choose to accept, she would attend basic training before being put on a fasttrack to be a specialist.

Of course, she wouldn’t be doing the actual investigating. It was supposed to be a watch and learn opportunity, but that still left a sour spot for her. If they encountered any Grimm, though, she was free to act and assist with disposal, something she found herself looking forward to. She had fought Grimm before in a few situations, but this would be the first time Qrow would be at her side for it.

The next day they began to march. The site was off the beaten road, so early into the expedition they were already out of the transport and on their feet. Every tree looked the same, its red leaves cascading and falling through the air and crumpling beneath her boots. Sometimes there was a brief halt, where the one with the dark hair with a stroke of pink would bring out his summon. It was a vined plant with a single blooming flower, and from within its was a woman - eyes closed, serene and peaceful. The growth around them would flutter and shimmer, and then she would disappear.

The sergeant had her hands on her hips, heads constantly turning and craning around. “Our status?”

“All clear.”

According to the dossier on him, he was searching for the presence of Grimm around them. Winter didn’t spend much time going through it, only skimming through the most important details and forgetting the rest of them. And in the end, none of them seemed to be similar to what Qrow could do for her. That, or the dossier wasn’t allowed to list everyone’s skills to the fullest.

Interestingly enough, though, the sergeant’s bio remained the most cryptic. Not all hunters worked closely with the military, instead opting to take the freedom their license provided to see and travel the world. Perhaps there was no immediately available information because she was a hunter under the direct employ of the military. She was allowed to withhold what she wanted, including the summon she had.

So far, this was turning into an enticing offer. All she had to do was perform well, ‘observe’, and then make it back to the safety to Vale.

The real chatter between the group started on the second day. Winter picked up that the hunters she was working with were familiar with each other, perhaps even good friends. Naturally, however, this led to the conversation being driven to her.

Who was she, exactly? Was she really one of the daughters of the head of the Schnee Dust Company? Unavoidable, she lamented, but she did her best to keep the answers informative but also succinct - just enough to satisfy their curiosity.

Not all of them, however, seemed entirely interested in learning more about her. The faunus in their group, Blake, had kept herself separate from Winter as much as possible. No doubt there was some prejudice behind it - her father’s company wasn’t known for having the best practices. The other, Yang, just seemed to be in a dour mood constantly. But that was not from any fault of her own, to the best of Winter’s knowledge. For the most part, the investigation seemed to be going well so far and nothing happened so far.

That was, at least, until the one with the hammer spoke up. Nora. “Hey, so you’re a hunter too, right? What’s your summon?”

She froze like a deer in headlights. It was something that she hesitated to answer because while she still didn’t want anyone to know about Qrow, if she remained silent they would immediately know that something was off. And the longer she dawdled, the longer their stares would bore into her form.

Besides, it would be good for all of them to know what they were working with. And it’s not like they knew him to be Death. Rather, they would only see him as a simple bird. She sighed, letting her shoulders rise and settle down on her frame. “Come on out, Qrow.” As she extended her hand forward, there was a glimmer of light as her white glyph came into focus. In the next breath Qrow had come out from within, his feet sending light pinpricks through her uniform as his wings steadied himself.

“Oh, so it’s a bird!” Nora leaned forward, “Kinda small like mine, too. What’s it do?”

“I’m...” she trailed off, “I’m afraid I can’t answer that. I’ve only recently acquired my summon, so my knowledge is limited as well.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was also the best way to put it at the time.

“Hey, we have a job to finish here and we only have two days,” finally after not having said a word, Yang spoke up. As Winter’s eyes traced to hers, she had already turned away and was walking through the forest, blond mane standing out among the sea of red. “Let’s stay on topic.” Her voice was snappy, and Winter entertained a brief thought of saying something

In the end she let it go - Nora’s had already squared her shoulders, stomping her way after her. The one with black-and-pink hair though, Ren, softly grasped her shoulder and she stopped. Whatever had risen to her throat had settled down and died as quickly as it was born, and she and everyone followed in Yang’s footsteps. Only the sergeant remained at ease.

Winter, on the other, hand, felt Qrow prick his way onto her shoulder. His feathers ruffled, red eyes locked on Yang. But he blinked and turned away, to the leader of the troop. He whispered into her ear, “I’m surprised you didn’t summon me earlier. Not curious about your peers?”

She was curious, always curious. To see the flames again, to know who was beholden to what fate. But it was unnecessary. “There was no need for it. Besides, they’d probably think I was being suspicious if I brought out my summon for no reason.”

“Hm, very well then.” He ruffled his feathers. “Still, be alert, especially of the blond one. Her sister died here.”

She stopped mid-step and her head snapped to him. Her mind ground away at his claim - how credible was it? But if he was death, that all pass.through his gates as he so claimed, who was she to not believe him.

And yet she still did. “How do you know that?”

“Simple,” his feathers ruffled, as if it was the simplest, most regular truth, and Winter felt like she knew what would come out of his beak. “I met her, and so have you.”

[grison-in-space]

more on the horse discourse

( @jasmiinitee, you’ll probably like this.)

This morning I was reading that piece I linked on the ancestors of today’s Shire horses. It’s a mixture of primary sources from the nineteenth century discussing draught horse types and breeding. (It actually doesn’t just cover the Old English Black Horses that became the Shire: it also discusses the ancestors of today’s Clydesdales, Suffolk Punch, Percheron, and Cleveland Bay as well as a few other extinct draught breeds.) 

This is a commentary on early Shires from c. 1831.

“The Heavy Black Horse is the last variety it may be necessary to notice. It is bred chiefly in the midland counties from Lincolnshire to Staffordshire. Many are bought up by the Surrey and Berkshire farmers at two years old, - and being worked moderately until they are four, earning their keep all the while, they are then sent to the London market, and sold at a profit of ten or twelve per cent.

It would not answer the breeder's purpose to keep them until they are fit for town-work. He has plenty of fillies and mares on his farm for every purpose that he can require; he therefore sells them to a person nearer the metropolis, by whom they are gradually trained and prepared. The traveller has probably wondered to see four of these enormous animals in a line before a plough, on no very heavy soil, and where two lighter horses would have been quite sufficient. The farmer is training them for their future destiny; and he does right in not requiring the exertion of all their strength, for their bones are not yet perfectly formed, nor their joints knit; and were he to urge them too severely, he would probably injure and deform them. By the gentle and constant exercise of the plough, he is preparing them for that continued and equable pull at the collar, which is afterwards so necessary. These horses are adapted more for parade and shew, and to gratify the ambition which one brewer has to outvie his neighbour, than for any peculiar utility. They are certainly noble-looking animals, with their round fat carcases, and their sleek coats, and the evident pride which they take in themselves; but they eat a great deal of hay and corn, and at hard and long-continued work they would be completely beaten by a team of active muscular horses an inch and a half lower.

The only plea which can be urged in their favour, beside their fine appearance, is, that as shaft-horses, over the badly-paved streets of the metropolis, and with the immense loads they often have behind them, great bulk and weight are necessary to stand the unavoidable shaking and battering. Weight must be opposed to weight, or the horse would sometimes be quite thrown off his legs. A large heavy horse must be in the shafts, and then little ones before him would not look well.

Certainly no one has walked the streets of London without pitying the poor thill-horse, jolted from side to side, and exposed to many a bruise, unless, with admirable cleverness, he accommodates himself to every motion; but, at the same time, it must be evident, that bulk and fat do not always constitute strength, and that a compact muscular horse, approaching to sixteen hands high, would acquit himself far better in such a situation. The dray-horse, in the mere act of ascending from the wharf, may display a powerful effort, but he afterwards makes little exertion, much of his force being expended in transporting his own overgrown mass.

These heavy horses are bred in the highest perfection, as to size, in the fens of Lincolnshire, and few of them are less than seventeen hands high at two and a half years old. Neither the soil, nor the produce of the soil, is better than in other counties; on the contrary, much of the lower part of Lincolnshire is a cold, hungry clay. The true explanation of the matter is, that there are certain situations better suited than others to different kinds of farming, and the breeding of different animals; and that not altogether depending on richness of soil or pasture. The principal art of the farmer is, to find out what will best suit his soil, and the produce of it.”

Bolding, of course, is mine. Clearly size breeding in excess of function is not an issue new to horse breeders. 

Here is another comment from 1853 on dray horses bred for the brewers in urban areas, also specific to the Old English Black:

"AN elephant among Horses, the mixed Flemish and Black Draught Horse is familiar to all Londoners as drawing the heavy drays on which beer is conveyed from the breweries to the purchaser. This enormous animal is really needed for his peculiar work, although a natural emulation that exists between the different firms leads them to rival each other in size and magnificence of their dray Horses, as well as in the excellence of their beer. It is a general idea that the dray Horses derive their huge bulk from being fed on grains and permitted to drink beer, and that the dray-men owe their large proportions and rubicund aspect to similar privileges. Such is, however, not the case, as the Horses are bred especially for the purpose, and the men are chosen with an eye to their jovial aspect. It would never answer for a brewer to keep a poor, wizened, starveling drayman, for the public would immediately lay the fault on the beer, and transfer their custom elsewhere.

The dray Horse is a very slow animal, and cannot be permanently quickened in his pace, even if the load be comparatively light. Its breast is very broad, and its shoulders thick and upright, the body large and round, the legs short, and the feet extremely large. The ordinary pace of the heavy Draught Horse is under three miles per hour, but by a judicious admixture of the Flemish breed, the pace is nearly doubled, the endurance increased, and the dimensions very slightly diminished. The great size of the dray Horse is required, not for the absolute amount of pulling which it performs, but for the need of a large and heavy animal in the shafts to withstand the extreme jolting and battering that takes place as the springless drays are dragged over the rough stones of the metropolis. And as a team of two or three small leaders and one huge wheeler would look absurd, it is needful to have all the Horses of uniform dimensions and appearance."

There’s an incentive here to make these horses bigger and bigger as, effectively, a advertisement for the beer! 

Here’s a comment from 1861:

According to "The Complete Grazier And Farmer's And Cattle-Breeder's Assistant" by William Youatt and R S Burn (1864): The Black Cart-horse, par excellence, the 'Old English Black' (fig. 27), of which the annexed is a delineation, is mostly bred in Leicester, Northampton, and Lincoln, and some of the neighbouring counties; but the largest kind, and that principally used in brewers' drays and other heavy road-work, is chiefly reared m the fens of Lincolnshire. These counties have been from time immemorial in possession of a celebrated breed of black horses, from the lighter kind of which some of our heavy cavalry were formerly mounted.

Er. The lighter kind, you say? Mind you, this is heavy cavalry of unknown era, and this is exactly the time when the popular myth of the weighty, constricted knight was gaining prominence; but still, this is a useful point to the effect that the Shire as we know it today had been noticeably bred past the point of usefulness as a military animal quite early on. 

Note that one comment from 1910 says of the breed 

The Black had had a chequered history. In the days of armour it was the war horse; when heavy armour was discarded it still furnished remounts to Dragoons, and remained, up to the earlier years of the last century, in some request (though lighter horses were more in demand) for Army purposes. The Black was also in general use for coach and carriage work when vehicles were weighty and roads bad ; but improvements in carriages and roads led to its disuse.

Yet writers from 1790, when surely these black horses would still have been “in some request” well within living memory if not at the present time, mention nothing of the sort! In fact, the only comment on the subject:

The cavalry of England formerly consisted of this class of Horses; but their inutility being experienced in most situations, others of a lighter and more active kind have been generally substituted, except in a few re­giments.

Hm. Damned with faint praise, I should think. It is interesting that no one is aware of any purebred draught horse of a modern form used in British cavalry forces any time within living memory; the one notion of praise on the whole page for their use is a cavalryman praising the use of crossbreds with more [hot] blood in them as remounts, and that can hardly be surprising given the popularity of warmbloods and other draft crosses in sporting events today. But the pure heavy horse of the modern draught breed? You can see the mythologizing happening in these primary sources, and you can see how very vague authors are about these historical military uses at a time when English cavalry was in full use. 

[writer-and-artist27]

Soup for the Sick

Note: …At this rate, this is already a series. One Piece and Naruto mixed. Never thought I would be getting into it. But @unlucky-marine’s art is something that always brings a smile to my face, and considering @langwrites writing the My Hero Academia-CYB crossover of Shell Game, well…

Yeah, I have no excuse. CP and S&S are still going on, but these little side stories starring the civilian pianist with her older Marine sibling-caretaker are adorable and I like giving something back to Eli. :) So there. Eli got me on the Tomo-Davy sibling train, and I can’t thank them enough for that. I’ve never had someone so outspoken in loving kid!Tomoko whenever I talked to them, so I think the appreciation goes miles now. ^_^

Of course, I don’t own anything except Tomoko and Hisako. Davy belongs to Eli, and Wendy to @ask-lieutenant-wendy.

The theme for this story is inspired by the sea, being SaphiraLynx’s piano cover of Mizuiro no Senritsu from Mermaid Melody. Or, as the translation calls it, the Aquamarine Melody, originally sung by the Aquamarine Mermaid Princess herself. :) The original song works just as well if you want to pull it up~

Please enjoy!

Oh, and Eli? You don’t have to feel pressured in making art for every part of this series, by the way. Only do it if you feel like it. I only write this whole thing because your art brought a lot of happy juice for me in these last days of summer and seeing you on Twitch and talking with you only helped fuel that. Friends look out for each other, and well, considering your theater job? A nice read is something you more than deserve. ;>

The words felt foreign in my mouth. “Jackie-nee’s sick?”

Wendy-nee gave me a sad smile as she sat down on her knees, a hand reaching over to rest on the top of my head. “She’s just resting in her barracks, Tomoko-chan. But yes, Jackie’s sick. It’s a cold, thankfully, so the bad sickness won’t be here forever.”

“How?” was already escaping my throat, and I found myself covering my mouth with both of my hands out of politeness and shock. My caretaker wasn’t the kind of person who found themselves sick so easily. At least, from what I could tell. When feeling more masculine as Jack-nii, he could easily kick someone’s ass if he wanted to, more so when I heard him mutter once on how he could break all 206 bones in a body. That was cool and kinda scary. When feeling feminine as Jackie-nee, she could then smash a womanizer’s face in with her heel and look beautiful doing it.

Being genderfluid was still something I didn’t know much about, more so considering I was a cis-female, but my caretaker was awesome. Simple as that.

I never thought I would hear the news that they would be sick.

But, alas, Tomoko-chan, my dear. Hisako swirled her glass of…lemonade. Okay. She was doing it while sitting in an armchair like Giovanni from Pokémon or something. All she needed was a Persian. And she was doing The Voice. Woo. We all are mere mortals.

Ugh.

I couldn’t help but find my heart sinking when Wendy-nee’s smile turned a bit more forced, as if frustrated. “I don’t think you want to know, Tomoko-chan. Let’s just say a Flamingo got a bit too angry and leave it at that, okay?” The minute crack in her voice was already enough for me to nod and accept it. I was still 10 in this life, so in Wendy-nee’s eyes, of course I was still a kid. An innocent kid, probably.

“Okay,” I said softly, but I still found myself gently tugging on her shirt collar to pull her in for a hug. It didn’t feel right going about this conversation without doing it. She looked troubled enough already, and my arms could wind around her neck, at least. “I’m sorry for prying, Wendy-nee.”

To my surprise, the blond Marine only laughed softly, arms coming around me to hug back. Aaaaah, she had a similar grip to Mama when she was excited. Tough muscle, but still snuggly. “It’s okay, Tomoko-chan, you were worried. It’s okay.”

I was not expecting her to lift me up anyways, essentially letting my sandals hit air as she pulled away from the hug to grin cheerily up at me. Somehow, I was sitting in her arms, close to her shoulders. Somehow! Aaaaaah, awesome strength. Also, Wendy-nee being 7 foot 2 and being carried that close to her height made everything in the near vicinity feel small, and gosh, being tall feels so cool! Fluttering skirt be damned.

…Don’t judge me on this. I’m still trying to gain height by drinking milk.

Wendy-nee’s purple eyes were now sparkling with something soft as she looked at me with that same grin. Her one curly hair sticking out from her hat tickled as she continued to beam. “Still, Tomoko-chan, what do you want to do now? Do you want to visit Jackie?”

The offer was tempting. Very tempting.

Hisako only swirled her cup of lemonade before chugging it in a few seconds flat. Once all the liquid was gone, she tossed the cup away, the motion accompanied by a small mental CRASH that was of the glass breaking in the mind library somewhere. Hm, she mused. It’s nice, but you’re thinking of something else, aren’t you, dear?

Yep. My Nobody was already reading my thoughts.

“Not now, Wendy-nee,” I shook my head while smiling anyways. “But could you carry me to the kitchen? I wanna cook something first!”

Those same purple eyes blinked at me slowly.

“Huh?”

“Here again, Tomoko-chan?”

The Marine chefs, despite bustling around with food and plates in almost every corner of the kitchen, all seemed to notice me as soon as Wendy-nee dropped me off in the doorway. She had work to do, unfortunately, but at least the big bear hug and bright smile in my direction before she left was a nice send-off.

Still, I was a 10-year old girl in a Sylveon-themed kimono dress, standing in the kitchen doorway, and at this point, the Marines weren’t even fazed. Huh.

Adjustment period is officially over, Hisako mused dryly.

I nodded at the nearest chef who asked with the politest smile I could muster. “Yep! Jackie-nee’s not feeling well, so I thought of cooking!” And then the Embarrassment was coming back in. Why, heart, why. “I-Is that okay?”

Said chef only shrugged with an exasperated smile before pointing to a nearby corner. Almost immediately, some of the chefs cleared away, leaving a small cutting board, knife, oven, and stove in the space left behind. “Go ahead, Tomoko-chan. That counter there’s all yours.”

The bright smile on my face was just as sudden as the swing of Embarrassment from earlier. “Thank you very much, Chef-san!”

The man only scoffed softly in a way reminiscent of Vy’s old Dad, almost in disbelief judging by the noise. In the end, he still nodded in acknowledgement at me as the other staff slowly moved away enough so that I could walk over.

For a corrupt military, the staff’s surprisingly sweet.

Maybe they don’t have a lot of kids around?

My Nobody only shrugged. Then I started hearing whispers while walking past.

“That Jack sure is lucky.”

“Of course it’s the paperwork guy who gets a cute girl looking after them.”

“Why can’t I get someone to drop through a hole in the ceiling to love me?”

Ohhhh! Hisako was smirking. Oh no. My, my, my! Tomoko-chan, you’re popular!

I still ran through the kitchen as fast as I could to get to that corner, because the heat on my face wasn’t going to go down otherwise. Aaaaaaah.

What was wrong with loving a caretaker like a sibling when you didn’t have any? Well, I technically had Kei and Hayate, but there was something different about older siblings than younger ones. In a past life, I was the younger one, and that was a mixed bag. Actually having that memory when it came to my Marine caretaker was the main seal to the deal. I could at least help out without looking like a brat doing it.

Reincarnation had benefits when it was botched. Apparently.

Still, once I got to my corner and got a good stare over everything, my head blanked. Um. “I know I said I wanted to cook something, but what’s good for a cold…?”

Soup? Hisako offered helpfully. Chicken Noodle? Clam Chowder? Gumbo? Or, heck, curry? Anything warm should do!

Those were all good suggestions. Especially since Jackie-nee was said to be resting from her cold.

I looked around. The kitchen staff were currently using a lot of seafood judging by the nearby lobster platter, so the clam chowder was a bust. I wasn’t even sure if I could do gumbo at my age, but chicken noodle soup sounded nice.

Only problem.

The only chicken I could see in the entire kitchen was a big frozen one sitting in the nearby freezer, and the staff were pretty crowded over there.

Ummmm.

Run?

No. This is a kitchen, Hisako.

Point. Fast-walk and try to wing carrying it?

It was an idea.

I tried. I really did. But being a short little girl in a crowd of tall chefs kinda meant being squished. Think any anime/gaming convention, where you would bump shoulders with someone every 5 seconds. It was like that.

“E-Er, excuse me? I’m trying to get through?” Even with my voice cracking, getting stuck in a crowd of moving people meant elbowing, and I was not good at that. Even if Kei had taught me self-defense, this was not the time to be throwing hands! “I-I’d like to get that chicken, please!”

Ignored. Because there was so much hustling and a pre-pubescent voice was hard to make out.

Aaaaah.

And then hands were sliding under my arms and effortlessly lifting me up, and I found myself squeaking. I could already tell that this wasn’t Wendy-nee’s grip, so who—

“Hey, you guys really should look out when in the kitchen. This little lady would’ve gotten hurt.”

Huh?

I looked behind me and met the stare of someone clearly new. I don’t know if he was ever in this kitchen staff before, but with his curly eyebrow, greyish-blue eye, straight blond hair falling down to brush the left side of his face, and muscular arms in spite of the Marine chef uniform, he definitely looked like someone that Jackie-nee would want to take a picture for when it came to bounties. This new person was definitely something. “You alright, ojou-chan?”

He grinned while still holding me up in his hands, and I tried not to squirm. Wearing a skirt in the kitchen and being lifted all the while was…yeah. “I-I am, but um, Chef-san?” I gestured to the ground while trying not to inwardly panic. “C-Could you please put me down?” I pointed to my corner. “Over there?”

The new Chef blinked at the direction I was pointing at before grinning again and nodding. “Whatever the ojou-chan wishes~!” I didn’t miss how he hummed before he literally slid over to my corner, ignoring chefs passing him all the while, and I tried not to focus on the sensation of my stomach churning. Motion sickness would be motion sickness.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to think on the stomach butterflies longer than necessary, because he was quick to put me down, still grinning all the while. “Now, ojou-chan.” I was not expecting his smile to turn into a more solemn expression. “What were you doing there? This is a kitchen, and not exactly the best place to play around.”

Aaaah. Another adult. I tried not to pout. “I was trying to get the chicken from the freezer. My older sibling who’s in the Marines got sick, and I was thinking of trying to make Chicken Noodle soup for them!”

He only blinked that same grey-blue eye at me before pulling on a more amused smile. “Oh?” he said softly, before turning his head around to look towards that far-away refrigerator. “Do you at least know how to make it, ojou-chan?”

…Um.

Uh.

I squeaked, “No?”

We did not think this through.

He only pulled on a more confident smile while tossing something into the nearest trash can. Was it…a cigarette? “Well then! Let this cook help you out, ojou-chan!”

I blinked. “It’s okay?”

With that same confidence, he turned to me while twirling a — holy crap, he was twirling a knife. I only blinked once, and then he was brandishing a small bowl of diced…diced onions? When did he— “I’m a cook, ojou-chan. And when a lady is in trouble, it’s natural to help out.” He then sat down on his knees, looking at me with that grey-blue eye, now sparkling. “I’m Sanji by the way, ojou-chan. What’s your name?”

Ah. He reminded me of Leo, at least a little. “I-I’m Hoshino Tomoko, Sanji-san.” Out of habit, I took a bit of my skirt to curtsy. “It’s nice to meet you, and I hope to work with you!”

Sanji-san only grinned. “And I you, little lady.”

He then brandished a bowl of cut carrots. Wow, that was a lot of skill.

Chicken Noodle Soup was, surprisingly enough, simple. Even though I only had Vy’s experience to call from when cooking, Sanji-san was quick. It only took an hour for him to prepare homemade chicken and vegetable broths for the soup, and by the time the chicken hit the soup pot, a warm homey smell was wafting around the kitchen, and I could’ve sworn some chefs were drooling while walking past.

“So, ojou-chan,” he said while stirring the soup with a ladle, “who’s your older sibling?”

Aaaand Sanji-san had to ask just when I was putting dishes away in this little corner. “Davy Jack-san! Currently going by Jackie, but I call her Jackie-nee! I think…” my voice cracked while recalling Wendy-nee’s words. “A Flamingo got angry and gave her a cold? Or something?”

The words were silly, but I didn’t miss how Sanji-san tensed. It almost looked like a shiver went up his spine before a nervous chuckle sounded. “D-Davy Jack, huh…? That’s interesting, ojou-chan.” He then muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t hear, but all I could make out was, “that explains things.”

Hisako wasn’t having any of it. He’s nice, but I dunno, Tomoko-chan. That reaction wasn’t the best.

Did my caretaker know this guy?

I ended up voicing it. “Do you know Jackie-nee, Sanji-san?”

Immediately, the cook turned to me with a warm smile, turning down the heat to the soup pot while doing so. “Kinda, ojou-chan. It’s a long story. But the soup’s almost done!”

Yep. That was a sudden subject change. So something did happen between them.

And was it just me, or did Sanji-san look sad for a moment?

I blinked, and as soon as I thought that, the glint in that grey-blue eye disappeared. “Still, ojou-chan, wanna go serve this soup to your sibling then? I have to be somewhere, so I can’t stay long.”

Already, I was feeling disappointed. It had only been a few hours but having a cooking companion aside from my Nobody did something. “Will I see you again?”

Sanji-san then turned off the heat entirely before turning to me fully and sitting down on his knees. “Of course, ojou-chan.” He then grinned, reaching over to poke my forehead through my bangs, and I tried not to wince. “Just look for a sail with a skull and a straw hat, and you’ll find me.”

Skull and a straw hat? What the hell is that supposed to be? A pirate flag thing?

I still nodded in spite of Hisako’s incoming rant. “Okay.”

Of course, I would jump on Sanji-san for a hug too. He deserved it, at least.

Jackie-nee was sitting up in her bed at the barracks, reading what looked like a book when I was finally able to pop in. Wendy-nee was still at work along with the other Marines, so it made sense that there was no one else around.

I did my best to balance the soup bowl tray in my hands while hiding it from view. “Jackie-nee?”

She blinked before looking up from her book, and of course I could see that familiar spark that I grew to love so much. “Tomo-chan,” she murmured happily, then coughed softly into one of her hands. “Sorry, I can’t hug you right now. Still — hack — sick. Wendy told you that, didn’t she?”

Even then, I couldn’t help but smile back. “Wendy-nee did say that, but I do have something for you!”

“What’s that, sweetie?”

“Well…” I tried not to run over to her bedside and instead walked over as gently as I could before brandishing the tray for her to take. “Chicken Noodle Soup. To help make the sick go away?”

I still wanted to ask myself how and why I reverted to childish talk when it only came to my caretaker, but the warm smile on her face made the thought process stop in its tracks. “Oh, Tomo-chan.” She looked down at the warm bowl before taking the spoon and blowing at it. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to!” Another pout was coming up on my face now. “I missed you and you deserve something to help you rest better! You work too much!”

At that, Jackie-nee suddenly snorted before laughing softly. “Yeah? I guess so.” The warmth in her voice said everything as she finally took a sip, and then the color was returning to her face as she smiled. “Whoa. Tomo-chan,” she gave me that same warm smile, “did you make this all by yourself?”

Nope. Hisako said for me.

“Nope,” I repeated with a more sheepish shrug. “I had help.”

Now Jackie-nee was confused. “Who helped? Wendy?”

Should I say the name…?

No harm in trying, dear. Hisako only patted my head.

“A new chef in the kitchen?” I found myself raising a pointer finger. “His name was Sanji-san!”

I was not expecting Jackie-nee to nearly drop her spoon mid-bite. “S-Sanji?”

Oh dear. Bombshell.

“Um, he was nice,” I filled in instead, because the sudden silence and the shock in Jackie-nee’s gaze was kinda hard to deal with all at once. “He helped me cut chicken and taught me how to make vegetable broth for next time! He also kept me out from being trampled by crowds and called me ‘ojou-chan’!”

“…What next time?” Jackie-nee said incredulously, but the simple fact that she was still eating was a good sign. At least, I was hoping so. “And, pffft.” I wasn’t expecting her to snort into her free hand. “‘Ojou-chan,’ huh.” But, oh.

She was smiling again.

I sat down at the foot of her bed, trying not to show my confusion. “Jackie-nee?”

She gave me that same warm smile. “It’s nothing, Tomo-chan. Nothing at all.”

And this time, I could believe it. Somewhat. At least while sneaking in one hug.

Hey. I have pride in my immune system, and screw colds! Soup keeps the doctor away!

“T-Tomo-chan, I’m sick…!”

“Just lemme hug you once, Jackie-nee, I missed you!”

Her only response was an exasperated laugh. I could settle for that. It kept thoughts of asking about Sanji-san away for another day.

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Chapter Ten

This Is Never Going To Go Our Way If I’m Gonna Have To Guess What’s On Your Mind

***

So open up my eyes,

Tell me I’m alive,

This is never going to go our way

If I’m gonna have to guess what’s on your mind.

***

Starbase 93 dock.

Lorca.

“Technically this ship has been ready to launch for over two weeks, but between bug tests and a certain lacklustre effort on Starfleet’s part, what with it being an older class of ship with comparatively minimal utility, the ship has not been named or fully commissioned yet…”

Alpha-32 was talking, and Lorca wasn’t listening. Which, he supposed, was better than being driven to distraction by her. Ignoring the wave of conflicting emotions that threatened to bubble up inside him, he looked about as they walked, taking everything in.

The corridors of this ship were bare and utilitarian, the panels lined in computer access consoles, the crew wandering about in the same neat, jacketed uniforms Jallistra’s crew had worn. It was almost heartening, in a way, but somehow, he had trouble thinking of them as ‘his’ crew.

“Captain?”

Lorca blinked, looking at Alpha-32, who was looking at him with that same patient, neutral expression.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” he said without meaning it. “Where were we?”

“I was just informing you of some of the ship’s quirks, sir,” Alpha-32 replied, giving one of those neutered, empty smiles of hers. So unlike Michael. “According to all of my research and data on the subject, it is beneficial for a commanding officer to know their ship.”

That was true, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t really want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d said something accurate to the situation.

“Have you considered a name for the ship, yet?” Alpha-32 asked after a moment.

“No,” Lorca said dismissively. In all the ‘excitement’ of meeting Alpha-32, he’d simply forgotten that he had been given that option.

“If I may, sir, I would like to choose the name,” Alpha-32 said, almost hesitant.

Lorca gave her a sidelong glance. “You would?”

“Only if said name meets with your approval, of course, sir,” Alpha-32 clarified. “I find it an intriguing prospect, naming a vessel. Not something asked of a crew often.”

“Hm,” Lorca grunted. He let out a low chuckle. “Just make sure you don’t pick anything inappropriate. I don’t want to fly a ship called ‘daisy’.”

“Noted, sir,” Alpha-32 said. There was an infinitesimal pause before she added: “I will remove ‘Daisy’ from the list of potential names.”

Lorca sighed. He didn’t know whether she was messing with him, or whether she was genuinely that dense. Neither option was particularly appealing.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s probably more to this bucket than you’ve shown me.”

“I was not considering ‘Bucket’ as a name for the ship, sir,” Alpha-32 replied, “but there is more to see.”

God save me from literal-minded robots, Lorca thought, rolling his eyes.

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” Alpha-32 continued, “I will show you to the bridge.”

***

Alpha-32.

“If you’ll follow me, sir, I will show you to the bridge.”

Captain Lorca was not enthusiastic about his command. That was… unexpected. The Exeter-class’s similarity to the 23rd Century Constitution-class alone should have been enough to garner a measure of positivity, if only on the basis of nostalgia. That had been, after all, one of the reasons Commodore Hayne requested this ship (which had only previously been slated for training missions and the occasional bout of diplomatic or scientific busywork).

Still, Alpha-32 thought as she walked. There are other options still available to improve the Captain’s morale, and I have yet to undertake the two emotionally-charged actions that will foster an attachment to the ship and myself.

Asking to name the ship was the first. Alpha-32 was certain that she had picked a choice that was fitting, especially when she added in her complementary choice for her own new designation.

Considering the two designations that she had picked made her pause. If she had activated her emotional subroutines, she might have found a certain hesitation at the thought of the names. Had she chosen correctly? However, despite her probabilistic calculations having been previously less than accurate regarding Captain Lorca’s reactions, she was confident she had made the right decisions.

“You said ‘minimal utility’,” Lorca said after a moment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It took Alpha-32 three nanoseconds to decide the best response. “The Exeter-class is obviously not a top-of-the-line vessel. You have been on the Enterprise, after all.”

“Yeah,” Lorca said, nodding. “Hell of a ship.” His expression became somewhat irritated. “So what, this one’s the dumpster for has-beens?”

‘Dumpster’ definitely was not a good sign, and though she was not entirely familiar with the phrase ‘has beens’, it, too, had negative connotations. She shook her head.

“The Exeter-class is fitted for extended scientific missions, diplomatic transports…” Lorca’s expression became more derisive, and Alpha-32 immediately knew she had to change tactics. “It is also used in area denial escalation missions, as well as first-response tactical engagement.”

Ah, there it was. A flicker of something else - the expression-reading subroutine she had coded into her system indicated that it was interest. Military-oriented missions seemed to hold his interest more than science or diplomacy. That much was predictable.

“So we’re first response?” Lorca asked after a moment.

“Essentially, Captain,” Alpha-32 said quietly. “Our ship is not powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe against more heavily-armed vessels, but there are a few modifications to her -”

“The fuck,” Lorca interrupted harshly. He was no longer looking at Alpha-32, but instead glaring at a female Klingon walking down the corridor, clad in a gold Starfleet uniform jacket.

Alpha-32 already knew that there was a certain animosity towards Klingons in the 23rd Century, but with a sudden, troubling realisation, she also recalled Lorca’s imprisonment at Klingon hands. Those two facts meant that it made all too much sense that his reaction to seeing a Klingon on his ship would be… unfavourable.

“Sir, this is Lieutenant B’Rena,” she said evenly, putting the barest hint of emphasis on the rank.

“Why is there a Klingon on my ship?!” he hissed, pointing at B’Rena and clearly ignoring Alpha-32’s introduction. His expression was filled with a kind of naked hostility that Alpha-32 had not anticipated. B’Rena squared herself up, clearly feeling challenged.

“And who are you to question my place here?!” she hissed.

“The man who’s gonna kick your ass!” Lorca said hotly.

Alpha-32 held up a hand to forestall the Klingon’s angry retort. It was logical that he would be angry upon seeing B’Rena, but Alpha-32 felt confident she could defuse the tension.

“Captain Lorca is a temporal refugee from the 23rd Century,” she exclaimed to B’Rena. “You will have been briefed on his situation.”

“Ah!” B’Rena said, her demeanour completely changing as she grinned. “The glory days of the Dahar Masters! A time of great heroes - Kor, Koloth, Kang -”

“T’Kuvma and Kol, actually,” Lorca said, his tone bitingly sarcastic.

Alpha-32 ran the names through her history banks, and found information entries for the Battle of the Binary Stars, ‘T’Kuvma the Unforgettable’, and a host of other things that she suspected might cause an officer who had lived through those times some degree of… consternation at a Klingon’s presence.

“T’Kuvma the Unforgettable!” B’Rena said with a grin. “Ah, to be a Klingon warrior in those days! Truly, that would have been glorious!”

“Yes,” Lorca said, his expression cooling into disdain. “I’m sure ramming cloaked ships into vessels under a flag of truce and bombing the shit out of defenceless civilians would have been such a glorious way to spend your time.”

B’Rena’s expression dropped in what might have been confusion on anyone else. “What?”

Lorca scowled. “Excuse me. Lieutenant.”

He pushed straight past her without another word. Alpha-32 gave an approximation of an apologetic look, before following him. B’Rena simply stayed put, and Alpha-32 calculated a 73.7% chance that she was still processing the encounter.

Alpha-32 caught up with the Captain a moment later, just as he entered the turbolift.

“Bridge,” he ordered gruffly. He glowered at Alpha-32. “You never answered my question. What in the hells is that thing doing on my ship?”

Alpha-32 stiffened. “Lieutenant B’Rena is one of the most qualified tactical officers of her class. Having her aboard is an asset.”

“She’s a Klingon,” Lorca hissed.

“The Federation made peace with the Klingons, Captain,” Alpha-32 told him. “It is one of the many things that has changed since your time.”

He said nothing after that, and Alpha-32 wondered for approximately eighteen nanoseconds whether she had gone too far. Changing tack, she imitated an action she had often observed among humans: she took a deep breath. This had the effect of making Captain Lorca look at her in bemusement.

“You breathe, Commander?” he asked.

“On certain occasions, Captain, I have seen humans audibly and deeply breathe in order to diffuse tense situations,” she replied primly.

“‘Diffuse tense…’” He chuckled. “Commander, you’re a damn marvel.”

Success, Alpha-32 thought, allowing herself her logical satisfaction. After all: it was one step in the right direction for dealing with Captain Gabriel Lorca.

***

Lorca.

When the Turbolift opened, Lorca found himself looking around the bridge space with a feeling of mild irritation.

The space itself was more utiliarian than Jallistra’s bridge on the Enterprise had been, which on some levels he could appreciate. It had a familiar layout: centre seat, helm station, Ops station, tactical station, science station… the only real difference between this and the Discovery’s bridge was, ironically, that it was smaller, not to mention a mite more colourful.

In truth, Lorca wasn’t irritated by the bridge. He wasn’t particularly paying attention to the bridge at all. He was still thinking about his encounter in the corridor.

Change, change, more change. He scowled. A damn Klingon serving in the fleet.

He had anticipated change, of course. It was inevitable. Indeed, it was almost welcome: had he somehow emerged into a time where everything looked the same, where everyone wore the same uniform, he was fairly certain he would have gone mad. But all the same…

Damned in change, damned in status quo, damned all the way, he thought, resisting the urge to scowl again.

“What do you think, sir?” Alpha-32 asked from behind him.

Lorca didn’t answer. He noted the door that said ‘ready room’, and almost immediately made a beeline for it, entering without another word to anyone. Alpha-32, thankfully, didn’t follow him.

The ready room wasn’t much different than any boring standard one. Lorca scowled slightly at the chair. He’d always preferred a standing desk - something he’d shared with his other self, he’d realised with some surprise at the time. Still, it was good to have a chair right this second.

“Right,” he said to no one in particular. “Let’s get on with this.”

***

Alpha-32.

Alpha-32 sat at the command chair, checking the readouts. There were more than a few reports awaiting the Captain’s attention, so she forwarded those on. She calculated less than an 11% chance that he would actually read the reports, but 11% was not 1%, as she was sure many of her human colleagues would have said to her. She’d never quite understood that attitude - it was still an unacceptable margin, by any machine’s standards - but as history bore out time and again, organic idiosyncrasies did not stop them from achieving their goals.

As she went through some reports aimed at her, she saw the door to the turbolift open and Lieutenant B’Rena step out.

“Commander,” she said quietly. “A word.”

Alpha-32 stood, and walked over to the Lieutenant:

“What is on your mind, Lieutenant B’Rena?” she asked.

Analysing B’Rena was always a study in contrasts. Like all Klingons she seemed gruff, often unresponsive to traditional human platitudes. She was well built, muscular, lean, perfectly proportioned for security. Her hair was worn in a regulation ponytail. And, unlike many Klingon officers, she had chosen against wearing a Klingon honour sash.

“That man is the Captain?” B’Rena asked her quietly.

“He is,” Alpha-32 confirmed.

B’Rena nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know if it is true?”

“If what is true?” Alpha-32 asked in return.

“What he said about T’Kuvma ramming a ship under a flag of truce,” B’Rena clarified, folding her arms. “Is it true?”

Alpha-32 nodded. “I believe it is.”

Truthfully, that was one of the few things that had remained relatively clear about the Battle of Binary Stars. What information they had about the battle was limited - the number and type of ships (especially the Klingon fleet), the exact casualties - but the destruction of the starship Europa was something that was well known. Alpha-32 had committed a dozen different interpretations of the day’s events to her memory - from dissertations condemning the weak stance of Admiral Anderson to analyses condemning Phillipa Georgiou for not leaving at the first instance. Her own interpretation was something she had yet to decide upon: just one of many things requiring further cogitation.

“I see,” B’Rena said, frowning. “It is… disconcerting to hear one of whom I have thought highly dishonoured in such a way.”

“Do you wish to speak with the Captain about it?” Alpha-32 asked.

“No,” B’Rena said, scowling. “I wish to think. And then I will decide.”

Alpha-32 nodded. “That seems like a wise decision.”

It was a wise decision, but in truth Alpha-32 was only devoting a small amount of processing power to it. There were, after all, other things to think about.

My mission, she thought.

***

Lorca

Starfleet regulations didn’t change much in two centuries. In fact, apart from a few new ones named - presumably - for people that Lorca had never heard of, they seemed entirely static.

Bureaucracy, he thought derisively. Never changes.

Tugging at the red jacket of his uniform, Lorca idly wondered if there were different ship service uniforms, as there had been in his time. He recalled the first time he’d seen the memo about the new uniforms aboard Constitution-class ships - he had been, almost despite himself, intrigued: there was something exciting about the colours. A promise of vibrancy, excitement, adventure. He remembered thinking, as he looked at the plans of one of the various Connies: ‘after the war, a Constitution-class ship. That’s the plan.’

Win the war, get the prize. Best ships in the fleet. Prestige, and the chance to pick his own crew and go out into the great unknown, far from Admiralty breathing down his neck.

Yeah, sure, he thought, snorting. Vibrancy. Excitement. Adventure. A Terran Captain didn’t crave such things, or at least, not in the same way a Federation Captain did. For a Terran, vibrancy was alien blood splattered on a wal, excitement was battle, adventure was conquest.

But I did get a Constitution-class ship, he thought, snorting derisively at the thought of the Exeter class - ‘an older class of ship with comparatively minimal utility’, she had called it.

Could say the same damn thing for me, he scowled.

The door beeped, and Lorca sighed, his thoughts snapping back to the present (bitter irony filled him at that thought).

“Enter,” he said curtly.

Sure enough, in came Alpha-32, a small, empty smile on her face.

“Are you settling in comfortably, sir?” she asked without preamble.

“I prefer standing desks,” he replied gruffly. “But I’ve been taking the time to catch up on my reading, so there’s that at least.”

He brandished the PADD as he spoke, giving her a wry smile.

“That is good,” Alpha-32 said, still smiling. “While you have been acclimating -”

God, this robot doesn’t have a sarcasm module.

“- I have made a selection for the name of the ship.”

“Oh?” Lorca asked blandly.

“I would prefer to show you, sir,” she said. “I ordered it painted onto the hull by the time we get onto a shuttle.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” he said with a sardonic smirk. He stood. “Can you get me a standing desk for when we get back?”

“Unlikely, but I can put in a request,” Alpha-32 said, nodding once.

Lorca sighed, motioning to the door. “Shall we, Alpha-32?”

She paused, almost hesitating, before looking him in the eye, her smile gone.

“I have also selected a new name for myself, sir,” she said, her expression entirely serious. “It was a difficult choice to make, but I believe it is the right one.”

“Alright,” he said, trying not to sound too disinterested. “What is it?”

“Raphael,” she replied at once.

It took him a moment to process

“Raphael,” he said after a moment, “is a man’s name.”

Her small smile returned, now almost sardonic. “So is Michael.”

He paused at that, before smirking ruefully. “Touché.”

Her smile widened. “Shall we, Captain?”

***

The name was emblazoned on the saucer section in neat black lettering for all the universe to see.

U.S.S. Seraphim NCC-102017

“Interesting name,” Lorca commented from the seat of the shuttle raft.

“I chose it because it is the term for the highest choir of angels,” Alpha-32 - Raphael - said evenly.

“Ah.” He snorted. “‘Gabriel’. ‘Michael’. ‘Raphael’.”

“Exactly,” Raphael said. “Although technically, they were archangels, not necessarily Seraphim. There is some theological uncertainty in that regard.”

He smirked. “The name works, Commander.”

She gave another of her neutral smiles, before returning her attention to the helm.

Lorca considered for a moment whether there was an aspect of emotional manipulation at play, but then dismissed it. After all, Raphael seemed, for the most part, about as emotionally aware as the average brick. Smiling as he comforted himself in that realisation, Lorca leant back, admiring the lines of his ship. It sure looked like a Connie from here, he had to admit.

Captain Lorca of the Starship Seraphim, he thought, smiling. Now that was something he could get used to.

***

A:N: So, this is the last complete chapter I have at present (and the one posted last on AO3). I am still working, slowly, on this work, but my fan fiction work almost always takes a backseat to my original work (which you can see elsewhere on tumblr at jteroracleverse, or usually reblogged here). I’ll keep at it slowly, though.