#life is unpredictable it can pull the rug from under your feet without a warning

[canisalbus]

I was reading the hashtags on the ask about Machete and Vasco distancing before Machete's assassination and something about the "we'll figure this out next time I come to visit" just struck a cord with me just the unknowingness, the fact there was never a next time, and the "stay safe" just adds to it, there's just a sense of tragic irony in those words with the scenario

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[kth1]

Get Jinxed [MYG]

beautiful, gorgeous, glorious banner made by the talented queen @dee-ehn​ - thank you so much for making my thoughts come to life in your edit!

Get Jinxed  [Yoongi x Reader] ⟶ Credit: @kimtaehyunq​ ⟶ Genre: Angst | Smut | 21+ | Cyberpunk AU | One Shot ⟶ Warnings: pwp, sorta old lovers to enemies to lovers, cocky yoongi, mentions of weapons, criminal activities, hopeless romantic OC, rough sex, over simulation, multi-orgasms, public indecency, unprotected, creampie, etc,  ⟶ WC: 4.7k+ ⟶ Summary: A rouge ex officer of the law - Yoongi - has twisted his ways into causing mayhem across towns. You are the high and mighty officer who seeks revenge on Yoongi’s ways; considering that he not only turned against the city in which he grew up in, striping all chances of reforming himself, he also stole your heart. ⟶ Teaser: “He hushes you with a hand, his teeth nipping eagerly around your clavicles. “Shh,” he warns with a devilish glint, “We’re in public, Y/n.” He chuckles, mouth coming back to kiss against your jaw.” ⟶ Beta Reader: Thank you so so so very much for taking on this task very very very last minute @chillingtae​ I am so thankful for you to accept this role, and thank you for helping me through this fic! I owe you! ♡ ⟶ Author’s note: Written for @houseofddaeng​‘s Agust D Anniversary Event. Was my first time touching elements of a cyberpunk!au. 

Rain casts a veil over your sight as you stare deeply into the silhouette across the murky alleyway; the figure before you surveys the one-of-a-kind hextech rifle aiming right at their head. Glistening neon lights flood your peripherals, puddles reflecting fractions of radiance between the cracks of the split bricks under your very feet. The chill of cold water drenches your attire, even the cap resting on your head leaks streams down the sides of your face.

“How could you!” You choked out between your teeth; loud enough over the pounding rain, loud enough to cut the man in front of you as if your words are daggers.

The rifle that deemed you the best shot in the city has no comparison to your superior intellect. Your wits earned you the way through the rankings and nobody, no criminal or lawbreaker were foolish enough to cross your path. You are known as Vopamis City’s finest peacekeeper and your oath is embedded deep within your family roots.

You’re the sheriff of a thriving, escalating city where art, craftsmanship, trade, and metamorphosis were built and centered from. Vopamis is and forever will be a reinventing city where dreams are lived to the fullest extent and treasures are found around every corner. It sits on top of the distrusted city of Tapos, an undercity district – which used to be once united but now no more – buried deep within canyons weaved below.

You press your words and force the air to pass through your clutching windpipe, “Fuckin’ answer me you son of a bitch!”

The figure sighs with a step forward, rolling their head out of annoyance but once their eyes meet yours in the light you knew all breath escaped your chest.

“Hi, Y/n.”

The dangerous bright orange hair stands out like no other, just like the cocky grin that emits the same tone as his two-toned eyes does. One is dull brown with crystalized specks of white, the other a piercing topaz yellow; a hard contrast between his natural dark pupil – all of which made those eyes captivating.

You fear this moment every day ever since that terrible day. It haunts you; it scares you; it hurts you. Yet here you are, face to face with the man who solemnly swept the valuable, rich rug right out from under you and ran with it. With betrayal and pain coursing through your veins you sought out his existence every single day to get revenge on the one person you thought you truly once loved.

With your rifle adjusted point blank, with the help of the glowing red laser to the center of his forehead, you show no signs of backing down from your stance. The rain beats heavily though your heart pounds harder inside your chest.

He looks just how you remember him; black under-cut still very much unkempt, a piercing jabbed through one eyebrow and two into the cartilage on the same side of his nose. His oversized cryptic jacket hides his frame well, decorated in all sorts of patches, widgets, and spikes that have their own metallic shine to them. You swear you see the edgings of tattoos creeping up the sides of his neck, exactly how you recall them.

Those unforgiving thick soled boots kick up the water around his steps as he inches out of the shadows, “It’s been a while.”

You ignore him just like he ignores your first sentence, “How could you do this?!”

He shrugs with amusement dressing his face, “Why ask me questions you already have answers to, Y/n?”

With glares meeting another in a standoff stare he halts his walk five feet in front of you. Unphased by the downpour of smogged twilight rain, you twist your finger around the trigger of your trusty gun. “You stole for the black markets, betrayed your city and me, ran off to the unstable technologies and reckless constructions of the polluted and gangrenous Tapos. Why!?”

“You seem to be a bit vindictive.” He snickers, swiping a hand through his soaked locks. “I was bored.”

Bored.

Your grip tightens around your rifle, you can’t tell if you are shaking from the cold of the rain or the anger raging throughout your body. His words made your heart sink to the pit of your stomach.. “Yoongi!” You hiss with a harsh tone, blood boiling under your very skin.

He steps again, hand clutching the barrel of your gun and aligning the end against his forehead. Yoongi looks at you with teasing eyes and a wide, wirily smile. He is testing you - taunting you. “I know you won’t do it. You won’t pull the trigger.” That blunt topaz eye drills back into yours, enticing and enchanting all at once. “How many times have you seen me in the streets? Stealing from this filthy, pathetic excuse of a renowned city? How many times did you watch me walk by doing whatever I damn well please? Why are you stopping me now? What changed?”

To what you believe you are holding out strong, insisting you have the upper hand and all control. But you are frozen, unpredictably iced in place from where you stand. Only to stare back at the man that your heart swells and aches for. Yoongi doesn’t wait for you to answer as he already knows every single move and step you have going for you.

“It’s only been two months.” He states with a soft smile, lowering and pushing aside the gun in your grasp. “One of the most determined and skilled investigators of all Vopamis. Filled with ferocity and a strong sense of justice and resolution. Falls right into the footsteps of each and every one of your family members. They reinforced their ideals of right and wrong on you so much that it’s practically branded across your forehead.”

Yoongi spits to the side, tilting his head to watch your face with all his rambling. He has proven himself in such a small-time frame of how impulsive he can be, going from a trusted high ranked officer of the law to a merciful criminal who now wreaks havoc without care. Buildings burn in his name as he always made sure to leave a massive trail of mayhem and panic in his wake, never seized to end his rampage with the biggest explosions – which soon became his signature.

You loved him ever since the day you two joined the academy together. Yoongi excelled in everything from hextech inventions to architectural research. Vopamis has become a magnet for the most skilled craftsmen from all over the world and the more restricted and dangerous ones fell into the toxic runoff of Tapos. Now, Yoongi’s schemes have inspired copycat crimes among the chem-punks, a movement in which he predicted after labeling righteous wordings on structures throughout both cities. Some followers have blindly followed his persona named ‘X’.  In a crafty way each successful heist has a small piece left for the police to find; a personable note that always says, “get jinxed.”

Standing helplessly at the mercy of your own heart your head drops, eyes casting to the drenched road. Everything in your righteous mind tells you to take him in, lock him up – it is your job and duty to do this as you are one with the law. But your poor, fragile heart is gapping open from the piece that was ripped away by Yoongi.

“You’re right.” You whisper softly.

“I know.”

All the times you allowed him to do what he continues to do because you didn’t have it in you to send him to jail. As you watch him become the criminal he is now, refusing to stop his acts even though the justice and pride within you screams for you to act on your instincts. “Everything you’re saying is right.”

Yoongi raises his hand, palm facing up and holding a chemtech explosive bullet that swirls a cobalt blue liquid inside. Instantaneously you knew exactly what the bullet is – the meaning behind it, and all of the precious memories came flooding back all at once.

The bullet was no longer than two inches and has a hole drilled through the piece to lace a chain through it. Yoongi wears it as a charm to his bracelet and even in the dark of the rainy night with neon lights flashing around you, you can still see the small etchings of both of your initials on the tip of the bullet. It was his first ever fully functional bullet he crafted back at the academy and he had dedicated that piece of craftsmanship to you.

“I still love you, you know.” Yoongi’s voice stills your breath, deep and stern. With all seriousness he openly speaks with a stony face as you look up to him. “I never stopped.”

You avert your eyes away from the nostalgic piece which lies in Yoongi’s palm and the heat of your breath fans out into the open cool air in a puff of smoke. It hurts your heart, all your pent-up revenge brought out a disgusting angry monster from within you. You’re blinded by the law and blinded by the admiration of love for Yoongi.

“You don’t.” You counter with a hiss.

Raindrops hide away the streams of tears that break down the brims of your eyes and you refuse to keep your eyes open in the slim chance of giving Yoongi the satisfaction of your glistening orbs filling with hurt. As much as you secretly hope and want – need – Yoongi to say those words, they still simmer a splitting pain inside of your delicate heart.

Yoongi’s tatted, calloused hand aimlessly raises to your face, his knuckles brushing against the curve of your cheek. Surprisingly, you don’t flinch at the contrasting and unexpected warmth that’s responsible for heating up that side of your face. Instead you find yourself helplessly leaning into the contact, your shaking hand still holding your trusty gun at your side.

“It’s funny,” Yoongi scoffs, forcing your eyes to jolt in his direction of his action.

You burn a glare at him while he inspects your face, your blood boiling underneath all of your drenched clothes and cold skin. Yoongi sounds a quick ‘tsk’ as disapproval while his fingers glide down the column of your neck. “So funny that you question everything I say and do.”

The fact that he has your rendered frozen in place under the heavy weather and his intimidating presence only confirms his suspicions. He wasn’t lying to you and you knew that, right? You swallow thickly at the bright orange haired man in front of you, eyes casting down to shrink your frame.

You sneer back, “Can you blame me? You ruined your chances of being an officer – all that hard work you put in means nothing now. You destroyed all your chances of being a citizen of Vopamis. And all because you were bored.” In the back of your mind no matter how many hours you had pondered his reasonings to derail into a criminal, what hurt you the most wasn’t the fact he chose this path of being a high risk offender – it is the reality of him leaving you behind as if nothing about your relationship between another is important to him as it was to you.

Yoongi cocks an amused eyebrow, a smirk quick to follow. “Hm, yes. I wasn’t bored with you though, Y/n. Truthfully, knowing that you’ll be hot on my trail at all times – no matter where I went – made this new life even more fun. You enjoy chasing me?” He swipes his tongue through the small opening of his lips, two-toned eyes glare at the small line of tattoos up the back of your own ear. He tilts your jaw with his thumb, exposing more of your smooth damped skin.

Under Yoongi’s hand you feel like a marionette; damned against his ministrations and at how weak you feel towards him. You can see your vision blur around the edges, your sight honing on the glowing eye that stares at you with interest. Another puff of fog seeps out of your mouth from a released breath that you held in for far too long. You don’t acknowledge the way your limbs grew numb by the minute or the way your bottom lip trembles from your constant shivers. You are only focusing on the way the warmth of the pads of his fingers emits onto your skin and gives you a sliver of assurance.

“Have I ruined this too?” Yoongi questions in a whisper, eyes projecting down to your cold lips.

Everything in your mind tells you to scream at him, tell Yoongi ‘yes, you completely and utterly ruined every single aspect of my life,’ but the words cannot crawl their way up your throat and form the sounds you need. Instead your face reacts with pain, all of your walls and defenses breaking down around you and your rifle drops to the puddled ground underneath you.

He can read you like a book, study your features, and pull each intricate and thin string of your heart. He plays you like a fiddle with a crooked smile, a knowing look to his face where all his intuitions of you feeling something towards him are all riddled true. It’s dressed all over your face, your body leaning closer to his, the look to your eyes – glistening or not.

His thumb taps lightly against your bottom lip, popping it open from the stern line your mouth was creating. You gulp with anticipation, your surrounding areas become less and less in vision of your peripheral and your eyes can only bore straight back into Yoongi’s; pupils dilating rapidly.

“No…”

Your solo word shakes out with a heavy breath at the same time Yoongi’s other hand comes to grab your elbow and pull you closer to him. The heat radiating off of him is met between you with a strikingly fast kiss, but the kiss was tentative at best. Even reading all of your body gestures, the way your posture changes when it comes to his proximity invading your territories, Yoongi still approached with cocky confidence. He knows he has you around his finger, around his hand and more.

‘You weren’t ruined, yet,’ he thought. But Yoongi is all too excited to violate whatever purity of the law that is still laced within your morals.

He’s eager to shove his deadly tongue into the first parting of your mouth, a gasp of excitement releasing through a moan. You forget about the downpour of rain around the two of you, the chill of the air cutting through your clothes, even forgetting the blaring neon signs illuminating the paths around this alleyway. Your mind is intoxicated with the savvy orange haired, corrupted, and dangerous man who has swindled his way within the burrows of each city and the cavities of your heart.

A single tear traces down your cheek as your arms link around Yoongi’s neck, your body completely caving into the man before you. With the motion Yoongi backs the two of you up until you're hidden well enough in the darkness. His hand cocks your head to the side as he leaves wet open-mouthed kisses as he pushes you against the side of the building. His lips heat your skin up and send an involuntary chill of goosebumps down your body.

You breath out into the air while your senses adjust to the new sensations of want and need being applied to your form. “Yoongi –“

He hushes you with a hand, his teeth nipping eagerly around your clavicles. “Shh,” he warns with a devilish glint, “We’re in public, Y/n.” He chuckles, mouth coming back to kiss against your jaw.

You muffle a noise of acknowledgement, or a moan of pleasure from the sharp suck Yoongi plants against the sweet spot under your ear. Your arms grip him tighter, pulling him flush against your front to be as close as possible. Without hesitation your hands link up the back of his head, fingers carding through the disheveled drenched locks for a nice pull.

Both of your clothes stick to you like a second skin, suctioned to your own bodies and you desperately want them ripped off. Yoongi hisses at the yank of his head. Sensing your actions as an emergency he huffs a laugh your way, “Yeah? What do you want?” He removes the hand across your mouth only to shove his thumb into it, pressing down against your tongue. “Is this righteous mouth going to tell me something?”

You comply by action with the decision of closing your mouth around his finger and sucking it with delight. Yoongi praises you with words of assurance, biting down on the flesh of his own bottom lip. He leans into you, hips grinding instantly against your frontside. The uneven gyrating of wet fabrics causes a rough and uncomfortable friction, but it was something that helped direct attention toward your neglected core.

Yoongi lifts up your slicked shirt just enough to fondle around the waistband of your pants in search of unhinging your duty rig belt. “You’re going to be a good girl, right?” His eyes give you a knowing look as his thumb detaches from your trap. Nodding, you seek his mouth once more to savor the warmth between you two. “Vopamis’ finest,” he quotes in a mocked tone.

“I love you.”

Your confession halts Yoongi for a brief moment between kisses, his hand stalls as it breaches a few inches inside the front of your pants. He has you pinned against the rough brick of a building in the outskirts of the city with your freezing, aching body under his frame. Your mouth and legs so willing to open up for him.

This is the very first time he’s seen you so ‘not yourself’ in all the years he has known you, even when the fondness blossomed more between the two of you. Whichever relationship the two of you were in – it wasn’t exclusive but it surely is implied – has become completely manipulated to the public eye. Yoongi’s urgency falters for a moment, a flashback to a simpler time where the underlying love and sweetness emitting from the two of you has no boundaries. But as fast as that memory exposes itself, it was easily covered in his future thoughts. His enjoyment of being who he is now, what he wants to achieve, obtain, and take.

With your face plastering across all walls of his mind, he smirks excessively as if he is pleased with himself. He has everything he wants, and he’s greedy for more. No matter what Yoongi does with himself he knows he’ll have you regardless – and right now is proving that theory.

He leans forward to plant another kiss to your appetizing lips once more, “I know you do.”

Quickly, Yoongi flips you in your place in one quick motion, yanking down a portion of your pants once you catch yourself against the wall. Your eyes scan frantically to the opening of the alleyway, silently praying nobody stumbles upon the two of you in this indecency act – especially how your rifle lays still on the ground in the opening.

The air breezes across your now exposed cheeks, and with a firm hand Yoongi shoves against your lower back forcing you to bend forward enough to reveal your core. Gasping, you shudder under the sudden invasion of his cold clammy palm molding on top of your cunt. Your hands held you up against the wall, pants pulled only to your lower thighs preventing the spread your legs most desperately needed.

Slowly, Yoongi’s fingers prod along your slit, dipping directly between your folds the moment they come in contact with your dampness. He shushes you once again with the ruggedness of his voice while you hear the clinking of what you assume to be his belt buckle.

He wastes no time sinking a finger straight into your entrance, only after giving your clit a moments time of blissful pleasure – gone far too quick for your liking. His digit glides easily, enticing him with the next stroke to join a second. Your mouth hangs open with heated pants, your lower stomach jumping excitedly at the intimacy of your loved one, and your hips chase the stride of his fast pace.

“Shit, Yoongi!” you curse under your breath, feeling his free hand now snaking up your side under your shirt. His fingers alone create such friction that has your head lolling to the side and your inners clutching erratically. You don’t question your urgency, the impatient nature your body so willingly falls into, not when Yoongi is inches behind you lining up his engorged head to replace his fingers.

The two of you don’t care about the surrounding areas, too filled with lust. Too drunk on the idea of Yoongi coming back to you – and he is too excited knowing he has you in his clutches.

Heat courses throughout your core and abdomen, running down each of your limbs the moment his hips are pressed against your backside, dick submerged in one swift jolt forward. You lose your footing, falling further into the wall as your forearms plant into the building. A guttural moan leaks out of him the moment you yelp and squirm under him. His fingers desperately hold around your waist as he straightens his back, giving the next few experimental thrusts the slower motion your pussy needed from his harsh action.

Yoongi’s hip snaps back into you, bringing the flesh of your ass into the seat of his lap. He seethes through his teeth, “Fuckin’ hell!”

You’re restricted from widening your legs no thanks to your pants locking you in place, but this also gives a tighter sensation against his swollen cock. He doesn’t give you too much time to recuperate and catch your bearings, too honest with his mission and surging forward to bring the two of you to the brink.

“Stand,” he grunts with an arm circling around your waist. With his help you’re press flush against the wall and his chest, completely stuck between two hard places. Yoongi’s pace is rapid, the slaps of skin melt into the sounds of the fallen raindrops. It’s not long for his cock to jam pleasantly into the sweet spots within your silky walls, his thrusts determined to continue their gyrating motion deep inside you.

He chuckles at the lewd moans you release, head tilted back against his shoulder as you breath for air. “You really don’t care if someone hears you, huh? What do you think they’ll do, seeing the best shot in town being railed by a rogue criminal?”

Yoongi’s words course through your ear, his teeth coming to bite the flesh behind it. Your mind is too cloudy to think straight, not when he was inside of you both physically and emotionally. “T-they’ll hate me.”

“Is that so?”

You hum because that’s all you can do. The knot tightens in your stomach, the dull ache between your legs distorting itself into an electrifying spark has you cursing Yoongi’s name to go faster, harder. Yoongi feels you tightening around his prodding cock, only causing him to buck into you rougher.

Orange locks find their way between your fingers, tightening your grip on his hair the faster that band within you reaches towards its peak. “Yes! Yes, yes, please –“

The moment your body feels his inked fingers sneak their way to your clit, pinching it harshly, pulls a shriek of pleasure from your throat. Your body snaps under him – back arching as your walls clasp around his cock. “A-ah!” you shout while your orgasm rushes to all corners of your body, a tingly sensation vibrating through every fiber of your being.

Yoongi smirks as his pace doesn’t halt, now latching both of his hands to your hips he directs all movements. He enjoys your dispute of over-sensitivity, knowing how much you secretly like it from all the times in the past.

“One more, I know you have it in you. I’ve seen it before.” His voice is rough, any tang of sweetness swept away. “I’ll continue to fuck into this pussy until you cum again.”

Without stopping for a breather your body rushes into overdrive, it continues to squirm in his grasps and your legs shake dangerously underneath you. All thoughts of remaining quiet have gone out the window. Your second orgasm is set to fire, ready to be kicked off the edge into infinity, and with one quick shove of Yoongi’s cock that sinks all the way to ram into your cervix has you keening over and over.

Your pussy pulsates around his dick inconsistently, holding onto the appendage like a vice. It triggers his frenzy, his release spilling deep inside your well spent walls with dirty grunts. His arms hold around you tightly, helping you stand straight and to assist himself at the same time. Together both of your breathes are resounded, heated air escaping around the two of you in puffs of smoke.

You wince when his softening cock slips out of you, leaving gravity to aid in the way his cum drips casually out of your hole. Yoongi doesn’t allow you to turn and face him before he’s hoisting up your bottoms, the fabrics too annoyingly drenched to feel comfortable against your skin.

When you finally turn to speak to him he’s already readjusting his pants up along his hips, securing the button to his pants as he eyes you for a quick second. His hair is even more of a mess than before, no doubt you looked remotely better.

Dropping your mouth to talk, Yoongi averts his gaze to your rifle laying to the side. “Yoongi, I –“

“Don’t.”

His eyes narrow at the device that labels the reality of everything, where the two of you stand no matter how much you tango with another. A snort leaves him as he finishes off the buckle to his belt and you can tell by the way his facial features flicker than he’s having a complicated inner dialog going on inside his mind.

“Yoongi!” You press, grabbing hold of his shoulders to shake him slightly. “Yoongi please look at me, please don’t walk away from me.”

After a deep breath he exhales slowly, blank eyes now directed at you. There’s confusion painted over your face from the way you aren’t understanding why Yoongi suddenly steps even closer to place another kiss onto your lips, but it causes you to stop thinking momentarily. His lips, plump and plush, are the only things you can think about – until he’s pulling away too fast.

Back now facing you, he strides down the alley in which you found him. As if this heated interaction, and everything it consisted of, seized to exist anymore – the time has passed.

You take a wobbly step in his direction, hand reaching towards the figure that distances itself further from your grasp. “Yoongi, please!” You cry.

Behind you is your rifle, only feet away, and in front of you is the man you continuously chase. You’re torn between the two, the feeling of your mind splitting in half causing you to have a mental debacle with yourself. You scream with frustration; tears stream down your face at what your heart truly wants.

To stop the criminal at large or to join him?

You didn’t notice how Yoongi stops in his tracks, head tilted to look behind him with his piercing yellow eye standing out through the darkness. He watches you curiously, the environment around the two of you officially draws itself back into reality. Once he hears your scream of defeat he completely turns to face you with the widest grin smeared across his mouth.

“Hey, Y/n...” He pauses to wait until he knows you’re listening to him – and of course you immediately do so. Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a sense of arrogance radiating from the way his body stood. You desperately look at him with a plea, but your facial features harden at his next words. And they lace, deadly, within your mind.

Yoongi sighs, running one of his hands through his hair. Again, he knows he already has you, ruined you, and now he completely and absolutely owns you whether you like it or not. Yoongi playfully lifts his fingers to cross them together, a sign of a heart sent straight to you, “Get jinxed.”

© All rights reserved under @kimtaehyunq​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

[ly-canthropewrites]

Love or War

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2998

Rating/Warnings: SFW. Brief mentions of previous season drama.

Summary: “I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage” 

You can feel the heavy gaze from across the field. Intense eyes fixated on your figure as you rattle the chain-wire fence that surrounds the newest section of Alexandria. The post-apocalyptic town has been thriving since the end of Negan’s reign and with the undead being the town’s only consistent antagonist, it has given the community an opportunity to expand their borders. The chain-mesh fence was scavenged from the Sanctuary before the community fell off the map and serves as a strong protector as the new plot of land gets tilled. But it remains fragile when leant against and it has become a daily task during guard duty to rid the walkers that stumble near the temporary fence, a job you jump at to vent your frustrations. 

The deliberate noise draws the attention of the few walkers close by and they turn, growling as they catch your scent in the wind and they shuffle your way. It’s second nature now, muscle memory, to shift your grip on the knife handle and strike at their heads, using the fence for leverage and stability. The motions do nothing to quench the frustration and fire that rages inside you and you growl, yanking your knife from the last walker’s head with more force than necessary. The bloodied blade gets cleaned on the rag that is tied to your belt loops and then you are left with nothing to do, no more walkers to distract you from the boredom or the swirl of emotions that fester inside. 

You find yourself glancing over in his direction, succumbing to the gravitational pull of the universe and you don’t find yourself surprised at all to find him still staring at you, a dark scowl painted across his face. You sneer back at him, standing strong with your own gaze. 

“Stupid, fucking redneck,” you mutter under your breath and the fire that burns in your chest grows hotter, feeding off of your anger. 

The swishing of grass on your left distracts you and you are met with Carol only a few feet from you. You nod at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile as well before turning to look at the perimeter, finding nothing in the wilderness has changed and you sigh. 

“I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage,” Carol says lightly, walking to your side and mirrors your stance; arms crossed and back straight. 

You scoff, openly showing that you aren’t in the mood for her banter today but it doesn’t deter the older woman. 

“Most definitely murderous rage” you grit.

“See, I don’t know about that - I see a lot of passion,” She teases.

You throw her a withering look, disdain heavy in your eyes and if Carol isn’t careful; some of that murderous rage will be pointed at her soon. 

“So if it is murderous rage, how long are you going to remain angry at him?” Carol tries a gentler approach, obviously getting the message and you wince, guilt beginning to set in as you mentally chastise yourself about your unrestrained attitude. 

Shrugging, you refuse to make eye contact with your old friend. “I don’t know Carol, he humiliated me,” you breathe.

“He didn’t mean too, he was worried,” Carol begins to defend him but when she sees you shaking your head and the flash of hurt across your face, she stops herself. 

“But he did it anyway. He humiliated me, he berated me in front of everyone, undermined me, treating me as if I am some soft fucker who hasn’t been beyond the walls” you spit and you render the woman silent, unsure about what to say next. 

When the silence between the pair of you becomes stagnant, Carol realises it’s time for her to leave and she steps back a few feet, mulling over her next words. 

“Talk to him,” she pleads and you snort, “Fuck no,”. 

Carol says your name in warning, making you roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking submitting. If he wants to talk, then he can man up and come to me with a goddamn apology,”. 

You hear her heavy sigh behind you before her retreating footsteps, leaving you to stew in your malcontent alone. It is your stubborn pride and bruised feelings that prevent you from talking with your old companion, from making amends and burying the hatchet, an ideal that is important in this world because life is too short and unpredictable to be so petty. And yet, you cannot help yourself this time. He hurt you, deeply, a stinging wound that will take time to heal. 

It’s not like you have done anything wrong in the first place. With the apocalypse a decade old, resources are unimaginably scarce, leaving only items that are grown, hunted or handmade to be used. It was commonplace for you to be the first person out of the gates in the morning and the last to return in the evening, spending hours and even days hunting, refusing to go back to Alexandria empty-handed. You are too stubborn for your own good, too arrogant in your capabilities to survive and adapt to the dangerous world. As a repercussion, your last run was almost the death of you. 

Enemies are like hydras; one falls and another takes its place. Negan was once considered Alexandria’s greatest threat, but that fear was usurped by the latest peril; the Whisperers. Negan ruled with fear and violence. The Whisperers rule with death. Their ability to influence herds is an obstacle that the community does not know how to overcome. The capricious nature makes every run, every scouting mission, every patrol dangerous and life-threatening. Therefore, it became law that no-one is to go outside the metal walls without a group and without informing the council. It should have been expected that you would struggle with this rule, never been one to abide by strict regulations, but the thought slipped the minds of the council and you kept slipping outside the gates. 

Your last run is a perfect example of why the rule is in place; you got caught by the herd with Whisperers dotted within. Perhaps they tracked you down or perhaps it was just shit luck that you ran into them, but it resulted in a fight for your life and an injury that planted fear on sight. It was sheer, dumb luck that allowed you to escape with your life; an old tree fell whilst you were in the midst of swiping at walkers and humans alike, and caused a great enough distraction that gave you the opportunity to bolt. You damn well shocked Rosita who stood on guard duty that evening as you came sprinting towards the main gates, coated in two types of blood and clutching at your side, out of breath with wild eyes. 

That night you had Siddiq inform you that you got lucky the knife wound at your abdomen was free of infection but he was stern to chastise that only one hour more and you wouldn’t have made it, wound too deep to be stemmed by only pressure and the combination of exhaustion and blood loss would have defeated you. His words didn’t shake you that night, instead, you shrug nonchalantly and smirked, telling him that death in this world is inevitable and you would greet it like an old friend.  

You refused to stay in the infirmary that night, scrunching your nose at the thought of being surrounded by sick people in a sterile environment, rather opting for the privacy of your own place. He was unable to stop you, letting you go with an armful of supplies and a sigh, watching you stagger down the pathway. You made it only halfway home before you were halted by a loud yell, the noise capturing the attention of not just you but the other residents that were milling in the nearby courtyard. 

“What the fuck wer’ ya thinkin’?” Daryl yelled, storming towards you with a glare that would frighten Hades. “How fuckin’ stupid are ya?” he adds. 

He berated you in public that night, practically screaming in your face about your stupidity, your lack of respect to the council and their rules, your selfishness and conceited attitude. He didn’t let you get a word in to defend yourself as he raged, words becoming harsher by the second. You could handle the words but it was the venom in his voice that surprised you. It was filled with so much anger, so much hatred and spite that you lost the words that you wanted to scream back at him. Instead, when he took a moment to catch his breath, you just walked away, your eyes on the ground as you stifled the bewildered cry that ached in your chest. 

The incident happened two weeks ago and you haven’t spoken since, avoiding each other like the plague but the distance hasn’t stopped either of your from directing heated glares at each other, consequently deepening the rift in your friendship. 

                                                          ----

The guard changeover occurs on dusk and when your replacement comes, you greet them with a tight smile as you pass over the unused rifle before quickly leaving the post. You don’t head home after the shift and instead, you go down to the armoury with hopes that working maintenance on the weapons will distract you from the words Carol has lodged in your mind. Daryl worried? You scoff at the thought. In a previous time, those words would have made sense - you and Daryl have been partners in crime since the fall of the world, similar in too many ways and it made sense that you were friends. But after seeing the pure acrimony he directed at you, you fail to believe it stemmed from a place of compassion. 

It was well past midnight when the doors to the armoury creaked open. It was probably someone on shift wanting to pick up more ammo or something alike. What you didn’t expect was to see the rugged hunter ease into the room. You stared at him with furrowed eyebrows and a twist in your lips, hands paused on the shotgun you were working on. 

“You weren’t home when I knocked,” Daryl states simply, gruff voice a melody to your ears after the long radio silence. 

“You know I don’t sleep when I’m alone,”

It’s true; you struggle to rest when there is no-one watching over you, a position that is usually filled by the man in front of you. 

Daryl nods, biting down on the inner side of his cheek as he reflects. Of course you don’t, you never have and he knew that. The poignant silence weighs heavily between you and Daryl shifts uncomfortably, moving further into the room to take a seat on the chair that sits in front of the sole workstation. You never sat at the workstation, preferring to sit on the floor so you had more space to work with but at this moment, you hated how you were positioned lower than the man. 

“Yer gonna use that thing on’ me?” There is a ghost of a sly smirk upon his lips, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes but you aren’t having it, you won’t befall to his sparse charm. 

“Don’t tempt me, Daryl Dixon,’’

The full use of his name and the stern attitude makes Daryl wince, the severity of damage he inflicted to you now evident before him. He nods silently, gnawing anxiously at his lip as you both fall back and stew in silence. You resume cleaning the weapon in your hands, needing to keep busy in an attempt to distract your mind from the chaos that sits in front of you. Daryl watches you, this time without the hatred and disdain, but his gaze is just as heavy as before. 

“Why are you here, Daryl?” 

He notes the tiredness in your voice, not the physical exhaustion that is a permanent state in this new world, but the emotional weariness that burdens you. 

“‘M here to apologise,” 

“Are you here because Carol told you to or because you actually want to?”

His hesitation is a loud answer and you scoff, glaring up at him with your teeth bared.  

“Of course not. Daryl Dixon never apologises because he actually wants to, no, someone else has to puppet him. You are so fucking incompetent,” you growl, “You can’t even do the right fucking thing. Whatever ‘apology’ you have concocted to make this all better; forget it, Daryl. I don’t fucking accept it!”. 

You take a predatory satisfaction in seeing the raw hurt flash across his face at your words. Your words are harsh, digging at old wounds that the man harbours but you can’t even conjure up the guilt or regret; hungry to dish out the same pain that you have received. Vexation and wrath raise its ugly head and you furiously rub at the long barrel of the shotgun, as if you would be able to transfer your rage through kinetic energy. 

“Yer keep sacrificing yerself for the group ‘n’ and I fuckin’ hate it,” He breaks the icy air. His voice cracks despite his whispered tone but you catch it the little hitch. 

Your cautious gaze meeting his is the signal he needed because he keeps going, as if the dam inside breaks and the words come spilling out; unrestrained, pure and honest. 

“You’v’ done it since the beginnin’. Take the burden of the group on yerself ‘n’ takin’ all the risks. We’v only survived this long b‘cause of ya. You’v always kept us goin’. When the prison fell, you wanted ter round everyone up ‘n’ then Terminus happened and..” he breaks off, eyes squeezing shut as he recalls the horrible and degrading things the savages there threatened you with; how they held the machete to your neck and how powerless he was to stop everything. You were so close to death that afternoon as well, mere seconds away from being just an empty vessel. 

“Then all the shit that's happened since. You’ve never stopped, never broke down. Just kept trudgin’ on. But it all caught up and you could’ve died out there… without me. ‘N I wouldn’t have known until it was ter late”. 

“But I could have died in here and you still wouldn’t have been able to do anything, Daryl - that’s life,” you argue.

Daryl’s head whips up so fast, you are sure he could have suffered whiplash, but you get distracted by the flames in his eyes. 

“It’s not life. You ‘ave no fuckin’ idea what yer do to me, woman,” Daryl groans, looking at you so helplessly, almost insulted at how you don’t get it. 

“Apparently I piss you off!” you retort, “Ya know, with my selfish attitude and lack of respect” you parrot his own words back to him, a glare resituating across your face. “You yelled at me, Daryl. You screamed in my face, in front of everyone, and then gave me the cold shoulder. Me, out of all people, your fucking friend”. 

He shakes his head while you speak, an action that only infuriates you more. You are ready to attack him about that, mouth already open as you reveal your disgust, “Stop fucking shaking your head as if I’m playing the vic-”. 

In your rant, you don’t acknowledge the scrape of the metal stool along the concrete, given barely enough time to react to the new stimulus of rough lips upon yours and a hand that grips your chin. Daryl swallows your surprise, mouth unyielding as he crowds into you, pushing you back against the back leaving you no room to run. He kisses you desperately. Frantically. It is messy and unruly, a bruising kiss that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your head spin. You can taste every single secret that has ever danced across his lips, taste the fear that dwells within him but has never been uttered to another soul. You learn more about Daryl in this instance than you ever will in a lifetime. 

You both are slow to break apart; lips barely separating as you catch your breath, greedily sucking in as much oxygen as you can to sate the burning of your lungs. 

“‘M so fuckin’ sorry,” he cries against your lips. 

His hand still has a firm grip on your jaw, which is sure to leave finger-shaped bruises in its wake, but like his kiss - his touch is desperate as well. 

“You’v neva been a victim. I was just so fuckin’ scared that I would lose ya. I can’t lose ya,” he stresses, a voice that sounds so pained and winced; it sounds as if the wounds were personally inflicted upon him. 

He drops his death-like grip on your chin, bowing forward to rest his head against yours, never straying too far from your space. Your arms wind around his hulking form; bringing him closer and Daryl lets himself slump against you, his head slipping to rest on your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck and his body, although heavy, feels like comfort from a warm blanket. You can feel him utter endless apologises into the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your skin and you memorise the soft tone of his voice as he echoes “‘M sorry,”. 

You hush him, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to the dark tresses, whispering “I know,” to every apology he mutters. Eventually, the apologises fade and you are submerged in peaceful silence, curled into each other. You don’t need to ask why he couldn’t have just told you all those words at the beginning, to save you both the agony and trauma of the last few weeks. But your Daryl is complex, a stunning mosaic of intricate emotions that aren’t easily given and you accept that this is who he is. The man would go to war for love; for you.

Tags:

@guywithacrossbow​

@oncemorewithfeelingg

@rachelxxraucous

@gaenahelleborus​

[the-tubbo-admisitration]

Letters from the dictator

4

Schlatt lead them into a side room of the side of the office, it was a rather empty room, just benches to sit on. But no one was sitting, Tommy rested one foot on the bench and the two adults simply stood.

Both Wilbur and Tommy looked at Schlatt, the goat man looked exhausted, huge bags under his eyes, hair left unbrushed and his suit was a mess. A hand went to Schlatt's head, rubbing the source of pain as he let out a groan. "So I'd like to explain what's happening but...I don't know much myself." There was that chuckle again; tired, upset, unhinged- it made Wilbur wonder if anything had even happened, or had Schlatt simply lost it?

"Well what do you know then?" Tommy asks, rolling his eyes. He just wanted to know why he was here, Wilbur hadn't explained it at all and Tommy hated being left in the dark.

Schlatt nodded. "Of course, of course, well, as my letter stated; Tubbo is evil. He injured me and until that point he had me wrapped around his little finger." He sighed, clearly still mourning the image of a perfect right hand man.

Tommy was instantly up at arms. "How dare you! Tubbo isn't evil! You're just angry that he didn't lie down and play obedient!"

Wilbur grabbed Tommy by the scruff of his shirt, hissing quietly. "Shh! Let the adults talk this out."

The child huffed. "Why am I even here if not to defend my friend?"

Schlatt looked to Wilbur with a look of confusion. "You didn't tell him?"

"I couldn't, it'd break him." Wilbur sighed, cutting in before Tommy could interrupt. "Tommy, shut it." He warned, knowing that yelling would attract attention. He turned back to Schlatt. "So what do you need?"

"Well the only other people who've seen the real him are Fundy and Niki…"

Wbur sighs at the name of his son. "Oh Fundy...such a bright little fox…"

Schlatt nodded. "Both of them have been thrown in prison." He nodded and held up his hand when he saw Wilbur ready to ask why. "On Tubbo's orders, not mine."

"He can give orders?"

"And inforce laws yes, he can essentially do anything he wants as long as I don't say no...and I only found out about them today, when I found them in the cell- singing."

"Singing?"

"The anthem you wrote." Schlatt nodded. "They'd removed Tubbo's name of course."

Tommy felt furious, these two authority- father figures, both talking shit about his best friend in the entire multiverse and Tommy was powerless to stop them. He clutched his sword, glaring down at it lest he look Schlatt in the eyes and finish what Tubbo clearly started. No wonder Tubbo had lost his temper if this is how Schlatt spoke about it. These two were sworn enemies, speaking like friends for the purpose of plotting against a child.

Wilbur saw how hurt Tommy looked, and felt a pang in his chest- he knew Tommy didn't understand how Tubbo could be evil. He knew that the duo had been friends since they could walk, he'd been told that by Tubbo himself. Tommy must have watched Tubbo go down the wrong path and not even noticed, like how you never notice yourself growing because it happens so slowly. Not to mention Tubbo was masking it so well.

But when he heard that Fundy was singing his song he felt a pang of pride, his nation might be growing without him but it was still growing. L'manburg was in danger and by God would Wilbur fight tooth and nail for its safety.

Schlatt on the other hand, was only in pain, he had seen Tubbo as a son, but that had disappeared now. All he felt was pain and mourning and fear. Pain from both his head and heart, his position was under threat and he was powerless in all honesty. Mourning for the perfect second in command he thought he had. Fear for his position, his life and most of all for L'manburg, his Manburg… or Tubbo's…

A shudder tore through Schlatt, the image of the cruelty of Tubbo's eyes hammering in his mind like a drum. He felt weak and grabbed onto Wilbur's arm to steady himself. "You need to help, I can't do anything without your help."

Wilbur nodded, helping steady Schlatt. "Just tell us what you need, we can do this, we can save L'manburg."

Schlatt nods slowly, leaning against the wall. "Well we need a way to undermine him, pull the rug from under his feet. I'm thinking we disrupt his source of peace." He cracks a small smirk, plotting like this always cheered him up, he saw Wilbur's confused expression and nods. "What can Tubbo not live without? What is the the one thing he cares about more then anything?"

Wilbur's eyes went wide. "The bees…"

Schlatt nods. "If we remove the hives, he'll be too worried and panicked to even notice what we're doing."

Tommy put his foot down at that. "You can't do that, those bees are very important to the ecosystem. Tubbo bred them especially."

Schlatt raised his eyebrow at that. "Tommy, what's more important: the bees, or Manburg?"

Tommy didn't miss a beat before responding, stone faced. "Tubbo is."

Wilbur sighs at that but Schlatt keeps going. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

"My best friend outweighs you."

Schlatt sighs again. "Just sit down Tommy, this isn't the hill you want to die on." Tommy looks to Wilbur but he nods too, so the kid huffs and sits, mumbling something about how this is awful and bullshit.

Wilbur looks to Schlatt. "So you think we should take out the hives? Then what? We can't just fight a child, no matter how evil."

Schlatt nods. "You're right there...hmm…" He wasn't really sure, he didn't think he'd get that far. "I suppose we'd just have to intimidate him into backing down a little?"

Wilbur nods. "That makes sense, we don't want to hurt him, just keep L'manburg safe." That had always been Wilbur's plan, L'manburg was supposed to be a home for everyone, a safe space from tyranny. That plan didn't work so now all Wilbur could do was to at least ensure that the reigning tyrant was an adult.

The president sighs. "That's really all we can do, he's unpredictable- I'm just glad he didn't see you sneak in." He chuckles. "But he didn't and now we can get the upper hand by working together. The best course of action would be getting Eret on our side."

Wilbur was understandably concerned at that, Eret had betrayed him during the war after all. He swallowed his pride and nodded, knowing that having the king's aid could be the tipping point in this war of minds. "That makes sense, ok so we have a three step plan for getting on up on him."

Schlatt nodded. "Now we just need to figure this out, we need to run this brat into the ground. We can't give him any hold on power, or he'll have us on the run."

"I want my citizenship back." Wilbur spoke calmly and softly, but there was determination in those eyes.

Schlatt sighed, he didn't trust Wilbur at all, it was a mutual thing. So he really didn't feel comfortable agreeing to this, he did the only thing he could. "I'll think about i-"

Schlatt didn't get to finish that sentence.

The door was flung open.

[gloves94]

White Holes [Cassian Andor] [6/10]

Warnings: Language Pairings: Cassian Andor/OC Summary: Captain Cassian Andor was an Officer of Rebel Intelligence for the Alliance. An emotionless tool. There was nothing more to his life than following orders and working for the Resistance. Hell! His only friend was an Imperial droid named K-2SO. So what happens when he is struck by a love at first sight and meets Dr. Lya Stryker? Will their story has a happy ending? (CassianxOC)

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

A whole new set of trainees were arriving at Yavin 4. Supporters of the Rebellion and the cause everyone had pledged their lives to. Cassian observed them. Most were children. Barely over the age of 14. Each one of them traveled from beyond the reals of the galaxy to provide their services to their cause against the Empire. Striving mechanics, soldiers, technicians, fighter pilots, and medics all crammed the main building of the headquarters. The base's commander greeted each one of them and dismissed them to a post. Today would be the day that Lux and Adair graduated from Dr. Stryker's training. They weren't quite ready to be professional medics yet; however, they had graduated from their mentorship. They would now serve to check up medics. They would assist doctor's and keep busy with clinic hours aiding those with malaise and minor injuries, then work their way up the ladder. "I'm proud of both you," Lya said looking at both of her apprentices her violet eyes reflected the pride she felt for them. "I am more than certain that both of you will be excellent medics, and don't be strangers. I'll still be around the base." She smiled at both of them. Both smiled back at her, the young couple held their hands with their fingers intercepted. Both were either very brave or very stupid to show their affections in public. The Doctor was so caught up in the moment that she failed to notice someone bump into her from behind almost making her fall over, "Excuse me," the voice retorted sarcastically. She merely glared at the man who walked away; there was plenty of space for him to walk around. That had been so unnecessary.

"I don't like that new doctor," said Adair, Who eyed the man suspiciously with his dark eyes. There was something- odd about him. "He's in charge of the clinic right? So we'll be seeing plenty of him," chimed Lux. "What's his name again?" "Dr. Aztin Cyder. He was transferred here from the base in D'Qar," Lya spoke not removing her eyes from the creature's back. He was a Khajiit from a distant galaxy. A brown, copper colored lynx with humanoid features. His eyes were the color of ambers, and every inch of his body was covered in thick fur, he even had a long tail which crept from under his lab robe. Feeling the glares from the other medic his long whiskers twitched and he turned to glare back. "Unfriendly creature.…"Adair muttered under his breath, "I hate cats." "Dr. Stryker," a young male Togruta approached the trio. Colorful tones of lime green marked his skin and his large montrals and head tails were white and a grayish shade of blue. His eyes were a matching shade of ocean blue. "You must be Seena N'Aviid, correct?" The doctor greeted the young man politely. Behind her stood another human young man. "And Forrest Ramsenn." "You're the new interns correct?" Dr. Adair Habibt acknowledged them. The medics all became acquainted with each other. Lux Nova and Adair had no problem filling them in with their new tasks and duties and showing them the strings around. "I'll be in my office getting some paperwork ready for you, come to meet me whenever you're done socializing. Doctors," She excused herself acknowledging the new position of her former apprentices.   "Dr. Stryker seems alright," Seena commented. "She's strict, very hard working, but she makes sure you learn. After all, we play one of the most important roles in the Rebel Alliance's task force." Their eyes trailed the Doctor, that's when they saw it. "Adair. Str-Andor interaction at 3 o'clock," she spoke in an excited tone. The interns all eyed the doctor confused as she crossed paths with the tall, dark man. Both of their expressions remained stoic. Their eyes didn't even meet. They continued their way as strangers. "Such a shame those two didn't work out," Lux sighed disappointedly. "I wonder what happened that night they both left together, he still seemed interested in her and well the Doctor, her behavior is very unpredictable." Adair pondered. Both of the interns had witnessed the beginning, and quick collapse of their mentor's relationship with Captain Andor and both were eager for something to blossom, however, to their disappointment their relationship instead wilted. XXXX Lya closed the door behind her and leaned against it. In her own blessed privacy, she pulled out the small note from her lab coat's pocket. 'That cat touches you again. He's going to make a nice fur rug.' She couldn't help but chuckle at Cassian's note. It was scribbled in his own messy handwriting. It was a simple gesture, regardless she treasured it. Both had decided to keep their relationship under the wraps. It was what was best for both. 

Besides, it was nobody's business. 

Cassian was a spy. Thankfully, discretion came easily to him. Lya on the other hand- she still had some work to do. He was so good at what he did she barely even noticed that he had snuck something into her pocket until later. 

It was only a while later that Dr. Stryker's newest apprentices joined her in the office. She spoke little with the two young men and got to know them some more. Seena seemed optimistic and eager to learn, he had a lot of energy and wanted to focus on treating burn victims. Forrest, on the other hand, was composed and analytical, his hazel eyes were sharp, and his interest lay in surgery. She could see that both had potential. With a quick nod and many forms and papers signed she dismissed them for the day. Lya stood up and evened out some papers against her desk when there was a knock on the door. 

"Yes?" She said automatically without lifting her gaze. "Doctor," a weak voice came in. "I'm afraid I've got a terrible illness." The door closed behind the individual. The Doctor raised her bored gaze to meet the Captain's jovial smirk. "If it isn't my favorite patient," she said with heavy sarcasm dripping from her voice. "As much as I enjoy your company, I've asked you not to come distract me at work," she said with a small frown. "You don't see me showing up at your work." "That's different," he said wondering around her wooden desk. "If you showed up at my work, you'd be dead." He reached for her hand. "Right, because the medical ward is so safe, right?" She pressed her index finger against a particular pressure point in his hand. "Ouuuch," he grumbled pulling his hand back. "Friendly reminder that I can take care of myself." She nodded with the slightest of smile and continued gathering her documents. "But troopers wear armors," he pointed out. He did have a point. He wrapped his arms around her and held her in place. "Cass- I have to go make my rounds. My new apprentices are waiting for me." She protested against his embrace. "Wait- you're not taking me seriously." He complained. "You didn't even ask me what I was sick with this time!" She rolled her eyes. She loved yet at the same time hated how damn clingy this man could be. "You're such a hypochondriac. What are you sick with now Cassian?" She turned to eye him an eyebrow cocked expectantly. "I'm lovesick." He said before planting a fat kiss on her nose. "I think I’m the one who is going to be sick," she laughed while cringing. Lya would never be able to understand where the root of his infatuation came from. "Doctor Stryker?" a third voice suddenly piped in. Lya could've sworn she jumped three feet in the air. Cassian, on the other hand, played it cool and nonchalant shoved his hands into his pockets. It was the new cat in town, Dr. Aztin Cyder. "Dr. Cyder!" The Doctor greeted. "H-How can I help you?" She asked nervously. Cassian eyed the man carefully. There was something odd about him, something unsettling. He wasn't sure if it was his fixed glare on Lya or the way his massive feline teeth glistened whenever he spoke. "I knocked, but you didn't answer-" He began. It was a lie, Cassian knew better. He debated if it was best to confront him about it or merely witness and analyze his faux charade. It was apparent he had witnessed the romantic interaction between the couple. "I wanted to discuss my clinic hours with you," He spoke in a serious tone, his voice also carried an accent a distant land. One in which he would pronounce his Ks hard and his Ss would drag, and all of his Rs just sounded odd. Just the way he said Dr. Stryker as "Dr. SsstRAaicKerR,"gave her the creeps. "Right," she pursed her lips and swallowed her breath. "I think you'll be alright," she nodded towards Cassian awkwardly and stretched out her hand for him to shake. His mistrusting eyes shifted between both Doctor's and with no choice he took her hand in his. "Thank you, Doctor," he said briefly. He walked out slowly, his eyes combing every inch of the Lynx man before them. Lya flashed him a pleading look as he left. Once outside Cassian closed the door behind him. A scowl was noticeable on his features. "You seem, distraught Captain," commented K-2SO. "There's something odd about that Khajiit," Cassian said as they walked out of the ward. He adjusted his leather jacket and scratched his beard bringing the note that Lya had handed him to his close eyesight. 'Come back to me.' It was a simple note; regardless it brought a smile to his face. "Perhaps you are jealous Captain?" K-2SO suggested. The Captain shook his head slightly. He would get to the bottom of this. Meanwhile back in her office, Lya dealt with Dr. Cyder. "Boyfriend?" The man asked as Cassian left the room. "What can I do for you Aztin?" she said with a polite smile ignoring the question. He didn't falter. "I want more hours in the emergency ward, as well as my own assistants." The man said in a demanding tone. Lya clapped her hands together and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, but- I'm afraid there's not much I can do for you." "Back in Naboo I had eight apprentices and was the head of the surgical ward-" He raised his tone, which she interrupted. "Although your qualifications were outstanding, I hope you understand we can't do that just yet- to begin with we are short staffed and you've only been in the Yavin 4 base for a couple of weeks. Let's see how you do and then we can discuss it again, yes?" She spoke in a hurried tone as she once again gathered her notes, and charts amongst other documents. "Thank you for understanding," she opened the door for him. The lynx remained in his seat not even flinching. He didn't even bother in turning his head to acknowledge the Doctor. "That was Captain Cassian Andor, no?" He spoke in that eerie tone he had. Lya slowly retreated closing the door. "I can only assume, it could be… dangerous to be involved with an officer like that. With so many enemies, who knows what could happen if word got out." He carefully attempted to read her expression from the corner of his predatory vision, his teeth gleaming in the dim light of her small office.

  "Get out," Lya slammed the door of her office behind the man. A Cheshire cat grin played on his feline features. He had gotten what he wanted, almost. More hours in the ER and two new assistants.

"I'm glad, you're a reasoning woman," he said satisfied. Lya clenched her fist tightly at her sides as she fought the urge to sock him in the face. This would not end like this.

He wanted assistants? Then he would have assistants. He wanted an apprentice? Then he would have an apprentice and if he wanted an office- oh he would get his office. 

Lya didn't know what to do. It had been a little more than a week and Cassian hadn't returned from his mission. Then again, it was his fault this was all happening to begin with. She had assigned both Lux and Adair as his assistants. His apprentice would be Forrest since he was interested in surgery just like Dr. Aztin. "I want you to report everything to me," She had instructed her former students. Both nodded and discretely continued with their missions obediently. 

It had been weeks, and Cassian still hadn't returned from his mission. It was an unusually rainy night, and Lya was presently leaning on a mountain of pillows on one of the sofas of her small round living room. The sky thundered making the window tremble and rattle. The yellow light in the room coming from the corner lamp was dim, and she ran a hand over her loose shoulder length hair as her eyes narrowed at Lux's handwritten notes. The notes were observations of the new doctor in the office, Dr. Aztin Cyder. Everything was perfectly ordinary. He treated the interns firmly but with respect. He checked in on time and performed his rounds and hours to perfection. Regardless of this, there was still something about it that rubbed her wrong. "Dammit!" She slammed the stack of papers against her crossed knees and shook her head a frustrated exhale escaping her lips. Continuing with the reports she read over the new interns. Forrest was progressing at an average pace. He was always stoic and composed. Seena, on the other hand, was being educated on different types of tissue injuries and what the best prevention and medical care worked with each. He seemed to catch on quickly, way too fast. Perhaps this child was a prodigy in medical care? Lya saw much of herself in the young Togruta. Lya tapped the end of her pen against her chin in a serious matter. She momentarily became distracted by the rain desperately tapping on the window. Having come from a dry climate, she couldn't comprehend how it was possible for it to rain so much in this forest. Thunder rumbled above in the darkness of the jungle and lighting momentarily flashed through the window. SLAM! It was then that the heavy wooden door at the entrance came apart. A violent gust of wind tossed her notes into the air; the air chilled her skin. She looked at the dark shadow outline that stood in her doorway. Water spilled inside the warm home. Alert she braced herself digging her fingers into the arm of the sofa. Her jaw clenched, eyes wide, teeth grinding tightly as adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her heart stuck on her larynx. "A-Aztin..." She managed to speak. She was ready for the attack. Her closest weapon was the pen she was currently gripping in her clenched fist. From the darkness stumbled forward Cassian instead, K-2SO followed suit. He slammed the door shut behind him catching his breath. His body soaked from head to toe. Kaytoo's metal body was slick cold. "Cassian!" She jumped to her feet tossing her remaining notes aside. Dark circles hung heavily under his eyelids. His eyes had turned into slits and remained focused on her. "Dammit! You scared the hell out of me!" She screeched, her face twisted into an upset scowl. Regardless he approached her, he didn't waste a moment in engulfing her in his drenched arms. His lips thirsted for hers as they attacked her. 

"Get off me!" She allowed a sharp exhale as she pushed him away. He looked at her perplexed. "Stop." She held her breath, a stern warning in the back of her throat. Her heart was hammering in her throat. He looked at her still confused. She felt light-headed and leaned on the nearby kitchen counter. Her hand on her racing heart. "I-.…" She lowered her head slowly. Shame filling her. "I'm sorry." She sighed. "You just- you scared the crap out of me Cass."

She got a good look at him. At how drained and exhausted he really was and the way his shoulder's hunched over in defeat.

"Should we get going, Captain?" K-2SO suddenly piped. Without a second thought and with pursed lips he turned leaving the humble house. The Doctor felt the guilt weigh down on her shoulders.  "Cass-" She ran out of her house after him. She ran into the rainforest barefoot wearing a loose tank top and mid tight length cotton shorts. The rain consumed her. She could feel her wet hair sticking to her face. "Cassian!" She reached him and wrapped his arms around him, holding on to his blue parka. "Now you want me?" He removed her arms from his body. "I come, tired, drained, and the only thing I want is to see you and this happens-" he raised his tone. "Cassian- I was scared! What do you expect me to do when someone comes in barging in the middle of a storm?" The thunder resounded above them. They both stood in the rain. Kaytoo stood along with them. Besides the heavy pouring of the rain, there was not a single sound amongst them. "Let's-Let's just go inside." She asked in a kinder tone. Her eyebrows arched upwards in concern.

"Y-You're soaking wet," she said nervously as she wrapped her arms around her own cold body. He remained silent. "I'll make tea," she said quietly in an attempt to keep busy. "I will now be powering down Captain," K-2SO announced a sudden beeping sound he emitted allowed both humans to know he was out. Lya could feel Cassian shuffling around the apartment. The Captain unzipped his wet parka and laid it on a chair. Luckily he remained dry underneath.

"Make yourself at home," she said dryly as she walked past him handing him a cup with tea. He responded with an unfriendly look. She casually removed her shirt as she made way to her room, sipping some tea on the way. A couple of moments later she returned wearing another loose blouse and plopped down amongst the many pillows on the sofa. She pretended not to mind him. However, he remained where he stood. His eyes were fixated on a blank spot of the dull wall. Lya kept her eyes on some notes she had been formerly leafing through. In a couple of moments, she heard Cassian shuffling about. She didn’t raise her gaze. His socks standing before her suddenly filled her vision. Raising her head, her eyes traveled across his bruised naked torso. Patches of hair adorned the middle of his chest and trailed so the south of his navel. She looked at him sadly, sighing her fingers reached for his sides which she caressed lightly. "Does it hurt?" She asked after a moment leaning forward and brushing his hot skin with her tender lips. "I'm sorry," She whispered meeting his eyes. "It's just…- hard for me when you leave." Tightening her grip on his hips, she pulled him down to the sofa and embraced him as if it were the last time. Both embraced some moments later. His head on her chest as he existed in romantic gaze. He found comfort in her touch and held one of her hands against his heart. Cassian didn't say much about his mission, then again, that was highly confidential information. It's not as if he was allowed. Lya mindlessly read over her reports with her free hand. "I think there's a spy in the quarters," he said suddenly. "Hmm?" She asked half not listening. "I think we've been infiltrated." He said turning his head up to face her with a severe expression. Her eyebrows furrowed confused. Her mind wondered for a moment, and the sudden image of the new feline doctor filled her vision: Dr. Aztin Cyder. She slightly sat up. Cassian looked at her confused. If Cyder was a spy, there was no other reason why he would want control of the medical ward, and his own assistants to do his dirty work for him. "I think I know who the spy is…" She said when the realization hit her.

Prev: 5 Next: 7

[boneandfur]

Closure [5]

Chapter Five ~ The Bodyguard (Drake)

Song: Runaways, The Killers

Words: 1765

Catch up:  Masterlist

Tag list: @drakewalkerwhipped @mfackenthal @alicars @youwontlikewherewewillgo @ninamckenzie22 @theroyalweisme @hopefulmoonobject @pbchoicesobsessed @topsyturvy-dream @viktoriapetit

Summary: Drake's obsession with Lilly has already destroyed three marriages. Why he stays at court is anyone's guess. But tonight is a night for intrigue and dark secrets -- and some people will do anything to discover them...

"Are you Aunty Vannah's big brother?" Big bwuvver. 

Drake looks down at Sophy. She's been brushing, braiding and decorating  the grey pony's mane for half an hour, clearly in little girl heaven. "Yeah, Short Stuff. I'm her big brother. Guess that makes me your uncle in law." 

Sophy screws her face up thoughtfully. "Why?" 

"Because -- never mind. Just call me Uncle Drake, kid." It's uncanny, but this little girl could pass for the miniature version of Liam's mother. She has that Rys look about her too. For a long time he'd thought she was his daughter too, but now, meeting her face to face at last, he's not so sure. Hell, the entire foundation he built his life on cracked when he met Lilly that night in New York City. What's one more? 

"Tell me about yourself, kid. What's your favorite color?" 

Sophy frowns at him. "Silver, silly! But Mummy made me wear this. I don't like it." She has a temper. It would be painfully adorable if Drake were a sentimental man (he isn't). "Is Aunty Vannah here? I miss Percy." For a long moment he thinks she might cry, but she composes herself admirably. She is strangely self-possessed for a mere seven year old. 

Percival. Drake's nephew is a mischevious, dark haired child of four, about to start école maternelle in the autumn. He has a stuffed hippo he takes everywhere with him. Drake has always found it to be an odd attachment, but now he is beginning to wonder, a suspicion creeping into his mind. Savannah has never shared why she left Bertrand a second time, throwing herself into her career as a freelance columnist in Paris. Bartie and Percy look as alike as cheese and chalk. Bartie looks like Drake and Savannah's side of the family, and Percy... Drake runs a hand across his face. Percival Maxwell Beaumont. 

"Yeah, maybe. Do you want me to ask her?" Savannah covers the European nobility beat. It is her connections to the Cordonian court that got her the job in the first place, without a university degree she would have been doing menial work. He has to acknowledge -- grudgingly, but still -- that their royal patronage has come in handy. For two kids who grew up on the fringes of the Cordonian court, they couldn't have done better. 

Whether or not they could have done worse remains to be seen. Sometimes, Drake thinks he's already had a lifetime of courtly intrigue twice over. No wonder Savannah ran twice. 

"Please," Sophy says, batting her lashes. She looks so much Lilly in that instant that it rocks Drake to his core. 

Are you coming tonight? he texts Savannah.

Yes, I'm just pulling in. Nervous. It's been awhile. Why, is my big brother worried for me?

Lilly's here. 

He can almost see her grimace on the other end. Fuck. Thanks for warning me. 

What's the problem? LOL

You of all people should know the answer to that, Drake!! >:(

Does it have to do with my nephews?? Because you might want to brace yourself, their fathers are here too. With that, he silences his phone. He's no Cupid, but maybe at least one couple can walk away happy this night. 

At that thought, his gaze falls on Jack. He's feeding an apple to his pony, talking in a soft voice to it as he looks deeply into its eyes. Drake's heart leaps in his chest. 

When Olivia had first broken the news of her pregnancy to him, he'd run away -- straight into Lilly's arms. Lilly had stoked his greatest fears about Olivia's fidelity as they drank whiskey together, and then she had kissed him. He'd fallen into her familiar arms, drunk on the scent of her arousal, wanting nothing except to forget the world with his cock buried in Lilly. And he had -- Oh, God, he had. And every time he tried to end it, there was always another (small, helpless) reason he could never cut the ropes that bound them together. 

I can't leave him, Lilly would sob, so wretched that he hated both her and himself. Who else would have me? 

He would. How many times had he begged her to run away with him, to the ends of the earth and beyond? But she always had an excuse, always had some unarguable reason to stay with Maxwell. Irresponsible Maxwell, frittering away their fortunes in the casinos of the Cote d' Ore. 

As for proud Olivia, she had become Liam's mistress in truth, and it was easier to believe that Jack was Liam's son, rather than take the responsibility for abandoning his own child. Yet he'd stayed at court, never able to stray far, never able to forget Olivia despite his failed marriages, despite his obsession with Lilly.

His lust for Lilly has already ruined three marriages. She is his downfall, his greatest addiction. When he fucks her, it feels both wrong and right. She always claimed Beaumont didn't know how to please her, that he couldn't make her come. But it's painfully obvious to anyone with eyes that Maxwell is still in love with the woman. Maybe he never got the memo. 

Well, he certainly has now. 

Drake's glad these children aren't in the ballroom. Jack is one thing -- with Olivia for a mother, he always lands on his feet. Just what was Lilly thinking, bringing Sophy along? 

She's just like me, Drake, Lilly told him once. She needs to learn how to be strong. When I was her age, my childhood was already over, and I didn't even know it. She needs to be prepared. Pull one stick out, and the whole structure collapses. You think your life is hard? You've had it easy. 

Lilly never would explain further, but her words chilled Drake to the core. My childhood was already over... Lilly never shared anything about her past with him. It was as if she'd arrived in Cordonia newly brought alive from clay by the gods, as though she'd had no life before this one. 

And there are not many records on her either. Bastien has shared the background check with Drake, and back then he hadn't cared, but now he wonders. He has so many questions for Lilly. Whoever she is. 

Nothing beyond a registration for a social security number some twenty three years before, and a slew of hospital records. After fourteen, there is nothing. Radio silence. She claims she went to university, but where? Under what name? In this day and age it's nearly unthinkable that a person can fly under the radar for so long. 

"I thought you'd be in here." Savannah hugs Drake, setting down her clutch, a black and gold Prada. She is wearing a press badge and is dressed like a Parisian, all black clothes and an air of elegance despite the shadows under her eyes. She looks at Jack and Sophy, then back at Drake, but says nothing. Little ruffles Savannah these days. 

"Aunty Vannah!" Sophy squeals, flinging herself into Savannah's arms. "Did you bring Percy?" 

"I did not," Savannah says in a soft voice. "He is asleep, I have a nice girl watching after him and Bartie at the hotel. This is a party for grown-ups, Sophy."

Sophy frowns, stamping her foot. "Mummy said it was a party for me."

Savannah's eyes meet Drake's over Sophy's head. Her mouth is pressed in a thin, unforgiving line. "Where is Lilly?"

"Dancing with Liam." The hurt those words would once bring has faded to a mere echo. "A solid power play by House Beaumont. Their star is rising. Olivia is... unpredictable. Hana wants her out." 

Savannah smiles, stroking his cheek. "My big brother, who hates all nobles, talking about courtly intrigue?" 

Drake stiffens. Sophy has joined Jack on the other side of the ring, their heads bent together, whispering. He turns his attention back to Savannah. "They're not nobles. They're my friends."

"Even Olivia?" she teases him lightly. "I remember there was a time when you were head over heels for her. And she -- well, she's always been in love with you." 

Drake remembers -- a screaming match and then a scorching kiss, Olivia in his arms until the sun rose, waking in surprise to find her in his arms, curled up against him like she had always belonged there. Yes, Olivia. He sighs. "I never thought I'd fuck this life up so bad, Vannah."

She laughs, and he's glad to hear it. Savannah has had little enough joy in her life besides her children, since she went away. "You didn't fuck your life up, Drake." 

"No, but I --"

"Here." Savannah passes him a Polaroid photo from her purse. "Gemma, Talia, Annelyse and Valentina." Four little girls with his mother's eyes stare up at him from the glossy paper. "Do you think their lives would be any easier if they lived with you?"

"How can you ask me that?" Drake chokes, overcome with emotion. "They'd be my little girls and they'd live --"

"Here at the palace, while their mother fucked the king? Or a hand to mouth life on the run?" Savannah shakes her head. "And what about Sophy and Sei? Would you take their mother from them as well?" 

Drake clenches his jaw. "Why did you show me this, if you were only going to break my heart again? Are you a monster?" 

"Of course not," Savannah whispers. Her eyes glitter in the lantern's light, and he can see that she is crying. "I want to help you."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing it."

"Listen to me, Drake. Maxwell is the only father those girls know. You don't know how much he loves them. He'd give anything to keep them safe." 

"What are you implying?" Drake demands. "Blackmail?" 

"One star falls and another rises. Such is the way of the court. With their star on the rise, House Beaumont will want to sweep everything shady about Lilly under the rug. I've already made the  arrangements with Bertrand. The girls will live with me in Paris, except..." she turns her head, her eyes going wide in shock. "Sophy? Sophy!" 

Drake feels his heart sink like a stone. "Jack!" He shouts, his heart in his throat. "This isn't time for games, Jackson Nevrakis! Come out right now!" 

But the children do not answer. Sophy and Jack have vanished, as if they've never been. Only a scrap of green fabric flutters sadly on the edge of the corral, twisting and turning in the wind. 

==

Ecole maternelle - kindergarten

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list. Sorry if I forgot anyone!

[that-sso-raven]

another fake questline. i came up with this idea a couple of weeks ago, when i was listening to detektivbyrån - monster a lot

its an origin story for the teleporting hens

will probably be in 2 parts because i think itll be. a little long

i’m not very good at coming up with names, so we’ll call the two main characters of this story A and B. 

when at long last we have access to nova alexandria, it’s eerily empty. (i don’t remember much about nova alexandria from its brief mentions in the archeology quests, so im guessing this is going to be     very inaccurate). 

you find a live chicken, a bizarre spot of life in an otherwise lifeless place. it vanishes mysteriously in a puff of feathers when you approach it - and as you’re watching, rematerializes several feet away, closer to the entrance of the library. if you follow it in, it will be waiting for you by a bookshelf, staring intently at one of the volumes. when you pull out the book (a study on interdimensional theory), you find a folded note in its pages. it seems to be a series of scrawls, indicating a small puzzle - moving a vase, and then rearranging some books, and then pushing a bookshelf a little to the right. when you go ahead and carry out these actions, a panel slides open on the floor, and unravels a spiral staircase into the dark depths below. 

you can turn and talk to the chicken again, but all it will offer you is a perplexed “cluck?” you decide to go down and see what’s going on; you descend the staircase, and the chicken follows. if you stop, the chicken stops. if you resume walking, it will go with you. 

you walk for a while. once you reach the bottom of the staircase, you are pulled into a cutscene: the chicken rushes ahead of you, hops onto a desk, and yanks on a rope hanging from the ceiling. the room is immediately flooded with illumination from what looks like several lanterns. in the sudden light, you are pulled back into a memory. 

but it’s not your memory.

you suppose you’re living it vicariously, in a vision granted to you by your moon powers. 

you see someone sitting with your back to you at the desk in front of you. it’s a brief flash, and you can’t clearly discern much, but you think you see a chicken perched on the desk. the person is writing furiously in a journal; the desk is covered in all kinds of odd blueprints and calculations and alchemical ingredients. 

there’s the sound (and accompanying dialogue box) of someone calling their name - “A?” - distant, upstairs - and the person stops, and turns to look over their shoulder. slowly, they close the book, sliding their quill between its pages to mark where they left off, and then open up a drawer to the right on the desk and place the book inside. they close the drawer, and then get up to answer. your vision ends. 

when you return to yourself, you notice that the room is more or less in the same layout as it was in your vision. some things have been shifted around, and a few cobwebs have emerged, but apart from the details and the disarray not much has changed.

there aren’t any blueprints on the desk anymore: the desktop has been cleared off, save for a strange device (a stand with several joints that ends in a metal hoop) and a couple of neatly stacked, old-looking tomes. and your newly acquired chicken companion. 

you open the drawer on the desk, to the right, and find the journal. 

the quill-bookmark remains. on the page - still unwritten - there is a letter in stark black ink. it’s incomplete; it seems that for whatever reason, the person that was writing in it never had a chance to finish, or simply forgot to. the letter states that the person in question has left to go seek B in the “world where there were stars”, and advises the reader to not worry, or attempt to follow. going between worlds, they state, is a dangerous, unpredictable affair. the letter seems to be ambiguously addressed to some loved one; it’s signed “A”

there is an unfinished postscript that reads “P.S. thank you very much for t”

the rest of the journal before the message seems like nothing but blank pages. there is, however, a brief message on its inside cover that reads:

“This journal belongs to A.”

you decide to pocket it. it may contain more information about just what went on down here, if you can figure out how to make the invisible content of the first several pages not invisible.

you thumb through the books on the desk to get some more context, or in the very least to see if there are any more notes to open secret passageways. the books have titles such as “Searching for Star-place” and “Traversing Between Unaligned Worlds”, all by an author named B. the excerpts you choose to read refer to what B calls “starplace” (for lack of a better name), an alternate realm where time does not pass, or even, they say, exist. 

B wanted to see this world. 

finding nothing else of note in the books, you bring the journal back to Elizabeth to see if she knows anything about it. she expresses surprise that you’ve found something from A, an extremely famous magician/researcher. much of her work still circulates, & generates new conversations to this day. one day she disappeared without a trace - but that was a long, long, long time ago. 

she says that she thinks the first few pages of the journal are in some kind of invisible ink - not your typical kind, either; A was crafty. 

Elizabeth suspects that this particular ink she used can only be temporarily revealed by dousing the words with Aideen’s tears (the dew that gathers on the flowers in the forest, not the literal tears of the goddess). you gather some for her, and then the two of you sit down together and very carefully gloss over the first few pages with the tears. it doesn’t yield any results for the most part, but an image does emerge on the first page - a fleeting diagram, that fades as soon as the dew on the paper dries. Elizabeth gets separate piece of paper and a pencil ready, and then asks you to reapply Aideen’s tears to the page: before the image dissipates, she makes a quick but accurate sketch of it, for future convenience.

Elizabeth says she has no idea what that means, but it looks a little like a layout of a room. 

she mentions that A’s gone through great pains to keep the contents of this journal a secret, though, and while she’s certainly curious, she warns you not to be too disappointed of your search leads nowhere. this piece of the puzzle seems more like A left it for herself as a self-reminder than it is an intentional clue for future adventurers, and it might be something that only A can understand. 

in nova alexandria, you find a side-tower in the library that resembles the picture you have. there’s a rectangular rug on the floor, and you enter the room to the left. turning to your left as you enter the room, you find a curving section of wall; you fiddle with some stone bricks, and are able to get a hidden compartment to slide open, giving you access to three storage crates. 

in the middle crate, you find A’s old diary. this one is written in regular ink. A’s entries are few and concise, but she writes at great length about B - that she thinks B is “very special”, and that she hopes B will succeed in her research around the starplace. after a time, she writes excitedly that B seems to have cracked it; there may be a few steps left before B can safely travel there, but A is so happy for her. 

you realize that they were in love. 

A talks, too, about the various antics of a chicken she found and rescued from a pack of dogs. she jokes that this chicken is now her best friend. 

in a sudden tonal shift, the last entry eludes to the fact that something terrible has happened, that something in the research backfired on B, acted on her prematurely (several weeks before B was going to wrap up her final preparations) and B’s vanished. A doesn’t even know where. she has no idea what to do. 

you also find, in the same crate, a large, flat, circular crystal. when you pick it up, you begin to have another flashback --

you see A at her desk. the crystal - now recognizable as a lens - glints in the light. it’s locked in the device on her desk, which is now a fully intact thing that looks just like a magnifying glass. her journal, blank-paged, is spread before her, but she reaches and adjusts the device so the lens is right over the page. 

you return. 

the chicken isn’t in the secret basement study anymore when you go back there. you lost track of that little guy. 

you fit the lens into the device on the desk and tug the rope hanging from the ceiling to turn on the light. when you adjust the device just right, the light refracts through it and spills onto the pages of the journal, and the words begin to unravel into visibility right before your eyes. 

you understand why this one is written in invisible ink. not only did A include her personal thoughts + accounts, she’s also put a great deal of research material and speculation on interdimensional traversal. this is something she considers far too risky for herself in its early stages, let alone someone who might stumble across it and try and use it for the wrong reason. 

A reveals that her relationship with B was kept covert, but they spent a great deal of time together. A was so grateful to have her in her life. to have had. she doesn’t think she knows how to let go. she worries that B was searching for starplace as a final destination point - she knows that B went through a great deal of sadness in her life, and often spoke of starplace as a place that would be “without pain, without anything”. this is what A fears - that a prolonged existence there will swallow a person, and take away everything that makes B herself, and that, more permanently than death, B will cease to exist. 

it’s been a year, and she’s looking for ways to contact starplace under the wild hope that maybe somehow the malfunctioning of the machine that B had been preparing for a portal might have brought her there. she knows that it’s a shot in the dark, but it’s all she can do.

A mentions her chicken a few times. she says that while humans or horses are large and consist of much more matter to transfer between realms, something as small as a chicken could probably pass through with much less effort, while she’s still developing the technology. 

she knows that the portal-machine B tried to make was too fallible, and is therefore searching for something less variable, more directly managed by its user. 

she wants to see if she can make a chicken that can teleport. 

after about a year of working on the technology, A is beginning to feel helpless.

B could be anywhere, she says. even if she can send something through there’s a chance that it might go nowhere. B could be in starplace, or the realm of the ghosts, or pandoria. this is nothing more than blind hope.

but she finds that, under a certain alignment of the moon and stars that occurs once a year, the space between the worlds is the thinnest. if she can capture and distill the celestial light of that arrangement, and then imbue a host with it, the host might gain the ability to walk between worlds by bending reality around them. 

she decides that this is a wild course of action that she’s almost certainly going to take. 

A loves her chicken very much, and wouldn’t allow harm to come to it if she could prevent it. she anguishes for a while over an upcoming trial, but ultimately decides that her setup should be safe. 

after a couple of mishap trials, where the chicken typically skips short distances but seems to be going nowhere, the chicken disappears for a day, and then returns. 

A affixes a gadget to its leg that records the energies of its surroundings. in a few more trials she determines that the energy readings of the place that the chicken has been visiting are consistent with those of starplace (she also notices patterns of brief visits to other realms).

the journal ends, where A writes that she plans on writing a letter for the chicken to deliver to starplace. she has to know if B is in there, and if she’s ok.

(end of part 1)

[oswaldsleeping]

Series: The Strange Case of Mr. Shimada

Chapter Title: no one said living in the forest is a good idea

Chapter(s): 2/3  Rating: E Wordcount: 5461 Warnings: sex, blood, gore (the three things that make life interesting jk) Summary: it’s their own little slice of paradise Author’s Notes: someone needs to get mccree a bandaid

  “Do not give me that look.” Genji frowns. He's got a light-up collar in one hand, the scruff a very big, very hairy, very whiny wolf in another. His jacket and boots are soaked, snow sliding down his neck, “I told you if you did it again, I would make you wear this.”

The werewolf in question whines again, practically pouting. But he sits still as Genji slips the collar on, pressing the “On” button. Bright blue begins to shine around the collar's center. “If you did not attempt to attack me every time I came back, you would not be wearing this, McCree.”

Jesse makes a cacophony of grunts and whines, trying to explain his point without using his words.

Well...speaking with a muzzle must be pretty difficult, Genji will give him that. Besides, he can make out the gist of what Jesse's saying.

“That may be, but I do not need to be “kept on my toes”,” he leans down to gather the tossed-away jar of peanut butter. The oranges have rolled down the front steps, “If anything, you are the one that should be practicing, you mutt. You're getting lazy.”

Jesse snorts, plucking the cluster of bananas from the bushes and trotting into the cabin. They make quick work of it together, getting the groceries off the ground and into the kitchen. The eggs are (mercifully) intact, even if the cereal is a little worse-for-wear.

  In this form, Jesse may trot on the ground, but he can stand on his back legs should the need arise. His front paws can still open doors and manipulate handles (however, he's pretty poor at delicate tasks – he's broken plenty of forks this way). This comes into handy when Genji hands him the last bag of groceries and turns to to put the kettle on the stove.

“I got another request,” He says after a moment, listening to Jesse struggle to put a bag of rice into the rice container (they have containers for everything – cereal, rice, coffee, milkbones – a place for everything and everything in it's place, right?) Jesse huffs, deeming the rice to be a lost cause and trotting back to Genji with the half opened bag.

“Get me the tea box, won't you?” Genji takes the bag and puts it aside, turning back to the kettle. The water has begun to bubble, “I am glad they appreciate my work. I'll have to send word to Zenyatta, I keep forgetting to send his in the mail.” He takes the tea box (in reality, a particularly pretty box that once held papers and is now holds little tin boxes of loose leaf teas) from Jesse's jaws, searching over the little containers for the right one. Jesse huffs again, laying besides the stove, his feet tucked neatly underneath him (he looks very much like a cat when he does that, Genji thinks).

One ear perks, his tail beginning to thump against the ground. It's been awhile since Genji's spoken of his old master.

“He mentioned visiting the next time he gets to the states. It would be nice to see him again.” Genji pulls the desired tin out, measuring out the leaves and taking a clean mug. The peppermint leaves crackle in the hot water, “Would you like to?”

Jesse gives a soft woof and a yawn, his tail still thumping against the floor. Years and years ago, he'd met Genji's former teacher and good friend Zenyatta. Jesse mentions him from time to time - the monk had made quite the impression.

  Genji takes his tea to the front windowsill, settling in to watch the snow. From the side of his eye, he can see Jesse's back leg shaking – he looks like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to fly.

  “Do not leave for too long.” Genji says, taking a sip – Jesse gives another woof and barrels out the door.

  - - -

Mating season for North American werewolves starts in the middle of winter, when the forests are quiet and the nights are cold. It's a kind of twofold effect: fertile werewolves will produce litters in the late spring and it creates a tight bond between the mated pair. Things are...different for werewolf/non-werewolf partners. There's a slim-to-none chance of litters being produced. The few that are often are born too early and born sick. Furthermore, most non-werewolf partners have a hard time keeping up with their more energetic partners.

Ergo, most of these partnerships don't work.

But, clutching a cup of steaming tea and watching Jesse frolicking in the falling snow (actually frolicking - considering he's a full grown werewolf, this looks just as silly as you think), it seems so worth it. Genji sits against the windowsill, one leg tucked under him, the other swinging back and forth. He gets a weird sense of joy seeing Jesse chasing shadows, his collar a streak of bright-blue in the ever growing darkness. If you'd asked him ten years ago if he thought he'd ever feel so at home, he would have have laughed in your face.

They'd built the cabin by hand, cut every log in this house, sanded every surface smooth. It was theirs, theirs, this little slice of paradise. A cabin with two floors, located in the center of the forest, right across from the river. A tiny garden in the back, the stubborn pine littering the back steps with dark-green needles. Together, they sustained themselves and were happy with the life they'd chosen.

  Jesse could run around without fearing he'd become someone's rug and Genji...well Genji had peace and quiet. And that's all he'd ever wanted. It wasn't “loneliness”, like the townsfolk insisted, it was freedom. Jesse leaps, catching a particularly big snowflake between his jaws, falling back and rolling. The whole scene is really very cute, very...Jesse. It's hard to believe there's a late-thirty-something man under all that hair.

  Genji sits the cup in his lap, goosebumps rising on his arms. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the chilly glass.

    - - -

  “Come with me.”

  That's all he'd said, reaching his hand out. It must have looked so funny, this tall, burly, beast of a man standing over this tired, morose looking shell of a person, “Ain't nothin for either one'a us here.” Genji remembered the day. Hell, he could tell you the exact hour, minute, and second. The leaves were falling, the wind had been particularly nasty that day. Dressed all in black, clutching a photo yellowed at the edges and cracked on one side. Autumn smelled like rain, the ground soft and pliant and so very, very cold. He couldn't make himself turn around, couldn't make himself look at that fucking tombstone...

For a moment Genji had hesitated. He wasn't stupid, he knew how dangerous werewolves were. They were unpredictable, they were ruled by instinct, they were wild animals. This was stupid, fool hardy and practically signing his death warrant.

  “Do you trust me?”

  That was it. The thing that made Genji throw every fear, every worry, every unseeable detail out the window, because yeah, he did. He really, really did.

He trusted Jesse more than he trusted everyone else, because Jesse was real. He couldn't be arsed to lie about useless matters, had a pretty poor filter, and acted with his heart rather than his head and, Genji never felt the need to hide around him. He could be himself, giant gaping flaws and all.

So in the night, they left. Left appropriate letters to their families (well to Jesse's family; Genji didn't have anyone else) and decided to start anew.

  - - -

  And here he was, years later, sitting by a windowsill and watching his partner play in the snow. How time flies.

  His eyes flutter open. Jesse's not out front anymore, instead stomping into the house, his fur dotted with snowflakes, his tail wagging madly. Before Genji has a chance to stop him, he shakes the water from his back, sending freezing droplets everywhere.

“YOU MUTT!” Genji shrieks, nearly spilling his tea. Well, that certainly spoiled the mood. He's soaked, the flannel not doing much to keep him warm (hey, only so much one shirt can do). The almost-dead fire in the fireplace is finally snuffed out.

Jesse actually looks a little ashamed of himself, tucking his tail between his legs and laying his ears against his skull. He pads to Genji, giving a pathetic whine.

“Do not start with me. Why can you not do that before you come inside?!” Genji glowers. He feels like his mother, scolding his wayward brother and himself for something silly, “How many times must I to tell you? Not. In. The. House.”

Jesse lays his head against Genji's thigh. He gives a low grunting noise.

“You are ridiculous.” Genji pinches the bridge of his nose. Jesse pushes his head into Genji's thigh again, whining even louder. He taps his paw against the ground, nuzzling his muzzle against the inside of Genji's knee, “No, you are a grown man, I am not falling for that.”

Jesse plants first one paw on the windowsill, and then the next, raising his head to press it against Genji's chest. “Use your words.” Genji grumbles. His hands find those soft, sensitive ears, scratching in just the perfect spot. Jesse's tail begins to wag, “I would not get upset with you, if you did not shake in the house, mutt.”

Jesse gives a growly-whine, tail wagging furiously. His head drops onto Genji's shoulder, one paw swatting at Genji's shirt.

“Don't be rude.” Genji gives a him a firm tap on the nose, “Go get more firewood.”

Jesse gives another swat, ignoring Genji's request. There's something in his eyes, a feral mischievousness that Genji's oh-so-knowledgeable of. He smirks, taking the werewolf's head in both hands and holding it still, leaning down to press his nose against Jesse's cold, wet one.

“Get the firewood,” He murmurs, eyes half-lidded, “Be a good boy and go get it. And then you'll get a treat.” Jesse's off like a shot. Genji laughs, places his cup aside and walks upstairs – wolfish, indeed.

  - - -

  There's something nice about sleeping with a dog. Well, Genji knows better to call him a “dog”. Jesse's really not into that, but he's into praise, so it all evens out in the end.

It's awkward, but Genji reaches behind him to scratch one of those soft, floppy ears. Jesse huffs in appreciation. He shifts his hips, the thick knot inside of him still hot and heavy. Jesse grunts, one paw-like-hand clutching Genji's firm hip and keeping him in place. Genji has a tendency to squirm during their sessions, which pulls painfully on Jesse's knot. It takes the fun out of the afterglow!

“You were enthusiastic tonight,” Genji grumbles snuggling back into the werewolf's broad chest. His fur is thick and full, and so wonderfully warm, “Full moon have anything to do with that?”

Jesse grunts, one lazy ear flopping forward. He's not keen on “moon” jokes either, but Genji can't help himself. You can't just let these opportunities get away!

“No matter.” he yawns, eyes fluttering shut, listening to the soft thump thump thump of Jesse's tail against the bed. He's such a puppy sometimes, even while locked together with his mate, “It was nice.”

Jesse laves his tongue against Genji's neck, his tail still wagging against the bed. Something about the chill of winter gives him such a boost of energy. It's put to good use.

“We'll have to go hunting in the morning,” Genji says, half awake, “Maybe when the snow settles. I hate hunting when it's sleeting, the deer are getting good about hiding.”

    - - -

  There's a puff of auburn fuzz in the holly bush again. Genji sees it in the morning, standing on the back porch with his coffee, watching the storm progress. Jesse eyes the fuzz for a moment, eyes narrowed and ears pulled back. With a breathy woof, Jesse trots into the forest.

Genji flicks the puff away. Little puffs have been showing up all around the house – it must be the deers.

  - - -

  “Were you rolling around in the pines again?”

  Jesse shakes his head no, pine needles falling every which way. His fur is mattered with sap and he looks particularly...sticky.

“You're an awful liar.” Genji plucks him by the scruff and begins dragging him to the bathroom.

This is where the fight begins.

You need to understand – when he's human, Jesse is actually fairly good at these things. Takes a shower every other day, attempts to keep his beard in presentable order, tries to look like a normal human being.

As a werewolf, he's subject to werewolf whims. It's a far cry between a man's brain and a canine's – Jesse the Man knows not to roll in the pine sap and track mud into the house. Jesse the Wolf will get into the garbage and not give a damn.

Jesse had attempted to explain it awhile ago - "'s not like I can help it - somethin' 'bout strong smells is just so appealin'." They'd gone over the subject for a good two hours and in the end, Genji was just as clueless as he was in the beginning. Jesse summed it up as "it's a werewolf" thing and left it at that.

Learning to balance the two takes practice. Sometimes, it's like having a dog, especially when Jesse makes a high pitched howl and takes for the door.

Genji's faster; launches himself and catches Jesse around the middle, planting his feet on the floor. It's pretty difficult to wrestle a full grown werewolf into submission, but Genji's stronger than he looks. It's a slow, laborious process – Jesse trying to escape, Genji trying to get him into the bathroom. He's going to throw his back out, if this keeps up.

Genji gets them to the bathroom (after prying Jesse from the doorframe) and sits back, taking a deep breath. Jesse sits, pouting in the bathtub, his ears flopped over his eyes. This is his workout for the day, Genji decides as he rolls up his sleeves, he's taking a fucking nap after this.

The moment the shower head springs to life, the fight begins once again. Jesse yowls as Genji “calmly” reminds him that if he didn't thrash so much, he wouldn't get soap in his eyes.

  - - -

  Jesse's better for the hair dryer. Which is relieving because there was no way Genji has enough towels to dry him. Jesse pouts but stays still and only complains for a moment when Genji blows too close to his ears. It's actually very nice to see him clean – there's a multitude of colors in Jesse's coat that only appear after a good wash. He's got a good amount of red in him, flecks of yellow, and silver in his chin that make him look pretty distinguished. Jesse darts away when Genji deems the entire process complete. He's rolls in the laundry, trying to get his scent back in his fur (there's something so embarrassing about smelling like baby powder).

Genji drops into bed, pulls the covers over his head, and takes the best snooze he's had all month.

  - - -

  “It's been three days,” Genji says quietly, watching the snow fall. The storm's taken a liking to their home and has decided to stay. Genji's pretty happy he managed to do some grocery shopping in town before they ran out of meat, “Are you stuck?”

At the foot of the bed, Jesse sighs, his body curled into a tight ball. His muzzle nestled into his bushy tail. It seems like he's fast asleep, but Genji knows better. His left ear is slightly raised, his mane not entirely settled. It will be midnight soon, the fourth day just over the horizon. Genji's patient. He knows Jesse needs time. He'll wait but...well, no one likes the waiting game.

“I'm not in any hurry.” Genji says, before he rolls over and falls asleep, “But I would like to speak with you again someday.”

    - - -

      Lacing up his boots, it's hard not to laugh. Jesse's always excitable before the hunt, bouncing about like a fresh whelp. He gives a short bark, pacing at the front door, the bow in his mouth.

“Stop rushing.” Genji murmurs, looking over his equipment and picking up his quiver.

The bow is...a sensitive subject. Not something he likes to dwell on, a moment passed down from a long dead brother. There's etching on the side, neat, tiny kanji that Genji conveniently never reads and sometimes he wonders what his brother would think if he saw his precious bow now. Genji likes to think he'd be amused.

He counts the arrows before strapping the quiver to his back and tightening the holster around his combat knife. Genji takes the bow from Jesse's mouth and steps out into cold, the werewolf bolting around him and into the forest. The snow still falls, the storm calmed considerably but lingering within the pines. He can see a flash of a red tail between the trees.

God bless the hunt.

  - - -

  It's...a little bizarre seeing how Jesse changes while at work.

He goes from goofy and silly to serious at the drop of a hat. His ears are pricked forward, eyes narrowed and searching. Nose to the ground, he quickly picks up a scent, Genji following behind him as fast as he can.

Genji's job is simple. If Jesse can't take his prey down, then it's up to Genji to head it off, distract it, and incapacitate it until Jesse can catch up. It's a dance he's well versed in, one he prides himself on. They compete with one another, who will take down the strongest prey, the most prey, the weirdest prey. The house is rarely without meat.

They make a good team. Jesse is heavy, strong, keen on what's moving in the darkness and Genji is quick on his feet, quick to react, and a well trained killer.

“You'd make a good wolf, Genji.” Jesse had said once, dragging their kill back to the cottage – they'd spoken on it once or twice. Werewolf venom isn't what you think it is – it's not a “one bite and you've got fur” kind of thing. It's actually pretty dangerous – as the species evolved, the werewolf's venom grew more and more toxic. Plenty have died from the venom alone and those who don't often turn feral within the first few moons and must be put down. Some propose that was the whole reason for the venom turning so lethal. Too many werewolves who went feral too easily, too deformed to mesh with packs, and too unstable to sustain themselves. It would make sense that biology would become selective.

It takes a careful hand to transition a human to a werewolf and it's...quite the commitment. Not one to be taken lightly. They'd categorized as a “we'll cross that bridge when we get to it” and left it at that. Still, there were days where Genji wondered what color his fur would be...

    - - -

  Werewolf body language is an art all it's own. It's like any spoken language that's ever existed, it's changed in so many ways and in so many ways stayed the same.

Werewolves naturally walk on all fours – ultimately, it's more natural to them and is faster. Werewolves aren't really made for mortal combat - They can fight with best of the magical creatures, but they don't prefer to.

Much like their four-legged counterparts they're hunters at heart. Speed is a surefire friend when you need to eat.

  In all honesty, it's always slightly unnerved Genji how fast Jesse switches from two legs, to four legs, back to two. There's distinct differences between the two, differences he's learned how to watch for. A werewolf that walks on all fours is a calm, relaxed one. A werewolf that stands on it's back legs is...well, it's not great, but it's not the worst thing. It's usually a curious one, a nervous one, things of that ilk.

But when a werewolf stands on two and puffs his mane out?

That's bad.

  That's a “this is my place and you need to leave” and a “I have no problem fighting” signal.

Werewolves have thick manes for that reason alone - it's a barrier against teeth and claw and a status symbol (many compare them to lions in that aspect - Genji would argue they're more like peacocks)

  Genji stops the moment he hears that low, deep growl. Jesse's mane is fully bristled at this point, his claws unsheathed. It doesn't take long to see what's got him so upset: another werewolf, stands not 30 feet away, it's own mane ruffled to it's fullest.

This normally isn't a problem. Jesse's let traveling werewolves pass through his woods before – hell, he invites them to the cabin and gives them a meal.

  But this is very, very different. This isn't a traveler, this is a conquistador – a werewolf trying to take his territory. It's something of a rite of passage for fledglings, challenging an alpha. They test their teeth against a well aged fighter and, if they lose, learn what to do next time.

Here's the thing - it's standard procedure for fledglings to challenge alphas with packs. If they lose, they integrate themselves into the pack and learn from said alpha and his family. Pack alphas lead the tribe, train the children, and sure up the numbers for safety.

Solo alphas are an entirely different ballpark. Pack alphas have their tribe to fall back on to defend their territory, solo alphas are just that - solo. They don't have secondary ranks to fall back on, just their own claws and teeth. Solo alphas rarely take in fledglings and especially rarely take in fledglings that challenge them.

Goofy as he can be, Jesse's been the alpha of this forest for well over two decades, since he was a pup. It goes to show, there's a reason for that. In any other case, Genji would consider coming up against him suicide.

The new werewolf's tail wags low and straight, giving his mane a good shake. Sometimes it's all posturing – it's happened once or twice, an upstart pup who thinks he's hot shit and thinks he can take down a king.

Genji readies his bow, eyes trained on the new werewolf - he's only seen a fight get bad once and he'd rather not see it again. Jesse snaps at the air, snarling. The new werewolf responds in kind, stepping forward. They're getting closer and closer, growling and snarling.

  “Go home” Genji snaps over the barking (he never could keep his ever loving mouth shut) “There's nothing here for you.”

Jesse bristles even more (if possible), his muzzle swinging towards Genji as a signal to “shut up”

Genji's too busy staring at the other werewolf - he's finally noticed the human and the grin he gives makes Genji's hair stand on edge.

It happens so fast Genji can't tell you how it started. A flash of fur and teeth and the sharp clack of claws and suddenly they're fighting like their lives depend on it.

  Genji backs up, pulling the arrow back and steading his hands. His eyes try to track their movements. They're moving so fast, the other werewolf's teeth buried into the crook of Jesse's mane, Jesse kicking with his back legs, trying to tear the other's stomach open. He gets a good kick in, fur going every which way. The new werewolf doesn't seem to notice, digging his claws into Jesse's chest.

Genji wants to leap in the fray, to tear the werewolf off of Jesse, but he knows better. In this moment, Jesse's mind is one track and simple - get rid of the problem. Genji leaping in would get them both killed - so he steps back, plants his feet, holds the arrows still and waits.

Jesse gives a yelp as the other werewolf grabs a hold of his left ear. There a horrible ripping noise as the skin tears - Genji could cry. Jesse's ears are so sensitive, the new werewolf must have picked up on that.

He lets the arrow flight – it makes it's mark. The other werewolf rears back, howling in fury. The werewolf snarls at Genji and Jesse takes the advantage, sinking his teeth into the werewolf's flank. The werewolf trashes, still howling. Jesse flips them both, his teeth still buried in the werewolf's flesh - with a well placed kick, the werewolf launches Jesse back.

  Jesse launches himself again, but is flung back by the younger werewolf. The other one is gaining the upper hand, he's fast, he's...tricky. He grabs hold of tender areas and shakes his head fiercely to cause the most damage he can. In an awful way, it's actually pretty fascinating, the science of a werewolf fight. If it wasn't Jesse fighting for their (their) lives, Genji would actually watch nature play it's part.

  The other werewolf grabs Jesse by the scruff and flings him into a tree and suddenly Jesse just...stills.

The panic begins to rise in Genji. He's no lightweight, he can take down magical creatures quick as you please but...a werewolf riding on hormones and blood lust is outside of his ball park.

He can't leave Jesse. He won't leave Jesse, that's out of the question. The second werewolf licks his chops, slowly advancing on him. Genji rips arrows from the quiver, beginning to fire in succession.

He's no marksman, but the arrows find their marks, sinking in deep.

The new werewolf doesn't seem to notice them, too high on adrenaline, ripping the one still lodged on his arm out and careening towards him. With a howl, it leaps at him, throwing them both a good few feet away. They roll together into a clearing, struggling in the snow. Genji thrusts the body of the bow out, catches the werewolf's jaws between the solid wood. The bow's sturdy stuff, reinforced with steel but he can feel the material beginning to creak under the werewolf's back teeth.

  Struggling, Genji can feel the werewolf's soft underbelly with his feet. He gives a good kick, scrambling back when the beast gives a howl of pain (from the sound of it, he struck lower than intended). The arrows fly everywhere and in the darkness of the forest, he can't find them quickly. He rolls away, one eye still on Jesse's still form.

Genji snatches the combat knife from within it's holster – an anniversary gift from Jesse, believe it or not. He's used to working with stronger stuff, but beggars can't be choosers.

The werewolf snarls at him, lips pulled back all the way. He's beginning to froth, the white spotted with dark red. It's...almost reassuring – Jesse wasn't able to kill him, but he sure as hell was able to hurt him. The corners of it's lips begin to pull upwards. It's a macabre, unnerving smile, his eyes glinting bright yellow. They dance around one another, sizing the other up. The werewolf is obviously unimpressed, smirking.

“you've got spunk,” He snarls around blood-stained teeth, “no wonder he fought so hard to keep you.”

Genji doesn't respond to the taunt, dodges as the werewolf slices forward. It's a dance he knows well – keep them moving in circles, keep them on their feet. Genji's faster, he's agile.

The werewolf steps wrong, twists his left arm forward to strike at nothing and Genji swings, swings twice. Sprays of blood splatter the ground, the smell stinging his nose. The werewolf rears back and Genji gets him on the muzzle. The werewolf howls in pain, stumbling back to grab his nose. The fight's starting to take a toll on him – red meat drips behind the auburn fur. The beast's got murder in his eyes.

“No one keeps me.” Genji snarls, leaping back as the werewolf attempts to launch forward. He bounces off the tree behind him, onto the werewolf's back, fingers sinking into the blood-soaked mane. The werewolf bucks, trying to toss Genji off. Genji holds fast, crawling up yanking the werewolf's own left ear and slicing it off. The meat gives way like butter, the werewolf shrieking in pain.

  An ear for an ear.

  The werewolf slams his back into a tree. Genji swears he can hear something snap in his ribs. It's like a punch to the gut, the wind being sucked from his lungs, pain blooming immediately. The werewolf slams him again, Genji falls to the ground, his knife clattering away.

He's trying to catch his breath, his hand still clutched around the werewolf's ear. It's a weird moment of stillness, both of them trying to recover.

Genji pulls himself across the ground, seeing the tell tale glint of metal in the darkness.

The werewolf stalks to him on all fours, limping. Blood gushes down his mutilated face – he huffs, bloody, frothy saliva running down his jaws.

  “i'm going to enjoy taking his land.” He chokes, grabbing Genji by the leg and pulling him back. Genji tries to kick at him again; the werewolf bats his foot away, claws sinking into his thigh. The werewolf looms over him, the paw on his leg transferring to Genji's head. He pushes his face into the snow, his muzzle pressed against Genji's cheek, “but first i'm going to fuck you in front of him. gonna fill you with my pups on his territory.”

Genji growls, struggling. The werewolf stinks of gore, his hot breath starting to make him nauseous.

“gonna keep you for a good long time. make you keep my pack in his home – how's that sound?” The werewolf huffs a chuckle, torn lips pulled into a sneer, “c'mon chatty-kathy, whatcha say to that?”

Genji grumbles something into the ground – The werewolf gives him a good shake. He picks Genji up by the head, ignoring the gasp of pain and turning Genji to look at him, “speak up.”

“I said,” Genji grins at him, mouth bloody, “You're easily distracted.”

Jesse roars, ripping the werewolf off of Genji. It's not a fight this time – it's a massacre. The werewolf doesn't stand a chance and, as Genji leans against a tree to stand, it's a true reminder why Jesse's an alpha.

It's a flurry of fur and claws, bits of flesh, pink and raw. The werewolf's gone from growling and roaring to whimpering and screaming in pain.

Jesse slams him on the ground, forcing his head to look at Genji.

“APOLOGIZE.” Jesse snarls, claws sinking into the werewolf's skull. His voice is raspy and deep and a strange wave of terror washes over Genji. He's never heard that voice before. A spark of mortal panic leaps within Genji for a moment, this horrible thought of That's not Jesse, That's a beast, That's not Jesse, That's a beast ringing in his ears.

Genji can just make out the tiny “i'm sorry” beyond the broken jaw.

  Genji doesn't look away when Jesse snaps the werewolf's neck. It's really very merciful – the forest isn't kind to the weak, after all. Genji quells that spark of mortal panic - if he was "a beast", Jesse would happily keep him alive, let him suffer. Werewolves heal fast, it would be so easy to keep him alive enough to begin to recover and then return to re-injure him.

  Jesse is no beast.

  He heaves a sigh, sitting back on his haunches. He runs a paw through his mane – he's a mess. His fur matted with blood and snow and dirt and mud. His torn ear drips, the flesh hanging limply by a thread. He looks considerably older, Genji thinks.

They've got to get home, get them both bandaged up. Jesse looks like he's been shoved into a meat grinder.

Genji's in no better shape. He's no stranger to setting bones, but he'll need some help with his ribs. The blossoming pain is starting to make his vision swim.

He pushes away from the tree, stumbles to Jesse. Jesse accepts him easily, holding him close, tongue laving out to lick the cuts on Genji's cheeks.

“We are so lucky werewolf spit heals.” Genji grumbles into Jesse's chest.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.” Jesse buries his muzzle into Genji's neck, eyes squeezed shut. Jesse's mane has deflated, his fur hanging and he looks so...tired. They trudge back to the house, leaning heavily on one another. Jesse drags the dead werewolf behind him.

  The hunt ends.