#my comrade in death. you are the one who walked to the bar. not even my fault

[lucksea]

just had to resurrect my cat for a second time the friskies temptations were too strong

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Francis Drake Main Story

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game. Expect grammatical errors.

The roaring sound of swirling waves, accompanied by the scent of blood, hangs in the air.

On the tumultuous sea, the Golden Hind, engaged in battle with enemy ships, tilted heavily.

Swords clashed and bullets flew on the ship's deck, while the faint light of the full moon, peeking through the clouds, illuminated the face of a man named Francis Drake.

Drake: "*pant* *pant* I'm thirsty."

Enemy 1: "Die, El Draque!"

One of the enemies rushed towards Drake as he panted like a man desperate for water in a desert and clawed at his throat.

Without even looking at him, Drake fired his gun into the enemy's abdomen and grabbed him by the collar.

Then...

Drake: "Guh! Aaah!"

He sank his fangs into the man's neck and drank his blood.

Crew Member 1: "C-Captain? What are you doing?"

Enemy 2: "He's drinking his blood! This guy is a real demon!!"

Crew Member 2: "He's a monster! Sir Drake is a monster!"

Not only the enemies but even his allies were shaken by this bizarre sight, and screams and shouts filled the air.

Enemy 2: "England keeps a bloodthirsty demon! Kill it! Kill the demon!"

In an instant, knives flashed, and those who were screaming fell one after another as Drake maneuvered through the enemies, tearing their lives apart.

Drake: "Hahaha! Who's next?"

Drake: "Come on, give me your blood."

The combination of vampirism and violence shattered his sanity, fueling his impulses. His maniacal grin intimidated friends and foes alike, and soon he found himself restrained, out of sight of others.

Queen: "Poor Drake, being feared and betrayed by your comrades as a demon and a monster."

Drake: "........."

Queen: "However, if we leave this as it is, it's only a matter of time before your true nature becomes known."

Queen: "Your abnormal ferocity on full moon nights, bloodlust, and your ageless appearance can no longer be hidden."

Queen: "Furthermore, some nobles intend to denounce you as a 'filthy monster that has infiltrated the royal family.'"

Queen Elizabeth, peering with pity from behind the iron bars, covered her face with a fan.

Queen: "Before you bring disgrace to yourself, I will bestow upon you an honorable death in recognition of your military achievements."

Queen: "Your execution will take place shortly."

Drake: "Execution?"

As the Queen walked away without turning back, Drake laughed mockingly.

Drake: "I hunted down enemy ships and vampires over and over again. Yet in the end, both my comrades and the Queen betrayed me."

Drake: "Is this really an honorable death?"

Drake: "Humans and vampires are both just trash! Hahaha!"

His mocking laughter echoed coldly through the prison.

The queen sat on the throne, her face devoid of all the pity she had shown Drake in the cell.

Queen: “Drake was too capable. It’s time to prevent this pirate-turned-monster from gaining any more power.”

Queen: “Prepare a lead coffin. After executing him and collecting his body, sink it into the sea.”

Advisor: “Your Majesty, such grand coffins are reserved only for the royal family. Isn’t it a bit too extravagant?”

With a cunning smile, the queen responded.

Queen: “He's a half-vampire. Let’s at least make his last moments presentable.”

Queen: “His being immortal will only complicate things. Besides, he should be able to sleep peacefully if we sink him deep into the sea within a heavy lead coffin.”

On the day when Francis Drake’s execution was planned secretly as a cover-up for his death from illness, a soldier brought urgent news.

Soldier: “He escaped! Lord Drake has taken back his weapons and escaped!”

Having escaped from the cell and retrieved his confiscated gun and knife, Drake reached the cliff after killing the soldiers who were chasing after him.

Below the cliff, the waves roared as if bellowing in fury.

Soldier: “This is as far as you go, Francis Drake. By order of Queen Elizabeth, we will carry out your execution!”

Drake turned to face the soldier with clear, unfathomable eyes.

Drake: “Alright.”

Drake: “It doesn’t matter which side I was on since I never had a place to belong, anyway.”

Drake: “As far as I’m concerned, humans and vampires are fundamentally the same.”

Drake: “They’re all just a bundle of selfish shit once you strip away their facades.”

Drake: “They’ll hate and destroy each other, eventually heading towards their own ruin. So if that’s the case...”

With a look of resignation in his eyes and the soldiers watching, he soared through the air and jumped off the cliff.

Drake: “I don’t believe in anything anymore.”

Drake: “I’ll wander these endless seas and watch the destruction of the world.”

With a defiant smile, he fell into the dark sea.

Mitsuki: “...........”

I returned to the hallway and fell to my knees, shocked.

(This is his past.)

I continued to wander through various eras and follow his life story, like a spectator in a movie, unable to run towards or comfort him in any painful moment.

(He was persecuted for being born a dhampir by vampires and humans alike.)

(I finally understood the reason behind his occasional freezing coldness.)

While wearing a mask of a smile, he despised both humans and vampires behind it.

He hated this world where he was hunted, used, betrayed, and couldn't trust anything.

Like a sailor forever wandering the seas, cursing and wishing for destruction.

(This is the real Drake.)

(But...)

I tightly clenched my hand.

No matter how much he hated vampires and humans, he shouldn't have harmed anyone in the mansion. Having had a tragic past didn't justify what he had done.

(Sympathizing with him would be betraying everyone in the mansion.)

(And besides, he probably doesn't want any sympathy either.)

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "Mitsuki, if I betray you, don't hesitate to pull the trigger."

Drake: "The moment you hesitate, I will take everything from you until your body, heart, and destiny are shattered."

Drake: "Mitsuki."

Drake: "Remember what I told you to do when I betrayed you."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(As for what I should do about his betrayal...)

I reached for my waist and touched the item tucked into the waistband of my skirt.

The gun entrusted to me by Drake was shining and radiating a heavy presence.

(He said I need to pull the trigger when I find him.)

(I don't know. Shooting him is just...)

(I don't even know if this feeling towards him is anger or something else.)

(What on earth should I do? What do I really want?)

"In my opinion, living in a way that goes against your own wishes is the real betrayal."

(----!)

Even in a time like this, the words he said echoed in my heart as a response to my internal questioning.

(That's right. How to respond to Drake's betrayal is up to me.)

Whether to pull the trigger to settle the betrayal as he suggested or...

(I want to see him.)

I put strength into my legs and stood up.

(If I don't meet him, nothing will happen.)

Mitsuki: "I want to go to where you are."

I strongly wished as I gazed straight ahead at the end of the dark hallway.

A bright light then enveloped me, the undulation of the waves shaking my eardrums.

I slowly opened my eyes and saw the sea spread out before me.

(I recognize this place.)

This was definitely where he jumped off while being chased by the soldiers.

And then, as if waiting for me, I found him standing at the edge of the cliff, his cape fluttering in the wind.

Mitsuki: "Drake."

Drake: "........"

Drake: "I knew you’d come, Mitsuki."

(He can still smile so casually, even at a time like this.)

His smile, which I had grown to love over time, made my heart clench.

Drake: "I have to be honest; I'm surprised you made it this far."

Mitsuki: "I went to that building where you bit me and found the door."

Mitsuki: "It was slightly ajar, so I thought you were waiting for me beyond it."

Mitsuki: "I chased after you because I wanted to see you."

He looked at me with a faintly surprised expression and then burst out laughing.

Drake: "Hahaha! The door to that hideout was open, huh? You really have luck on your side."

Drake: "You truly are a woman of destiny."

The sea breeze blew between us as we gazed at each other, maintaining our distance.

Mitsuki: "Drake, I saw your past before coming here. From when you were young to the moment you jumped off this cliff."

Mitsuki: "It was all very painful."

Drake: "Heh, I see. But don't always be so kindhearted and sympathetic, lil' fawn."

His words felt like a sharp knife.

We were, after all, in a relationship of betrayal and being betrayed.

Drake: "Since we're at it, let me tell you about what happened after I jumped off this cliff."

With those words, Drake cast his gaze to the sea.

Drake: "After that, I met a man named Galileo."

Mitsuki: "What? Galileo, as in the famous one?"

Drake: "Yeah. He and I were facing similar circumstances."

Drake: "He used the door for his own wishes."

(I can't believe other famous people have traveled through it.)

At that moment, the image of a certain person he was with came to mind.

(Could that person be...?)

Drake: "I met Galileo and also saw the future by going through the door. What I found there was complete devastation."

(.......)

Drake: "It felt good. I realized that this world, tainted by hatred, would lead to destruction even if left alone."

Drake: "Both humans and vampires will disappear completely, just like I wanted."

Drake: "But then something strange happened. Fate diverged, and multiple futures were born."

Drake: "There were futures where a war broke out, humans killed each other, and humans and vampires clashed, fighting for the top of the food chain."

Drake: "I even saw a future in which nature was destroyed, leaving everyone with no place to live."

Drake: "All of them were interestingly disastrous outcomes."

Drake: "And what caused this branching future was the 19th century."

Mitsuki: "That was when everyone was revived as vampires."

He smiled deeper before answering.

Drake: "That's right. They willingly became vampires to revive themselves."

Drake: "They lived their second lives without a care in the world, not even realizing they were spreading harm."

Mitsuki: "I don't understand how everyone can be the cause. Maybe you're just convincing yourself of that."

Drake: "Those guys are renowned figures in history. Let a talented person get a taste of immortality and see what happens."

Drake: "The influence they have on humans and the world is immeasurable. In fact, fate is starting to distort around them."

Drake: "Well, I found the aftermath of all that destruction quite amusing."

Despite the serious topic, Drake wore a grin on his face.

Drake: "The existence of vampires gives rise to seeds of persecution, and resurrected vampires bring about destruction."

Drake: "No matter what, all they do is bring harm to the world."

Drake: "It's funny, isn't it? What purpose were vampires even born for?"

(Drake…)

Drake's sarcastic remark about vampires was probably filled with irony.

However, considering his harsh life and the betrayals that have shattered his heart, the words "What purpose were vampires even born for?" feel like a blade aimed at himself.

Mitsuki: "No matter what you say, I don't think that way."

(He and I have had our differences before.)

(To him, vampires are evil, but to me they're not.)

Mitsuki: "Everyone, even Vlad and the others, are trying their best to live with their own wishes in their hearts."

Mitsuki: "They're using their talents and way of life to inspire and make those around them happy."

Mitsuki: "You're the same. You've made me smile a lot."

Drake: "........."

Mitsuki: "I know that there are vampires who have treated you harshly. But that doesn't mean that all vampires are inherently evil."

Not wanting to deny my loved ones and him, I continued with my words.

Mitsuki: "Besides, even if the existence of historical figures can influence destiny, it doesn't necessarily mean that the future will always be one of destruction. If we hold on to hope and believe, the future may change differently."

Drake: "Ahh..."

Drake: "Having you by my side has surely changed my fate."

Seeming somewhat frustrated, he swept his bangs aside and pointed the tip of the knife he had drawn towards me.

Mitsuki: "Drake?"

Drake: "Vampires distort destiny. They lead towards the destruction I desire."

Drake: "That's why I wanted to watch over their messed-up destiny. And yet Mitsuki..."

Drake: "Somehow, when you're involved, all the messes that lead to destruction seem to disappear."

His eyes, piercing through me, were sharper than the knife.

Drake: "I have no use for vampires and people who bring no ruin. I thought about getting rid of all of them at once."

Drake: "Especially you, Mitsuki."

(His eyes are cold.)

His eyes were like a clear water surface, yet deep within them lurked a pitch-black abyss.

So deep and dark that it seemed no light could ever reach it.

Drake: "I want this world to end—a world filled with hatred, killing, and not worth believing in."

Drake: "But you're the woman of destiny. You're the woman who stands in the way of the destruction I desire."

Drake: "That's why I'm going to kill you."

Mitsuki: "........."

I felt like I couldn't breathe. The feelings directed at me pierced my heart sharply and deeply.

(This can't be happening.)

I'm just a human; I can't believe I'm influencing fate.

Moreover, deceiving everyone for a purpose and attempting to harm them simply because they don't fit your desires is just too much.

(But why? Why do I feel sad instead of angry after he said he'd kill me?)

(Why do I still love him?)

Like the shore of a calm sea, he nestled in my heart, making me fall in love. Yet, like a raging storm, he began to destroy my precious feelings.

I love him deeply, even though he's a terrible person.

The once-vibrant love swirls uncontrollably, tormenting me beyond measure.

(Drake betrayed me.)

(He tried to hurt my loved ones.)

(If he wants to kill me, then I...)

In my hand was a gun loaded with a single bullet.

Clutching the entrusted destiny, I aimed the muzzle at him.

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Premium

[makesometime]

ohhhh I'm gonna be a real knob and request a 96 for rqg for that prompt game (make it a carcar if possible nudge nudge wink wink no worries if not tho)

#96 - “What made you think I cared for you?”

(RQG season 4 spoilers)

The sound of the hatch opening would normally drag him out of his malaise, if he knew James or Zolf would be walking down the steps to check him for the blasted veins. 

But James and Zolf are off on a mission, which leaves…

“Mornin’ Wilde.”

The man doesn’t say anything, not even when he pushes the metal tray through the little gap in the bars. Howard takes it with a weary glance over the offering - with Zolf away, it’s little more than basic rations. It’s food, at least, which is more than he reckons Wilde’s been feeding himself in the absence of their comrades.

He leaves space for conversation, like an idiot. Waits for Wilde to say something, rather than stand there and fold his arms and wait, impassive.

Howard remembers when they used to make the best of all of this shit. Before Bosie came along and fucked everything up so nicely, causing far more damage than just the scar that Wilde can’t stop touching.

He’s not an idiot. He sees the way looks are exchanged between people that aren’t him and Wilde. But gods, he’d thought, once upon a time, that there might at least be a little fun to be had…

“Straight to business then?” He asks, snatching up the cup of weak tea and sipping at it, enjoying the burn against his tongue.

Wilde nods, but that’s the only movement Howard gets out of the man. “As you say.” 

Howard sets his drink down and pulls off the robe with a sigh, wishing he’d been able to wear his usual shirt and trousers and that they hadn’t been ruined by the rain before Wilde all but chased him into the cell on pain of death. 

He stands, naked and frustrated, watching Wilde’s eyes scour him with the sort of interest he—.

“Turn.”

He does so, not flipping Wilde off as he moves, no matter how much he might want to. When he glances back, the man is frowning, but not in the sort of way that would suggest anything entirely untoward is happening.

“Who pissed in your tea today?”

Wilde rolls his eyes, then fixes Howard with a look that he’s entirely unable to decipher. He does his best not to wilt under it, sensing somehow that that’s what the man is looking for.

“I simply have to know, Howard.” Wilde says, taking a single step closer. “What made you think I cared for you?” 

Howard thinks it's some sort of miracle that he doesn’t stumble. He stands there, watching the way Wilde’s lips curl up into a cold little smile. 

But only on one side.

“You can be a cruel bastard, you know that?”

The unpleasant smile fades in an instant. Wilde nods to himself and looks down at the floor, all of the emotion - real or not - fading immediately from his face to leave him staid and detached once more.

“I’m aware.” He says. “You’re clear, Howard. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wilde has disppeared and the door has shut before Howard thinks to pull on his robe once more, the chill of the cellar chasing further discomfort all over his skin. After, he picks up the knife from the tray, tracing his fingers into the gaps in the mortar where he’s hidden away his stash and levering out the loose brick.

Gods know, If ever there was a time to get drunk.

Fuck.

Fuck.

(I did my best for you <3<3 it's not a ship I'm into but I hope I helped with a bit of pain?)

[a-thousand-lives-lost-for-peace]

My Collection of Jill Valentine Headcanons

- Bisexual

- Jill prefers to be on her own after something traumatizing or something major occurs, mostly when emotions get in the way/she loses someone close to her. She often tries to work through her emotions on her own, and is very hesitant about revealing them to others, even when they’re just wanting to help. She doesn't like to show fear or lose her temper outwardly, preferring instead to maintain a stoic expression even when all she wants to do is break down in the moment; for her comrade’s safety and for hers.

- Her dog's name is Bailey.

- Jill has mild arachnophobia.

- Jill has a love for nature, even though she hasn’t had great opportunity to really interact with it, as the main part of her career had always been in suburban settings, namely the RC incident, the Manor incident and the incident that involved the T-Type Tyrant, or better known as Nemesis. She enjoys walking in the woods, and being quiet, looking at the different insects, creatures and just listening to the general ambience of the different forests. It brings her a lot of peace.

- Jill is adverse to most physical touch, mostly from people she isn't close with. However, with certain individuals she feels safe/close with, she will allow physical touch e.g hugging etc, but it isn't often. If she lets you touch her, you're special to her and you shouldn't take it for granted.

- She usually drinks her coffee black, and it's usually on-the-go somewhere.

- The silver bar necklace that Jill wears is actually part of the lock pick given to her by Barry Burton that she inscribed.

- Jill was taught how to play the piano from an early age. Her favourite piece to play is the Moonlight Sonata.

- After the events of RE5, Jill's hair never returned back to the original color on its own. Through the few days of recovery she managed to get through, Jill no longer wanted it as a reminder of what she had gone through and suffered, so as soon as she was able, she got someone to go out and collect brown hair dye for her, and with their help, she cut it and dyed it back to what felt normal for her.

- Jill is afflicted with PTSD, often causing her to have very vivid flashbacks and nightmares, especially about the Raccoon City zombies and the Arklay incident. It gets worse every night, and she finds it very hard to sleep without medication.

- Jill has multiple scars, smaller ones originating from mild scuffles, situated on her elbows, knees and arms, including a large circular scar on her shoulder from her Nemesis encounter - along with three slashes on her right shoulder from Raccoon City. Among these is also a long scar, and several smaller ones on her chest, from the P30 injector, along with greater scarring in the area. Included among these are burn scars on her arms from the first Nemesis fight with the flamethrower.

- Jill is fluent in French and English, and knows a good amount of Japanese.

- When Jill is anxious or worried, she often goes quieter than usual.

- Carlos managed to track her down after the events of RE5, finding her at the BSAA hospital and spending a good amount of time, visiting her frequently until she was discharged. He took her to stay with him until she could get back onto her feet, given that because of her "death" the BSAA had sold or given away what she had owned, and had frozen her bank account.

- The only reason she had been released early was because Sheva, Chris and Carlos fought for her to be given her freedom, knowing she wasn't the danger the BSAA was making her to be after RE5.

- Sheva would often have checked up on her while she stayed with Carlos, making sure she was okay when she had time away from the African BSAA branch.

- Jill will often work if she can't sleep, and goes until she passes out on some occasions.

- Post RE3, and after the BSAA had been formed, Jill was the one who had cleared any record or trace of Carlos from any official system, giving him a chance to hide himself from the Umbrella employees still looking for revenge over the people that betrayed them, but would still have tried to keep in contact with him frequently.

Post will be updated frequently.

Her father was a French thief, who taught her how to handle a set of lockpicks.

Jill is into photography, and has a camera that she takes very good care of - she took most if not all of the photos she utilised for her investigation into Umbrella in 1998.

If she can’t sleep, Jill will often do something to tire her out, be it work, working out or exercising, or anything that will make her exhausted enough to sleep. This tends to happen frequently.

Medications don’t really work on her anymore, as she has both the T-virus immunity & a built up immunity to chemicals after RE5. This includes sleeping medication, which makes things a little harder for her.

After RE5, most of the P30 had been eliminated from her system, but a very trace amount remained due to the constant dosages. It doesn’t and cannot hold influence over her, but it does grant her a trace amount of increased stamina and strength - though nowhere near as extensive as the full dosages.

After RE5, and after she recovered, Jill continued to work for the BSAA - working in diplomacy, communications and operation support until she was deemed mentally and physically fit enough to enter the field. She eventually worked her way up to becoming Director of Foreign Affairs, due to the diplomacy work she did, though she soon stood down from the role once she was cleared to enter the field. She also took up a role similar to Hunnigan’s in the DSO, guiding operations and providing whatever support she did. She disliked these jobs, though since they were the only ones she was able to do - she still did them to the best of her ability

Opened a mechanic shop as a side gig during her recovery, assisted with her vehicle specialisation and often repaired vehicles.

Masterlist

[isadewrites]

Prologue

Crossposting on Ao3

06.10.2023

Immortal

I traveled around for years already. How long you might ask? I have no idea, I have long forgotten, how long I have lived already. It is getting quite boring after so many years of wandering the seas. The good thing is that traveling around the sea is never getting boring. Especially if you travel around in the new world. But for now I’m back in the east blue for some entertainment.

This island, where I’m stopping currently, was quite hot. Not as hot as in Alabasta, but it is very close. I’m quite regretting wearing my long trousers and top, as well as my hat. But what can I do, it was very cold on the last island. Good thing is that, my clothes are layered and I can take some clothing off and not sweat to death.

I take off my coat and blouse to not feel as hot and wrap them around my waist while walking around and searching for a place to eat in this small village.

“I probably should have docked on the other side of the island. I nearly walked across this whole speck of dirt just to find something to eat.” I sighed

“This is a waste of time.” I shake my head and lift my hat up into the air while I tie my hair up into a bun before settling my hat back down on my head again.

I sigh and continue my way towards the bar that I saw in the distant.

‘I hate the heat.’ I sigh.

Not having eaten for days now is not good but this is what I get for traveling the sea for so long and not taking enough food with me.

Before I could even enter the bar, I hear a loud rampage inside before even entering. I stood in front of the door debating if I should even enter or not but before I could turn around I side stepped before a guy was flying past me.

I winced at the sound of his crash. I turned around and looked at the crash the man, no the boy made, he was buried in some destroyed crates and…

‘Sleeping? Well I would call that a talent, I guess.’ I sweat dropped and ignored him. I opened the door having no other choice but to enter the bar, as this village has no other place where you can really eat.

As I entered the bar I saw a group of people taking up the whole space while drinking booze.

‘So loud.’ I ignored them and walked towards the back were the barkeeper was. “Hello, young lady. What can I get you?” He was quite handsome but not really my type.

“Hi, could I get a glass of lemonade and something to eat. Anything fitted for the weather would be alright.”

He nodded and said it would only take a minute.

Behind me the bar door opens and I hear footsteps approaching. I don’t need to turn around to know who was approaching but I do wonder why he was walking towards me instead of walking to his comrades.

Yes, comrades. I knew the moment I stepped in, that this group were pirates. Which one, I have no clue. I was never interested, which pirates were out on the sea after meeting the pirate king, because none of them really interested me. But let’s see what these rookies have to offer.

The chair next to me scrapes on the floor as the boy pulls out the chair and sits down. “Here you go, young lady.” He says to me before turning to the boy next to me nervously. “And how can I help you?” “Let’s see.” The boy leans back “Give me all the meat you have got.” He states with a broad smile on his face. The bar keeper sweat drops “I can see…. what i can do about that.” He says before vanishing behind the kitchen doors again.

The boy laughs and turns around to his crew mates. “Yo, captain. What are we gonna do next?” One of his crew mates asked. The ‘captain’ didn’t answer him so I turned my gaze to him and sweat dropped. He had his finger in his nose.

‘Really now…’ I shook my head lightly and looked back to the front ignoring him. I pulled out a book from my bag and opened it.

The barkeeper came back with his food and placed it in front of him and he turned to his food. I ate the sandwich the barkeeper had prepared for me while simultaneously reading my book.

‘Yum! Well, I guess you would find anything edible after not eating for a long time.’ I told myself. The barkeeper was also so kind as to pack me some food for my journey in a bag. I slowly ate my food while the boy next to me scarfed his down as if it was his last meal. ‘Would probably be his last if he continued to eat at such a pace.’ But before I could concentrate back on my food, I heard a loud crash and saw that he had fallen on his plate face first.

The bar fell silent.

I sweat dropped while the bar keeper and some other in the bar started to panic.

“What happened?! Should we call a doctor?!” A woman shouted.

The bar fell into laughter.

The boy’s crew mates started to laugh and were rolling around on the floor. And after some seconds the boy started to wake up and continued to eat his food as if he didn’t fall asleep on his food just now.

I sighed after finishing my food before leaving the bar with less berries in my pocket. I pulled my hat further down and walked back towards my ship. “I really should have docked my ship on the south side of the island and not on the north.”

I continued my way, in this scorching heat before stopping.

A bullet flies past my head, it embedded itself into the wall a few feet into the wall beside me and looked bored other my shoulder. I saw a group of people run down the street.

‘What in the bloody hell is going on?’ But I didn’t had to wait long to get my answer as I recognized the people that ran towards me. Those were the same people that were cramping in the bar. I just sighed and stepped out of their way, knowing that they are not after me. My assumption were correct when I saw the marines running after them.

“Spade pirates! We order you, by the world government, to stop!” One of the marines stated.

I just pressed myself further into the wall of the house next to me and pulled my hat further down as the marines ran past me to catch up to the pirates.

I was able to walk towards my ship after the whole ordeal and sailed to my next destination without any problem. I rested against the mast and enjoyed the quietness of the sea. But that didn’t hold long.

“Hey, aren’t you the lady who I was sitting next to in the bar?” I opened my eyes and look up to the ship that was sailing next to me. I could see the pirate flag of the spade pirates if I’m correct.

“And you are the sleep eating Joker.”

A small smirk made it up to my face as I saw him pouting as his crewmates laughed at him. My smirk vanished real quick after he joined in on the laughing. I closed my eyes again before I opened my left eye and looked at him when he asked “What’s your name, lady?”

It was the first time I really saw what he looked like. He wore an orange cowboy hat with two Medaillons on it, he was shirtless and wore shorts and boots. His left wrist is dressed with a log pose and he wore a red pearl necklace.

“Why should I give you my name, Fire Fist Ace?” I smirked and stood up to change the direction of my ship. Fire Fist was speechless and stood frozen. “Hey, that’s not fair! You know who I am but I have no idea who you are.” He shouted and crossed his arms. My ship swayed to the right before a cannon ball could hit my ship but that doesn’t mean that their ship didn’t get any damage. Ace and his crew had to hold on because of the crash. I infused my ship with a little bit of my magic and drove away.

“Hey, where do you think you are going?” The spade pirates shouted but I only waved at them with my back turned. But before I was out of reach I looked other my shoulder.

“It’s Ireth.” I shout

“Ireth.” Ace whispered.

-isadewrites

[edenmemes]

horizon zero dawn starters

❝  you can sense it. you already know you’re going to lose.  ❞ ❝  did you want to be alone?  ❞ ❝  you wouldn’t be so eager to speak with me if you knew me.  ❞ ❝  that will draw attention. we won’t have this place to ourselves for long now.  ❞ ❝  it’s a world worth fighting for. not just here. everywhere.  ❞ ❝  trying to live up to glorious pasts has a way of getting people killed.  ❞ ❝  never celebrate a victory before it’s earned.  ❞ ❝  i crave vengeance. do you?  ❞ ❝  my comrades weren’t so lucky. i might shed a tear, if they weren’t all cutthroats and cheaters.  ❞ ❝  i’ll always have a minute for you. maybe even two.  ❞ ❝  you walk on the edge of life and death. i can tell.  ❞ ❝  what is a gift but an award you did not earn?  ❞ ❝  so many voices to listen to, it must make your head hurt. i promise my voice will be soft and soothing.  ❞ ❝  i wish i could borrow some of your courage now.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always wondered. are all your kind hunters and fighters, or just a few?  ❞ ❝  no one doubts your determination. but you need to rest.  ❞ ❝  a bold claim. i wonder if you’ll live up to it.  ❞ ❝  why would someone name a knife?  ❞ ❝  so you’re alive ! we should celebrate! drinks on me!  ❞ ❝  try not to forget me, while you’re out there saving the world.  ❞ ❝  when we spoke earlier, you winced, then looked like you were in pain - or frightened.  ❞ ❝  i’m really not one for crowds.  ❞ ❝  so - how are we gonna do that? oh, wait, i forgot. we won’t. i do all the dangerous stuff.  ❞ ❝  i knew there was something about you. hammered from the stuff they make leaders out of.  ❞ ❝  no matter what happens, i will not intervene. do you understand? you are on your own.  ❞ ❝  it’s always a pain in the neck when you show up, girl, one way or another.  ❞ ❝  you’re bleeding, let me have a look. here, hold still.  ❞ ❝  just don’t think this means i enjoy it.  ❞ ❝  i don’t want to jinx it, but we might be in the clear.  ❞ ❝  when i start a fuss, i like to finish it.  ❞ ❝  i promise to look solemn at your funeral before i hit the bar.  ❞ ❝  what could go wrong? turns out, a lot.  ❞ ❝  let me come with you! i won’t be a bother. i know how to stay out of sight.  ❞ ❝  now i’m supposed to fill ____’s shoes. and instead, here i am, stumbling around in them.  ❞ ❝  we need to talk - alone. and you need to pull it together.  ❞ ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ ❝  oh, are you going to shut your mouth now? because that would be a surprise.  ❞ ❝  i will come to you in secret. no one will see me, so i won’t get in trouble.  ❞ ❝  it looks like something chewed you up and spat you out.  ❞ ❝  these are the true wilds, with threats unlike any you have ever faced.  ❞ ❝  that moment the door opened and you were standing there, and the way you smiled... i had to look away or you were going to see. on my face. what had just... blossomed inside me, you know?  ❞ ❝  i’m not afraid of you - i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞ ❝  stop being evasive? you might as well tell me to stop being charming. it’s impossible.  ❞ ❝  what a waste. at least he died better than he lived.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been looking up at the stars a lot, and the only story i see written across them is that we are small and insignificant and will soon disappear with hardly a trace left behind. it’s a hard story, and i don’t like it much..  ❞ ❝  if i’m going to stand for something, it’ll have to be something i believe in.  ❞ ❝  the strength to stand alone, is the strength to make a stand.  ❞ ❝  soon it’ll all seem familiar. like home.  ❞ ❝  now i see that i was just lucky to get a minute of your time.  ❞ ❝  i know my duty to them - and to you. i’m here. and wherever you go...i will follow.  ❞ ❝  you're really good at making it impossible to like you.  ❞ ❝  i’ve missed our little talks.  ❞ ❝  will change happen at all, while men live in palaces?  ❞ ❝  confidence is quiet. you’re not.  ❞ ❝  you’re not a very convincing liar.  ❞ ❝  i already have all the friends i need. i don’t need the bother.  ❞ ❝  all right, cool your fire. i got nothing to hide.  ❞ ❝  i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago.  ❞ ❝  you will turn back - or bleed. your choice.  ❞ ❝  when we met, i thought i was a big shot talking to a pretty girl hidden away in the middle of nowhere.  ❞ ❝  you would speak ill of the dead? truly you have no shame.  ❞ ❝  truth is, i get lonely once in awhile. there. i admitted it. don’t think less of me.  ❞ ❝  do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?  ❞ ❝  but i don’t know anyone here.  ❞ ❝  come on, stop. you’re going to make me tear up.  ❞ ❝  i feel like i should drop to my knees and worship you.  ❞ ❝  think i’m done? think again. i’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.  ❞ ❝  it’s hard to imagine where we’d be without you - and i don’t want to try.  ❞ ❝  if we’re to fight together on the brink of life and death, i’d prefer to do so with your forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  trust is for fools. it shifts and crumbles like sand.  ❞ ❝  what will you do while i risk my life?  ❞ ❝  you can smile, can’t you? ...no, that’s a grimace.  ❞ ❝  you killed that demon...pulled its guts from the carcass!  ❞ ❝  the sooner you’re gone from here, the better.  ❞ ❝  for now, all you need to know is that i’m a whisper of reason in this howling pit of insanity.  ❞ ❝  i heard the rumors, but i didn’t know for sure until saw you just now. i’m glad to see you’re okay.  ❞ ❝  no barrier can now stay you from your sacred task.  ❞ ❝  i won’t deny i risked your life. but it was the only way.  ❞ ❝  they can’t shoot if they’re dead. keep them busy, i’ll find an angle.  ❞ ❝  comforts are weakness.  ❞ ❝  as for honor, sacrifice-- true sacrifice, the kind rulers know nothing of -- it’s all a fat joke.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been sharpening my blade, anticipating the scent of the fight.  ❞ ❝  you’re not just a traveler. that armor was fitted for you. and the way you hold your bow...  ❞ ❝  i’d expect to see some tomatoes fly, maybe rocks. hopefully not spears. in any case, be ready to duck.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here for the price on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a moment, i was a child again, rapt from stories told by hunters at the campfire.  ❞ ❝  this...attachment to me will only hold you back.  ❞ ❝  whatever you do, don’t let their shabby looks fool you! they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i love. and what could be wrong with that?  ❞ ❝  when the arrowhead passes between armor and skin - that’s the place i belong.  ❞ ❝  right. why would i expect an answer? it’s so much more exciting to keep it all a mystery...  ❞ ❝  oh, it’s a story all right, but it takes a while to tell. maybe another time, over a drink or three?  ❞ ❝  why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?  ❞ ❝  i’ll wager you don’t scare easy - it’s a good quality.  ❞ ❝  there will be people celebrating, and feasting. more than you've ever see in one place.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t bring you here to answer questions. i brought you here to deal with that.  ❞ ❝  ...you’ve...put a lot of thought into this.  ❞ ❝  i do not want to hear this talk from you again. doubt is heavier than a week’s snow.  ❞ ❝  bandits are drawn to here like infection to a wound.  ❞ ❝  i guess you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason.  ❞ ❝  i thought you and i were agreed: only enjoy the killing as much as the challenge.  ❞ ❝  rumors spread like blood.  ❞ ❝  they would steal from us, chase us through the night, laughing.  ❞ ❝  leave it too long, your fingers itch for the bowstring.  ❞ ❝  you’re strong, shrewd, capable... i could use someone like you on my side.  ❞ ❝  you defeated it? alone?  ❞ ❝  grasp your grief. and kill it.  ❞ ❝  at least i’ll have a fire to keep me company.  ❞ ❝  only survivors scar. after everything you’ve been through, you keep going.  ❞ ❝  just stop being evasive and tell me who you really are.  ❞ ❝  i don’t mind putting my worthless ass on the line. but not yours.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here to intrigue you.  ❞ ❝  how about you? who do you think i am? what will you remember of me? ❞ ❝  everything freezing. the ground, the air... me.  ❞ ❝  you lost someone you care about. that leaves a wound. the sort of wound a lot of people don’t recover from.  ❞ ❝  the only thing i know i’m still fighting for is...you.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t earn this mercy, but i will die to make myself worthy of it.  ❞ ❝  to say you have my gratitude feels woefully insufficient. you saved my life.  ❞ ❝  makes you wish you could kill them more than once, doesn’t it?  ❞ ❝  why did you act so strange when we spoke earlier?  ❞ ❝  being smart won’t count for nothing if you don’t make the world a better place.  ❞ ❝  to serve a purpose greater than yourself...that is the lesson you must learn.  ❞ ❝   if a big, meaningful talk is what you’re after, move along.  ❞ ❝  that carcass! what sort of beast was that?  ❞ ❝  what are you doing out here all alone? where are your men?  ❞ ❝  you’ve obviously heard of me. you know what i’m capable of. why do you think this will turn out well for you?  ❞ ❝  there’s so much to discover before the world ends.  ❞ ❝  i couldn’t wait to see you again. it’s like...i’m dead and only come alive when i’m here with you.  ❞ ❝  some even say you have a conscience. how extraordinary!  ❞ ❝  do you always accuse people you’ve just met of lying?  ❞ ❝  if you ever visit, look me up. i’ll show you around, make introductions. it’d be a whole new life, if you want it.  ❞ ❝  it had a name once, not that it matters now. i was born there.  ❞ ❝  i always knew you were different... i think you’re a blessing.  ❞ ❝  no one hears your prayers anyway.  ❞ ❝  this place is difficult even for the prepared.  ❞ ❝  i underestimated you. i won’t make that same mistake again.  ❞ ❝  oh. is that supposed to sound scary or something?  ❞ ❝  look, maybe i shouldn’t say this, but it’s obvious that you don’t belong in this... backwater.  ❞ ❝  were you kept hidden away? did you have overprotective parents or something?  ❞ ❝  hmph. don’t go soft on me.  ❞ ❝  i prefer the company of spirits. or my own.  ❞ ❝  blood spilled calls for blood spilled! if the ground is cursed, then let our vengeance sanctify it.  ❞ ❝  so many people here, all talking at once. how does anyone think?  ❞ ❝  why is it that every time something bad happens to you, someone else tells you something bad that happened to them, as if that makes it any better?  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen armor like yours.  ❞ ❝  the wrongness here jags at me like an arrowhead.  ❞ ❝  when you found me, i was trying to eke out a glorious death. but now a glorious life seems more preferable.  ❞ ❝  tomorrow, may the sun rise on the world.  ❞ ❝  you saved my epitaph from being ‘a fine soldier but a fool of a man’.  ❞ ❝  i don’t think i know you at all. but i’d like to.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like this. it feels...wrong.  ❞ ❝  oh, i’m grateful for this wound. it’s a lesson i won’t forget.  ❞ ❝  you’re a clever one. but not so clever as to heed my warning, i see.  ❞ ❝  not everyone follows the law like you do.  ❞ ❝  how many times have i pulled you from danger by your neck? made excuses for your behavior?  ❞ ❝  for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re coming with me.  ❞ ❝  what have i ever given you but struggle?  ❞ ❝  it’s starting to feel real, you know? that we might actually get out of this place.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never been part of anything. i serve my own interests. always.  ❞ ❝  i apologize for my...behavior. i thought i was dead.  ❞ ❝  look, i don’t even know your story. must be a good one. if you ever feel like telling it, look me up.  ❞ ❝  when my anger has thawed, i will feel nothing.  ❞ ❝  i can’t remember when i had this much fun! i should be thanking you!  ❞ ❝  you gave him a quicker death than he deserved.  ❞ ❝  that...could be the last creepy thing you’ve said to me.  ❞ ❝  something’s really bothering you. if you think i’m gonna abandon you, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  surprised you saw me, the way you keep looking every other direction to make sure no one’s watching. careful there, or you’ll sprain your neck.  ❞ ❝  remember how the blood pounded in your ears? they’ll ring later, in the calm. it’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.  ❞ ❝  ___’s dead. i was ready to go through anything to make that happen. and i did.  ❞ ❝  is there a reason why you’re acting so cranky today?  ❞ ❝  you hold your grief close, like a tailsman.  ❞ ❝  i hope you can find peace.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know who i am, do you?  ❞ ❝  you know there’s always been dirt on my hands. now there’s blood too.  ❞ ❝  i want to be strong like you. but...  ❞ ❝  i hadn’t given up on hope, but i’ve forgotten the taste of it.  ❞ ❝  just...don’t start singing again.  ❞ ❝  you’re sparing me? after all i’ve done?  ❞ ❝  i don’t intend to die today.  ❞ ❝  it will take many good deeds to make up for the crimes you’ve committed.  ❞ ❝  but why should you have justice, and not me?  ❞ ❝  such a voice... a cold, awful jangle that scrapes your bones and hollows your guts.  ❞ ❝  one more word, and i’ll throw you in jail myself.  ❞ ❝  only in the struggle against death do we find, even for a moment, the spark of life.  ❞ ❝  the war changed you. changed us both. we’re not kids anymore.  ❞ ❝  i can’t sleep, i can’t breathe knowing you could be out there...hurting...  ❞ ❝  now i’m left to wear my sins. for me, at least, they hang heavy.  ❞       ❝  but what does a girl like you know of loss?  ❞ ❝  it’s a good thing you’ve got brains. because your personality could use some work.  ❞ ❝  i was going to ask you to leave with me...to go somewhere out in the sun where no shadow could reach us.  ❞ ❝  they didn’t need to disgrace my name. i did it myself, serving a rotten throne. ❞ ❝  you don’t approve? well, i have a secret for you. neither do i.  ❞ ❝  perhaps you are not an evil man. just a weak one.  ❞ ❝  losses can feel... overwhelming. but they remind us of our connections to others.  ❞ ❝  i don’t exactly see anyone beating down the door to spend time with you.  ❞ ❝  if i had known, i would never have spoken to you.  ❞ ❝  forge a new life. one of better make.  ❞ ❝  impossible odds, fine company, killing without consequence --- how could i resist?  ❞ ❝  look at me. i can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but you don’t have to go through it alone.  ❞ ❝  i wish i had known, all this time, what you were going through.  ❞ ❝  i’m with you. until the end.  ❞ ❝  i thought you just wanted to have tea and conversation! is there a battle coming? i wasn’t informed!  ❞ ❝  we’ve only met a few times, and yet you know me so well.  ❞ ❝  are you going to drive me off, too? it’s okay. i’ve dealt with worse.  ❞ ❝  now i know the kind of person i want to be, watching you.  ❞ ❝  it’s so...bittersweet. like a smile through bloodied teeth.  ❞ ❝  i swear i saw my ancestors... they said: ‘we’re not surprised to see you here’.  ❞ ❝  more mercenaries? what kind of person sells their loyalty?  ❞ ❝  keep moving or you’ll die!  ❞ ❝  this is the kind of place you’d take someone if you want to lose them forever.  ❞ ❝  if that’s destiny, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  ❞ ❝  i’ve thought about what you said. every time, the wound you gave me caught on my ribs.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen such disregard for personal safety.  ❞ ❝  the most important thing is what you’re not like - your father.  ❞ ❝  i’m never lonely where there’s killing to be done.  ❞ ❝  my past - and my secrets - are my own. you’ll do well to remember that.  ❞ ❝  only to you do i extend the courtesy of a warning.  ❞ ❝  if the war’s not over, i’m not done.  ❞ ❝  a long kiss, the best kind... i can still remember the feel of your hand on the back of my neck.  ❞ ❝  it would be a worse fate to bow our heads to the challenge and say, ‘too much’.  ❞ ❝  let’s not say farewell. i’ve had enough of that to last me a dozen winters.  ❞ ❝  have your wounds even had time to heal?  ❞ ❝  you can stop worrying. the secret’s safe with me.  ❞ ❝  just to be clear, i have no plans to murder you, alright?  ❞ ❝  you’re an idiot. a dangerous idiot, but an idiot.  ❞ ❝  i’m kicking myself for not seeing your potential from the beginning.  ❞ ❝  for your sake, you must go where you will never find me. this is goodbye.   ❞ ❝  so that’s what this is? a tantrum? a cry for attention?  ❞ ❝  change won’t come in a single sunrise.  ❞ ❝  this place may not seem like much, but we’ll make the best of it.  ❞ ❝  no murderers here, if that’s what you’re asking.  ❞

[iheardarumorthings]

His?

Masterlist

 Oliver had gotten to the hotel room he had found the door broken down. Or maybe a more accurate description would be the phrase shattered into bits.

Yeah, he’d take the second one.

His mind immediately flipped to you. Panic swelled in his chest.

Where were you?

“(Y/N)? Sweetheart, come on, we both know that you always win in our games of hide and seek. Come on out.”

You didn’t come out. There wasn’t even a call back. He carefully stepped into the room.

The first thing that caught his eye was the deep, permanent stain of red on a white fluffy carpet. Ah, he thought, a note of sarcasm in the mental voice. Death.

Death.

Was it yours?

No, I love you. Please.

He pulled his eyes away from the blood stain and focused on finding you. Any trace that you were still in the room, or at least alive.

Please. Oh, Saints above, tell me they’re alive.

Then he saw them, piled in the corner there were eight people. All dead.

And you were nowhere to be found.

~*~

You could be found in a flash.

In a bar, in your pajamas, your skin stained red-both with your own blush and your victims’ blood, empty glasses covering the table, your constant hiccuping.

The breath left your lungs when you saw who walked through the door next.

Oliver. Sweet, brave Oliver. And Kaz. 

Oliver was with Kaz.

And the both of them were looking directly at you.

~*~

Kaz wasn’t really expecting to find you drunk at a bar after his Spider ran and Jesper (thank the saints for Jesper) told him what was happening. At that point he had nearly ran, despite the pain and his cane, to get to the hotel where he had found your comrade, Oliver.

The scene he had found in the room was incredibly disturbing, almost too disturbing to be real. Was any of the blood yours?

He nearly died on the spot. 

He was almost thankful for your friend’s presence.

Oliver had seemed to collect himself enough to guess where you were, and to recognize who he was. What he did to you.

Kaz could tell that Oliver didn’t like it, the close proximity to the man that broke his friend’s heart, soul, and nearly their life.

Unless you were more than friends. In which case he didn’t know what he’d do.

But there you were in all of your glory. Sure, in your pajamas, but still.

The Spider was right, much to his dismay, about your current condition. And people were clearly after you. The most likely option was that you’d been captured.

Oliver departed from his side, sprinting to your table and hugging you, pulling you close to his chest.

He walked over; the picture of calm and cool poise emanating from his features.

Even if what he felt on the inside was nothing of the sort.

~*~

“Hello, (Y/N),” Oliver whispered into your hair. You hiccuped in response. “Alright then. Shall we go?”

“Yop,” you slurred, then waved at Kaz. “Heyo, Kazzle Dazzle.”

Kaz nodded at you, face hard as stone. Some things never change, you supposed. “Where’s Inej? I wanna see my best friend!”

“Inej is not in Ketterdam anymore, (Y/N).”

While this was happening, Oliver's arm had scooped under your legs and his arm snaked around your back. With however many drinks you had, you wouldn’t be able to walk right. Especially if you were referring to Kaz as ‘Kazzle Dazzle to his face.

You winced when he grazed your rib cage. His face told you that he took note of that.

Your face fell. You harbored no ill feelings toward Inej, she was your best friend after all. You couldn’t be angry at people for what they feel, only for claiming to feel otherwise. But Kaz was no longer worth your wrath.

Not to you, at least.

“Oh, no,” you slurred. “Where is she?”

“She’s a sea captain now.” You nodded at his response, then turned to Oliver. “Do you have waffles when we get back to wherever we’re going?”

“Lots of ‘em, darling.”

“Great. Do you have syrup?”

“Always.”

“Then what the hell are you waiting for? Let’s get a move on!” you shouted, patting his chest as a rider would a horse’s back.

Tag List:

@ilovemarvelanne1 ; @hufflesight; @confuscita; @ace-in-a-shopping-cart, @thedelusionreaderbitch; @marvelsbitchh; @donpixter; @janesofia7; @brekker-zenik; @asherhunterx; @hyperfixating-on-new-obsessions​; @glowstick-lesbian​

[bookishofalder]

Little Part Two

Summary: Love has a funny way of revealing itself, if only you pay attention to the signs.

Warnings: Language, drinking, mentions of smut, dark thoughts, mentions of violence, TW-brief mention of sexual assault (groping). WC—+9k

A/N: Work is kicking my ass lately and my migraines have been rough. Writing has been slow, but I hope you love it.

Santi was fiddling with the label on his beer, eyes on the peeling paper but his mind miles away. Frankie sat quietly next to him in their regular booth at Gators, the bar they’d been coming to since returning from duty all those years before, beaten and nearly broken and just looking to rebuild their lives. Feel normal, like a night out for drinks was something they could still do. Even after all the death they’d seen, the death they’d caused.

Santi and Frankie got together the most often, both at the bar and outside of it. Truly, Fish was his best friend and whether they were slinging beers here or watching Rosie try to walk in the living room of Frankie’s condo, they always made time for one another. The five of them—they served, formed a bond of brotherhood that went past blood, but this was Santi’s most cherished friendship.

Frankie just understood him. He was quiet and calm, a force when he needed to be but now that they had settled into civilian life and he was working as a mechanic at the nearby airport, he was often Santi’s voice of reason. It came as no shock that he needed to tell his best friend what he had done.

He’d told you to move in. Christ, even though he wished he could take it back and shoot himself in the leg for it, he couldn’t bring himself to let you down now that he’d seen how happy the offer had made you. Neither of you had brought it up to the other’s when they’d joined you at the truck that night, a silent agreement made from a look you gave Santi that said it wasn’t the time to share. But he’d still told Fish, the very next day.

You really hate yourself, Pope, don’t you?

I don’t know, Fish. I fucked up.

What are you going to do? Let her move in?

Without a doubt, man. She needs this. I can’t let her down.

You realize what you’re getting yourself into?

Probably not. But fuck, it’s worth it.

Now, they were waiting for your brother’s and you to join them, a neutral venue to discuss the news, which you and Sani had planned together. You had come over a few days after fight night to discuss the offer seriously, looking around his home, sorting out how much you’d pay him, how you would contribute to the house and furniture that you could bring. That had been two weeks ago. In the time since Santi had been cleaning his house and removing the boxes and random furniture from the room that would become yours, clearing out the large bathroom for you just across the hall—he had his own ensuite.

And you had been procrastinating on telling Will and Benny.

You’d finally texted him last night that today would be the day. You asked him if he could meet you at the bar—you were going to tell them in the car on the way over, let them absorb it before coming inside. And then they could give Santi a talking to without it getting too heated, roll through their emotions over their baby sister moving out. Moving in with their former comrade.

Frankie was there for support just as much as he was there to keep Santi level. Though neither of them acknowledged it, Fish was one of the few people who could properly quell the rage he struggled with, and Santi had to work with his therapist to ensure he didn’t become dependent on his friend. But, it never hurt to have your brother at your side during situations that could be potentially difficult.

“I hope Will was driving,” He murmured, eyes drawing up to glance at the door. Frankie laughed, as Santi added, “Benny might drive the truck into the bar if he’s at the wheel.”

Frankie rolled the kinks from his neck before adjusting his cap, shooting Santi a grin, “Little won’t let them beat you up, don’t worry.”

Snorting, he took another drink of his cold beer, straightening when the door opened. Benny came into view, the tall blond storming across the bar before flinging himself into the chair across from Frankie, his face twisted in anger. He said nothing, grabbing one of the waiting beers they’d ordered earlier off the table and taking a large swig.

They waited for a beat, the air thick with tension and no sign of you or Will behind him. “Benny?” Frankie tilted his head, surveying Benny carefully, “You—?”

He dropped his beer to the table, cool blue eyes darting up to meet Santi’s, “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything, Pope?”

Santi shrugged, unbothered, “It’s not my place to, Benny.”

Still frowning, Benny nodded at his words and took another drink, glancing away from both of them. After a moment, his shoulders sagged, “Fuck, I made her cry,” He admitted, a hand coming up to swipe over his face, which had twisted in regret. “Blew my top, should have saved it for you.” He added, looking back at Santi.

He bristled immediately, glaring across the table, but Frankie cut in before he could speak. “The fuck you upset her for, man? She not allowed to make her own choices without asking your permission?” His voice was low, body rigid with anger, though Santi knew he’d never lose his cool entirely.

“No, of course, that’s...I just, it’s our home. Always has been,” Benny sighed heavily, “Now she’s going to live with Pope, and no offence man but what the fuck? You live alone and bring chicks home all the time, now my sister is going to be down the hall? Probably running into these random strangers when she’s trying to relax and shit?”

Santi leaned forward, his hands gripping his beer tight, “That’s fucking hilarious, coming from you Benny,” He snapped, watching his friends face fall in confusion, “You think just because you or Will approve of the women you bring home, that it doesn’t affect Little? That she enjoys running into your fuck buddies? Fucking rich, man.”

Benny gaped at him briefly before recovering, “Okay, then, so how does living with you make that any better?” He challenged, his face stony as Santi laughed humorlessly.

“Well for starters, I don’t bring women home too often. If I go anywhere with someone, it’s to their place—I don’t let just anyone into my home.”

“The fuck are you insinuating, Pope?”

Santi made a face, “I’m insinuating nothing—I know for a fact that some of the guests you’ve had over have interacted with Little. And not in a good way. Maybe consider how having some distance from the private lives of her brother’s, a space of her own where she can feel like an adult, might be good for her,” He lowered his voice further as Benny stared at him with icy eyes, “And honestly if you have a problem with me go ahead and take it out on me, Benny. Don’t fucking drag her into it like a pussy.”

Frankie slammed his beer down on the table, startling Santi and Benny, the blond settling back in his seat after having half jumped up in anger. “Calm the fuck down, look, they’re coming in now.”

Sure enough, when Santi glanced up at the door he could see Will walking in, you trailing a few steps behind him and hurriedly wiping at your eyes. By the time you reached the table, you’d relaxed your face into a small smile, taking a seat next to Frankie—the furthest spot from Benny—before saying hello quietly.

Santi looked around at Benny, glaring daggers at his friend as the anger swelled back up within him. The desire to reach out and comfort you was nearly overwhelming. Sensing the tension at the table, Will leaned forward and placed his hands on top of the table placatingly, looking from you to Benny, “Buck the fuck up, Benjamin.”

Benny shot up from his seat instantly, walking around the table and dropping down to one knee next to you, his hands reaching out to grab yours gently, “I’m sorry, Little. I’m a fucking dickhead, of course, I’m happy for you. Pope’s even got a hot tub!” As he apologized, Santi watched your face go from cautious to bright and joyful, the wide smile he loved so much disappearing from view when your brother tugged you close for a hug.

Will was smirking, rolling his eyes at his younger siblings before meeting Santi’s gaze across the table. He nodded, “Thank you for offering her your place, Pope,” He grinned then, eyes flashing with mischief, “She screams like a goddamn banshee when there’s a tiny spider, by the way. And likes to keep the house freezing cold.”

Santi laughed as you glared across at Will, Benny now striding back to take his seat again and Frankie giving you a side hug. “I do not sound like a banshee!” You objected, pulling laughs from everyone around the table. You tried to bite back your grin, though it slipped out when you met Santi’s eyes, and he felt his heart beat faster in his chest as you beamed at him.

—

Moving Day

Santi was about ready for a fucking cold drink. Of course, the day you were moving in had to be humid and sweltering, the sun shining on their backs as they unloaded the boxes from Will’s truck and your Jeep. You didn’t have too much but there were more boxes filled with heavy books than he had anticipated, and now he was hunched over your bed frame screwing the final pieces into place after spending an hour building it. His back was aching, he was hot, but of greater concern—it was finally settling in what he had done. You were here, moving in to live with Santi—currently, you were directing and aiding Benny as he built new bookcases. You’d bought them at IKEA during a trip Tom had recently treated you to as part of his efforts to make amends for fucking your friend. Though he wasn’t helping out today; apparently he couldn’t make it.

The day had started rough for Santi thanks to the heat. You’d appeared in his driveway that morning with coffee and donuts, wearing loose linen shorts and a soft blue tank top tucked into them, your every curve revealed, the dip of your cleavage mesmerizing and frankly it was fucking torture for him. You were devastating, with your bouncy ponytail and smooth legs, drawing his eyes every time you bent over, every time he saw you wipe the sweat from your forehead.

He’d quickly decided he would focus on putting together your bed, leaving the others to help unload boxes, only that hadn’t taken too long before you and Benny had joined him in your bedroom to start on the bookshelf. If there was one thing to thank his military career for, he could focus on a task, even though it was hard to resist glancing over at you. He’d thrown himself into the work of assembling your queen-sized, metal-framed bed. Santi was putting the mattress down onto it when you suddenly swore from your position a few feet away.

“Shit, SHIT!”

Santi dropped the mattress harder than he’d intended to look up at you, watching as you lost your footing on the stepladder. Benny had his back to you and was sliding a shelf into place as he turned his head in alarm, his reaction delayed.

Santi’s reaction was not delayed, he moved faster than he had in years towards you, fully aware of the dresser that sat in the path of your fall. He grabbed you from behind, twisting so that his body was slamming against the dresser before you both fell, grunting as you landed on him. He rolled slightly when he hit the ground so that he didn’t absorb the full impact of your fall. You gasped as you hit the floor, your head bouncing off of his forearm because he’d stuck it out at the last second to prevent you from hitting your head.

“Jesus Christ,” He groaned, pain lancing up his side as he scrambled over you. “Little, you alright honey?” Santi felt hands helping to pull him to his feet—Benny, who was cursing.

You sat up quickly, your eyes wide and cheeks reddening, “Shit, I’m fine thanks to you, Santi!” He reached out a hand to help you up just as Will came tearing into the room, his eyes falling to you as you climbed up from the floor.

“The fuck you guys doing?”

“Little fell, Santi—Jesus, Pope, are you okay?” Benny broke off to look at Santi as he reached around to his right side where he’d hit the dresser. It was throbbing painfully.

“Yeah,” He grunted, lifting his shirt and trying to see in the mirror of your dresser. “Just bruised, not too bad.” Santi dropped his shirt, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror—you looked upset, so he grinned at you despite the absolute throbbing in his side.

“You sure, man?” Benny asked, frowning at Santi. He tore his eyes from yours to glance between Benny and Will, still smiling.

“Just going to put some ice on it,” He replied with a shrug, he hurried out of the room and made his way down the hall towards the kitchen. He could tell he’d fucked himself up a bit, but he hadn’t broken a rib or anything. He was just getting old, enough that a hit like that would have him sleeping rough for a couple of nights.

Entirely worth it, though, to ensure you didn’t get hurt.

His face was twisted with pain when he stepped into the kitchen, coming face to face with Frankie, whose smile dropped when he saw Santi. “You alright?”

Santi nodded, moving to grab an ice pack from the freezer, “Little fell, caught her but hit my back, just need to ice it.” An ice pack in hand, he made his way to his favourite chair, a recliner that he fell asleep in sometimes, it was so comfortable. He positioned the ice as he sat back, eyes closing. Frankie sat down on the couch across from him, his voice quiet but amused as he spoke.

“You’re a hero, Pope.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fish.”

Frankie chuckled but made no reply. It was quiet for a moment before footsteps announced another person's arrival, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder making Santi’s eyes pop open. You stood next to him, frowning at him in concern, “I’m sorry, Santi. Thank you for catching me—you didn’t have to do that.”

He smiled up at you, “Little, I’m alright, don’t worry. You sure you didn’t hit anything?”

You glanced away from Santi to look at Frankie in disbelief, “I think my roommate is insane, Fish,” You declared, and Frankie barked out a laugh while you squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll get you guys a beer, everything’s in and Benny’s finishing the shelf.”

Santi’s eyes followed your hips as you moved to the kitchen, drawing away when he heard the front door open and close. Will appeared around the corner from the front hall a moment later, hands rubbing together. “That’s everything, Little. I left your plants in the front.” He dropped down onto the couch next to Frankie as he spoke.

You came over with your arms full of beers, passing them around before taking a seat in the chair next to Santi’s. You propped your feet up on the footstool and took a long drink, “I’ll find homes for them in a bit. You get a lot of great sun here, Santi.” You smiled over at him, though your eyes still revealed you were watching him with concern.

“If you can keep ‘em alive, add as many plants to this place as you want,” He replied with a half-shrug, careful to keep his right side still. When your grin widened, he knew he’d said the right thing and couldn’t help but smile more broadly back.

Will chuckled, “You’re going to come home one day to an indoor forest, Pope, there’s a plant shop right by City Hall she spends way too much money at.”

“Hey, that’s money well spent,” You argued with a giggle, gesturing at Santi, “Pope is on my side, clearly, right?”

Santi nodded, “Sure thing, Little.” Laughing as you glared triumphantly at your big brother, a satisfied little smirk tugging at your lips.

Santi would buy you every plant in that shop if he could keep you smiling like that.

—

Benny and Will were the last to leave that night after several pizzas had been devoured and plenty of teasing over Santi and Little being roommates. He was shaking Will’s hand as you stood by their truck a few feet away, trapped in a bear hug with Benny. You were patting him comfortingly on the back, reminding him they lived fifteen minutes away. He was still taking the change hard, whereas Will was fairly unbothered.

“I’m glad she’s got you, Pope.” He sighed, smiling as Benny began to pepper you with silly kisses and you were giggling loudly. “She needs the change.”

Santi shifted on his feet, ready to have a dip in the hot tub that he turned into a ‘cold tub’ for the summer months every year. “It’ll be great to have the help paying down the mortgage.”

Will grunted in agreement, “Christ, we’d be living in a studio if it weren’t for mom and pop giving us the house. Shit’s too fucking expensive,” He stepped down the stairs, waving at Santi, “Night, man!”

You gave your eldest brother a big hug and then bounced happily toward Santi, pausing next to him in the doorway to wave as they drove away in the truck. You followed him inside after that, still beaming brightly, “Okay, roomie, I’m going to set up my bathroom and shower off the day,” You glanced down at the many large plants blocking most of the entryway, tossing Santi a sheepish look. “And I’ll move these in the morning.”

He chuckled, stepping around the various pots carefully before heading toward the glass door that came off the kitchen and led to the deck, “I’m going to soak outside for a bit, let me know if you need anything, Little.”

“Hey, Santi?” He paused, glancing back at you. You were hesitating by the kitchen island, looking at him softly, “You sure you didn’t get hurt too bad earlier? I know I’m not the lightest—”

“I promise,” He interjected, hating the way your tone was filled with so much self-doubt, “I’ve been hurt worse, and this-“ he gestured at his right side, “Would have been your head, Little.”

You chewed your lip for a moment, then bobbed your head, “Alright, well—goodnight. And thank you again for this.” He just smiled at you, unsure of how to reply, though it seemed to be enough because you beamed back at him before spinning away and moving out of sight.

As he soaked in the water, his eyes on the dark sky above, he ran through the mental checklist he’d come up with for helping to compartmentalize his feelings for you. He would acknowledge everything he saw, felt, and heard before pushing it all back. He first thought about how beautiful you had looked today, all smiles and giggles and bright eyes. He remembered how he’d been close to you a few times, including when he’d caught you falling, and noticed that you smelled like tropical sunscreen. The way you had greeted him that morning like it was a joy to see him. How you shot down all of Benny’s teasing and it made him proud to see you not take any shit.

What he did not allow himself to do was daydream. Ever. So when thoughts surfaced of kissing the soft skin of your thick thighs, pressing his tongue into your core as his hands stroked and squeezed every curve, drawing out pretty noises and showing you your pleasure was the most important thing to him, Santi slammed the door shut on them. He stopped himself from picturing cuddling with you on his couch, kissing your hair while you watched a movie, holding your hand when out for a walk.

He couldn’t think of what it would be like to be loved by you, to spend every day with you as his. It didn’t do any good to dabble in that fantasy.

No, he closed that all off and put up a brick wall as reinforcement, running his hands over his face tiredly. He was too fucked up, too angry and tired, too old. You were all light and warmth and he was the stroke of midnight; cold and dark, haunting, full of emotions that he couldn’t and wouldn’t let you see.

With a sigh, Santi shifted in the tub and focused on assessing his back. With gentle prodding, he knew the tender area was pretty badly bruised, but he would live. The water had helped, and now he was going to crash in bed, grateful you’d moved in on a Saturday—tomorrow, he was sleeping in.

When he walked back into the kitchen a while later, he was surprised to see it entirely cleaned up, the pizza boxes and beer bottles are gone, counters wiped clean. He’d been planning to get to it in the morning. Santi smiled to himself, his ears perking up to listen if you were in the shower, but he couldn’t hear the water running. He made his way down the hall quietly, unsure if you were in bed, only to find your bedroom door open, a soft light spilling into the hall.

When he came to your room, you were sat on the floor, stacking books into small piles he was sure were organized in a specific way that meant something to you. Your hair was damp, falling past your shoulders in slightly tousled waves, your face bare of makeup and pleasantly dewy. You looked so pretty and soft he wanted to groan.

“Thanks for tidying up, Little.”

Your head turned, eyes meeting his before falling down his bare torso. You looked away with a soft smile, “Of course, the least I could do since my brother’s made most of the mess.”

Santi laughed, “You good? I’m going to sleep.”

You glanced up at him, your smile warm, “I’m perfect, roomie. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Little.”

—

What’s In A Name

Yoga was going to be Santi’s undoing.

He’d spent so much time worrying over the fact that he was now going to be living with the woman he was secretly in love with, that he’d failed to consider what it would be like. Santi had thought about how he would structure his days. How to ensure he kept his feelings hidden while still maintaining the friendship and being a welcoming roommate. But never what the reality of living with Little Miller would be.

But it turns out, you were easy to live with. Easy like, you and he fell into a routine so quickly that it amazed him—no wonder your brothers had been sad to see you go. You filled the house with plants, added a few touches of decor that brought some of your personality into spaces that had been minimal and simply comfortable before. You were tidy, organized, and often very quiet, content to lounge around reading a book while Santi watched TV, or otherwise wearing headphones while you cleaned or organized or went about watering all the plants.

You didn’t have a TV in your room; you’d told Santi you didn’t need one, as you had your laptop if you wanted to watch something in bed. The only thing you couldn’t do in the limited floor space of your bedroom was your yoga, so you streamed the instructive videos onto the living room TV and followed along from your place in front of the couch. You did it at night, before bed as a way to relax and on weekends you’d add in morning sessions. It was easier for Santi to avoid the living room during the weekend, he’d set about chores around the house—outside, where he wouldn’t be tempted to look at you.

But on weeknights it was harder because he spent a lot of time in the kitchen, food prepping and cooking dinners, organizing his lunches, and from behind the kitchen island, he had a direct view of you as you stretched out like a cat. There had been a few times now where you had been stretching a certain way and would give a happy little sigh or a groan if the stretch was sore and Santi would feel like he was going to combust.

Fuck, he was ashamed he’d gotten hard watching you do fucking yoga.

“Santi, do I look anything like this bitch on the TV?” You spoke abruptly, making him glance up from his cooking to find you in an awkward pose, your view of the TV obstructed by your leg.

Barking out a laugh, he replied, “Yep, actually might want to relax your arm—yeah, like that,” He continued to chuckle as you grumbled wordlessly, “You know she won’t know if you don’t do the pose, right Little?”

You giggled, easing out of the position to fall on your hunches, straightening and tossing your ponytail over your shoulder, “Yes but I would know. It’s beginner yoga, for fucks sake.”

Santi grinned, “I thought you loved it?”

You switched off the TV and sauntered over to the kitchen counter, plopping down across from Santi. He dropped his gaze, the sight of you flushed and sweaty doing things to him he’d rather ignore. “I like the stretching, but I don’t think it’s a good workout for me—it’s not distracting enough.”

“Distracting?”

“Yeah,” You leaned your arms onto the counter before glancing away to take a drink from the water Santi had passed you. “Thanks. I mean, I just end up overthinking when I’m trying to be zen. I want to do something fun, so I’m not ruminating on my day.”

Santi had begun packing his lunches for the week into containers, focusing on his portions as he considered your words. “Hmm, what about going for hikes? We have a few trails around us here.”

“Can you show me, maybe?” You asked, and he glanced up to find you regarding him shyly, your lower lip drawn between your teeth.

He was nodding before he could think it through, “Sure, you want to go for one tomorrow morning?” Even as he said it, alarm bells were sounding in the back of Sant’s mind. But you perked up at his words, grinning across the counter in that way that felt too pure; you couldn’t possibly be that happy because of him.

“Really? I’d love that, Santi.”

And that was how he broke another one of his rules. Because without planning, or intent, several more weeks had passed by and suddenly, you and Santi were going on hikes every couple of days. Spending free time together more often than he’d ever have imagined, and it was never awkward or strained. Fuck, he loved spending time with you, loved coming home to you, staying up late at times to just talk and joke around. Life with you was...fun, easy. It was so fucking easy, he just kept letting himself get a little closer. A little more couldn’t hurt. He knew the limit, he would never cross over it.

Just a little more.

None of the trails near his house were too treacherous or hilly, which was good for him because his knees weren’t what they once had been. You would chat with him some days, and other times you’d each agree to wear headphones and get into your zones while you walked. Today’s hike was a shorter trail, but the heat was more intense than he’d realized, the blazing sun heating him straight through to the bone. You were sweaty as well, a dewy, flushed look that he felt was unfair—you looked way too good. He felt like he looked worse than he smelled, which was saying something.

“This was such a bad idea,” You huffed, wiping your arm across your forehead, “I’m exercising to feel good, and I feel like shit right now it’s so fucking hot.”

“We’re lucky it didn’t storm, we haven’t been bothering to check the weather before we go out,” Santi replied, chuckling lightly and then giving a grateful groan as you each emerged from the end of the trail, back onto the street that led home.

Panting slightly, you glanced up at Santi with a little smile, “Oh I’m sure your survival skills would keep us safe.”

“What do you know about my skills?” He shot back, smirking at you.

For a beat, you just gazed at him in surprise and then giggled before rolling your eyes. Santi hadn’t even meant for it to come out so flirtatious; now heat was pooling within him over your reaction.

“Santi, you’re forgetting Benny tells me everything,” You replied, and he looked at you curiously, “I’m sure he left out some of the gorier details, the really classified stuff but...yeah, he talks a lot.”

The idea of your brother sharing with you the things he had done—that they had all done—didn’t well with Santi. He always knew you’d have an idea of what their life in the Special Forces was like, but Will had been protective over you and made it clear that they weren’t to over divulge the details. It shouldn’t come as a shock that Benny would ignore that, but it bothered him.

“I hope he didn’t upset you, Little.”

“I mean, it’s all pretty upsetting,” You reached out suddenly, your hand brushing over his forearm gently, “But some of it, the funny stories, those I’m glad he shared. And he does like to joke about how you had plenty of company, you know.”

Santi glanced at you as you wiggled your eyes brows suggestively, ice shooting through his veins. He grimaced, and your smile fell, your gaze turning to concern as you stopped walking.

“I’m sorry, did I say something rude?” You asked, and Santi didn’t know what to say. He was tired and hot, and the knowledge that your brother shared details of how he got the nickname ‘Pope’ was frustrating. He didn’t want you to see his darkness, but fuck this was worse, knowing you thought he slept around a ton.

“No, Little, you didn’t,” He tried to smile, but he doesn’t think it’s very convincing when you only frown more, stepping closer to Santi. “Benny likes to exaggerate. I did get around, I guess—I don’t know, we were young. But that’s not why they called me Pope.”

You tilted your head, “No? I thought it was because you made women see—”

“That’s the joke,” He interjected, “And it’s funny, sure. But the nickname started because of how many men I killed—early on, I was the one who had the least trouble pulling the trigger, Little. I got the catchy nickname because of that.”

He’s upset now because he can see the shock on your face and he’s afraid he’s going to see something worse, see fear or hate, so he spins away from you and hurries toward the house. You don’t call out for him, and he doesn’t look back.

When he gets into the house, he doesn’t stop until he’s inside his room, where he leans against his door and listens for the sound of your arrival. He hears the front door open and close and steps away from the door to head for his shower. He’s breathing heavily, angry and annoyed with himself for snapping at you.

—

Tension

Santi avoids you for a few days after his outburst. Embarrassed, ashamed, he hides in his room, stays late at work. He misses you. More than he should, more than he realized he would—he was used to spending so much time with you, constantly overindulging his desire, and now he’d cut himself off cold turkey.

He’s also afraid to see you again, worried that you’ll bring up what he said and it’ll start the conversation of the things he had done. About the man that he was. And if that happened, what would you think of him, truly? If he peeled back his layers and showed you that the inner parts of him weren’t just muscle and sinew but also stretched out grief and anger? Would you run away, or would you show him just enough kindness that he gave in and shared everything, putting your light at risk of being consumed?

He couldn’t fucking do that to you. Little Miller, his friend, his roommate—he could not destroy you. So he avoided you.

Four days later, Santi comes home from work exhausted and ready to climb straight into his bed. He sees your Jeep parked in the driveway and sighs, hoping you’ll be in your room or the shower when he heads inside. But when he does make his way through the front door, the house is quiet enough that he wonders where you are. He drops his bag off in the kitchen and peers down the hall; your bedroom door is open—he does a quick check of the house and you aren’t home.

When he reenters the kitchen, he notices a note on the fridge, written in your scrawling hand.

‘Out with a friend, see you later maybe?’

Santi stares at the note for a long moment. The latter half of it tugs at him; guilt bubbles up over how the last week had gone. How he’d just snapped at you and then shut you out, and yet you still wanted to see him. Wrote him a goddamn note, like you didn’t want to upset him, but wanted Santi to know you missed him.

“Fuck.” He murmured to himself, spinning away from the fridge to unpack his bag. He was loading up the dishwasher when a text chimed on his phone and Santi glances at the screen to see Benny active in the group chat that included all of the guys, asking if they were doing drinks on Friday. Frankie came back first with a yes, and he quickly typed out his agreement as well. Tom hadn’t yet read or replied to it, and so he sent him another message in a separate conversation, asking where he had been lately.

Santi had noticed that their grouchy former commander had been distant for the last couple of months. Sparked by his behaviour with your friend, no doubt, but it was still odd how long he’d stayed away. Even after Tom took you to IKEA to buy your bookshelves, he didn’t end up helping you move in with Santi. He came up with some lame excuse, and you hadn’t seem bothered by his lack of appearance.

He heard the front door, then, and glanced up from his phone. While you couldn’t see the front entryway from the kitchen, he could hear the sounds announcing your arrival and was eager to get out of dodge before you rounded the corner. Before he could move, however, he heard you speak.

“Thanks again for the drinks, Dylan, and the ride home.”

“Sure thing,” A second voice replied, and Santi tilted his head, listening intently. “Can I maybe come in?”

“Oh,” You sounded uncomfortable, which immediately put Santi on edge. “No, I’m pretty tired, to be honest. It was nice hanging out with you.”

“That sounds kind of like you don’t want to hang out again?”

“Like I said, it was nice hanging out with you, but I just see us as friends.”

“Look, you’ve been acting weird ever since I mentioned how much I like your body, what gives?”

Santi edged closer to the front hall, his footsteps silent as blood rushed in his veins, a protective force rearing up within him. He didn’t like this guy's tone. He didn’t like how he wouldn’t leave.

“I respect that you have a—a thing, for curvy women, but I’m not interested in fulfilling a role in your fantasies,” Your voice was tight now, the words harsh on your tongue, “I want someone interested in me as a person, and that’s not you.”

“Fuck, Miller, you think you’re in a position to make demands like that? You’d be lucky to be with me, and I-”

Santi didn’t let him finish. He came around the corner so abruptly that Dylan, who was standing in the doorway with one hand raised, gesticulating to make his point, froze in surprise before taking an instinctive step backward.

“Who—” He had looked back to you, brows furrowed.

“Don’t look at her,” Santi snapped, his anger coiling within, a storm in motion. He positioned himself in front of you, standing taller and broader than the stranger, and glared down at him. “Don’t speak to her. Get out of our fucking house.”

Dylan met Santi’s gaze, his expression haughty, “Whatever, dude. She’s not even worth it.”

Santi growled as he stepped forward, his fury rising, and Dylan had enough wherewithal to hurriedly back off, rushing to his car and pulling out of the driveway quickly as Santi stood at the door and watched, his breathing ragged. He slammed the door shut when the car drove out of sight.

Images flashed through his mind, some of them surely memories of his days in service; blood and gore, mixed with the thoughts of chasing down Dylan and bashing his skull in. Santi needed to fucking breathe, to work through his anger tactics, but his mind was fuzzy. There was molten hot fury everywhere, and you were right near him, you could see it.

He had to get away from you, close himself in his room, but when he spun around you were standing so close he faltered, watching as the hands you had pressed into your eyes dropped down, and your gaze locked onto his.

He saw the flash of surprise, as you searched his expression. Your eyes travelled, taking in his chopped breathing, the hands in fists at his side. He waited for the inevitable reaction; fear, perhaps you would flinch away, back off and lock yourself in your room—instead, he watched as your expression softened, your bright eyes finding him again, and then you stepped closer.

Directly into his space without any fear.

“Santi, baby, breathe for me,” You whispered it so soothingly, a hand slowly reaching up and gently resting against his cheek, stroking down his jaw. He tried to listen, but the overwhelming mixture of emotions was already threatening to crush him, and now he was in complete shock that you could look at him so sweetly, with such care, when he was showing you his darkness.

He gasped, eyes closing, and then he lost the battle, his panic attack surfacing. He dropped down to his knees like a ton of bricks, hands shooting up to grip at his hair roughly as he leant forward. “Go—please—Little,” He needed you to leave, to not see him like this. Defeated and sinister, he didn’t want you to see everything he worked so hard to hide from you.

You didn’t listen to him, though. Instead of leaving, he felt you maneuver him back so that he was sitting against the wall, your hands firm on him, before dropping to kneel between his legs. “I’m here, Santi. I’m not leaving you,” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, gently encouraging him forward, “Breathe, just breathe.”

Fuck, he couldn’t help himself, he choked out a sob at your words, then buried his face into your neck. He clutched you closer, holding onto you with all of his strength, letting you overwhelm his every sense as he tried to remember how to pull air into his lungs. He could feel your hands on him, one soothing over his back, the other stroking through his hair softly.

“Santi, it’s okay, let it out—you’re safe.”

He could almost laugh at your words, even though they partly did help to calm him because it was you he was worried about. He wanted you to be safe, to be cared for and happy, and here some asshole had upset you and now Santi was having a fucking panic attack because of the anger issues he kept hidden from you.

Knowing he needed to get himself grounded, Santi started to work on the breathing exercise his therapist had given him, focusing his mind on you. He could smell you, sweet and citrusy, feel the softness of your cotton shirt under his calloused fingers, and your voice—it was calming him like nothing else, softly spoken words of comfort spilling from your lips as you held onto Santi.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he was pulling steady breaths into his lungs, and his hold on you loosened. He leaned back, his head resting against the wall behind him, and opened his eyes. You were smiling at him, concern and understanding the only emotions he could read in your expression. “Sorry, Little,” He murmured, his face reddening from humiliation. He’d fucking crumbled in front of you. “Fuck, I haven’t done that in a while.”

“Santi, you don’t need to apologize,” You ran your right hand along his jaw comfortingly, “I understand. Please don’t think I’m judging you, okay?”

Santi met your gaze, “How could you not? I’m a...a fucking disaster. I was ready to...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Ready to smash that asshole’s skull in?” You supplied, your head slightly tilted as you peered at him. When Santi didn’t reply, merely tensing his jaw, you nodded, “You know, you kind of act like you don’t realize I have two older brothers who served with you.”

He gazed at you in confusion, “What does that mean?”

You sighed, settling on the ground between his legs. The whole situation was far too intimate, but he didn’t want to move away from you. “Will and Benny are fucked up too. You know I picked Will up from the police station after his outburst in the grocery store? Michelle left him on his own because she was embarrassed. He gets angry too, still. And Benny is...well, he tries to channel the anger into his fighting, but he gets these flashes. He threw me into a wall earlier this year when I surprised him in the laundry room, and there was a second he was holding me there that I could tell he couldn’t even see it was me.”

Santi leant forward in alarm, “Little, did he hurt—”

You shook your head, cutting him off, “No, Will was there, he pulled him off. And then Benny was a fucking mess, for days. He has nightmares, Will gets into moods, Tom is an asshole. And Frankie is one of my best friends,” You shrugged, “I see the trauma. The guilt, the anger, the sadness. You all think you hide it so well, but you don’t.”

“We hide it to protect you,” He admitted, seeing no reason to lie. He sighed, then took a good look at you. You were casually dressed in jeans and a tee because your office let you dress down on Fridays. You had some smudged mascara under your eyes, which were still watching him with a softness he didn’t understand. “I thought your brothers kept it from you better.”

You laughed lightly, not unkind, “They told themselves that at first. And I’m going to say to you what I did to them, okay?” Your expression turned serious, “I love you. I’m not going anywhere, and your trauma is valid and doesn’t scare me. You don’t scare me, Santi.”

He ran a hand through his hair before taking a hold of yours, dropping his gaze to where his large palm surrounded your little one. His heart was beating wildly now, your words sending him into orbit. “I don’t deserve that, Little. I’m not a good person.”

“Bullshit, Santi. You’re one of the most incredible men I know.”

You leaned forward before he could argue and hugged him again, bringing your forehead to rest against his. Santi caught his breath at the closeness, the intimacy of the gesture, and raised his hands to cup your face. He sensed it then, the tension thick in the air even though you had your eyes closed. When your eyes open again, he hears the way you stop breathing, sees your pupils dilate, and he decides to move—

You jerk away in surprise when there’s a loud banging against the front door, the hand entwined with his own squeezing. “Jesus Christ,” You mumble, getting to your feet carefully. You looked through the peephole. “It’s Benny. I um...asked him to come over and watch a movie when I knew my date wasn’t going to pan out.”

Santi had never been more grateful over an interruption in his life.

—

The Truth Of It

After Santi’s panic attack, his relationship with you only grows closer. He thinks back to before you moved in—to your birthday when you’d still been hesitant and shy around him, and wonders how the last few months could have changed things so quickly. It had started just with texting, somehow escalated to him offering you his spare bedroom, and now you lived with him, spent a lot of your free time with him. You dragged Santi out shopping, and he took you on hikes. You propped your feet on his lap during movies, and he pressed chaste kisses to your forehead at random. Neither of you mentions that brief moment in the hallway, and he’s glad for that.

It wasn’t balanced, he no longer had control of himself. Santi was addicted, properly, to every single moment he found with you. He allowed himself an inch and ended up stretching it miles, and though he knew at some point you would see enough of him and run for the hills, that hadn’t happened yet.

It was like you really enjoyed being around him. He couldn’t understand it.

Tonight was a rare night where he hadn’t seen you. He was sitting at the usual bar with the guys, but you hadn’t joined them because you were out with some friends from work at a fancier bar just up the street. He was listening to Frankie talk about his ex, Elena, and her apparent disinterest in baby Rosie. Benny and Will were discussing his next upcoming fight, and Tom was unusually quiet, though he had made it out tonight which was a first in a while. Santi still thought something was going on with him, but Tom wasn’t talking about it.

“She wants to decrease her custody, make it more of a seventy-twenty thing, which is fine—my mom can watch Rosie when I’m working, but I don’t get what’s going on with her.” Frankie sighed, rapping his knuckles against the wood of the tabletop.

Santi considered for a moment before replying, “I mean, sounds like she might be in a relationship, Fish. She has to disclose that if that person is around Rosie, right?” His friend nodded, “Then I think she wants to focus on that and let you take the baby. But you should make her do it in writing, legally, to be safe.”

“Yeah,” Frankie took a drink, his expression sad. Santi reached out and gripped his arm momentarily, “I just feel awful for RoRo, she doesn’t know it yet but one day she’s going to realize her mother wasn’t very interested in her. And she deserves so much more than just me.”

Santi shook his head, “Come on, man. She’s the luckiest kid, having you as a dad. She has all of us, too. And Little—you know Little will always be there for her.”

Frankie smiled at that, his eyes glancing towards the others before he replied, “How is she, lately? She’s coming over Sunday, spending the day with us. Said she wants to take Ro out for some new clothes and shit.”

“Sounds about right. She’ll probably make you buy new clothes too,” Santi laughed, then shrugged, “She’s been great. I think works been kicking her ass this past week. I’m glad her and her friends are blowing off some steam tonight.”

Frankie gave him a knowing look but made no reply as Benny called their attention. They ended up watching as the Miller brother’s got lucky with a couple of women who had been eyeing their table-saluting Santi, Frankie and Tom as they departed. Tom called it a night shortly after that, his face sombre as he made his way out of the bar.

“Something fucking weird going on with him, I swear,” Frankie murmured, finishing off his beer.

Santi nodded in agreement, but before he could reply he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, glancing at the screen to see your name flashing over the picture you had put there of Steve Carrell in the office screaming. He answered quickly, concerned as to why you’d be calling him, “Little?”

“Is this Santi?” A female voice that wasn’t yours questioned.

“Yeah, who is this?”

“This is Carly, I work with Miller—she um, is super wasted and you’re the most recent contact in her texts and I know you live together. Can you maybe pick her up?” The woman speaking sounded slurred herself.

Santi looked at Frankie, who was watching him curiously, “Yes, I’ll come and get her now, I’m just down the street.”

“Perfect, she’s here somewhere—hold on—“ The phone cut off abruptly and he swore.

Frankie leaned forward, “What was that?”

“Gotta go get Little, apparently she’s drunk.”

“Wow,” He stood, each of them tosses bills onto the table to pay their tab. “She never drinks much. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drunk.”

Santi nodded, following Frankie outside into the cool evening, “She had a rough week. I’m going to just jog up and get her, I should be able to get her to my car.”

Frankie hesitated, “You sure?” When he waved him off, Fish grinned before wishing him goodnight and walking to his truck.

Santi hurried up the road, the sidewalk busy with people outside smoking or wandering around the busy downtown, pubs and restaurant all full to the brim because it was Friday night. When he came upon the bar you were at, he spotted you straight away outside, standing awkwardly, giggling as you leaned into your friend. A second friend stood with you both, a guy he recognized from some of the pictures you had in your room—Rahul, another coworker.

Rahul spotted Santi and grinned widely, rolling his eyes as he approached, “Literally she never drinks this much and now she’s a disaster,” He shook Santi’s hand, his dark eyes friendly and, clearly sober. “I’m the DD, but I have to take this fool home and she lives the complete other direction, so thanks for coming to get Miller.”

He gestured at Carly, who noticed and tugged away from you, throwing her arms around Rahul’s shoulders, “You smell pretty, Ra!” She giggled, and he shot Santi a look.

Santi glanced away from him, laughing, to check on you as you adjusted the little purse you had. When you glanced up at him, your bright eyes hilariously bright and watery, he couldn’t help but notice how fucking beautiful you looked. You were wearing a pretty green dress the hugged you in all the right ways, falling down mid-thigh, and he had to swallow heavily. “Hey, Little, how you doing honey?”

“SANTI!” You cheered, hopping toward him suddenly, and he caught you carefully. You giggled, “My hero is here! Goodbye, my carriage awaits!” You waved frantically at Rahul and Carly, and Santi shot them both a smile before hooking his arm under yours, stooping slightly to help you walk.

“You’re hero, eh?” He chuckled, taking his time walking you so that you didn’t trip. You were walking fairly well with his help, though your eyes were fixed on your feet pretty intensely.

“My best friends, Santi and Frankie, handsome hero’s!” You replied happily. Frowning at your feet, your eyes begin blinking slowly and he can see you look pretty tired.

Santi helped you into his car, careful to tuck your dress in, then had to lean over you to help with your seatbelt. You smelled like margaritas, and he briefly wondered if you tasted of them as well. He shook the thought from his head. “You gives us too much credit, Little.” He clipped you in and drew back, finding you watching him.

You pouted, “Always so serious!” You prodded the middle of his forehead and he stepped back, laughing slightly as he closed the door.

He pulled away from the curb, glancing at you every few moments to make sure you weren’t going to throw up. Rahul had been right, you never drank this much—he had never seen you drunk before, so he wasn’t sure how well you would handle it. When you leant forward suddenly, he looked at you in a panic, only to find you were making a face as you brought your arms into the sleeves of your dress, as if you were going to take it off.

“Jesus Christ, Little, what are you doing?”

You fidgeted another moment, “This fucking thing,” You mumbled, a soft sigh spilling from your lips and he realized you were unclipping your bra. A moment later, your arms reappeared and you were tugging your bra out from the front of your dress, the pale pink lace landing on his passenger side floor. “Oh god, that’s so much better!” You whined, leaning back in your seat.

Instantly, his eyes fell to your chest and then he was jerking his gaze away, chiding himself angrily even as the heat rose in his face—fuck, you had nice tits. Bra or no bra, they were perfect; but seeing the way they pushed against the thin fabric of your dress, nipples pebbled, drove him wild. He refused to look your way again for the rest of the ride home, angry at himself for checking you out.

When he pulled into the driveway and parked the car, you were quiet next to him. He wonders as he’s coming around the car if you had fallen asleep, and when he opens your door he finds you blinking one eye at a time, close to passing out. “Come on Princesa, let’s get you to bed.” He helps you out of the car, guides you to the door.

“Mmm, I love when you call me that,” You say, and he falters as he pulls out his keys, glancing down at you in surprise. You’re looking down again, trying to keep your balance, “Princesa, yeah.” You yawn then, loud and obnoxious and even though his heart is nearly flatlining, he manages to chuckle at you, refocusing on his efforts to get you inside.

You were very drunk, it didn’t mean anything.

It took some time, but soon enough he had you on your bed, reclined into your pillows, and brought you a glass of water. You drank it almost greedily, bleary eyes gazing at him and he could only watch you, the way your throat moved as you swallowed, the flush in your cheeks. His phone chimed with a text then, but he didn't pull it out to look. He wanted to get you settled first.

“Alright, do you need anything else? Feel okay?”

“Mmhm,” You nodded, laying down on your side. Santi crouched next to the bed and smiled at you. “You’re so handsome.”

Fuck you were too sweet. Too goddamn cute. “Thanks, Little,” He laughed, patting your arm gently before moving to stand, his knees protesting slightly.

You reached out for his hand, stopping him from leaving, and Santi glanced at you in concern. “I gotta tell you something.” You blinked again, your eyes opening and he saw an odd expression on your face, a mixture of sadness and anger, trepidation.

Santi sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning, “What is it?” His phone chimed again and he pulled it out, glancing at the screen without reading the messages, though he saw they were from Tom.

“Wasn’t going to tell you...or anyone.” You replied, your voice now small.

“You can tell me anything, Little.”

“Promise you won’t be angry?”

Santi stared at you a moment, now entirely on edge, but he took a deep breath and gave you a reassuring smile, “Princesa, I promise.” He gives your hand a little squeeze and watches as you seem to consider your words.

After a moment, you look up at Santi with wide eyes, “He said he didn’t mean to get carried away, but I told him to back off. He kissed me and I told him to stop and then his hands were...all over me, and he told me I was gorgeous and he should have done it sooner.”

Santi’s entire body went rigid as you spoke, alarms going off in his mind. He’s not sure how he found the ability to speak but his voice came out eerily calm. “Little, who did this? What happened?”

You sat up slightly, “When we went out for the bookshelves. Afterward, we were in his truck and he came onto me. He kissed me and felt me up and I ended up jabbing him in the ribs and got out of the truck. He said he was sorry after. That he’s a mess. Am I just a mistake for everyone, Santi? Am I nothing?”

Your voice broke, tears splashing down your cheeks as you revealed this horrifying news to him, the liquor loosening your tongue to a truth you had been hiding for too long. Santi was hot with fury, but your tears prevented it from taking over—he needed to comfort you. Protect you.

He needed to hear you say the name.

“Princesa, tell me right now, who did this? I need you to tell me who attacked you.”

You sobbed, launching yourself into Santi’s arms and he clutched you close, his heart both beating rapidly and simultaneously shattering as your pain unleashed. “He said he was sorry. Tom, it was Tom.”

Santi’s phone chimed again, and he looked at the screen to see another message come in from Tom.

‘I fucked up, Pope. Really fucked up.’

Taglist

@yourbucky084 @rrtxcmt @goldielocks2004 @ubri812 @0callme-mimi @goblinsimp @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711 @ladydmalfoy @evyiione @meanperegrine

[ohmsjedi]

𝘞𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘞𝘦 𝘎𝘰

𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘧𝘧𝘦 𝘹 𝘎𝘕 𝘑𝘦𝘥𝘪!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Summary: Jedi padawan reader experiences the events before and after Order 66.  

Warnings: Angst, violence, death, injury. 

Word Count: 6,296

Today was no different from the others, but on this specific occasion you felt off. The lack luster of pride, confidence, and tranquility was no doubt obvious to the legion. You were just unable to correspond or focus normally as per usual.

You stood and observed the planet Cato Neimodia from the docking station. Soldiers were scattered around tending to transport ships and various other Z-95 Starfighters that needed more modifications before departure.

The whole reason to you feeling this way was because this was your last mission with the men, alongside master Plo. Your future afterwards would lye in the hands of the Jedi council.

You begged the stars that the Jedi council wouldn’t screw you over. Then again, anything is possible. Whether it be good or bad, there’s always an outcome to everything.

The sounds of beeps caused you to look away from the planet. Tilting your head down, your astromech droid, EV-9E, circled around you, making noises to get your attention. You smiled down at the chipped grey and white droid, then squatted down to be eye level with it.

“What took you so long?” You curiously asked the droid as it made unamused beeps. You placed a hand on its dome, and raised an eyebrow as the droid continued to make unsatisfied noises. EV then opened up one of its compartments where your hand was placed, causing you to retract your hand away. The droid broke out into even more angry beeps.

"I know, I know, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. I can’t bring you on this mission and that’s final" the droid wheeled back and twisted its head around, even teetering from one leg to the other, almost like a youngling having a temper tantrum.

"You've been around Artoo too much" you joked. EV stopped and wheeled up to you with a bit of force and bumped into your knees, nearly knocking you off your feet. You haltered the droid by putting your hand up in front of you and glared at it.

"Fine fine" you readjusted your position, now in a kneeling stance "You can prepare my ship-” EV started to beep happily “but I'm not promising that I'll need it" you gave EV a pointed look. EV ignored your words and continued to beep happily as it turned away from you and headed straight to the sector where your ship resided untouched.

"Blasted droids never’ listen" you rolled your eyes at the gruff voice and stood up from the ground, turning your whole body around, now facing an unhelmeted Wolffe.

"Not to you of course" you quipped, folding your arms and cocking your head to the side "I take it you're still not over the whole fiasco with Artoo and 3PO" you teased as you gave Wolffe a sly smile.

Wolffe scoffed and took his helmet from his right arm and switched it to his left. Keeping his eyes focused on the ground, he pushed his slightly cupped right hand towards you. You moved closer to him, eyeing the object in his hand curiously, he shook his hand a little, a sign to take it. With delicate fingers, you took the now obvious rounded pendant into your hand, the chain dangling down and grazing the back of your hand softly. 

Carefully, you untangled the chain and held it up in front of you, the chain swayed, and gleamed from the lights above. Your eyes softened, you rested the pendent in your hand, bringing it closer to your face for further inspection. The pendant had a small engrave of what you assumed looked similar to the packs logo. Your finger lightly traced over the engraved markings, the small pendent feeling cool underneath your fingertip.  

"An elderly native gave it to me as a thank you gift for helping them recover most of their belongings of what they presumed was lost during our relief mission." you looked away from the pendent and looked at Wolffe "They said it was made out of beskar, and recommended I gift it to someone who was worthy of having it" Wolffe met your eyes, and you smiled at him. For a moment, you felt like the luckiest person to coexist, then that quickly subsided. Your face faltered, having the mindset of being unworthy of a gift from him, especially something as rare as beskar. 

“It’s beautiful Wolffe...but I just can’t-”

“Cyare this gift is meant for you and only you” Wolffe froze, his eyes widening a little from the small slip up. He blinked a couple of times before clearing his throat “What I mean is...this is a gift of gratitude, from me to you. Take it as a thank you for allowing me to serve alongside you”

You opened your mouth before closing it, Wolffe gave you a sincere and honest look. You nodded and graced a small grin on your face.

“Thank you for this, and it was an honor serving alongside you” Wolffe felt his heart ache, feeling as everything was coming to an end so soon. 

Originally, he wasn’t planning on gifting the necklace to you this early on. A unsure master Plo had mentioned to him that you would take a separate ship to meet with master Yoda on Kashyyyk after fending off the separatists on Cato Neimodia.

Once Wolffe received this information, he had no other choice but to force himself to give you the necklace on short notice. He was just worried that he wouldn’t have another opportunity like this to give it to you.

“Wolffe I have to ask you something“ Wolffes brows raised at you, he examined your face noticing how you seemed hesitant. You fiddled with the necklace in your hand, now starting to feel anxious.

“That is?” He drawled as he gripped onto his helmet tighter. 

Confrontation was never your thing, out in battle it was different. Being faced to face with someone alone and away from prying eyes was more of a nerve wrecking experience then expected.

“I was curious about-“ The call of both of your names caused you both to turn your heads towards the direction of the recipient. Plo made his way across the hanger as he looked between the two of you. Wolffe was quick to stand at attention, fixing his posture and clutching onto his bucket.

Plo stopped in front of you both.

“Commander Wolffe, I would like you to begin boarding protocols to your men”

“Yes general” Wolffe placed his helmet on top of his head and made way towards his comrades that were wondering around. Your eyes followed Wolffes retreating figure, then soon you looked back towards your Master.

“Nervous I sense” Plo held his hands behind him as he continued to take in your force signature. 

“Just a little, but I’ll get over it” you shrugged and gazed down at the chain that was peaking out of your hand.

“No need to torture yourself with your worries of the Jedi councils decision. I for one know that you’ll make a fine Jedi knight” You bit the inside of your cheek and held onto the necklace a little bit tighter.

“But if they were to disagree, I’ll be sure to reconcile and talk with the Jedi masters in hopes of making them reconsider their choices, which I doubt is something I’ll have to do.” You nodded and kept your head low.

“Rest assure you’ll be just fine. Then again, if you can’t get over your nerves by the time you reach the bridge, just stick with the pack and if you have to, hold position till you feel okay, then do so” You took Plos words into consideration before mumbling a ‘yes master’.

“May I?” Plo pointed towards the Beskar necklace in your hand, you nodded and carefully handed it to him and turned around. Plo unclasped the chain and carefully placed it around your neck, in just a few seconds the hook was successfully secured into the eye clasp. He then let the ends go and backed a few steps away from you. You turned back around and thanked him.

“I’m surprised that you were able to do it so fast”

“Well, I did come to know two younglings who were very infatuated with necklaces during their youth” Plo grinned to himself, remembering both a young you and a young Ahsoka.

Plos comm link went off signaling that it was almost time to depart from the Venators hangar. Plo looked at you one last time and gave you a small nod.

“I trust you that the center bridge will be secured by the time we’ve finished off the separatists fleet?” Plo raised his brow bones up at you

“Yes master, we will be sure to secure the bridge and escort any remaining citizens to safety” you fixed your posture, now feeling a bit more confident than you originally were. Plo rested a hand on your shoulder.

“Good luck y/n, I’ll see you on the grounds before you know it.” Plo retracted his hand away from your shoulder “Be sure to watch out for the men” Plo turned around and walked the opposite direction to where the fleet and his ship were.

You brought up your hand and took the pendent in between your thumb and pointer finger, feeling the engraved logo. You looked over towards master Plo one last time before turning around and heading towards the LA/AT ships.

From a distance Boost eyes followed your walking figure, he turned his head to Wolffe who kept his head down.

“You didn’t tell them...did you?” Even if Wolffe couldn’t see Boost's face, he knew his vod was a bit disappointed.

“No...I didn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to confess the way I originally planned to.” Wolffe said in a hushed tone. Sinker patted Wolffes back, providing a bit of comfort for his commander. 

“It’s alright vod, you’ll get your chance another time” Wolffe sighed and clenched his fists as he adjusted his posture. 

As you got closer to them, Wolffe was quick to move towards the LA/AT. Boost and Sinker shook their heads as they watched a retreating and irritated Wolffe bored the ship. Once you arrived, they were all quick to greet you while boarding alongside them.

You watched as the fleet took their departure, you blindly reached up and grabbed a hold of the handle bar. The ships blast doors closed slowly, the red emergency lights turned on, casting a red hue inside. You stared at the ship's door, it was too quiet for your liking. Only the sounds of your rapid heartbeat thrumming and a few feet scuffing on the ground.

Oh how you disliked these moments where everything felt so tense and the air seemed so thin. It was always you who started small talk with your comrades before and during transportation. But you couldn’t bring yourself to it.

You were just a mess.

The small rocking of the transport ship signaled that you were taking off. You clutched the handle a bit tighter to prevent yourself from losing balance, but also a way to keep you mentally grounded.

***

Entering into the Cato Neimodias atmosphere was a rough start. Explosions caused the ship to have minor turbulence, you all stumbled and clung onto the handles, even grabbing onto one another’s shoulder for balance. You quickly let go of the handle and latched onto the side of the ship next to the blast door. 

The door you were next to slid open, you squinted your eyes from the reveal of the harsh lighting. Once your eyes adjusted, you poked your head out, observing as launched missiles had either bypassed transport ships or exploded mid-air.

One particular missile headed straight towards one of the transport ships, reaching your hand out, you made the missile take a detour before it could strike down the LA/AT.

The closer you got to the surface, various Starfighters and separatist ships had zoomed past. As soon as the center bridge's ground was in view you turned your head and signaled to Wolffe with a simple finger gesture, he nodded and grabbed hold of his pistols while the others adjusted their blasters.

You moved closer to the opening, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Adrenaline pumped full speed through your veins, your heart beating at an unnatural rate. With one last final examination of the battle below, you quickly jumped out of the ship and landed elegantly on your feet. 

Before any of the droids could turn around, you slashed through them with your blue lightsaber and pushed forward.

You continued to block blaster fire and as soon as you got closer to a few more droids, you raised your hand up, bringing the droids up with it and quickly formed your hand into a fist causing the droids to short circuit and crush into pieces.

Once the LA/AT ships landed, troopers were quick to get into fighting formation. Commander Wolffe, Boost, Sinker, and a few new recruits were quick to catch up with you as you deliberately blocked and slashed through various droids. The clustered together buildings on the bridge made the battle more difficult to move around and correlate properly.

You’re wondering eyes stopped on the sight of a tank moving foreword in the distance, no doubt preparing to strike. Everyone seemed to have noticed the distinct blue colored tank on the front lines of the separatists side.

You and your small group took cover behind a building right before a cannon blast had collided into the ground. You watched as a building crumbled, causing a few troops to yell out and take cover.

“So much for mild destruction” Boost shrugged his shoulders while Sinker snickered as he gripped onto his blaster rifle.

You peeked over the side of the building, glancing around for any potential advantage points. Your eyes landed on explosive barrels that were planted just near the active tank.

“Wolffe could you maybe fire a few shots at those barrels” you gestured your head in the direction of the explosives. Wolffe shifted in his spot, nearly leaning over you to get a look at the explosives.

Wolffe retreated backwards to avoid the possibility of being shot at “Will do” he nodded his head and positioned himself, focusing for a moment before firing a single blaster bolt, triggering the explosive barrels.

The tank exploded, alongside a few droids that were close by. With the tank gone, this gave you all a much greater advantage.

“I’m gonna lead first, I just need you and your men to cover me till I reach the center of the city” you turned your head towards the group of six. Boost and Sinker glanced at each other while the shines titled their heads in question. Wolffe raised his eyebrows slightly, his helmet raising up a bit which you instantly could tell he was about to scold you.

“Are you crazy? That’s suicide! You could-“

“I’m well aware Commander, but now is not the time to be arguing about this! Causing anymore destruction to the city, especially on a bridge, is the last thing we want to do” your eyebrows knitted together as you looked at his visor.

“Likewise, I trust you all with my life! Just this once, for the sake of the mission, follow my orders” Wolffe stared at you, he was indeed concerned for your safety, but he was a good soldier. Good soldiers followed orders.

He tilted his head down before nodding in approval “Fine. We’ll be sure to cover you” your face relaxed, you grinned at him before you turned away from the group and continued onward.

“That’s a Jedi for you” Boost half-heartedly joked while observing his commander who he could tell was internally worrying himself.

“Tell me about it” Wolffe grumbled before pressing down on the public comm link channel.

You heard faint orders from Wolffe telling the others through his comm to cover you as you proceed to clear out the rest of the way while they trailed behind you, making sure to finish off whatever you left untouched.

As the attack on the ground continued, the droids slowly started to retreat back, losing more ground as you and your men continued to take down all protocol droids, and various other commando droids. That high peak of adrenaline was quickly cut short

One of the various ships from the sky spiraled downwards causing Wolffe to yell out to ‘take cover’. You were quick to move out of the way of the crash landing ship. The impact caused a huge explosion, leading to various debris to fly around, damaging clustered buildings even more. After the explosion subsided, it was an obvious indication that the ship had caused a blockade, dividing you from the rest of the troops.

“Y/n are you alright?” You heard Wolffe shout from the other side of the crashed ship, you took a quick glance behind you and noticed droids coming your way. You snapped your head back towards the ship's direction, you cupped your hands around your mouth:

“I’m alright! Just find another way around!” You quickly ignited your lightsaber and heard a faint ‘yes sir’

Using your force sprint, you launched yourself off of a nearby crate. Having landed much closer to the enemy line, you reached your hand out and pushed half of the droids backwards, causing them to pile on top of each other.

You reached out to one of the battle droids and pulled it towards you, making sure to impale it with your blade. Once done, you discarded the battle droid by forcefully pushing it towards an oncoming group of droids, knocking them all off of their feet. You dodged multiple blaster bullets, before exterminating the remaining droids that were left.

You looked around, making sure there were no more droids. Sure enough there weren’t any around you. Looking briefly up at the sky you watched in awe as your master perfectly piloted his starfighter, taking out countless separatist ships alongside the fleet. You admired for just a moment, reminiscing on all the fond memories you had being raised and taught by Plo.

Emotional attachments were unacceptable in the Jedi order, but when it came to the people you truly cared about, it didn’t matter to you. You were not ashamed to accept that Plo Koon took on the mantle of a fatherly figure. If it weren’t for his kindness and his heart, you would’ve been nothing but a heartless, uneducated individual.

You were grateful for him being the man that you knew you could rely on.

Your body had suddenly flinched. A slow aching pain in your head started to form. You brought one hand up against the side of your head and pressed your fingers down. The sounds of incoherent yelling, conflict, and raw emotion was overriding your senses.

Suddenly everything stopped.

Your face was scrunched up in confusion as you wondered what that strange encounter was.

A shiver ran down your spine. The small act made you realize how unbalanced the force had become. Your eyebrows raised. You quickly looked up at the sky, and witnessed in horror as your masters ship was being shot at.

Your eyes widened and you started to panic as one of your own fleets pilot got a direct hit on Plos ships wing.

Your eyes stared blankly at the receding ship as it crashed into one of the cities towers right where the blockade was located. Your breath hitched, as you slowly walked backwards, now feeling terrified.

Your body shook unnaturally, unable to process the scene right before your eyes. Your bottom lip quivered, you looked down at your hand that was holding your lightsaber hilt, watching as it shook. Your instinct to fight and survive kicked in.

One faint nearby voice caused you to start sprinting towards the opposite direction. Yells had erupted and soon all hell broke loose.

You were stuck in a crossfire.

Pressing down on your comm link, you input your coordinates and sent them instantly to your droid. You brought your comm link close to your mouth and started urging your droid to start dispatching from the hanger.

“EV, I need you to autopilot the ship and come to my coordinates now!” You activated your lightsaber and skidded to a halt.

If it’ll take time for your ship to arrive, then you surely would make time.

The first initial sighting of one of the troopers, you quickly reached out towards a convenient stand and threw it towards the direction of the soldier. Knocking him and a few others that trailed behind him down.

Blaster fire soon erupted and you worked quickly by blocking and dodging. Every so often you’d notice a stray object at the corner of your eye and threw it towards their direction.

You knew you wouldn’t last for long with just continuously blocking blaster fire and throwing objects at them. You had to work quick before all odds were lost.

What worried you the most was how familiar they all were with how you fought and your infamous strategies. They knew how fast you could think and work which took them little to no time to adjust to your fast pace.

With your complete focus on the enemy in front of you, you completely casted aside your focus behind you.

A fiery graze against your bicep caused you to hiss and your hand holding your lightsaber faltered as another blaster fire grazed your wrist. You made a quick glance to the side and noticed Wolffe and a few other troopers forging their way towards you.

You backed up, continuing to dodge and block as much blaster fire as you could keeping hasty eyes to keep track of your vulnerable points. As soon as you nearly backed up into an abandoned barrier you gave yourself a boost with the force and did a backflip over it, landing right behind it.

Quickly gaining your balance on your feet, you threw both your hands out in front of you and forced pushed the barrier towards the troopers. The screeching metal against the pavement made you grimace at the ear-wrenching noise.

The ends of the metal barrier scraped against the nearby buildings; the buildings crumbled and collapsed into debris. The impact against the pavement caused a mixture of dirt and particles to fly in the air. One accidental inhale and you started coughing violently.

You wavered your hand in front of your face to shoo away the mixture, you scanned the perimeter and quickly turned around, continuing on your way.

You were nearly coming to the end of the giant rock arc, as it became more prominent in size. Fast winds soon started to pick up, now bringing in the atmospheres dense fog.

The motivation to survive turned futile. All you were doing at this point was wasting your energy, using up all your stamina. Everything in training felt like it was thrown out in space. You were unable to control your breathing, you continued to be reckless by using force techniques that were far more advanced and out of your radar.

The sound of your comm link beeping made you look down at your forearm. EV had sent a signal that the ship had just reached the atmosphere. You quickly imputed your new coordinates and sent the signal to your droid.

The fog had settled in, completely covering the whole area of the bridge. You listened around carefully, the sounds of the howling wind breezing by.

You clutched onto your saber, thumb already placed on the ignition pulse. You backed up slowly and carefully avoiding the rubble on the ground. The sound of metal scraping against the pavement made your eyes move around frantically.

You naturally synced into your fighting stance, preparing for the un-proclaimed attack. A gust of wind blew over your face, the cold stinging your skin. You continued to shuffle backwards cautiously, trying to pinpoint the enemy.

A sudden arm wrapped around your neck, causing you to gasp. On instinct you brought both of your hands up to the armored arm, and started to pry at the hold.

“Enough Jedi scum” the voice seethed, your eyes widened at the familiar gruff voice. Wolffe quickly brought his pistol towards the side of your head. You let one hand go of his arm, bringing it up towards his hand that held the pistol. You forcefully pushed against the pistols body, knocking it right out of his hand.

The small act caused Wolffe to become distressed as he struggled to maintain a decent hold on you. Making quick moves, you gripped onto his arm that was wrapped around your neck. You moved your body slightly forward, now handling his full body mass on your back, you body slammed him to the ground. His helmet had flung off of his head, discarded somewhere off to the side.

Wolffe yelped at the impact, he blindly moved his hand on the pavement, attempting to find his discarded pistol. You kicked the nearby pistol away from arms reach and stared blankly down at your commander.

He grimaced and glared up at you, distaste coursed through his system, his one good eye showing nothing but pure hatred. His chest rose up and down frantically.

In a situation like this, you’d feel proud of yourself. But this was reality.

He jutted up, quickly you stuck your hand out in front of you and pushed him back down to the ground with the force. Wolffe attempted to move his body, but to no avail he was unable to budge.

“I’ll kill you, I’ll kill each and everyone of you Jedi!” your hand that you were using started to shake. You felt the beskar pendent press against your chest, feeling as if it was burning a hole through your skin.

“Why? Why are you doing this to us? To me?” You whispered the last part to yourself. You studied Wolffes face, as his forehead creases became more prominent.

“Good soldiers follow orders” chills ran down your spine as you continued to watch Wolffe struggle underneath the force hold. The last strand of hope you held onto for dear life finally snapped.

You were mortified. Your stomach churned at the thought of how little time it took for them to change their motives on the both of you. Why? Why was this happening? You wished you could cry and scream out in anger, but now wasn’t the time.

The recognizable sounds of your starfighters engine became more distinct and loud. Looking up you noticed as your starfighter broke through the dense fog. You almost sighed in relief before gunships followed suite, attempting to gun down your ship.

In one swift move, you wavered your hand to the side, Wolffes whole body slid towards the direction your hand went. His plastoid armor scrapping against the duracrete.

Your feet moved on their own as you ran from the pilots blaster fire. Heat creeped up upon the back of your neck as more shots were fired down on the ground. Your frantic eyes observed as your starfighter had made a loop under the first bridge.

Your feet had sped up, your legs ached and the muscles burned.

Once you were close to the side edge of the bridge, anxiety and doubt started to cloud your mind. You shook the thoughts away as best as you could and dived off the bridge with no hesitation.

Falling felt so slow. The tension and the wind wavered against your body. You closed your eyes to calm yourself, keeping your attention on the distant engines coming closer.

You opened your eyes, and reached your hand out as your ship dived down with you, keeping a decent distances away from you. You pulled yourself towards the open hatch of the ship, your fingertips barely grazing the rim of the hatch. Continuing to reach, your fingertips soon got a hold of the rim; you laid your hand flat on the matrix armor and held on with a death grip as you struggled to bring your other hand to grasp the ring.

Maneuvering your body quickly, you got into the cockpit and closed the hatch. Pressing a few buttons you grabbed a hold of the steering handles and took over the starfighter.

Fighter ships soon trailed behind you, erupting in blaster fire.

“Shake them off of me EV” you flipped a switch and your droid whirled it’s head around and took over the small blaster cannon that was attached to the underside of the ship.

Your fingers quickly grazed over the small screen, blindly you input random coordinates to a random sector, one that you knew would be far away from the republic based planets.

Pulling back the steering handles, your ship pulled up fast. The dense fog soon engulfed your whole perimeter, small drops of water tapped violently against the viewport as the ship started to increase in speed. You’d managed to lose most of the enemy ships in the fog besides one.

Explosions erupted right next to your ship, shaking the entirety of the vessel violently. The flashing lights blinding you for a split second. Beeps started to alarm, signaling an oncoming missile was locked on your ship.

You embraced yourself and turned the stirring handles to one side, your ship soon started rotate at a fast pace. At the last minute, you made a loop over the ship that was in back of you and quickly went back in front of it. The tactic worked and the missile had struck the fighter ship that was trailing behind you. The impact had caused you to jolt forward and the ship shook while you successfully made it out of the planets atmosphere.

Those on the ground, were unable to tell if you were desecrated or escaped.

A now helmeted Wolffe stared up at the fogged sky, watching as a small flicker of light cascaded for a second before fading into nothing.

“Sir, there’s been no word from the piloting fleet as for the whereabouts of the Jedi’s ship” Wolffe looked towards Sinker before looking back at the foggy atmosphere.

“Tell the others to call off the search for now, we’ll be sure to hunt down the Jedi until they’re executed under Order 66” Wolffe walked off towards the remaining transport ships that were left unoccupied on the bridge.

Wolffe glanced over to the side, observing as his men inspected the remains of Plo Koons ship to assure the Jedi’s death was a success.

There was faint ache in his heart that he easily ignored. He turned away and continued to the transport ships.

****

You adjusted the rods of wood, and forced them down into the ground to keep them stable. The small fire crackled, the source of light wavering and illuminating the small shelter you made.

You landed on some unknown planet and were fortunate enough to have found few scraps of material near your location. You let out a soft huff as you sat down on the ground underneath the tarp. You wrapped your robes around you tighter, feeling a small gust of wind overpass your face and exposed skin.

The planet was cold and quiet, only sounds of a few chirps from birds in the distance and rustles from the trees. Your arm and shoulder blade hurt, all from the blaster fire that had managed to get a snag at your body.

You had no medical equipment, no bacta patches, nothing. You worried that your wounds would get infected if they weren’t treated anytime soon.

Carefully, you slid your robes off your body, alongside your top. You shivered at the contact the cool wether made with your upper bodies skin. The tank top that you left on did nothing to help with the cold.

You tore a long strip of fabric off your lose white ribboned tabard. You eyed the length of the fabric before wrapping it around your left side bicep. You winced at the uncomfortable contact the fabric made, it rubbed lightly against the blaster wound that was still oozing blood.

Tightly securing it with a decent knot, you ripped another piece with the same length and wrapped it around your dominate hands wrist. You grimaced at the irritating sting, your wrist hurt more than your bicep. You carefully put back on your robe, not bothering to secure it around you.

Letting out a shaky sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

Your eyes gazed down at the small fire, heat barely radiating from the flames. You brought your legs up to your chest and hugged them. EV beeped more quieter as the astromech droid wheeled up to you.

“We’re not going home EV” your voice was hushed, nearly cracking. EV beeped lowly, shifting to stand on its two legs. “Yeah bud...it’s over. Theres nothing for us to go back to...not unless we want to be killed like the others” you turned your head towards EV, placing a hand on its dome before retreating it back to pull at your robes. You sat quietly for a moment, thinking over thousands of thoughts that were running through your head. 

“Everything we’ve been through...the losses, the near death experiences....we did it all for nothing.” You whispered to yourself, accepting your once overthought ideology that the Jedi were bound to fall to ruins at some point. But not in a million lightyears did you ever think the jedi would end like this. 

You gently rubbed at your temples to sooth the small headache. EV opened up one of its panels, outstretching one of its tools. A blue hue started to illuminate, broadcasting one of the voice files that your droid commonly used for decoding or recording private messages.

The conversation had started off quiet. You were almost incapable of interpreting the words correctly, which you guessed that during the time of the recording, your droid was far off in distance from whoever the recipients were.

“You plan on giving the beskar pendent to them?” Your head slightly perked up, relishing at the familiar voice you could pinpoint out of all the clones.

“Yes...may not be much, but it’s all I can offer” there was a faint cling. On instinct, you brought your hand up to the pendent that rested against your chest.

You shut your eyes, squeezing them before burying your face into your hands. Curling into yourself more, you adjusted your hood over your head, and laid down on your un-injured side. A small piece of cloth was the only thing separating you from the dirt and blotched grass.

“I’m sure it will be enough for them. Besides, what that pendent is made out of is worth more then our own lives.” your eyes stayed glued to the fire as you continued to listen to the voice memo.

“I’m just worried that the gift won’t...benefit the both of us” Wolffe sighed to himself, feeling frustrated and conflicted from however he was feeling.

“It takes time Wolffe, you just need to have more patience’s, be more understanding of people instead of getting irritated and irrational over the simplest things” Comet studied Wolffes face, watching as his features softened before his brows creased together.

“Still, what can you do? A clone and a soon to be jedi knight going against the republics law and having secret retaliations together? We could both get in trouble, even worse, we can both get exiled which is the last thing I want to do” Wolffe stared down at the ground, compressing his human emotions. Comet shook his head and glanced to the side before looking back at Wolffe.

“I’d recommend you give it to them, even if you’re heavily influenced by wanting to be the best commander you can be. Then again, most rules are meant to be broken to help you improve and grow as a person” it was silent for a moment before Comet continued on “Plus their droid may just as well confess for you” Wolffe looked at Comet, then turned his head, witnessing as your droid retreated back to the hanger.

The audio files soon stopped playing, everything fell silent, just the sounds of the wind and the fire crackling. You blinked away your tears and looked at EV who beeped sadly.

“So that’s why you were late and Wolffe complained about you?” you said softly, gracing a sad smile on your lips before the corner of your lips turned down once more.

The real meaning behind the gift felt like a punch in the gut. It hurt. Terribly. It was worth more than simple admiration or representation of a ‘thank you’. There was much more behind the necklace then what was explained.

But what hurt more was the horrendous heartbreak and betrayal. The only people that you ever trusted and loved were gone. Plo, the only man you’d ever cherished and looked up to was wiped out of existence. The men you worked alongside with that you cared for wanted you dead. And Wolffe, Wolffe was a much more sensitive topic.

You were alone. You were alone and you’ve never felt more useless your whole entire life.

“I just wish we had more time” you murmured quietly to yourself, feeling as your eyes watered in mockery. You shut your eyes and a warm tear slid over the side of your nose and fell. Your tired and sore body ached for rest. Distant thunder rumbled, the noises seamlessly getting closer every minute.

The muffled noise lulled you into slumber as you snuggled into your robes even more.

The least you could do for yourself is rest one last time.

A/N: i wanted to create an experience with a genuine order 66 approach. since not much of the planets city was described, i had to do a bit of tweaking and research during the time to get it as accurate as possible. as you can tell i tried my best to write some action and i hope it fulfilled the standards. overall i hope it made up for my absences and broke your heart.

with love,

- 𝔈 🤍

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

Could I request a wesker x reader where the reader confronts wesker in the lab under the mansion and the reader confesses that they love them and that they see weskers kind heart? Then the reader pushes wesker out of the way from getting impaled by the tyrant and gets impaled themself? Little angst with wesker rushing to get the reader out of the lab? Maybe a happy ending with them recovering?? I know this probably might sound strange but it’s a little idea I’ve had brewing in my head and I’d love to see what you’d do with it?? If not that’s okay, I love your work!! Thank you!!!

This is so sweet anon 😢 im up to it and thanks for the prompt. Hope you’ll like it. Idk what type of reader you wanted so i put a GN. Also if it's too cheesy tell me. (by dm or another anon ask)

The mansion incident (Albert Wesker x GN!Reader)

Warnings: fluff, a little angst

Y/N made her way to the lab. All the puzzles and the other chain of events lead them to this moment, to this underground lab, but one thing was for sure: whoever was behind all of these was there was probably there, even is there is a small chance.

The doors of the elevator opened and they put their fingers on the trigger, ready to shoot whatever was in their sight. They felt a cold shiver going down their spine as they watched the surrounding. The air was cold, and alongside the smell of rotten flesh there was also a strong scent of meds. Bodies were laying around, barely recognisable. You couldn’t tell the difference between human and beast anymore.

Y/N came across another clue. Throughout the many pictures of the monsters they fought, they found a picture of the ones responsible for this. Their body froze, the world stopped, their surroundings felt unreal. Among the scientists they spotted the same figure who swore to protect his team and the citizens on the inauguration day. The same figure who left them ammo and supplies in this hell and who somehow brought a glimmer of hope. Their captain, Albert Wesker, was standing proudly in the first row, wearing the same sunglasses and the same arrogant smug.

They felt worthless, weak. They realised their fallen comrades were just failed experiments. They blinked many times while starring at the picture, and every time they open their eyes they hope the captain would disappear. But no, he was there, and his smirk grew bigger and bigger.

Y/N was walking without a direction. It was obvious their captain didn't want them to survive, so why fight against it? He was smarter and cunning, there was no way to deceive him. Filled with raged, they pointed their gun at a camera and shouted:

"Why don’t you get out of your hideout and fight me like a real man?"

Wesker watched amused their outburst. He found the human emotions to be something that only clouded your judgement, that's why he tried to suppress them. He found himself feeling guilty for guiding his team to their death many times during the mission, but conducting so many inhuman experiments made it easier for him to ignore his feelings.

Chris and Jill heard Y/N screaming and called them. They thought they lost their minds for a second until they reached their cell. Hands were coming out frantically between the bars of the tiny window trying to hold each other. It's been so long since they touched something human. The warm skin was a blessing and gave them a reason to fight for: to ensure Chris and jill survival.

Judging by the amount of enemies that appeared out of nowhere, they realised they found the right lab. The door opened and they almost dropped their gun at the sight of the enormous beast trapped in glass containers. There were many of the things they encountered, lickers, hunters, and broken containers which means someone let them out. Besides them, a 6 ft monsters was sleeping in a container, with its enormous heart exposed and claw reaching out to their knee.

"Do you like it?"

They recognised that smooth accent. Wesker emerged from behind a container, with a proud smile. He ignored y/n and approached the monitors.

"W-what's that?..Please tell me you're not the one behind this."

"And if i was, what would you do about it? Kill me?"

Y/N hands were trembling on the gun. He was right, they couldn't kill him, he was the only one who knew the way out.

"Since when, Wekser?"

"I'm afraid i don't know what you're talking about"

"Since when they've been slipping you a pay-check?"

"That has nothing to do with Umbrella."

"What are you planing to do then? Why set up the team up?"

Wesker stopped responding, or he responded vaguely, even if they kept asking questions. He wanted to answer, but whever he wanted to do so, he felt a nod in his throat. He imagined this encounter would have place, and he already had the speech in his mind, but he never imagined it would be so hard to speak. It is possible that all of his immoral actions caught up to him and now it was impossible to suppress his guilt anymore?

"I trusted you!

Their cries didn't stir any visible reaction from him. They were too busy to noticed that he stopped typing. Wesker was contemplating if he should release the ultimate weapon and finish his plan. He has come so far just to back up now because of his guilt. He suppress his feelings once more and he pressed the button to release the tyrant.

"What's that"

He stretched his arms, filled with joy, in front of the container, almost embracing his creation. He worked his whole life for this moment, he should feel accomplished, but the only thing he felt was guilt. Guilt, guilt, guilt for betraying his team who took care of him during STARS and who respected him. Guilt for y/n who was staying behind him, with her face soaked in their own tears.

"Answer me!"

"It's the ultimate form. Tyrant." It didn't ignite any excitement. What he would accomplish with this?

"My teammates died for this?" The water was slowly drainig from the container. Wesker remained still.

"Everyone loved you! I loved you! It meant nothing for you?"

Wesker turned to face y/n. They lowered their gun and they were gazing down. "Love" he kept repeating in mind. That's the what he felt when he was surrounded by his subordinates. This warm that he felt now was present constantly during his job as a cop. The person in front of him was able to see him more than just an expandable asset. He kept looking at y/n, he couldn't bare to watch them like this. He approached them but was unsure what to say. He thought a hug would result in him being shot out of rage.

Their moment of silence was cut off by the sound of breaking glass. The tyrant broke the container, but lucky for Wesker there was some distance between them, but not enough for him to react. The beast raised his claw and was ready to impal him, but y/n pushed him out of the way, resulting in them getting the final blow. Now, not only his plan failed from all aspect, but he was conflicted wheter he should keep gathering combat data or destroy the mansion immediately to avoid an outbreak. He shot the tyrant a few times in his heart and he stunted it a little. He looked at y/n who was laying on the ground. Even if they found out the truth, they still sacrificed their own life for him. "A traitor bastard."

He made a decision. Wesker emptied his clip and the beast was stunned longer, giving him time to activate the self destructing system and to take y/n out of there. He also unlocked Chris and Jill door.

He put y/n over his shoulder and ran towards the door. He didn't know if this strength was because of the adrenaline or because of the virus he injected into himself a few moments ago. It didn't matter now.

In his rush he managed to clean the way of the zombies and escaped the mansion at just a few moments away from the destruction. Y/N last thoughts before fainting was the hearing of an explosion, the sensation of cold air on her skin, and her former captain's desperate cries who had the purpose of keeping them awake.

Wesker managed to save them by injecting the same virus into their body. The wound healed almost completely, only a scar remained across their abdomen to remind them of the unfortunate incident. The rest escaped too. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed and began to cares her forehead, removing some hair in the process. Then, he bent over and placed a delicate kiss on the (y/c) skin, whispering an "I love you too" before raising on his feet and leave the room.

[someonestolemyshoes]

Stuck

My entry for @levihan-drabbles Smut Sunday event! My prompt this time was "Hange, why are you stuck there?". I might have gotten a little carried away, so this is uh...on the long side, but please enjoy anyway! 

Warnings: dubious consent, if you squint. Explicit consent talks, too, but if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable please be careful! 

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

By all counts, Hange was having a terrible day.

She had been late to the morning's budget report, too wrapped up in her research notes and the blueprints for her new titan trap to notice the time. Erwin had chewed her out thoroughly for her tardiness, and, to add insult to injury, had denied her request for new materials to build the trap. She had argued as vehemently as she dared that the materials were a necessity in ensuring the sturdiness of the improved design and that, built correctly, the new apparatus would reduce risk to their soldiers by over 50%. Despite her best efforts, Erwin had been resolute in his rejection.

She had also missed breakfast. After the meeting, incensed by Erwin's refusal, she had taken straight to her lab to revamp the design, ignorant of the time until well past 10am. Breakfast had been cleared long before the growling of her stomach pulled her out of her focused scribbling.

And then she had spilled a cold mug of tea, who knows how old, onto her research notes from the last experiments. The dark liquid sank into the fabric and blurred the ink faster than Hange could react, leaving every scrawled graph and table and footnote completely illegible.

Hange should have known, then, with her run of luck, that today was not a day to take risks. She should have anticipated that more would go wrong, that something disastrous might happen. But each instance had only served to anger her further, and Hange felt resolved to solve something. To get one thing right.

Starting with the titan trap was evidently a mistake.

It was a risk to try toying with the thing all alone at the best of times. Clunky chains and thick, heavy ropes, intricately looped and knotted for strength, cross-hatched to make them more structurally sound. Hange was up on her ladder with her torso threaded through one of the giant loops, stomach braced on the rope as she leaned over to adjust the bolts in one of the chains, when part of the structure gave an ominous creak. Something, somewhere, snapped with a crack, and Hange's foot slipped off the ladder.

The ground rushed up to meet her. Hange braced herself for impact, but a few feet from the floor, she jerked abruptly to a stop. The rope punched roughly into her stomach, knocking the air out of her. She took a second, gasping, to catch her breath.

In a stroke of uncharacteristic luck, Hange had chosen to wear her goggles while working. Her glasses, she knew, would have fallen from her face and shattered to pieces. Another expense for Erwin to pay. Luckily, her goggles held firm--no extra cost for the Scouts, and wonderfully clear vision to take in the remains of the trap.

As it stands, she'd gotten very lucky indeed. A section of rope had snagged on one of the hooks on the wall, breaking her fall. Her stomach felt tender, and would no doubt bruise horribly, but she could only be thankful that it wasn't worse.

Now, though, she had a problem.

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

Hange let herself hang over the rope and puffed her hair out of his face. The lab was out of the way, no chance of anyone incidentally passing by—it would be a waste of energy to try calling for help. All she could do was hang here and wait until someone—Moblit, probably—came searching for her.

She hung there for what felt like a lifetime. The rope had been plenty uncomfortable in the beginning, but had long since become painful. She was desperately considering her possibilities for the millionth time, when she heard the sound of feet stomping in the corridor outside, and the door abruptly burst open.

"Oi, shitty glasses, you missed lu—"

Levi stopped short. The click of his boots scuffed to a halt. His fingers slipped off the door handle, the hinges squeaking loud in the otherwise silence. The click of the latch rang as loud as a gunshot.

Hange waved a hand. "Yo, Levi. A little help?"

"The hell are you doing?"

"There was an incident. It's not important—can you help me down?"

Levi, overcoming his surprise, managed to take a few more slow steps into the room. He walked a full circle around her, ducking rope and stepping over loose chains, taking in the sight with the same scrutiny he examines bookshelves for dust.

"This," he announced, after completing his examination, "is fucking ridiculous."

"It's not my finest moment," she conceded.

"What even is this shit?" Levi touched the rope, running his palm over it. His voice sounded a little distant, contemplative. Hange didn't for one second entertain the idea that he was curious about the mechanics of her titan trap, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was that intrigued him.

"Does it matter? As you can well see, I need some help."

Levi hummed. He gripped the rope a little harder, followed it down to where it was digging into her waist. He gave it a little tug; Hange coughed out a breath when the movement jostled her. She suspected that Levi was trying to figure out how exactly she had gotten stuck. When his gaze travelled up to the hook, she assumed she was correct, and hoped that, armed with this knowledge, he might try freeing her. He stepped a little further behind her, out her direct line of sight. Hange waited impatiently for him to help get her out of the trap.  

But then, he did something Hange hadn't expected him to do at all.

He touched her leg.

To an outsider, it might have been an innocent thing. Something designed to soothe, maybe; nothing more or less than the simple touch of one's palm to another's thigh.

But Hange knew Levi. Hange knew that Levi was not one for casual touch. There were very few instances in which Levi touched anyone, and most were unfavourable--upon grievous injury, commonly, or else holding a comrades hand when death comes calling. But there is one other occasion in which Levi will touch her, at least. One other scenario where his hand might find itself on her leg, or her hip, or her waist. Up her shirt. Down her pants.

It's not all that often. Maybe a dozen times, give or take, over the years they've known one another. But it follows a very strict pattern: they have a shitty day. They drink. They get too close. They drink some more. Smoke, maybe, if they've ventured to a bar where they can snag a cigarette to share. Drink again, though at some point they give up ordering their own, and start passing the same goblet back and forth. Levi's leg will nudge up against hers. Hange leans heavily into him. She blames it on the drink, giggles a half assed apology into his ear. He lets her. They search for somewhere private—their quarters, if they're patient enough. Close enough. A back alley has done fine on more than one occasion.

And then, they fuck.

Sex, Hange had once thought, was a rather romantic notion. Two becoming one and all that. Something couples did, an act of feeling so absolute, so all-encompassing, that making love was the only way to truly express it. Older, and wiser, Hange knows now that sex can be many different things. Sex can be romantic, but it can also be rough, animalistic. Sex can come from frustration, from desperation, from an itchy beneath the skin that nothing else will scratch. Sex with Levi, more often than not comes from anger and sadness and manifests in a clash of lips, grabbing, yanking hands, the sharp bite of teeth. It comes from a desire to do something, anything, to relieve the helpless, hopeless feeling when they've done all that they could and somehow, it still isn't enough. A guilty, sordid undertaking, high on fumes with the dark of the night to hide them.

Sex with Levi has never begun like this, with Hange hanging from a makeshift harness in her lab in broad daylight.

It's not that she's against the idea, per se. There are times when Hange feels that restless ache without the weight of grief sagging her bones—times when she thinks it might be nice to find Levi in his room, or invite him into hers, close the doors and let loose. Enjoy the pleasure of it without the bite of pain.

But now, she thought, shivering when Levi's hand slid around to the inside of her thigh, was not the time.

Levi seemed to have other ideas.

His thumb brushed back and forth over her leg.

"Not that this isn't nice," she said slowly, "but is now really the best time?"

Levi, standing behind her now, gave a noncommittal hum. His other hand came to rest rather boldly on her ass, thumb running lightly up the centre seam of her trousers. Hange sucked in a sharp breath.

"Can it wait? I'm a little uncomfortable here."

Levi acted as though he hadn't heard her. It made Hange huff. Either he was deliberately ignoring her, or he was too preoccupied to listen and respond appropriately. Hange suspected the former, though when she shot him a look rather awkwardly over her shoulder, she did find him gazing quite intently at his own hand on her backside.

Hange had never really considered that Levi might be receptive to the idea of sex outside their current, unofficial arrangement. He never seemed all that interested—in her or in anyone else. His disinterest was so pronounced, that it had shocked her the first time he had touched her—she had reciprocated with equal ferocity, but the initial hunger of his touch had surprised her. Even then, when she had grown accustomed to the uninhibited way he would touch her during their meetings, he had seemed perfectly indifferent whenever they were together in any other circumstance. He retained his perpetual, bored expression, and gave her no indication that he even found her attractive, let alone had any interest.

And yet, here he was. Eyes flitting over his view of her ass and legs, his hands roving almost reverently over her. Hange blew out a loud breath.

"My legs are going dead, Levi. Help me down."

Levi ticked his tongue at her. "Oi, all trussed up like that and you expect me not to look?"

For a second, shock quieted her pleading. Her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. Levi's tone had been low, gravelly. The kind of voice he used when he hissed filth in her ear, hand at her throat and cock driving into her fast and hard. To hear something so calm from him, in that voice, sent a rush of warmth straight to her crotch.

"You've looked plenty," Hange said. She squirmed when his hand slipped higher still between her legs, finger running back and forth along the seam of her pants. The pressure against her clit made her writhe, forced a groan from her. She shifted her legs restlessly, searching desperately for some purchase, but found nothing. Levi, face inexpressive, cupped her fully, letting his thumb push against where he knew her opening was. Hange choked.

"Levi," she gasped, toes scrabbling at the floor. "Levi, c'mon—at least—nngh—at least let me d-down first." It was embarrassing, the way her voice grew higher with each word, until she was almost squealing.

"You look good here," he said plainly.

"Well, that's swell," she wheezed. "But I—ah—am a little uncomfortable."

Levi's hand was still cupping her. Her fingers rubbing lazily at her clit, his thumb threatening to press into her through the thick fabric. Hange let out a high whine and wriggled.

"Levi," she implored. "It hurts—the rope, its—digging in." She finished with an embarrassingly loud moan, because Levi chose that moment to let his mouth replace his thumb, pressing over her. Hot air bled straight through her trousers, right onto her cunt.

"It's painful?" He asked. Hange felt his words vibrate against her. For one incredibly stupid moment, she considered telling to forget about that, to keep his mouth on her instead—but it did hurt, and as good as Levi's every puff of breath felt, as the pressure of his tongue poking out to rub at her felt, she needed to get down.

"Yeah," she breathed. Hange suspected then that Levi truly hadn't considered that her position would hurt. They were used persistent press of the 3DMG belts, all held scars and bruises from the leather where it took the brunt of their weight during use—Levi likely hadn't expected the rope to be too different. But it was much bigger, and Hange had slammed down onto it with enough force to wind her. She told him so with great difficulty, for he was seemingly fixated on touching her with his fingers and his mouth. At length, however, he pulled away.

"Fine, hold on."

With an arm hooked around her upper thighs, Levi hefted Hange up a little higher, taking her weight off the ropes. Hange let out a relieved sigh as the pressure on her waist eased—blood rushed to the flesh where the rope had pinched and dug into her, making the tender skin throb. Levi used his other hand to yank at the restraints until the section that had been snagged to the hook came loose, then steadied Hange with a palm pressed flush to the flat of her stomach, and lowered her to the ground.

Hange knew Levi was strong. Humanities strongest, after all. But that title was in awe of his titan killing abilities. It spoke nothing of his brute strength. The ropes and chains were heavy, moving them usually took a couple of people at least. Levi had managed to hold her up and shake the ropes loose like they weighed nothing at all. The thought sent an embarrassing thrill of heat through her.

Hange's toes hit the ground first, but she made no effort to get her feet firmly beneath her. They sank down together until Hange's knees hit the floor. She straightened her torso up, spine popping in several places as she did.

"That's better," she breathed. Levi only hummed as he helped her disentangle herself from the mess of rope and chain. He heaved it aside once she was free, and crouched behind her. Her shirt had ridden up during their manoeuvring, revealing a thin strip of pale flesh at the bottom of her back. Hange could feel a cool draught blowing over the exposed skin, but it was followed swiftly by something a hair more solid, the ghost of a touch that made goosebumps pinch at the back of her neck. Levi's fingertip, trailing featherlight above the waistband of her pants.  

Hange sucked in a quick breath. She'd thought that Levi was done tormenting her, now that he'd freed her from her confines; she'd expected to be left flustered and frustrated on the lab floor, but Levi, it seemed, wasn't finished with her yet. He hooked his finger into one of her belt loops and yanked up and back. Hange jerked forward, slapping her palms into the ground to keep her balance as Levi raised her hips up. The fabric of her trousers, already a little tight, pulled taut—the seam pressed painfully against her sensitive clit. She whimpered through clenched teeth and gathered her knees more solidly under her in an effort to relieve the pressure.

"Fuck, Levi," she hissed. She glared over her shoulder at him to find his gaze sweeping over her. The thing with Levi was, he never looked impressed. It was impossible to tell, in moments like this, with his sharp eyes travelling over her, whether he was pleased with what he saw or simply satisfied that his view wasn't terrible. "Do you have to be so rough?"

"You've never complained before."

Hange flushed. She tried to form a suitable response, something biting to retort with, but her mind could focus only on one thing; Levi's hand, gliding up the length of her spine now, pushing the fabric of her shirt until it bunched beneath her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

Levi said nothing. He skimmed both palms, this time, from her upper back to her hips, and back up again, fingers curving to follow the contour of her waist, her ribs. With her breath held, it was quiet enough for Hange to hear the way Levi's callouses caught the bandage binding her chest. His thumbnail scratched lightly at one point where the wrappings met her skin, hooking beneath it. Hange tensed, and Levi's movements ceased abruptly.

"Can I take this off?"

Hange shook her head. "Not today," she said. And then, quiet and a little guilty, "sorry."

"It's fine."

He withdrew his hands from near her chest. One hit the ground beside her, while the other sunk to her hip, fingers digging into her groin. He pulled her back towards him until her ass was flush to his hips, and at the same time, Hange felt his torso rest against her back, the buttons of his shirt pressing cool into her heated skin. His mouth settled open and hot at the base of her neck. Hange shivered as his tongue laved over the skin there, a choked out little sigh stuttering out of her—she felt hot, trapped; prey pinned by a hungry predator. It sent a tremulous thrill zipping up her spine.

Levi's teeth sunk into the back of her neck. "Down."

Hange obliged without thought. Arms folding, back arching, she sunk low until her chest met the hard floor.

"Good," Levi hummed, pleased. His voice was deep, hoarse, and barely loud enough to register, but Hange could feel the rumble of it shudder right up her spine. The change in her position made it harder for him to reach the bare skin of her neck, but she could feel, acutely, the heat of his breath billowing through the layers covering her upper back. He always had an aura of calm about him, and an unreadable expression that bordered on indifference, but there was something in the heavy pant of his breath that exposed his excitement. It was gratifying to know she wasn't the only one. 

When she was settled, Levi straightened up. Hange could feel his eyes roving over her, but flat to the ground as she was, with her face tucked into her folded arms, she could see nothing. She jumped when his hands cupped her waist, almost tenderly; he stroked his thumbs over the skin where the rope had been. It hurt, aching in the way heavy bruises do, but when Levi's fingertips pressed a touch deeper into the welts stretching over her stomach, she squirmed, and not altogether from discomfort.

"Is it painful?" He asked, almost absently.

"A little," Hange wheezed. Levi made a thoughtful little sound, brushing his thumb and fingers back and forth over the wounds, and then he shifted back—cool air flooded into the space between their hips, and Hange almost cried out in disappointment—but before she could complain about the absence of his touch, she felt instead his impossibly soft lips, smoothing over the spot his hands had been. First one side, then over to the other.

Hange's muscles flexed and twitched beneath her skin as Levi kissed her. In the handful of times they had fucked before, tender kisses had never been a part of the equation. Everything was rough, biting, scratching, choking, gripping so hard they left fingerprint bruises on each others skin. Hange had never walked away without a limp in her step and a satisfying ache in her hips, the kind that lingered for days on end, as a reminder of what they had done. In their handful of whirlwind encounters, Levi had never kissed any part of her like that. As though she were something fragile. Something precious.

Hange almost straightened herself up to look at him. He lingered so long with his gentle ministrations that Hange thought, for a moment, he might have abandoned their romp in favour of laving her in his silent apologies. But then he shifted, lips dragging to the centre of her spine and down, down, until he found her waistband, and his hands looped around to the front of her pants, finding the buckle and deftly unfastening it.

He was in no particular hurry. He took his time, running his tongue across the bottom of her back as his fingers worked open the buttons on her fly, and explored the newly exposed skin at his leisure. The tips of his fingers, at first, dipping just beneath the elastic of her underwear, running from hip to hip and eliciting shivers and huffed out breaths from Hange as he went. And then he pressed lower, until his fingers found coarse hair. He took his time here, too, allowing his touch to stray near to where she wanted it before dancing away again. Hange grit her teeth in frustration, her hips swaying of their own accord, curling and wriggling, trying desperately to meet his idle fingers. His spare hand brushed up the outside of her thigh, soothing at first, and then he gripped her tight, limiting her motion.

She could feel his smile press against the bottom of her back.

Hange hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of begging. She tried what she could to keep her mouth shut; bit her lip, bit her knuckles, bit into the sleeve of her jacket, huffing panting, needy breaths through her nose in an effort to stifle the whines and pleading moans that threatened to spill out. And she had thought, for a moment, that she had succeeded—Levi finally graced her with the touch she desired, rough fingertips grazing over her clit, swollen and aching now, desperate for attention. Her hips bucked and she moaned, knees instinctively spreading wider. But then, the touch passed. Levi's fingers brushed along her groin instead, withdrawing. Hange's throat tightened, a frustrated lump forming, choking her.

"Levi." She had hoped to sound more angry, but her voice came out high and tight. Desperate. She bit hard at her lip.

"Hm? What?"  

"You know what," she hissed. It was absurd, how badly she felt like crying. Her need was bordering on painful; a throbbing, pulsating kind of desire, hot and heavy between her legs. She felt almost dizzy with it.

Levi had never teased her before. Sex was perfunctory; a means to an end. A quick, rough fuck, just another way to burn off steam, like sparring, or running. Feeding a specific hunger; scratching a persistent itch. Drawing things out was never a part of the equation. Hange didn't know how to handle the building tension—her body screamed for relief, release, anything, but Levi seemed perfectly at his leisure. Unhurried.

"Touch me," she grit out, splaying her legs wider still. Levi rubbed his hand against her lower belly. "Please."

"You said now was a bad time, before," he said. He must have anticipated Hange's indignance, for he closed over her and pinned her chest down with a hand between her shoulder blades before she had a chance to straighten up.

"That was before," Hange ground out. "You've started something now. Finish it."  

Levi made a quiet, thoughtful sound. Hange twisted her face to one side, flushed cheek pressed to the cool floor, and tried to gauge his expression. It was as unreadable as ever. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, face impassive.

And then, without preamble, he sunk his hand deeper into her pants, and pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger.

Hange swore loudly. Her hips jerked at the sudden touch. It was bordering on painful. Usually, rough was fine. Rough was good. Sex for them was often something like fighting, so Hange was no stranger to these aggressive touches. Usually, she delighted in it. Levi had learned her body well, toed the line between pain and pleasure with the same innate expertise he had for killing titans. Quick and efficient.

But this, for some reason, was too much. Hange twitched painfully and gasped his name, freeing one of her arms and reaching beneath herself, gripping tightly to Levi's wrist.

"Levi—too much."

Levi's touch stopped. His fingers splayed over her lower belly again, thumb rubbing back and forth as Hange released a shuddering breath.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked plainly. He sounded unbothered, almost bored, but Hange knew him better; the fact that he had even asked spoke volumes of his concern.

"A little," she said. Levi curled over her and dropped a kiss to the middle of her back. He mumbled a sorry so quiet Hange barely heard him.

"It's fine," she said. "Just...not so rough, next time? I'm too sensitive."

Levi ran his tongue up the trench of her spine, between the hard ridges of muscle, and hummed quietly. He let his fingers wander back to her clit again, but they settled over her far more gently. She gasped, and moaned quietly. Levi rubbed light circles over her, eliciting more soft little sounds. Hange was used to being vocal, and Levi was used to trying to shut her up, with a hand clamped over her mouth or his fingers depressing her tongue, but he made no move to quiet her this time. She bit her lip and breathed, harsh and uneven, through her nose as Levi's strokes found a rhythm. The weight of his chest rested fully on her back.  

Hange could easily imagine the same weight pressed against her as he fucked her, pinned her down and buried himself deep within her. She could imagine the way he'd grind into her, barely withdrawing an inch but still punching the air from her lungs when he pushed all the way back in.

He was shifting over her now, his body twitching in quick, jerky motions that didn't match up with the way his fingers were rubbing her. Belatedly, Hange realised that the hand not playing with her clit was nowhere to be found; he wasn't bracing on the ground, nor touching any part of her body. Raising herself up a little, Hange turned to look behind her, and let out a low, guttural moan.

Levi's spare hand was down the front of his own pants. He stroked himself off with quick, uneven strokes, his face pressed against her back. Hange could feel his hitching, panted breaths against her skin.

She breathed his name and pushed her hips back, seeking him. Searching for the pressure of his cock against her cunt, something to ease the heavy need there. She bumped against him once, twice, before Levi withdrew his hand from his pants to grip at her hip, pulling her back.

"Fuck, Hange," he rasped. He pressed his forehead into her back and ground his hips forward, pressing desperately against her. He must be able to feel her, how wet she was, even through the layers she still wore, for she could easily feel the heat radiating from his cock as it strained against her trousers. Hange whimpered, resisting every urge to shove back onto him. She wanted him to inside her, wanted to feel the stretch as he fucked her open; wanted the delicious ache as he buried himself to the hilt within her, the satisfaction of being full.

Levi curved himself over her, craning until his lips and teeth nipped at the back of her neck. The head of his cock nudged right at her opening and Hange let out a quiet, needy moan, pushing her hips back towards him.

"Hange," he said. Hange gave a shaky hum in acknowledgement. "When did you last bleed?"

Disappointment and a deep, loathing kind of frustration washed over her. Her face twisted in a grimace and her hands, balled into fists, smacked against the stone. She dropped her forehead to the floor, swearing under her breath, and mumbling her response. Levi pinched her hip, brushed his lips over her skin.  

"I can't hear you, stupid."

Louder, she moaned, "Last week."

"Ah."

Too recent. Hange could hear the pang of disappointment in Levi's tone, too. He was just as worked up as she was, hard and straining, and it must be torture for him to feel Hange so ready for him, wet, tight, eager. Inviting. But the timing was off. Too soon after her last bleed. Not worth the risk. Levi knew it, and Hange knew it too, but that didn't stop her from wriggling against him, hips easing back, searching for him, desperate for his length to split her open.

Levi let out a low growl and ground against her. Hange half wanted to resign herself to an unsatisfying release, to guide Levi's attention back to her neglected clit and get off quickly, but before she could regain his attention, Levi withdrew his hand from her pants completely, and instead yanked them over her ass, and worked them a little way down her thighs. His breath felt hot and fast gainst the back of her neck as he tugged at the tight fabric. Hange felt his cock bare against her. She shivered and sucked in a quivering breath.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanna fuck you," he said simply. Hange whimpered. She wanted to spread her legs wider, make room for him between them, but her trousers, wrapped around her thighs now, prevented her from opening them, and besides—

"We shouldn't—Levi, we can't."

He made a gruff sound against her. Hange could feel his fingers trembling as he gripped the outside of one thigh, pushed her legs closer together. Hange shuffled the other further in to keep her balance, head spinning. Levi shifted so his knees, either side of hers, kept her thighs pinned together.

They couldn't—it wasn't worth the risk, she knew, and every logical part of her screamed that they should stop now, before they made a mistake. Levi dug his face between her shoulder blades and his hand reached between them, wrapping around his cock and giving it a few jerky pumps. He guided it close; Hange felt the smooth head nudge against her dripping entrance.

"We can't," she said again, weakly. "Levi, we—"

Her breath hitched as Levi applied a little pressure. She could feel herself beginning to stretch for him, opening up as he pressed a little into her. She gasped, groaned, shifted her weight; she meant to move forward, away, but her hips sank helplessly back instead. She almost sobbed in relief as the stretch increased, the sensation dizzying, delicious. She tried again to spread her legs, but Levi's legs locked her in place.

"Levi—Levi, please—" Hange wasn't wasn't sure what she was pleading for. For him to stop, before they went too far, or for him to drive into her, fuck her until she couldn't stand. She felt him hiss against her back.

"Wanna be inside you," he breathed. "Fuck, Hange—you feel so good."

Hange could barely keep herself still. It took every ounce of strength to keep some presence of mind, to hold her trembling hips in place, but it felt like a losing battle. She wanted to feel full, fucked out and satiated. She wanted to feel every inch of him spreading her open, wanted him to fuck and fill her until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give. They shouldn't, they couldn't—but Hange had never wanted anything more in her entire life. To deprive herself was the cruellest thing.

Levi came to his senses before she did. He growled loudly, teeth bared, frustration evident, but he pulled his cock away from her opening and drove instead between her legs, right up against the apex of her thighs. The head of his cock bumped her clit and Hange let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a wail. He tightened his knees against hers, wedging her legs as tight together as he could. He let out a low moan, pulling back slowly, savouring the tightness of her thighs pressed around him. Hange squirmed and squeezed her legs together, desperate to keep his cock pressed up against her. She ground her brow into the ground and let out a harsh, ragged breath. Levi brushed his lips against the edge of the coarse bandage, over the nearest patch of skin.

"What I'd fucking give to be inside you now," Levi breathed, strained. He drove his hips forward at a slow, building pace. Hange squeezed her eyes closed and pushed her hips back to meet him. "Fuck you just like this."

Hange whimpered out her yes, and reached down to pull one of Levi's hands from her hips, guiding it to her clit. He applied a dizzying pressure there, pressing down and rolling his fingertips against her, and the combination of that, plus the length of his cock gliding so temptingly against her, was enough to make her thighs tremble.

"Next time," he grunted. Once or twice he pulled back a little too far and for a moment the head of his cock nestled back against her entrance before popping free and sliding between her thighs again. Each time, Hange guiltily hoped he would slip inside, that they would ignore the consequences, leave it as a problem for another time. It made her twitch, and whine, and fuck her hips back harder against him.

His fingers rubbed rougher circles over her. Hips bucked harder. Hange felt the tension winding low in her gut, in her thighs--her breathing, already ragged, began to hitch and hold, punching out short little mewls and sucking in quick, uneven gasps.

"Close—Levi, I—hah—I'm gonna come—"

Levi gave an affirming grunt against her shoulder blade and fought to keep his pace even. Levi wasn't much of a gentleman in any common sense of the term, but no matter what they did, how quick and harsh sex was between them, Levi always made sure Hange finished first. It was chivalrous, in a way. She might have laughed at the thought if her orgasm didn't cut her off, choking the sound in her throat. Her mouth opened in a silent moan as her body drew impossibly tight, impossibly tense—and then the tension broke, and she was left shuddering, incoherent, disjointed sounds bleeding out of her, eyes watering with relief. Levi rode her through it, and then followed after her, with a few hard, jarring thrusts and a grunt muffled against her back. Hange felt him spill up her belly and onto the floor beneath them.

Without his hands to hold her hips up, Hange sank down to lie flat on the floor. Levi followed her down, pressed to her back, and together they lay there, gathering their senses and catching their breaths.

After a moment, Levi rolled off of her, and sat up. Hange pushed herself upright on shaking arms. She took in the mess—on her front, on the floor, between her legs. Heat rushed through her, sweeping into her stomach. In her lab, of all places.

"Stupid Levi," Hange said. She tugged up her pants and sat on her backside, levelling a kick at Levi's knee. He had already tucked himself into his pants with a grimace, but he was too sluggish post-orgasm to dodge her. "Anyone could have walked in here!"

"They didn't."  

"They could have! What if Erwin had come looking for me, huh? Or Mike? What about poor Moblit!"

For a second, Levi looked like he might smile. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Hange flushed hot at the memory. Poor Moblit, she thought, guiltily recalling their first needy fumbling in Hange's office. She had been drunk—they both were, probably too drunk to reasonably consider the consequences of their actions—and Moblit, ever the loyal sidekick, had only come to check Hange had made it to bed. He'd hoped to find her sleeping soundly. He certainly hadn't expected to find her sprawled back on the desk with Levi's face between her thighs.

"You wanna scar the poor bastard again?" Hange hissed. Levi shrugged. Hange narrowed her eyes at him; perhaps she was imagining it, but she could have sworn she saw something in his expression that looked almost smug. Hange huffed at him.

They fell into a strange silence. Hange busied herself kicking and dragging the remains of the titan trap to the side of the room. She piled the ropes up as neatly as she could manage, while Levi used a napkin to wipe up the mess on the floor. Then he simply sat back and watched her. After a moment, he spoke.

"Did you mind? Me touching you like that."  

Hange looked over at him. His face gave nothing away, no hint of guilt or trepidation at all, but there had been something in his tone; a hesitance to voice the question out loud.

"You're asking me that now?"

Levi turned his eyes away from her.

"I figured you'd let me know. If you really hadn't wanted to."

"Most people just ask before they start feeling someone up, you know. Saves all the confusion."

Hange had meant it in a teasing way, with her tone light and her lips turned up in a wry smile, but Levi paled after she'd spoken, eyes a fraction wider than normal.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Screwed up his face, then said, "I don't—I never want to—" He let out an annoyed huff, and ran a hand back through his hair. It was perhaps the most flustered Hange had ever seen him. "I'm not into that shit. I don't get off on making people do shit they don't wanna do."

There was something imploring about the way he looked at her, after that, as though he needed her to listen. As though it were important to him that she understand.

"I know," Hange said, struck by the sudden need to soothe him. He had lost all colour, and looked oddly distressed. "I know. And you're right, I'd have let you know if I didn't like any of it."

It took a long moment, but the tension in Levi's shoulders relaxed a fraction. Hange plopped down to sit next to him and nudged her shoulder to his.

"Maybe we should get a safe word for next time." She grinned, then laughed when Levi weakly elbowed her. "How do you feel about titans."

Levi scowled at her. His eyes looked dark and broody as ever, but there was a pinch to his cheeks, as though he was trying not to smile. "How do you feel about fuck off."

"Nah, you say that too much. What about Erwin's toupee."

"I don't wanna think about Erwin when I'm fucking you."

Hange's face heated a little at the brazenness in which he said it. She laughed, and said, "how about eyebrows?"

Levi grimaced. "Still Erwin."

Hange laughed a little harder. She leaned into him, so close that when he twisted his head to look at her, his fringe tickled her face.

"I kinda like it. Nice and snappy."

Levi tipped closer to her. His nose brushed against hers.

"How about stop talking shit," he said. Hange felt his breath blow hot over her lips, smelled the rich, perfume scent of the tea he'd drunk at lunch. Their brows bumped clumsily together. Levi pressed closer, more solidly to her.

"Too long," she breathed. Levi hummed quietly, tilting his face up so his nose nudged along hers. "Can we go back to titans?"

"Whatever. Use whatever shitty word you want." His voice had gone strangely low, and just a touch breathless. Hange felt her own breath catch somewhere in her chest.

"Titans it is," she said. Levi's lips were so close, Hange could feel them brushing against hers when she spoke. She and Levi had kissed a few times. The sloppy, biting kind of kiss, hot and furious. It was always part of the process—A to B, kissing to fucking. It was never something sweet, or gentle. They never kissed for the simple sake of kissing.

Hange found herself wanting to, now. She wanted to close the breath of distance between them and feel Levi's soft lips against her own. It was an outrageous thing to want, really. Kissing without the promise of something more, it strayed into unfamiliar territory for them. Dangerous territory. Hange had sworn her heart to humanity, same as Levi had—but right now, hers was beating out of her chest for him.

Levi let his mouth touch barely against hers. Hange's eyes fluttered closed and she waited, heart pounding, for him to make some kind of move. To pull away or press closer, either, something.

Instead, he said, quiet and rasping, "this safe word. How does it work?"

Hange rolled her brow against his. "You just say it, if there's something you don't want to do, or if you want to stop."

Levi made a thoughtful sound. Hange felt his fingers graze over hers where her hand was braced on the floor.

"So you'd say titans, if you didn't want me to kiss you now?"

Hange let out a long breath. She nodded, but said nothing more. Levi waited. Hange made no noise at all, and after a moment, Levi tipped his face up and kissed her sweetly. Simple, chaste, his lips pressed against hers. He sighed out a trembling breath through his nose.

They stayed like that for too long, for a kiss so simple, but Hange hadn't wanted to pull away. It was warm, comfortable. She felt pleasantly content. Levi was the first to move, and when Hange opened her eyes she caught sight of his own eyelids fluttering, blinking rapidly, as though he had just awoken from a dream. He licked his lips.

"Not bad," he said. Hange rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder.

"I'll take whatever compliment I can get, coming from you," she said. She dragged herself to her feet, dusting the back of her pants. She grimaced at the tacky, drying wetness in her underwear. "C'mon. I need a shower. And you said I missed lunch, right? No wonder I'm starving!"

Hange held out her hand for him. Levi took it, climbing to his feet while Hange hefted him off the floor. He looked equally uncomfortable with the situation in his own clothing, tugging at the sticky fabric with an angry frown. Hange hooked her arm through his and pulled him out of the lab, pausing only to lock the door behind them. Levi kept step with her as they walked down the corridor. If her closeness, or her happy, out of tune humming bothered him, he didn't show it. They were approaching the end of the hallway when Hange dug her elbow into his ribs lightly.

"Next time," she said, "if you insist on fucking me somewhere inappropriate, we're doing it in Erwin's office. I don't want to put poor Moblit at risk again."

Levi pulled a disgusted face, shoving at her. Hange teetered out of his reach, gleeful.

"On his desk, maybe. Or in his chair. His room is attached, right? Maybe even in his bed—”

"Titans, Hange. For fucks sake, titans."

[spike-and-faye]

Hello, I require your infinite wisdom please!! :O So I just finished cowboy bebop and I am so confused like who the fuck was Julia. WHAT was Faye's past. I literally never process tv shows and the bebop was not immune to my stupidity LMAO like... I guess the ending just really confused me, from what I gathered Spike and Vicious were friends? But then they weren't? And Julia dated Vicious but also Spike? And he? Went after Vicious even after Julia had died? I am Confusion. Please help. Thank u...

Oh BABEY I am so glad you asked! :) Be prepared for a long answer and I apologize in advance for how incoherent it will probably be.

ALSO Please note: this show is fucking complicated. I have watched it all the way through several times a year, every single year, for over a decade now, and I am *STILL* finding new shit every time I watch it. It's packed with symbols, motifs, allusions and underlying themes that are just so rich. It is so extraordinarily well-written that it could give a lot of classic literature a run for its money. I'm literally working on an in depth literary/film analysis my husband lovingly calls my Manifesto on the series right now. SO PLEASE don't beat yourself up about not catching everything on the first go round.

HEY BTW for anyone who hasn't finished the show, please know there will be MANY spoilers ahead!

Anyways ~

1.     Spike / Julia / Vicious:

The information we get on Spike's past, including Vicious and Julia, is pretty limited considering how big of an impact they have on the story. We get our first glimpse in Session 1: Asteroid Blues, then again in Session 5: Ballad of Fallen Angels, Sessions 12 + 13: Jupiter Jazz, and Sessions 25 + 26: Real Folk Blues. I recommend reviewing these episodes for you Julia and Vicious fix.

What we know:

Spike and Vicious were both members of an organized crime syndicate called the Red Dragons, which is roughly analogous to the Yakuza or the Mafia. Their positions in the organization are not clear, but there are some images alluding to them being hitmen, and they likely rose up in the ranks as they were close acquaintances of Mao Yenrai, a Capo of the Red Dragon.

Spike and Vicious were close comrades. Spike taught Vicious everything he knew about fighting, and the two had a deep trust in each other. Which Spike fucked up ….

^^Vicious looks hot asf here

Julia was Vicious' lover/girlfriend. One night in 2068 (three years prior to the time we watch in the Bebop) Spike is injured, presumably from a syndicate-related fight and he passes out in front of her door. She takes him in and nurses him back to health and he SIMPS HARD for her. We’re all but told he's in LOVE love with her. They start an affair, and Spike tells her he's ready to abandon the whole life - the syndicate, Vicious, Mao, all of it - and they could run away together.

WELL Vicious finds out about this whole affair, and is DOUBLY betrayed because his literal best friend and girlfriend have been having an affair, and tbh I think he was just as jealous of Spike's attentions as he was of Julia's. (Whether or not it’s a sexual thing for Spike … well … I have my own headcanons about that). SO when he finds out they're going to run away together, he gives Julia an ultimatum: you can either kill him, or I'll just kill you both. Spike had written her a letter about meeting him in the graveyard to start their new life together, which she tears up to hide his location from Vicious. (This is the falling ripped up pieces of paper we see in Spike's flash back in Session 5).

^^ r/gifsyoucanhear

**NOTE: There are those who disagree with this view, (looking at you Cowboy Bebop wiki) instead suggesting Vicious and Spike were buds in the past, but then hated each other once they were both considered as potential successors to Mao. That's why Vicious wanted him dead, and he was enlisting Julia (who he didn't necessarily have a romantic connection to) to help kill Spike since he knew Spike loved her. Personally, I think there is plenty of evidence that Vicious also wanted Julia, and in fact was already with her, when Spike started seeing her. If you want me to cite my sources please send an me an ask about it :)

Spike gets the idea, whether by her just not showing up or word around the syndicate being like YO Vicious wants you dead. Despite Vicious' ultimatum to Julia, he was gunna kill Spike either way. SO he sets up an ambush, and SadBoy™ Spike walks intentionally into their trap. Somehow, he doesn't die, though the entire syndicate thinks he did. (Note Annie's reaction to seeing him alive in Session 5). It’s also implied that this is where he lost his eye.

HIS EYE - possibly the most important symbol in the show so I do have to mention it. In episode 26, he explicitly explains to Faye that one of his eyes only sees the past. (PS this isn't dissimilar to Jet's arm… we can get into that another time). Basically, he's constantly living halfway in the past and halfway in the present, and describes the past like a dream he can never wake up from. Because dysfunctional or not - the syndicate WAS his family. (Again - see his relationship with Annie, Mao, and Vicious (prior to Spike's betrayal)). It's his reminder that Julia didn't run away with him, and that he'd left behind that life for her. (He didn’t know she was being threatened until the final episode). Basically Spike is hyper-fixated on what he had and what could've been.

Not long after this, Spike starts bounty hunting because like? What else is he going to do. He doesn't care if he lives or dies but if he has to be alive, he may as well be able to eat. He joins up with Jet Black on the Bebop.

TL; DR: Spike stole Vicious' lover, Julia, so Vicious made Julia choose between her killing Spike or Vicious killing them both. She instead went into hiding and Spike thought he'd been stood up. He fake died and got the hell outta dodge.

2.     What was Faye's past?

Ok let me start by saying Faye is my wife and my life. HOWEVER I hated her the first time I watched this show circa age 13 because I thought she was annoying/vain/shallow (also because #internalizedmisogyny lol am I right fam). Good news! She is all those things! But she's also very lonely and scared and an amnesiac and secretly a sweetie and she realizes she loves the crew of the Bebop like family.

SO my wife's backstory:

she was born in the 1990s (#only90skidsremember). There's some debate over her race/nationality, but due to the images of her hanging out in Merlion Park in Singapore, my bet is that she's Singaporean. She comes from a wealthy family with a big house, and we see some utterly *adorable* film of her as a child/young adolescent in Session 18: Speak Like a Child. I cry everytime </3

^^ Holla for the representation

In 2014, circa age 20, she and her parents were going into space when the shuttle they were on had some kind of malfunction/accident and it killed an unknown number of people, including her parents. At the time, the technology didn’t exist to be able to save her, so she was put into a cryogenic sleep state. Meanwhile, the Lunar Gate accident occurs, breaking up the moon and causing rock showers on Earth's surface. Most people died, moved to Mars, or settled underground.

She wakes up from her cryogenic sleep in 2068. (Also the year Spike leaves the syndicate.) She's 'woken' by the corrupt Dr. Bacchus who plans on charging her for the years and years of medical debt she's accrued. (See Session 15: My Funny Valentine.) Luckily a lawyer takes interest in her case (Whitney Haggus Matsumoto) and tries to help get rid of her debt. The two fall in love, but turns out Whitney is a Scumbag. He's actually Dr. Bacchus's nephew, and faked his death, writing Faye as the sole inheritor to his will. This means she'll take on all his debts. So baby girl has LOTS of debt at this point.

In the intervening years prior to her joining the Bebop, she gambles, cheats, gains a lot of street smarts, and adopts a very seductive character to get her way. She joins the crew on the Bebop in Session 3: Honky Tonk Women.

TL;DR: Faye is Austin powers

YIKES this is so long I am so sorry. Bitches are obsessed with this show. (I am bitches)

3.     The Ending

Okay I'm going to present this in the way, in my scholarly opinion, would be correct, though there are SO many interpretations other than simply 'Spike died :/".

To understand the plot of the last couple episodes we actually have to go back to Session 5: Mao is instructed* to sign a treaty with a rival syndicate called the White Tigers. (*He's instructed by The Van (Council of identical creepy old men) who are the actual head of the dragon. I think we only see them in Session 26.) Well - Vicious is a Bastard Man and he and his fellow mutineers blow up the White Tiger guys' ship and slit Mao's throat. Before he dies, Mao is like "Gotdamnit if Spike was still here this shit wouldn't have happened." Later in the Cathedral battle, Vicious explains to Spike he killed Mao because Mao 'lost his fangs'. He planned on killing Spike for good her, IMO, so there'd be no rival to take over as Capo for the Dragons.

^^These guys are The Van btw

THEN in Session 25, the Van basically catches Vicious and is like “you killed Mao and now you have to go to Time Out.” The Van also decides to just kill everyone associated with Vicious, just 2 B safe. That's why there's a big ass shootout at the Loser Bar where Jet and Spike are chilling, drinking, (missing Faye and Ed and Ein lol) and Shin (younger brother to Lin, who's helping Vicious overthrow the Dragon) explains all this to Spike. OH and PS JULIA IS ALIVE AND HERE IS HER LOCATION :). (**Notice Spike's reaction at this point is different than his reaction in Jupiter Jazz when he hears there's a Julia on Calisto. Much less excited… hmm…).

SO THEN you know we get some flashbacks of the past as previously explained *and* Julia just happens to run into Faye. She recognizes that Faye is one of Spike's friends from the Bebop (she was keeping tabs on him it seems) and picks her up. Faye doesn't know who Julia is but is like damn bitch I'm a little gay for you. (I mean … that may just be my bi ass projecting, but Faye is REALLY struck with her. Look at how she describes her to Jet, I mean come on.)

 Faye's like, 'we should team up' and Julia says 'no thanks but also tell Spike to meet me at *the place*'. Meanwhile back on the Bebop Spike and Jet are talking and Spike goes on about some dream woman who was his other half. (We assume he means Julia … I have my reasons to doubt this … I have a lot of angry DMs about my opinion here lol but I just do not give a fuck (: I can expand on this in another post or you can refer to the title of my fucking blog haha) Personally, I think Watanabe personally left this specific scene open ended, the same way he does with the ending and various other things.

more like SIMP Spiegel

ANYWAY Faye comes back to the Bebop to tell Spike about Julia, and Jet gets intel from a former cop buddy that there's some shit going down with the Dragons. (Again, the Van is hunting down everyone ever associated with Vicious, including your pal Spike). Bebop is attacked, Faye tells Spike what's up with Julia, and he heads out.

 PAN TO VICIOUS chained up - about to be executed - but what's that!? It's a bird!? It's a pla- no it's just a bird. (With one glowing red eye … hm … reminds me of Spike, also the drug Red Eye. Pls let me know if you have any thoughts on this). Just a bird with a BOMB! Explosion (RIP bird c. 2065 - too soon), Vicious kills the elders, his buddies show up and are ready to go fuck shit up.

this show could not be more of an aesthetic

MMMPhhh okay RAINY CEMETERY. Spike and Julia. She draws a gun, explains why she didn't meet him that day, and then hugs him. Now Spike is not *great* at showing his emotions but he literally just stands there. Maybe it's a stoic expression of how sad he is that he never knew she still cared, when it seemed like she dumped him. Maybe he's finally getting some closure on his past. Maybe the past doesn't mean the same thing it used to. (I'll elaborate later on this).

They go to Annie's to get stocked up on stuff, she lets them know she denied knowing Spike was still alive and hey also the Van was assassinated by Vicious and his guys so. Watch out for that. Then her shop is surrounded by Vicious' guys and she dies :(. Spike and Julia escape to the roof, but she's shot and dies in Spike's arms, and says 'it's all just a dream' :(. (Refer to: Spike living in a dream of the past).

Anyway Jet SAID he wasn't gunna go after Spike but. Jet's parental instincts kick in (oh yeah he was shot in the leg earlier btw) and he goes to Sitting Bull to see if he knows where Spike is. He basically says yeah Spike's about to die somewhere. (I want to do a further analysis on all the Sitting Bull scenes.) Well conveniently Spike returns to the Bebop, eats, tells his story about a tiger-striped cat. (At one point Jet asks if he's going there for her, and Spike is like well she's dead now so whatever). THEN we get to the scene where Faye is like HEY YOU CAN'T GO OFF AND DIE ASSHOLE and he's like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I 've been living in the past so I might as well see if I'm living now. (**This will play heavily into my interpretation of the ending). Faye is pissed, shoots the ceiling and he goes off to the syndicate headquarters to fuck shit up.

He basically John Wicks his way through the building, Shin dies, he and Vicious have the big boss battle and whatnot. He kills Vicious and stumbles back out down the stairs and says "Bang!" and collapses. We pan to the sky and see a star fade away.

Well that explains the plot … now here's what I think happened!!! ALSO may I mention, anon - you picked up on something I feel like a lot of people miss out on. Why *did* Spike go back to kill Vicious if Julia was already dead??

Basically, once it became clear that anyone associated with Vicious was being killed, Spike knew they'd hunt him down, and they weren't beneath Kill-Billing their way to him, (i.e. systematically destroying this companions to get to him). And for all his apparent indifference - he really loves his new found family. Jet is literally like an older brother to him. Ed is a little sister. Ein is well … a very good boy. And Faye? Well the relationship is complicated, and I'm not going to get into the 69,420 reasons I ship them here, but I think it is beyond argument that he really does care for her, even if that just in a filial way. He didn't want the syndicates to kill them for their association to him, or in order to get to him. So he did what he had to do to protect them. *AND NO* I am not saying that he didn't love Julia. But it was clear that his desire was no longer to run away with her. I think he genuinely loved and cared about her, but at some point between Jupiter Jazz Pt 2 and now, he accepted that their time together was over. Now he had a new raison d'etre, which is the Bebop.

I think at this point Spike has 'woken up' to reality (as he implied to Faye in their final conversation in episode 26: "Look at these eyes. One of them is a fake, because I lost it in an accident. Since then, I have been seeing the past in one eye, and the present in the other. I had believed that what I saw was not all of reality...I thought I was watching a dream that I would never awaken from. Before I knew it, the dream was all over." (This is from the sub btw I'm too lazy to look up the dub transcript.) He wasn't going there to die, he's going to find out if he's really alive. This line is fucking cool and everything - but it's implications are multitude. I won't go into them all here but basically : what makes him alive now is that he's free from his past. He's alive because he has this new family and protecting them is all he really wants now. Spike was protecting Jet, Faye, Ed, (and Ein) by going and facing the entire syndicate, knowing that their lives would all be in danger.

SO - did Spike die? Well again - Watanabe has purposely and artfully left this open ended. Well, if we're following the symbolism from Sitting Bull, then yeah, the man is as dead as disco, and wouldn't that be a fitting ending? BUT at the same time, Spike always refers to having 'died' before (meaning when he was ambushed by the syndicate, and they all thought he died, and he pretty much did). Don't forget that in  movie (takes places roughly between episodes 22 + 23, and yes, was made AFTER the series but whatever) he like .. DIES dies. He goes to the afterlife and everything. He wakes up to find he's chilling with Sitting Bull, who's like nah it wasn't your time to die yet. So the fact Sitting Bull confirms Spike will die in the final episode, means yeah, Spike is pretty much dead.

BUT -- okay now hear me out -- could this death in the final episode be a death to his previous life? The person he was in the syndicate? Now that he's extinguished the Red Dragons for good, is it not possible that its merely *that* life which has ended? That's the optimist in me saying that, but if it keeps me from staying up all night crying, I guess it'll have to do. Watanabe definitely wants to leave it up to the viewer, so whatever you think, I feel like there's validity to it.

WELL any anon, sorry for the fucking lecture - and believe me, I could've said MUCH, MUCH more - but I enjoyed this question. I always love talking about this show so please all you fuckers feel free to message me or send an ask about anything any time. I am really slow at replying because #life'sAbitch.

Love you all.

SY,SCB <3

[uchihasakurawrites]

Until Next Time

Rating: T

Summary: When ghosts from the war come back to haunt Sakura, Sasuke's there to try his hand at warding them off. A story of comfort, growth, and realization. (Blank Period)

Word Count: 3,777

A/N: Long time, no see everyone! Thank you for your patience as I’ve worked through some writer’s block the past few months. I know many of you are waiting on the next chapter for A Lesson in Practicality, but I hope you’ll still enjoy this piece. Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time! Otherwise, thank you for taking some time to read my work. ^_^

Warning: This story contains depictions of panic attacks, PTSD flashbacks, and some alcohol abuse. Nothing too dark in here since it's mainly a comfort fic, but please be cautious if any of these topics are triggering for you.

Cross posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

____________________________________

Her day begins and ends the same way every other day the past year seemed to - with Sakura walking into the hospital with a confident spring to her step and a brightness in her eyes and dragging herself out (on the rare day she had the energy to pry herself from her desk) with antiseptic or blood or a mix of the two staining her hands and the lab coat she'd forgotten to peel off.

Tonight, Sakura consciously decides not to make the effort to drag herself out of the hospital. Leaving means she'll be roped into the birthday party Ino's been planning for Sai for months, and she doesn't quite have the energy to even shower, let alone paste a convincing smile on her lips.

She spares a glance at the old clock posted right above the chalkboard in her office as she shuffles in and locks the door behind her.

8:00PM.

Fourteen hours since Naruto shook her awake and thrust her straight into a day from hell.

It's still a little too early for anyone to come looking for her yet. Naruto will notice that she's not at the bar right when he arrives, but Hinata will patiently remind him of the shitshow that was today and reason that Sakura's still probably dealing with the aftermath. (In much less colorful terms, of course; Sakura's only heard her friend curse a handful of times, none of which were in front of Naruto.) That'll buy her about an hour before Ino starts making a fuss and sends Sai or Kiba out to Sakura's apartment.

If she's not there, they'll assume she's still at the hospital, and they won't come back until it's close to midnight. Not today. Not after seeing the hallways lined with burn victims pleading for someone to find their loved ones. Not after returning home and finding that the stench of charred skin and blood isn't so easy to wash out of their clothes.

Sakura didn't get to leave. Her role just changed from a kunoichi dispatched on a rescue mission to the de facto head of the hospital the moment she crossed the threshold.

She pulls the shades in hopes of convincing her friends that she isn't here if they do decide to come looking but stops short in front of the light switch. The migraine between her temples screams for her to turn the fluorescents off, but she doesn't trust her mind not to see death in the shadows of her office tonight.

She turns them off anyways.

It isn't until she's sitting criss-cross on her floor with her too-full bookshelf at her back and a bottle of sake in her hand that Sakura realizes her hands are trembling. A splash of sake makes its way onto her carpet instead of into her cup, and she curses because it's good sake - the expensive kind that Tsunade bought her a case of after the war and no no no.

She cuts that thought there because violent memories of the war, or rather the days immediately following the war, have been intruding into her mind all day and she just can't.

A case or so of sake should knock her and those thoughts right out (or so she hopes). Years of honing her skills as a medic nin have given her a certain resistance to toxins, including alcohol, and it's why she doesn't bother to drink most of the time; social drinking is more of a waste of money than anything else. She figures that's precisely why her mentor gave her an entire case as a gift.

It isn't until she's two bottles in and there's a buzzed lightness to her body that she realizes she's crying.

Her breath seems to come faster and faster, shallower and shallower, and she wonders if the buzz and creeping, cold numbness in her fingers is because of the alcohol or the lack of oxygen. She's shivering, muscles tensed to the point of pain, but she blames it on the chill of the hospital.

Another glass will knock the cold right out. At least, that's what Tsunade used to say when she drank away the ghosts that forced themselves a little too close to the front of her mind.

It's a few glasses later that Sakura starts seeing the eyes of the dead staring back at her from the shadows at the edges of her office. She's back on the battlefield, the same smell of burnt skin and the mournful cries of shinobi finally processing the deaths of their comrades hanging in the air. She's been healing for days, but she continues to push. The fighting may be over but there are still identities to confirm, survivors to heal, and families to be notified.

Sakura knew that death was part of her job description from her days in the Academy; protecting the interests of the village often required it. Tsunade had let her figure out that the same was true of her job as a medic on her own, when she lost her first patient at fifteen. She'd learned to put the deaths she dealt with in a neat little box which she deadbolted and tossed on a shelf in the deepest recess of her mind she could find.

But death was a uniquely stubborn bastard that didn't always like to stay in that box.

She'd been awake for the full three days the war had drawn on, but the medical corps was tasked with the brunt of combing through the miles upon miles of dead shinobi for another forty-eight hours or so. They'd had help, but medics were the ones needed throughout to organize, heal, or in the worst possible cases (which Sakura and Shizune handled) show mercy to the shinobi who were alive but long past the point of saving.

Sakura nearly vomits and washes the bile down with more sake. One glass. Another.

The quiet tears have turned into sobs that scratch at her throat and squeeze her lungs. Her nails cut thin crescent moons into her forearms, and her shoulders hunch as if she can ward off the prying eyes. Sakura barely has the presence of mind to activate the silencing seal in her office - the one she keeps on hand when discussing particularly sensitive cases - before her sobs grow into half screams. She can't get enough air to manage much more than a hoarse cry, but if she can just drink fast enough, it shouldn't matter.

And so she cracks open another bottle and brings it directly to her lips, trying to focus on the burn of the alcohol on her throat and Naruto's bright smile reassuring her that everything would be fine when he first found her clutching a bottle of sake in the corner of her disaster of a bedroom.

What she doesn't count on is the alcohol making it increasingly difficult to distinguish reality from the memories that have escaped from her mind and seared themselves into the darkness around her. They become more real, more tangible, until she swears she can hear the fresh widow of a shinobi from Cloud shouting about how Sakura hadn't done enough. Another voice joins until there's a chorus telling her exactly what she feared most:

There shouldn't have been so many casualties. She should have been able to do more.

She was weak.

Her tears stop for a moment when she looks up and sees Sasuke standing in the doorway. For a fraction of a second, she almost feels relieved and tries to move to go to him, but she's reminded none of this is real, and she can't be sure which Sasuke this is. Given her current state of mind, it's probably the one who haunted her nightmares for months after the bridge and still longer after his genjutsu in the war. She takes a swig from the bottle she clenches in her fist and curls back into herself.

Sasuke's repeated calls of her name fall on deaf ears.

For his part, Sasuke is at a loss. He's never seen Sakura like this (and he'd witnessed her tears firsthand on many occasions as genin). Sure, she's always worn her heart on her sleeve and been far too open with her emotions by standard shinobi rules, but she has never seemed so broken.

Looking at the scratch marks that trail down her forearms and the far too many empty bottles of sake for someone of her stature littered on the carpet, Sasuke realizes he doesn't know this woman - and in retrospect, he never should have assumed otherwise.

From her confessions both during the war and when he made the decision to leave her behind yet again, Sasuke knows she's still fiercely loyal and has a light bright enough to forgive and heal anything it touches without her needing to make the conscious choice to do so. Her skills as a shinobi have grown to the point that she could give him a challenge if they were to spar, and he's seen her heal an entire battlefield for days on end while still fighting on the front lines.

She's become more than worthy of the title of the "New Sannin," as the original Team 7 has now been christened, and she still loves him (unreasonably so in his opinion, but he's come to realize that maybe he doesn't want her to change her mind - even if he thinks it would be better for her in the long run). But that's all he knows, and he finds himself wanting to discover more of who Sakura is now.

He has years of absence and cruel actions to make up for, and far more growth beyond that to become someone who deserves the steadfast love she's always been ready to give him.

At the moment, however, he needs to get her to let go of the liquor bottle she clutches onto like a lifeline and refocus on the present. He's been trapped by his past more times than he'll ever admit, and though he hasn't had real comfort since his mother (and Sakura, he amends), he owes it to her to at least try.

Sasuke approaches her slowly, intentionally making his footsteps heavier so that she can hear him approach. Whatever nightmare she's trapped in - he confirmed it wasn't a genjutsu the moment he broke the lock on her door after an unnerving spike in her chakra - she hasn't seemed to notice he's actually here. He bites back the guilt that surfaces at the thought that he could be part of her nightmare, but that's something they can work through later.

He crouches down in front of her, taking a firm hold of the hand that clutches the bottle to try to coax it out of her grip. She jolts at the touch, peeking hesitantly up from her knees with red-rimmed eyes and a mix of tears and sweat coating her cheeks.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Her grip loosens as she meets his eyes. He sees uncertainty waver in her gaze as she hiccups in a short breath, but then the panic snaps back down and tightens her hold on the bottle yet again.

"I- I can't."

The words are stilted, as though forcing out those two words causes her physical pain. Sasuke, however, considers it a small win as it means Sakura's decided he's real. Her breathing is still far too fast, and he knows he needs to stabilize it before she's ready to explain what's happening.

It's awkward - both because Sasuke has never done this and the fact that he hasn't completely sorted through his feelings for his teammate - but he eventually pulls Sakura far enough away from the bookcase that he can shuffle in behind her. He secures his legs around her sides and arranges Sakura so that her back rests on his chest.

It's almost annoying just how snugly Sakura fits against him, her head tucked just below his chin. A part of his mind notes how her curves seem to melt into his frame only to be ruthlessly shoved down. There are priorities, and noting how the boyish (yet annoyingly charming) Sakura has clearly blossomed into a young woman is not one of them.

Where the Sakura from his memories smelled of strawberries and artificial sweetness, the woman in his arms tonight seems as though she's been doused in a pungent blend of antiseptic and ash.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Sasuke repeats Sakura's name to ground her as he starts regulating his own breath: six counts in through the nose, hold, eight counts out through the mouth. He's sure to exaggerate his breaths a bit so Sakura can feel the movement against her back. Hesitantly, his hand comes up to trail over the marks on her forearm. His hands have always been cold, so he figures the one he has left might be able to relieve some of the sting from her nails.

He makes a mental note to pick up some basic medical ninjutsu and doesn't bother to pretend it's just for field injuries.

It takes about ten minutes for Sakura's breathing to return mostly to normal. It still stutters every now and then, but she's matching Sasuke almost breath for breath. She doesn't move away from him, and Sasuke doesn't move to shift her.

As they sit in silence, save for their own breathing, Sasuke realizes he's put himself in a position where he needs to actually start the conversation. There's no bright chatter, no smile to coax him into talking. Again, he's at a loss.

It seems this new Sakura has retained a talent for doing this to him.

Annoying woman.

"Tell me about it."

Sakura immediately shakes her head, breath trembling yet again. Sasuke sighs and guesses he should have known she wasn't going to make this easy for him. He can't blame her. If someone asked him to do the same, he would have told them to fuck off.

"Sakura."

She turns to him with a dangerous look in her eyes, a cold jade that threatens to cut him if he pushes too far. Sasuke's always been the best at serving the very same look, but it's unnerving to see it etched into Sakura's soft features.

"Dammit, Sakura. Just talk to me."

Her gaze grows warmer, but not in the way he wants. She's angry, and Sasuke isn't really sure how he could have pissed her off in just six words. Sakura being Sakura, she of course makes the reason for her anger clear immediately.

"And why the hell do I need to do that, Sasuke?"

Sasuke nearly winces at the dropped suffix on his name and tries to remember how his mother handled it when he refused to confide in her.

"You haven't been here" - even Sakura knows this is unfair as she says it, but the confusion, grief, and alcohol clouding her mind make it difficult to acknowledge how much the man she loves has grown to be able to offer this to her- "and you never told me anything when I asked you to. So fuck off, Sasuke-kun. I'm sure Naruto's expecting you."

Naruto most definitely wasn't, but Sasuke doesn't see the value in pointing that particular fact out. By the time he got to the village and was promptly dragged into the bar he had made the mistake of walking past on his way to the Hokage Tower, the idiot was already drunk off his ass. Ino was as well, so Hinata asked Sasuke if he would mind going to check on Sakura at the hospital since she and Sai needed to stay to take care of their significant others.

Sakura finally moves to get up, tipping over a half-full bottle of sake in her efforts, but Sasuke can still see the tremors in her hands and the familiar strain of a jaw clenched against tears. Her eyes still dart towards the corners of the room.

Sasuke's well aware of the ghosts that can haunt those shadows and resolves to help Sakura put hers to rest, even if it's just for the night. His legs tighten around Sakura before she can fully pull away from him, and she falls back against his chest with a huff and a glare that's more tired than venomous.

Sasuke sighs and lowers his head. His bangs cover his eyes as he decides to voice at least part of the feelings he's managed to process regarding Sakura. He's not sure exactly how to categorize how he feels about her yet (mostly because his mind still can't comprehend why someone so bright has loved him through so much darkness), but he wants to help and that's about all he can offer her at the moment.

She deserves more, so much more, but he hopes it's enough for now.

"I'm here, Sakura."

He wants to add that he's not going anywhere because someone who will stay is only a fraction of what Sakura deserves, but that's not a promise he can make.

He feels Sakura's surprise as she stiffens against him, and her breath stops altogether for a few worrying moments. Sasuke wills himself to stay relaxed at her back, still maintaining a steady breathing pace should she need the rhythm again.

Sakura's thoughts are a whirlwind that she tries to grab ahold of but slips right through her fingers. She's torn, half of her mind shattered glass that urges her to open up and share even a part of her pain so that she can just stop breaking. Sasuke's here, showing his own vulnerability (however slight) in hopes that she'll trust him enough to do the same, and she's not sure when she'll experience this side of him again.

The other half, near-solid stone with only spiderweb cracks, whispers that voicing the memories that haunt her will only confirm her weakness in Sasuke's eyes. Instead of seeing the warrior who destroyed the ground and healed thousands in the war, he'll see the wisp of a girl who had trailed behind him as a genin.

It's the gentle, unconscious stroke of Sasuke's thumb across her forearm that makes her decision. Sasuke can sense the shift in Sakura as her head drops back onto his shoulder and her eyes squeeze shut. She's tired, so tired.

"I killed them."

Her voice breaks in the middle, and Sakura hisses out a quiet dammit at her traitorous voice. Sasuke's hand tightens where it rests on her arm.

He's quiet for a moment. Outside of discussing strategy or the details of a mission, talking isn't something Sasuke has much practice in. That, and his plan may have ended at getting Sakura to calm down enough to breathe properly.

He spends another minute in silence, growing increasingly frustrated with his inability to find the words he needs to comfort the woman who has always known exactly what he needed to hear. Sakura, however, doesn't seem to mind the silence as she relaxes against him. Green eyes crack open, and though they're still muddled with pain, he sees a steady glimmer of trust and contentment behind them that immediately quells his frustration.

The open trust in Sakura's gaze reminds Sasuke that she's never expected him to be anyone other than himself. She's always been patient, meeting him more than halfway as he seemed to take one step towards her and two or three back.

He suspects it's the same now, as there's no expectation in her eyes, no tension in her body that suggests she's irritated by his silence. So instead of pushing himself to think of the correct words to fill the empty space, Sasuke pulls her more firmly against his chest and shifts her so his chin rests lightly atop her head.

It's more affection than he's ever shown, and it's far from comfortable for him, but Sasuke knows that Sakura's worth a bit of discomfort.

Just as Sakura has spent so many years steadfastly waiting for him to come to her, he settles in to wait for her to tell him - whether that time comes tonight or later down the line.

That time doesn't come tonight. Though she trusts Sasuke with her life, Sakura can't quite break through the insecurity that he'll find her weak the moment she says anything more. Maybe it's not a fair assumption to make, but most of her memories of them together on the battlefield ended in Sakura being treated as fragile - something to be left behind and protected.

Even if they made progress during the war, Sakura's not quite ready to test the durability of the picture of strength she painted as she threw herself at Madara or took on a goddess at her team's side.

Instead, she's happy to just let his presence ward off the shadows in her mind. The voices are silent at his touch, so she decides to just enjoy the rest and wrestle with them when they inevitably come back after Sasuke's gone again.

Sasuke feels Sakura's breathing even out and watches her eyes flutter closed as she falls asleep against him. It's an interesting thing, having someone trust you so fully that they're willing to be at their most unguarded.

And he's done nothing to deserve it. He knows this, and it merely strengthens his resolve to continue his journey of atonement so that he can become someone who's at least a fraction deserving of Sakura and all that she's willing to offer him.

As he maneuvers himself out from behind Sakura and shifts her onto his back, Sasuke realizes with a tinge of bitterness that this is something he could have every day - Sakura's presence and everything bright and loving that entails. But as much as he wants to be there when she wakes up and finally say yes to taking her with him, he's not quite ready for that step.

There's more growth to be had, more relationships to mend, more emotions for him to reconcile within himself. While he knows having Sakura by his side would expedite the process of mending bridges and healing his own wounds, she needs to keep some of her light for herself.

When he leaves this time, it's out of consideration not just for himself, but for both of them. He can just make out the time when he asks Sakura to join him on his journey in the near future, but it's not now. They both have steps they need to take before they're ready.

He leaves Sakura tucked under the nest of far too many blankets she's always stubbornly kept haphazardly strewn across her bed, with a simple note on her nightstand:

Next time, Sakura.

[sasa-gay-yo]

Just Us (Chapter Four: Pretend)

← Chapter Three

Levi had accustomed himself to come at one on the Saturday he had off. He would walk in and order black tea, knowing I would give him the complete opposite. When the rush of people was over, he would take the cloth from my hands, commenting on how soap adds to dryness, and clean the table tops to his liking. I never understood why it took him one pass, but when I did it, he would complain over and over again. Secretly, he must want to clean. Maybe it’s his idea of normalcy. Being able to clean up inside the walls when it was hard to do the same on the outside. It gave him a sense of being in control that he didn’t have over there, so I let him clean while I swept. 

Then, we would close the windows, lock up shop, and he would take the entrance in the back of the café up to the apartment so no one would suspect anything. It felt weird having to sneak around doing no wrong, but Levi was the master of it and insisted. We would sit across from each other, tea in hand, and just talk about anything. The topics included the best water source in the walls, the gossip that plagued Trost, and how many kicks it takes to knock out all of someone’s teeth. While certain topics about the Scouts or the current expedition would come up, they were short and never really taken care of. He never asked for my time in the underground or the details about me gaining ownership of the café. It was a good game of pretend for the time being, but it got me thinking about what we were pretending to be. As we sat there, in my home, sipping tea, what was this “normal” that Levi was playing out? If he wasn’t Captain and I wasn’t civilian, then what characters were we? And at what point will this game morph into reality… if it for me hasn’t already. 

We’ve met three times more after we started the game. Twice after expeditions and once on a random day in the middle of a blizzard. The Scouts were preparing to go out for an expedition, but it was suspended for the day until the weather had cleared up. 

I never went to see Levi off. I’d listen to their shouts from the comfort of my café, but never went to see them leave the town square. I think that’s when the game we were playing would break. Seeing Levi and Captain Levi leaving and me as the civilian, hoping he’d return. I would only go meet them on their way back and we could pretend again once I saw his face and knew he was alive. It was dangerous, like I had said before. Deep down Levi had to know that too.

Now, we were in the last month of the year, and the Scouts were off on a shortened expedition so they could spend the end of the year festival with their families. I didn’t have any idea what Levi would do then. We never had the opportunity to meet for more than one night a month. Would that change?

“What the hell are you thinking about so hard? A new recipe?” I turned to Jonas who was sitting next to me. We were going over what extra I was going to order for the holidays. People desperately wanted fresh bread and pastries, and I had to include fruit in them as tradition states. I would be busy the week before the festival time, so I would have to close up for a few days and hope that my profit for the holidays would outweigh that of which I lost. It usually did and I had most of my savings because of the year-end. Last year, I had enough saved to even go out and enjoy the festivities they put on in Trost. 

“I’m doing math in my head, hold on. If it takes four berries per pastry and twelve a batch and I plan to make twelve batches that's...I wrote it down, that's like, round up, six-hundred. And you said you can guarantee there to be twenty plus in each box, so I’ll have to buy… thirty boxes! That’s so much money!” I whined on the table and Jonas wrote down the number on the form. At least I would get a friends and family discount. 

“I think people will want more than you have anyways. I mean, this is the time of year you usually have a line outside of the café.” He put a hand on my back and I sat up again. 

“It’s just I hate spending money every year on a business gamble. Especially when I have to get gifts for people too. With the increased prices, I’ll have to dig into reserves and I have yet to buy just regular working items in the capital. That's another five or six days off.” I put my head in my hands again. Too much to think about. 

“I could go to the capital with you this time. It would be easier since I know a lot of the merchants there.” I shook my head no.

“I don’t just get supplies at the capital. Sometimes I go to get my hair cut, other times I shop for a whole day for gifts. It’s really boring, and besides you have to deliver things. I know the volume of orders is also a lot during this time.” He nodded and looked dejected that I rejected his offer, which made me smirk. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what June said to me… and I’ve noticed it too. The hand bandages, bringing in extra stuff from Reeve’s, showing up right when Levi does and talking for an hour. He may not be that smart, but the common sense he has is astounding. 

“Well, if you don’t let me go to the capital with you, then you have to go to the year-end-” 

“The Scouts are back! Only two casualties!” I cut off Jonas from whatever he was going on about and walked out the café door with the other customers. The two casualties remark got them on their feet, excited, but any talk of casualties got my stomach turning. It would never be Levi, but there was always an off chance. 

This time, lots of people gathered around the streets, probably even some visitors to see their child return from the Scouts. It was always something that happened during this time of year. A long vacation meant that the families could finally be together and rejoice about another year alive. It made me think about the families that had those hopes devastated. This year-end would be different for them. 

The Scouts turned the corner with less than before, but not because of death. People had gotten off the convoy when they had seen their family. Some people would not get off and ride to either lodgings in Trost or the HQ. Levi was one of those people. If I had known about the way the Scouts do year-end, I would have invited him to come and stay in my apartment and not have to ride back and forth from outside Trost. Even if I did that, for threat of rumors, he probably wouldn’t have gotten off at the café. 

I saw him by Erwin, all near the end this time so that the others could leave the line undisturbed. We locked eyes and he nodded once before staring ahead again. I smiled and turned back around, entering the warmth of the café. Jonas followed looking back and forth between me and the Captain on his horse. If anyone had suspicions about Levi, it was him and the older women who seemed to always show up at one on Saturday. This time, I had no idea when he would show up to the café, as he was much more freer than usual. 

“Is Captain Levi going to buy some pastries for his Scout comrades?” It was probably jealousy that made him act so hostile. I wish he would just act normal in these situations.

“I hope so. That’s a lot of pastries to buy. I might even force him to for how many cups of my tea he drinks.” That wasn’t a lie. I would need to buy peppermint tea in the capital by how much we’ve both drank in the past 2 months. Who knew three nights could ruin my supply of tea? And I was worried about the Garrison.

“He pays for all of them, right?” I nodded and signed the order form. Jonas was just trying to find one crack in Levi’s personality. Something to make it easy to hate him more.

“Every third cup is free though. Maybe I’ll eliminate that policy just for him.” I wanted to get Jonas to laugh, but I guess when talking about Levi that was impossible. 

“Since this is such a large order, you have to put fifteen percent down. Company policy.” I reached into the bag that held some of my money and sadly dished it out. Why must this world run on a monetary system? 

“Well, I’m off. The bar down the road has a lot of wine to order. I’ll see you in a few days, yeah? You’re planning to go to the festival, right?” I nodded and stood up, walking him out. 

“Of course! I have to give you your gift, too. Don’t tell anyone, but I think you’re going to like what I planned.” He smiled and raised one hand in the air to wave goodbye as he walked through the crowd. In all honesty, I had no idea what I was going to buy him or anyone. I just went to the capital and hoped the items at the marketplace spoke to me. 

“Do you have something for me planned too?” I jumped and almost slammed the door on him. Levi was leaning against the outside wall, one leg up, like he always did. I just wasn’t expecting him to come today or this quickly. My heart started beating fast again. 

“I thought you’d be going to HQ.” I looked him up and down. He was in black slacks and white shirt, his regular, everyday outfit. That was a quick change. I tried to tell him that he still stuck out because we don’t dress like that, but he refused. Even his clothes had to have crisp, clean folds and edges that made them stand out.

“Erwin thought it would be nice to have the Scouts without families to board together in town for the festival. So we wouldn’t have to go back and forth.” Convenient. 

“That’s cute. Is it also because Mitras doesn’t want to send in any MPs, so they put you all in charge for the district you’re closest to?” He smirked for a second then dropped it. 

“How did you guess that?” I smiled and moved out of the way so he could walk into the café. 

“It happened last year too. I forgot you weren’t there yet. The old ladies aren’t here to oogle at you, so you’re going to have to deal with no female attention.” He followed me behind the counter where he leans against to watch me bake or make coffee when he’s too bored of the window. With the news of the Scouts and families reuniting, the café was now empty. Levi would allow himself to play the normal game again. 

“I think I’ll be fine.” He stood there, watching me make puff pastry for what felt like forever. Even if it was comfortable to have his eyes on me, sometimes when I knew he wanted to say something, it was annoying. 

“If you’re so interested in how to fold puff pastry, I can show you tonight.” 

“O-Oh… Um, I can’t stay tonight. We have an officer’s meeting to plan all of the expeditions for next year.” Oh. That’s a first. Why did it make me so sad that he said he couldn’t stay? I’m not used to it. We’ve only done it four times.

“I’ll be going to the capital tomorrow. I guess we’ll both have to wait a few days to finish our conversation on what color to repaint the walls of the Scout HQ.” He switched sides of the counter so he was leaning on the one I was working on. When he did this, it meant he wanted to know I understood something. Very Captain of him.

“Capital? By yourself? At this time of year?” I nodded and pushed aside a finished puff pastry sheet. 

“I always do. I have to get a lot of things for the festival. I also buy gifts, so if you want to have an amazing gift like Jonas, I have to go.” That made him blink and I’d never seen that look before. He seemed dumbfounded with the idea I was going to travel there myself. 

“You’re actually buying me a gift?” Oh, so it wasn't the trip. It was the fact someone was going to get him a gift. I’m sure he’s had someone give him gifts before; his fellow officers or friends or someone.

“Of course I am. I’d consider you important enough to get a gift for.” The reddening of his face didn’t go unnoticed. Another win for me. I’ve made it my mission to get him to show emotion on a daily basis so I wouldn’t have to guess what he was thinking. So far I’ve gotten one smile, three instances of blush, and one small laugh.

This is what I meant by pretending to be normal. If he wasn’t a Captain right now, and Captain Levi would never blush, then who was he? What person was he playing that would stand right next to me and blush? Who am I playing to have the right to elicit this type of reaction from him? Right now, I wasn’t playing. When I talk about paint and not about how curious I am about Levi’s time in the underground, that's pretending. How far does Levi take it?

“I guess I’ll have to buy you a gift at the capital too.” I stopped folding dough. My heart picked up speed again. 

“Huh?” 

“Well, you can’t go on your own to the capital. Someone who’s capable of defending you from the Underground pickpocketers has to go with. I know how they work too. Plus, I have to get gifts for people. It’s just convenient that you happen to be going tomorrow.” I raised an eyebrow and remembered how easily I had denied Jonas. Was it real me or pretend me that didn’t want to deny Levi of escorting me to the capital? It all seemed like a fairytale; being escorted by a handsome, capable male. Short, but capable. Who was I to deny myself of that?

“I’ll think about it. I might leave you if you show up though. You don’t even know what time I’m going,” He pointed to the door, one hand still in the pocket of his damn slacks.

“Assuming that the sign you put on the door is correct, you’re closing tomorrow at noon. If I come at noon, I’ll catch you just in time for you to deny me.” He seemed to be in a good mood today if he was making jokes like that. Levi’s conversation depended on how that last expedition went it seems. Once he came back and barely talked to me. At that point I prepped dough while he sat on my couch staring hard at the wall. The other time he came back, he was his normal self. Not talking much in the morning, but then talking about all the ways he’d remodel the Scout HQ if they had the money at night. No matter what mood, he wouldn’t talk to me about the expeditions. The line he wouldn’t cross, I’m assuming. 

The next day the café was extra busy as everyone wanted to get their orders in before I closed early. There were bulk orders for parties, the buying of heavy amounts of bread, and regular coffee sales. When noon came around, I was proud to say I was legitimately out of bread and only had a few pastries. I decided to take those along on the ferry ride. 

I went upstairs using the back way, going to grab my bag and the amounts of money I put aside. Last night, I made sure I calculated four or five times, allotting only a few extra amounts of change if I went over budget. During year-end, I had to be very strict with my spending if I didn’t want to go in the negative like Mr. Flynn had taught me. 

“Eva.” I stopped walking up the stairs and saw the person sitting on my steps. Was it bad that I felt disappointed that it wasn’t Levi? He said he was going to come at noon.

“Jonas. What can I do for you? I gotta run soon to buy a ticket to the ferry.” He smiled and held up two pieces of paper. Oh gods. 

“I bought them already. Like it or not, I’m coming with you.” That unsettled me, because I had subconsciously accepted Levi’s offer. Jonas might be a bit heartbroken if I say that. 

“Uh, Jonas, you should go return those tickets so you don’t waste your money. If you do it an hour before the ferry, they give you a full refund.” I tried to push past him to get to get into my house, but he held his hands up. This was getting frustrating. He wouldn’t even let me get into my own house. 

“You shouldn’t be going alone at this time, Eva. You remember what happened last year, you got robbed!” I rolled my eyes and tried to push past him again, but it didn’t work because I wasn’t a six foot tall man who lifts heavy boxes everyday. 

“They tried to take my money, but it was an empty bag, Jonas. I’m not stupid enough to be carrying things around like that. If anyone knows how pickpockets work, Jonas, I’m one of them. Please, can I get into my house.” He stepped up one more step and held his arms out wide like he was doing something heroic. I couldn’t tell him that I wasn’t going alone, so he’d just have to trust me on this one. 

“Do I have to kick you off these stairs?” Jonas froze and his eyes almost bugged out of his head. I had to lean over so I could see where the harsh voice came from. Curiously enough, he was standing there in my opened door. How the hell did he get into my apartment? Did I not lock it this morning? His voice was the harshest I’ve ever heard it.

“What are you doing here?” Jonas snapped his head back and almost hit mine. This was the first time Jonas had probably said a full sentence to Levi that wasn’t full of stutters. 

Levi’s eyes were scary too. Meeting them, I could see his unfaltering glare towards Jonas. Chills. It didn’t help that he was looking down at us the whole time. 

“I’m here to escort Miss. Flynn to the capital so she can fill out a personal order for the Scouts.” It was a good lie that even I wouldn’t have been able to think of. He even used my last name which made it sound more legitimate. The only thing that might have been against us were those damn black slacks. 

“Is that true?” Jonas whipped his head back around and again almost hit me. I gave him an annoyed look before scratching the back of my head. 

“Yes, it’s true. Now, if you’ll let me by, I need to get my bag.” He looked defeated when I walked by him and I honestly didn’t think it was this serious. Maybe he had something planned but now Levi had come by and ruined it. Money was wasted on those tickets.

Without a word, I walked into the door past Levi and he slammed it behind me. I didn’t think he’d do that and thought it a bit rude to Jonas, but we didn’t have time for apologies. I’d give him a free cookie when I got back. The ferry was going to leave in about an hour and it takes twenty minutes to walk, not even mentioning the lines. 

“Do you have money to buy a ticket to the ferry? I didn’t budget two people.” He put on a tan winter coat before shaking his head no. It was a nice coat with the wings of freedom on the back and a fur lining in the hood. It mimicked that of their capes, but these were definitely for winter. It looked nice and warm. 

“We’re taking horses.” I dropped my bag and turned quickly to him. 

“Huh?! I don’t even know how to ride a horse!” He let out a huff in laughter and slung his bag over his shoulder. I hated horses. 

“It’s not hard. Besides, your horse is tied to mine. All you have to do is sit.” Oh, yeah, sit on an animal running at top speed. Of course the soldier is making it sound so easy. I’m even in a skirt, how is that going to work?

“I’d rather buy you the extra ticket.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a horse.” He sounded… annoyed? Tough. I wasn’t going to tell him he was right though.  

“I’m just more comfortable going on the ferry. It’s what I always do.” I put on my coat and he opened the door slightly, probably checking to see if Jonas was still there. 

“Your boy seemed extra confident today. He even glared at me from less than 5 feet away. Usually he stands by your counter and does it. You should tell him I’m proud.” I rolled my eyes and headed out the door. My boy. What kind of… 

“Are we still trying to get on the ferry or have you snapped out of your delusion that it's better than horseback?” I shook my head and put my hands in my pockets. I couldn’t risk them getting any dryer in this weather. Hopefully, he had some spare gloves.

“You can take the horse. I’ll meet you in a few days.” He groaned but kept walking next to me. 

“If we take the horses we’ll get there early in the morning tomorrow. It would reduce it down to a three day trip instead of a six day one. You’d lose less money that way.” 

“I have enough money. Even more now that the Scouts want to order some pastries from me.” It was supposed to be a jab at him, but he didn’t falter at all. 

“Erwin said he wants something sweet. I’m assuming something with fruit too. I don’t know what these people like, so I’ll just order the most common thing I can.” I stopped walking and he went a few steps ahead of me before turning around. 

“You were… Y-you were serious about the order?” He nodded.

“At the meeting yesterday, I volunteered to get desserts for the officer’s year-end party they always have. You’re the best in Trost, aren’t you?”

Somehow that got me on his damn horse.

Chapter Five → 

Chapter Masterlist

[pfreadsandwrites]

congratulations on 100+ followers!!🥺❤️✨ bless you and your quality content ahhhh and thats a really good list of prompts there i actually had trouble picking one... but, since im truly a sucker for angst at heart, can i please have a number 15 with Kakashi?👀 please hurt me lmao thank you, and congrats once again!❤️

100 follower celebration

Yes, i used this mangacap. 

Anyway, ahh @enchantedpendant, I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting so long for this! I know you expressed excitement over me writing something angsty way back when I first began the celebration event and ugh I’m just sorry it’s taken so long. And thank you for your support as well. You’ve been so amazing and encouraging right from the start and I’m so grateful :) I really hope you like this... if ‘like’ is the correct word.

Oh - also, to the anon that also requested this exact prompt (great minds think alike, huh?) I’m planning on writing a different version for you! But yours is the penultimate or last one so I’m hoping this’ll tide you over in the meantime! 

This is my first piece after being unable to write for a while - forgive me if it’s rusty. I worked hard on this but I also struggled to all hell with it. It’s a circular-ish/montage-y piece. And I could have made it short, focusing on the scene itself, but I wanted this to have an emotional impact, ya know? I hope it worked! Please let me know what you think. Or if there are any mistakes.

warnings: character death, angst, miscarriage, sad feels all around, female reader, mild violence and sex mentions but nothing explicit, 2.9k

taglist: @madaras-housewife @datblobbyfish @praisingkuroosbedhead @allthingskakashi @enchantedpendant @ibukiirisha @cinam00n @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @tachibrii @drunkenfists

15. “Don’t die on me - please.”

Why did it always feel too soon, each time he let you go?

You remember it, the first time it happened. 

How could you not? Little, insignificant, as it might have been to some - to him, if he could convince himself - to you, it was momentous. Lasting only a second, where his calloused fingers had brushed against yours, softer than his, yes, but no less enduring. The normally aloof eye, the only one he seemed to show without hesitation, was intent, the obsidian endless in its depth. 

But - out of courtesy to him, or some kind of self-preservation - you’d paid it no mind. Or kept up that pretence, anyway. You found your footing as quickly as you’d lost it, stumbling away from his support no matter how reluctant you were to do so. The gratitude you’d muttered was enough and it seemed like you’d made the right choice; when that quietly shrewd eye of his turned away from you and his strong hands let you go in the same movement. He never let you bask in your own clumsiness, but that somehow made you feel worse. His nonchalance was excruciating. As if he hadn’t just saved you and made it look effortless. As if his touch alone hadn’t frozen you in place. 

As if it never happened at all. 

(It never should have happened at all.)

But still, you remember it. The moon’s luminosity the perfect backdrop, illuminating that wild silver hair as he turned away from you. 

(It was all so disgustingly poetic.)

It took longer than it should have for you to turn away in kind. But you did. Eventually. You made the awkward trek back to camp before him, the internal rambling of your self-berating your only company. It grew louder each time you looked back, stealing little glances against your own will.

It was so loud that you didn’t notice much else.

Not even Kakashi stealing glances back at you, for instance. 

***

Why did your breath hitch,  even when the air had never been more tranquil?

You remember. 

How he always did that, you still don’t know. Perfect timing, though you never appreciated just how perfect until he was gone again. 

(You should have learnt to count your blessings.)

Without a trace, and so quickly, unceremoniously, that the entire encounter might well have been a mirage. It still might have been.

(Maybe it’d been better that way.)

 You’d had enough. You didn’t think it through much further, and your desperation triumphed over your cautiousness as you sought out the bar exit. The mission, against all odds, was a success. And, against all better judgement, you were dragged along to the accompanying celebration. The atmosphere should have been infectious, you should have smiled more, you should have enjoyed yourself. 

Then again, you couldn’t find much to celebrate. Mistakes - your mistakes - had piled up. Your team completed the mission despite you, not because of you. The liability, not the heroine. 

(In hindsight, would it really have been so terrible if things ended for you there?)

You’d exhaled dramatically as you made your escape, a feeble attempt to expel all the guilt and shame you’d retained, or tried to retain, up until now. 

You still remember the lilt of his voice, smooth and somehow jovial, but never losing that gravelly undertone, as you walked around the corner. How could you ever forget it? No matter how lax he sounded, or tried to sound, the severity lurking underneath always cut you deep.

Are you alright, he’d asked, already knowing the answer. With that signature one-eyed smile, he pretended to believe your response. And you pretended, in turn, that his smile didn’t have had the effect on you it did. 

You didn’t exchange that many words as he walked you home, but somehow, it was enough. Though he was always careful with what he revealed, it was enough. He understood - much more than he let on, you suspected - but it was enough.

You didn’t hate yourself quite as much anymore, and - well, it wasn’t too much of a stretch - it didn’t seem like he hated you either. Something in the way his hand squeezed your shoulder, lingering for a moment, just before he saw you off. Was he reluctant to let go? 

Maybe. 

You slept better that night. 

You’d find out later, that, miraculously, Kakashi did too. 

***

Why did you feel so secure, sharing in all that suffering?

You remember.

(Why had you been so stupid?)

You’d almost dropped your flowers, when you saw him standing there, facing the memorial stone. It shouldn’t have been shocking; you’d heard gossip, in passing, about how much time he spent here. You’d also heard, in passing, how late he tended to be. Putting two and two together, you never held the latter against him. 

You understood, after all. You'd understood all the more as your eyes bore into his back. Something in the way he curled and uncurled his fists, the way he sighed, the way his straightened back gradually hunched. 

As far back as you could recall, your attitude to graveyards was… ambivalent. You’d avoid them whenever you could, not out of any tendency to be spooked or anything like that. You just couldn’t bring yourself to leave. It was peaceful, to be immersed somewhere so solemn, with such dense air - but the gravity of it also chained your feet there like an anchor. You knew each time you were there, regardless of your own volition, wouldn’t be the last. So if anyone were to empathise with this particular way he chose to punish himself, it was you.

(And now you would take it on twofold in his stead. What a joke.) 

“You don’t often come here,” he’d said quietly, matter-of-factly. Devoid of judgement, though he didn’t bother to face you. 

“No. I probably don’t spend as much time here as I should…,” your voice trailed off, and found new confidence, when you watched him stare at that stone. Hopelessly. You didn’t know all the details. But you didn’t need to. All you knew that it was simultaneously frustrating and pitiful. “And you probably spend too much.”

This time, he glanced back over his shoulder. You couldn’t exactly see through his mask, but he seemed… amused? “How do you figure that?”

“Call it a hunch.”

He chuckled, satisfied, and stepped back to give you room. “Then, I guess we balance each other out.”

“What a pair we are.” 

“Right. Well, I better-“

You still don’t know why you decided to grab his wrist that day, when he turned to leave. You still don’t know why you couldn’t bring yourself to let go, either. 

You still don’t know why Kakashi decided to stay. 

***

Why did you flit so rapidly from anger to elation, and why was it always because of him?

You remember.

In hindsight, it had been your fault. 

(What the fuck else was new?)

Retreat. Get out of here. It had been a simple order. But it had felt impossible, when the enemy appeared from behind, jutsu blaring, its raw power visible, that disgusting snarl on its wielders’ face - aiming for him.

You didn't think. You couldn’t think. You leapt in front of the attack within seconds, and your plan ended there. 

The same couldn’t be said for your captain. With his signature finesse, with a rare scowl - you couldn't tell who it was aimed at - you were moved away, and the enemy deflected, in the same movement. 

The battle had come to an end shortly after, through no fault of your own. It took all you had, but you bit your tongue as he scolded you, in front of your comrades, quietly healing your wound. 

You had acted for his sake. 

(How futile.)

Apparently, that meant nothing to him, not even worthy of acknowledgement. It wasn’t like you had expected gratitude - but for a man known for his stoicism to blow up, and because of you - it made you livid in turn. 

The journey back had been silent, seemingly just so you could bask in your own shame. 

So, when you were back in the sanctuary of your home, nursing your injury, your failure, and your pride - you hadn’t expected to hear a knock.

Nor had you expected him. Headband missing, brow furrowed and glaring at you in that way you couldn’t understand, much less accept. You’d made a mistake - of disobeying orders, of recklessness, of caring - but why the hell did he care in turn? 

“What?” You had hissed, unable to contain the outrage of his interruption of your little haven. Not that it made it any easier to look at him. “You’re here to admonish me again?”

“What the hell was that?” He growled in turn. “You disobeyed my orders and almost got yourself killed.”

“I-,” your voice shook, tears pricked your eyes - he was right, even if it pained you to admit it, but it wasn’t fair. The space between you had shrunk. He was so close now that you saw the rise and fall of his broad chest beneath his vest - apparently just as outraged as you. You had never seen him like this before. “Why are you so mad at me? I was just trying to - I thought-”

“Am I supposed to factor in every one of your impulses? Why did you do that?”

You remember how you heard his heartbeat, pounding - pounding just as loud as yours was. And it depleted your inhibitions. “Because - because you were in danger, you asshole!”

You remember how he had gently grabbed your injured wrist, just as you were about to shove him. You’d anticipated his reflexes, but you couldn’t have anticipated his expression, when you finally met his gaze. You remember how swiftly he’d pulled down his mask, but you couldn’t have anticipated just how breathtaking he’d be, either. Nor how it could feel when he kissed you - finally.

When Kakashi moved to pull away, of course, of course, you moved to pull him right back. 

 ***

Why did you always let him leave?

You remember.

(If you knew how it would end, you never would have let him. Better still, maybe you never should have let him enter in the first place.)

Safe.

You’d never felt so safe. 

When he’d appear and reappear at your apartment - the window, never the door, despite your half-hearted protests - waving with that stupid, adorable, one-eyed smile. He knew you’d saunter over, sliding it open with a matching grin, every time without fail. 

(You always did. That much, you did.)

When he’d laugh, when you told him about your mishaps. You’d laugh at his in kind - though it didn’t suit you, and you replaced it with your usual sympathetic ear. When you’d accompany him to the memorial stone, and pull him way just at the right time. When he’d pull you away, too. 

(What a fool.)

When he’d unmask himself around you, and you pretended not to notice, like it didn’t floor you. When you watched him struggle to decide whether he was relieved or offended. When he kissed you, in that indescribable way that wavered between tentative and determined, soft and powerful, usually choosing the perfect time to flit to the latter, making your knees buckle in the process.

(What a fool.)

When he’d undress you, and no matter how desperate he’d seem, how he always paused to take you in. When he’d move in you, filling your heart and body so much that you thought you might burst. When he’d hold you just that little bit closer, tighter, longer every time.

(What a fool.)

Even when he’d leave, sometimes after you’d fallen asleep, sometimes before - sometimes in the morning - when he’d leave for a day, a week, a month - you felt safe.

Because you knew, in the deep recesses of your heart, that each time you saw him wouldn’t be the last.

(What a fucking fool.)

You remember the first time he said it. Quietly, earnestly, unceremoniously. 

“I love you,” Kakashi had murmured into your ear one night, when he was so, so sure you were sleeping. 

***

Why did you ever dare think you had any cause for optimism?

You remember.

The two lines, glaring upwards and through you, from that unremarkable little piece of plastic. They’d ran parallel - you thought it apt, just like your trepidation and your excitement. The lines would never meet, though. 

(How apt.) 

You’d been happy. That was what had shocked you most, save only for the very fact of you being in this situation in the first place. But behind the fear, there it was. A little glow, a nucleus of hope and future nascent deep in your centre, spread through your heart and speckled to your fingertips, your face, your smile - that paired flawlessly with the little bundle of meaning, the combination of you and him budding in your belly. 

(Buds drop off before blooming all the time.)

You thought it’d be easy. 

(How stupid.)

You thought you could share it all with him right away. 

(You wished.)

But there was a part of you that faltered, when he’d show up at your window in that deceptively lax way. The words stuck in your throat, whenever he asked you if you were alright. The ease of his question didn’t match the weight of the truth. It almost felt… cruel. 

Maybe his fears would eclipse yours, and all that euphoria you’d harboured would dissolve. Maybe he’d be angry, though you suspected that even if he were, it’d be short lived. Maybe you’d end up keeping him from his duty. 

(Maybe you were just a coward.)

Regardless, your hands would float to your stomach whenever they weren’t occupied. Regardless, your mind would conjure up a future, remiss of your own will, an idyllic scene of a child, a marriage, something so sickly sentimental that you wanted to scold yourself. Regardless, it gave you hope.

It was enough, you’d decided. You'd get over it, face him and your fears, because what was waiting on the other side was so good that you’d forget that you had any in the first place. You’d do it. 

You’d tell Kakashi the next time you saw him. 

***

Why did it always feel too soon, each time he let you go?

You remember it, the last time it happens.

How could you not? The moon’s luminosity the perfect backdrop, incandescent, illuminating that wild silver hair, that crimson eye, that tired eye. His blood gleams under its splendour, under the green light that emanates fruitlessly from your delicate, shaking fingers. Softer than his, but no less enduring. 

It’s all so disgustingly poetic.

He refuses to scream, or shout - just whisper your name, in that restrained, ever-abiding tone. It’s never made you want to scream out more in his turn. You would have done anything to absorb it all in its stead. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands, as if he has the energy to. As if you can answer. As if you don’t see the wounds, the bloodshot-eyes, that compliance of his own mortality. His hand - the one that you were stupid enough to trust in, to think was strong - clenches around yours, calloused, then weakens, loosening its grip. He follows it with another impossible, familiar order. “Get out of here.”

“Shut up. Don’t die on me - please,” you beg, coughing up your words in between the sobs that spill forth, onto his face. The ache, the deep, sharp cramp in your hips, the agonising spark that spreads throughout your lower body, and you repeat your futile mantra two-fold.  

(It hurts. It hurts so much.)

“Y/N, I- I’m sorry,” he begins, moving to use his dwindling force to brush away your healing fingers, “it’s too late for that. Just get somewhere safe. Please.” 

“Shut up,” you repeat. You gasp hoarsely, reinforcing your grip. The pain deepens, in the pit of your throat, your heart, and in your womb, amalgamating together inextricably in some hellish concoction just for you and you alone. “Shut up.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. His eyes lid, and suddenly that scar never seems so cutting. It’s all so obvious. He just looks so tired, so… resigned. As if he’s been waiting for this. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So you can’t-”

“It’s over. You know it as well as I do.” 

Somewhere, somewhere deep down, you always knew. You knew, but never wanted to admit it. He’d made his peace with dying, long before you ever met, and you can’t hold him back any longer. It almost feels… cruel. 

(Not as cruel as him.)

His hand drops, dropping with a graceless thud against your damp thigh. “Y-you’re covered in blood. That’s all mine…?”

“Yes,” you lie, voice as thick as the mixture of blood and tears that stain both you and him. “Don’t worry about me.”

He stops - and you almost think he’s going to call you out, like he’s done so many times before. 

(You wish he would.)

You’ve never been able to dupe him. But instead, his eyes crinkle at the corners.

(You love him. You love him so much.)

He smiles that hidden smile, one last time. 

His fingers that fight with yours give up, one last time.

He whispers your name, one last time. 

Why did it always feel too soon, each time Kakashi let you go?

[short-wooloo]

For funsies imma just post all of Federation of Fear here

https://biosector01.com/wiki/Federation_of_Fear

Chapter 1

Vezon opened his eyes, astonished to still be alive. The last thing he remembered, he was surrounded by Zyglak, who seemed immune to his wit and charm. Then there was a flash, the sensation of being grabbed by someone far stronger than he, a weird sensation of travel, and darkness.

He looked around. The room he occupied was a large cell and he wasn’t in it alone. Vezon didn’t recognize any of the other four occupants, all of whom stood well away from the others. By reflex, he started calculating how long it would take to disable them and how quickly he could pick the lock of the cell door.

Vezon’s musings were interrupted by the appearance of a sixth figure outside the cell. He was tall, lean and strong, wore a domed helmet, and carried a wicked double-bladed sword. The newcomer looked over the five prisoners as if they were cargo-hauling Ussal crabs up for auction.

“My name is Brutaka,” the visitor said. “I know you have questions – I’m not here to answer them. Where you are, who I work for, what this place is – you don’t need to know. What you do need to know is that there are two, and only two, ways you can get out of here.”

A Xian female stepped up to the bars and said in a dangerously soft voice, “And they are?”

“You can walk out, Roodaka, under your own power, and carry out a mission for some friends of mine,” Brutaka replied. “Or I can carry you out, plant you in a hole outside, and we’ll see if anything grows.”

Brutaka turned his attention to the others. “All of you have something in common – you have all had dealings with the Brotherhood of Makuta. Roodaka, here, betrayed them to the Dark Hunters, then betrayed the Dark Hunters as well – now both sides want her dead. Takadox and Carapar over there are Barraki, whose armies were crushed 80,000 years ago by the Brotherhood. The Makuta in the corner is Spiriah, who fouled up an experiment on the island of Zakaz so badly that his own people marked him for death.”

Vezon timidly raised a hand. “Excuse me, oh brutal, blade-wielding, lover of gardening. I have never met any Makuta face to mask and wouldn’t know one if he stepped on me and ground me into the dirt. I think maybe you wanted someone else … I’m Vezon with an ‘n,’ you see, not Vezok with a ‘k,’ and --”

The crab-like Carapar loped over, picked up Vezon by the neck, and bounced him off the back wall. “You talk too much,” the Barraki growled.

“Oh, yes,” Brutaka muttered, shaking his head. “This is going to work out just fine.”

Chapter 2

Roodaka was furious. As she walked along the waterfront, clad in a cloak made of plant fibre, she imagined over and over again all the disgusting things she would someday turn Brutaka into with her Rhotuka spinner. One way or the other, he was going to pay for this.

Brutaka and his team – Roodaka, Vezon, Carapar, Takadox, and Makuta Spiriah – had arrived on the shores of the island of Stelt in a small boat. As soon as Roodaka recognized the skyline, she began to protest. Stelt was the home of the late Sidorak, her former comrade, and his people. Worse, Roodaka had set Sidorak up to be killed, and it was likely everyone on Stelt knew that. She would be about as welcome there as a Kikanalo stampede.

But Brutaka had insisted they would need a bigger boat to get where they were going, and this was the easiest place to get one. The only other team member to voice an objection was Spiriah, who believed Brotherhood of Makuta agents were waiting in every village to grab him.

“And just how are we going to purchase this boat?” Roodaka hissed. “We have no equipment, no arms other than yours, not even those ridiculous Matoran widgets. We have nothing of value to offer in exchange.”

“Of course we do,” Brutaka answered, as he pushed open the doors of a trading house. “We have you.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Carapar had seized her from behind. The team, along with the struggling Roodaka, stepped inside the dimly lit and foul smelling shack. The proprietor was one of Sidorak’s species.

“We’re here to make a purchase,” said Brutaka. “Your fastest ship, outfitted with supplies for a long voyage to the south.”

“To the south?” snorted the trader. “Meaning I will never see my ship, or you, again? Unless you can make me rich --”

Brutaka took the hood off Roodaka, who glared at him with murder in her eyes. “Would the reward you’ll get for capturing the killer of Sidorak be payment enough?”

The trader smiled and invited the party out to view his prize craft. So excited was he by visions of the wealth that would soon be his that he never noticed Takadox had slipped away. The boat turned out to be good-sized, well armed with disk launchers, and large enough to accommodate at least a dozen beings. A crew of large, blue and gray armored bruisers were at work on it now.

“We’ll take it,” said Brutaka. There was a loud splash from the ocean side of the ship, but no one paid much mind to it.

“And I’ll take the murderer,” the trader said. “Sidorak was no prize, but we can’t let Vortixx and Rahi kill our kind and get away with it, now can we?”

There was another splash, then another, and another. Brutaka ignored them. “Of course not. But if you want people to believe you caught this dangerous criminal, you will need to look like you’ve been in a fight. A light tap to your head would do the trick, perhaps. My colleague, Vezon, can handle it – you won’t feel a thing.”

“Ever again,” Vezon chimed in, smiling.

Splash. Splash. Splash.

The trader looked over Vezon, who was nowhere near as physically imposing as the rest of the team. How much damage could he do? “All right,” said the trader. “One blow – a light one! – just to look convincing.”

Vezon’s grin grew wider. Roodaka struggled against Carapar’s grip. Brutaka walked casually away from the scene, surveying the boat. Vezon drew his fist back. Then, in one smooth motion, Brutaka whirled and whacked the trader in the back of the head. The trader crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Hey!” said Vezon. “He was mine! I woudn’t have hurt him … much … and I only would have needed three or four hours and the right tools, just to make sure he would be no trouble.”

“That’s the point,” Brutaka replied. “You enjoy your work a little too much. Now everyone on board – that includes you, Roodaka.”

They climbed on the ship to find Takadox standing alone. The Barraki took a little bow, pointed to his hypnotic eyes, and said, “The crew decided to go for a swim, all at once. Imagine that.”

“Why all the trouble?” muttered Carapar. “We could have just stormed in and stolen the ship.”

“And had all of Stelt after us?” asked Brutaka. “Not to mention every Dark Hunter and Brotherhood member around, as soon as they heard Roodaka was here?”

“But what about the trader, you fool?” said Roodaka. “He saw me!”

Brutaka laughed as the ship moved slowly away from shore. “Who’s going to believe anyone stupid enough to stand still and get hit?”

Chapter 3

Brutaka and his bizarre crew had been at sea for three days when he called them all together. “It’s time to let you know our mission. And before you ask, you were all chosen for this trip for one very good reason: You’re expendable. No one is going to care if any of you live or die, which makes you ideal for this job.”

Carapar grumbled something unspeakably foul. Brutaka chose to ignore it.

“We are going to an island far south of anything on any chart,” Brutaka continued. “But it’s not uninhabited. In fact, it has one very special resident: a Makuta named Miserix.”

Now it was Spiriah’s turn to mutter something, though his words were more in shock than in anger.

“Miserix, for those of you who don’t know, was the leader of the Brotherhood of Makuta before the current holder of that title,” said Brutaka. “He was overthrown and wound up imprisoned on a volcanic island. He’s guarded by Rahi and the Great Beings know what else – things someone figured would be able to kill an escaping Makuta. And it’s our job to break him out.”

At first, none of the team members said anything. Then Takadox spoke up. “And what do we get out of this? Money? Power? Our freedom?”

Brutaka smiled. “You get to live another day.”

“And what do we do with him after we have him?” asked Roodaka. “Hold him for ransom?”

“That’s not your concern,” Brutaka replied. “All of you have a role to play in this mission. When we get close to the island, you will be given weapons and equipment. Try to run, at any time, and friends of mine will hunt you down – friends who make me look like a big, cuddly Ussal crab.”

It was Vezon who spotted them first. A small fleet of ragtag vessels was approaching from the west. They were about the ugliest boats one could imagine, slapped together from remnants and wreckage and barely sea-worthy. But he wasn’t focused on the look of the ships, but rather the identity of their crews.

“Zyglak!” he shouted.

The others rushed to the rail to look. Sure enough, the reptilian beings known as “the Great Beings’ mistakes” were manning the ships. Notoriously violent and destructive, Zyglak hated the Great Spirit Mata Nui and anything associated with him. It was doubtful they were paying a social call.

Brutaka tried to steer the ship away from them, but the wind and waves were not cooperating. After a few minutes, he realized why: Makuta Spiriah was using his power over weather to keep the ship in place.

“Did you really think it would be this easy?” said Spiriah. “I deduced our goal days ago and passed a message to my Zyglak friends through channels on Stelt.”

Vezon looked horrified. He had spent many days a captive of the Zyglak not so long ago. It wasn’t an experience he was anxious to repeat. “Friends? Zyglak don’t have friends... just meals they haven’t eaten yet.”

“They are outcasts,” said Spiriah. “And so am I. Now, Brutaka, I am taking command of this ship. We will be setting a new course, for the island of Zakaz. It was there that I met defeat and disgrace – there that my grand experiment failed, because the inhabitants were too savage to know what to do with my gifts. It is their fault I was cast out of the Brotherhood – and now they are going to pay!”

Chapter 4

It had been three days since Spiriah’s takeover of the team’s vessel. Since then, they had steered a course for the island of Zakaz, surrounded on every size by boats filled with murderous Zyglak. Spiriah had been acting every inch the captain of the ship, ordering the others about and being particularly hard on Brutaka. Through it all, Brutaka said nothing and made no attempt to strike at Spiriah.

“To think, we were beginning to feel a little afraid of him,” Takadox said, gesturing toward Brutaka.

“Speak for yourself,” Carapar replied.

“Home,” beamed Vezon. “True, I’ve never been to Zakaz... I’m not even really one of the native species... in fact, they’ll probably kill me on sight... or worse, tie me upside down over a spiked dagger plant... but at least I’ll die at home.”

Roodaka had abandoned any hope that Brutaka was going to act and concentrated instead on Spiriah. “The Brotherhood has overextended itself in recent years,” she assured him. “Warring with Dark Hunters and Toa... they are weak. If you struck at them now with your army, you could take over Destral and rule the universe. Of course, you would need someone by your side who knows all the factions and how best to use them...”

Spiriah looked at her as if she were something stuck to his boot. “I would sooner offer my neck to a dull axe blade than trust you, female. Your name has become another word for ‘treachery.’”

“Better that than being another word for ‘failure,’” Roodaka muttered.

The conversation was ended by the appearance of land off the port bow. It was the island of Zakaz, in all its ruined “glory.” A handful of Dark Hunter vessels could be seen in the waters nearby, on patrol. At a word from Spiriah, the Zyglak vessels attacked. Taken by surprise, three of the Dark Hunter ships were sunk immediately. The others beached on the shores of the island, only for the crews to be slain by a mob of Skakdi natives.

Spiriah laughed at the sight. “The Skakdi believe they know what savagery is,” he said. “But they have never met the Zyglak. And the Makuta believe they know all the colors and shapes of revenge... but I will introduce them to a shade darker than even they could imagine.”

The mini-armada surged forward, Zyglak already preparing to storm the beaches. They were still 500 yards from shore when the first Zyglak ship suddenly lurched and began to sink. This was followed by another and still another. Soon, Zyglak vessels on every side were taking on water, gaping holes torn in their hulls below the water line.

Takadox rushed to the rail. He caught a glimpse of beings just under the water, attacking the Zyglak craft. From a distance, they almost looked like his old ally, Ehlek. Whatever they were, they moved like fish underwater and the ships were no match for their claws.

Shocked by the abrupt annihilation of his force, Spiriah was unprepared for Brutaka’s attack. An energy blast knocked him off his feet, a well-placed kick kept him on the ground, and then Brutaka’s blade was pressed against his chest armor.

“Go ahead,” Brutaka said, coldly. “Use one of your powers. Think you can do it before I rip open your armor? And how long do you think your energy will last out here, with no body to occupy? Or maybe I should just throw you overboard right now.”

“How... ?” Spiriah began.

“How did I deal with the Zyglak?” said Brutaka. “Simple. You have friends; so do I. Mine are an species of water dwellers who were specially modified by my employers to kill Makuta. They live off the coast of Zakaz, and right now they are practicing their skills on your Zyglak. You don’t want to look... it’s messy.”

“Wait a minute,” said Takadox. “Not that I am complaining, but how did you manage to get in touch with these ‘friends’ of yours? You never left the ship.”

Brutaka hauled Spiriah to his feet. All around, the ocean was littered with wrecked ships and dead Zyglak. “Spiriah had his friends following us. And I had someone following us since we left Stelt, just in case of emergency... and here she comes now.”

The others turned to see a small skiff approaching from the east. Its lone pilot was a female, lithe and well-armed. As she came alongside and clambered above the ship, Roodaka noticed that her left arm was completely mechanical. For a moment, she almost felt sorry for Spiriah.

“This is the last member of our team,” said Brutaka. “Treat her as you would me... and be sure she will treat you even worse than I do. Her name’s Lariska.”

Chapter 5

Lariska stood at the bow with Brutaka, watching the ship cleave through the water. Behind them, the other members of the team were keeping a careful eye on Makuta Spiriah – not that they could have done much to stop him if he tried to make a break. But Brutaka had done a little math and explained to Spiriah how many hours he was likely to survive once the Brotherhood of Makuta knew where he was. Then he assured Spiriah that if the ship and its occupants were all destroyed, the Brotherhood would be notified immediately where to start looking.

That was a bluff, of course. But Spiriah had spent a lot of his life fleeing from his former comrades, and running and hiding get to be habits after a while. As Brutaka expected, Spiriah bought it and backed off.

The ship had veered away from Zakaz and was on its way south. There was one more stop to make before they headed for their ultimate target. This was the one Brutaka dreaded – it was time to arm the team.

The island that came into view was little more than a piece of barren rock. It was not the original site for this meeting, but plans had changed. Two Order of Mata Nui members, Botar and the nine-foot tall warrior named Trinuma, had been dispatched with a cache of weapons for a rendezvous on a small, wooded island just off the mainland. But a Makuta named Icarax had spotted their appearance and attacked. The fight was furious, but brief. Botar was slain, crushed by the Makuta’s magnetic power, and Trinuma barely escaped to tell the tale. In desperation, he stored the weapons at the first place he came to before returning to Daxia with the tragic news.

The ship dropped anchor just off the coast. Brutaka warned Takadox and Carapar he would be keeping a careful eye on them on the swim over, just in case they got any funny ideas about diving deep and escaping. Vezon was the first to react when they set foot on the rocky shore.

“There is something... wrong here,” he said, his tone unusually serious. “Something beyond even my powers to cope with.”

“You don’t have any powers, freak,” Carapar roughly reminded him.

“I don’t?” Vezon said, seemingly confused. “Where was I when they were being handed out? Let me see... Makuta’s lair... Voya Nui... tunnels... prison... how could I have missed the meeting, I was always where the action was.”

“Quiet,” said Lariska, dagger drawn. “There is one true statement in your babble. There is something not right in this place.”

Brutaka approached, carrying the weapons. Takadox took a long, thin blade, while Carapar grabbed a broadsword. Roodaka pounced on a Rhotuka launcher. Brutaka handed Spiriah a projectile weapon and warned him with a cold smile not to point it at himself... or anyone else. Vezon got a spear, which he turned over in his hands with no real enthusiasm.

“What’s it do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Brutaka answered. “But with your powers, you don’t need it, right?”

Vezon brightened. “Right,” he agreed, having forgotten once again that he had no powers. Carapar growled in frustration and stalked away.

“We have what we came for,” Takadox said nervously. “Let’s go.”

“There’s something in that cave up ahead,” said Lariska. “I can hear what sounds like breathing, but it’s a... wet sound, as if the being were inhaling through mud. And there’s something else... it almost sounds like... something slithering.”

Spiriah took a step back. “I know where we are,” he said, his eyes darting from side to side as if expecting an attack. “Mutran told me of this place, though it didn’t look like this ages ago. We have to go. We have to go now!”

But it was already too late. Vast walls of rock suddenly sprang up from the shore line, forming a 200-foot high wall around the island and cutting the team off from their boat. “Blast it down,” Brutaka ordered. But even the power of his blade was not enough to penetrate the stone.

Spiriah had shapeshifted himself some wings and was trying to fly over the top. A sharp spear of stone erupted out of the top of the wall and impaled one of his wings, sending him spiraling toward the ground. Lariska ran, leapt, hit the wall feet first, and propelled herself into mid-air to catch the falling Makuta.

There was no time to marvel at her athletic feat or make other attempts to escape. For now a voice was coming from the cave, but not a voice like anyone present had ever heard before. It sounded like the slimy, repulsive sound that comes when a nest of feeder worms is disturbed. Even Brutaka had to suppress a shudder.

“Visitors,” said the voice. “At last.”

“Who are you?” said Brutaka. “Did you imprison us here? I warn you, you don’t know the power you face.”

A massive tentacle shot out of the cave, wrapping itself around Brutaka and pulling him inside. The next moment, he was in the presence of something so horrible, so alien, that it took all his willpower just to hold on to his sanity.

“Now,” said the entity that held him in its grip. “Now tell Tren Krom of your power.”

Chapter 6

Brutaka tried to close his eyes. It didn’t help. He couldn’t get the image of Tren Krom out of his mind – a writhing, crimson mass of tentacles emerging from a gelatinous central core, with two dead yellow eyes that somehow followed every movement without ever moving themselves. At least, that was what he had seen at a glance – somehow, Brutaka knew to gaze for long at Tren Krom would be to invite madness.

The entity seemed over time to have merged with the stone floor and walls of its cave, so that lurker and place of concealment were one. The acrid stench of decay hung over everything. In vain, Brutaka tried to break free of the grip of Tren Krom’s tentacle. He could feel the strange being trying to probe his mind, but so far, Brutaka’s mental training had allowed him to resist. If that should fail, he knew, the secrets of the Order of Mata Nui would be exposed to this monster.

“What wonders have come into my universe in the millennia since my exile?” Tren Krom said softly, his voice as revolting as his form. “I must know!”

Hesitantly, the other members of Brutaka’s team had entered the cave, only to wish they hadn’t. It was only Lariska, protosteel dagger in hand, who kept them from fleeing.

“You think me an alien... an ‘other’...” Tren Krom continued. “But I am of the substance of this universe, and I walked here long before you or even Mata Nui himself. Have you not heard the tales?”

“There is a Tren Krom in legend,” said Brutaka. “But... the tales obviously left some parts out.”

Tren Krom laughed. The sound made the team wish death would come for them right now. “Before the Great Spirit Mata Nui was born, the Great Beings created one being who was purely organic. They taught me the ways of the universe they were creating and they placed me in its core. There I was to remain, maintaining the heat, the light, all the forces that made their creation whole...”

Brutaka had managed to work an arm partway loose. With a little luck, he would be able to get his hand on a dagger and cut himself free... all he needed was time. “So what happened? How did you end up here?”

“My time was always to be short,” Tren Krom replied. “I was to shepherd this universe until Mata Nui was prepared to take power. A Matoran of Light came to me and said the hour had come for me to move on... a crafter of canisters he was, whose sanity did not survive our encounter. I surrendered myself to my fate, only to be exiled here by the Great Beings and bound to this rock.” His voice tuned heavy with bitterness. “The universe, it seems, did not need two entities supreme.”

“What... what do you want with us?” whispered Vezon. “And please don’t say someone to hold your mirror for you.”

“I would know what has gone on in the universe in the last 100 millennia,” Tren Krom answered. “My visitors have been few in number. You seven will remain here and I will gain the knowledge I need from your minds... of course, sadly, you may have no minds left when I am done.”

“Why ask us?” said Lariska. “You obviously don’t really care.”

“Would you shut up?” hissed Carapar. “Rule number one: don’t annoy the giant, tentacled monster, or don’t they teach that one in The Shadowed One’s school?”

“Be quiet,” snapped Lariska. “Tren Krom... your universe is in danger. It’s our job to help save it. If you keep us here, you’ll be hurting the one thing you helped bring into being.”

Carapar edged slowly to the side, sword in hand. No one paid any attention – all eyes were on Lariska, who had been grabbed by one of Tren Krom’s many arms. Without the discipline Brutaka possessed, her mind was an open book to the entity. She screamed as a lifetime of memories were sifted through in an instant, screamed as she saw glimpses of the ancient mind of Tren Krom. When he finally released her, she collapsed on the stone floor.

“Mutran,” Tren Krom muttered to himself. “So long ago now, I entered his mind … and he mine … and so he learned how best to strike at Mata Nui. He and his kind have dared reach for power that fate chose to deny them. How... intriguing.”

“It’s more than that,” Brutaka said. “Tell him, Spiriah – tell him what will happen to him if the Makuta succeed in their plans.”

“If the Plan succeeds...” Spiriah began. He glanced around as if one of his former comrades might be somewhere nearby, listening. “A shadow will fall... Makuta will rule the universe, their will enforced by Rahkshi. Anyone with the power to threaten that rule will die... and that means anyone.”

“Impossible,” said Tren Krom. Suddenly, the minds of every team member were filled with nightmarish images projected by the tentacled entity, visions that would sicken even the mad. “No one can approach without my assent. No one can fight me. No one can kill me. I am eternal!”

Brutaka had his dagger in hand now. “Maybe not,” he said. “But I’m betting there was a time you said no one could bind you... and look what happened.”

Tren Krom paused in thought. Brutaka started to make his move, then caught Carapar out of the corner of his eye. The Barraki was raising his sword to strike the entity. It was too late to shout, too late to stop him.

Carapar brought his blade down, confident he had taken his enemy by surprise. Then a third eye suddenly appeared on Tren Krom, one gazing right at Carapar. The Barraki froze in mid-blow. A shaft of energy shot out from the eye, bathing him in its glow. The next instant, Carapar shattered into fragments as if he had been made of crystal. Then there was nothing left of him but a pile of glittering dust on the stone floor.

“I helped to birth a world of order,” Tren Krom whispered. “But from what I have seen in the female’s mind... you have turned it into a universe of madness and fear. It is not worth saving. But it is the universe you and your kind deserve.”

Tren Krom hurled Brutaka at his team. Spiriah used his magnetic powers to catch him before he could slam into the wall. The tentacles withdrew then, wrapping themselves around the core of Tren Krom’s being.

“Go,” the entity said. “Take yourselves from my prison... take your memories and plans with you... for the horrors already in your minds are worse than any I could visit upon you. I condemn you to your fate – life in the universe you and your kind have made.”

No one was going to take the time to argue. Gathering up Brutaka and Lariska, they fled the cave even as the stone walls that surrounded the island receded into the sand. Only Takadox paused to look back at the cavern where Carapar had died, wondering for a moment just what it would take to end the life of a being older than the stars.

Chapter 7

Brutaka and Lariska stood together, watching Takadox standing silently by the rail of the ship. “I worry about that one,” said Lariska. “He has not spoken a word since we left Tren Krom’s island, after the death of his friend Carapar.”

“Friend?” snorted Brutaka. “Barraki don’t have friends, just people they use – and Carapar was Takadox’s favorite puppet. Besides, don’t waste your worry on him – save it for us.” He pointed off the bow. “We’ve arrived.”

Looming out of the mist was an island of black sand and jagged rock, volcanic peaks and strange Rahi arcing and wheeling through the sky. Despite the bright light that played off the waters around it, the island seemed to be in perpetual shadow.

“Welcome to Artidax,” said Brutaka.

Vezon approached, chuckling. “Hope we survive our stay.”

Brutaka looked around at his team – a Barraki, half a Skakdi, a Makuta, a former queen of the Visorak, a Dark Hunter, and himself. “Well, if we don’t, who knows? The world might be better off without us.”

Brutaka and Spiriah, being the two most powerful team members, led the way to shore. As they trod on the ebon sands, all seemed quiet. “So you know nothing about the defenses here?” asked Brutaka.

“Only what Krika sometimes talked about. Ideas he had,” said Spiriah. “You realize this whole thing is a terrible idea.”

“What?”

“Freeing Miserix,” said Spiriah. “He can’t stop the Plan. All we will find here is an early death. Listen, we -- ”

What happened next was startlingly fast. The black sands began to swirl around Spiriah, forming a hand which grabbed the Makuta and started dragging him down. Brutaka grabbed Spiriah’s hand, calling to the others, “Help me!”

Lariska, Vezon and Roodaka rushed to his aid. Takadox hung back, occasionally glancing toward the ship as if contemplating escape. The pull of the sand was too strong and Spiriah’s mask had almost disappeared beneath it. Then Roodaka fired her Rhotuka launcher, the spinner striking the living sand and mutating the grains into a swarm of fireflyers. Unable to maintain its grip in this new form, it freed Spiriah. The Makuta crawled back onto the beach, cursing.

“I’m an idiot,” Brutaka said. “I should have realized – Krika rigged this place to sense the presence of a Makuta and react. He didn’t want Miserix escaping, or any other Brotherhood member finding him and finishing him off.”

“Then I would be insane to go any further,” said Spiriah. “I brought you here – you don’t need me anymore.”

“On the contrary,” said Lariska. “I think you would be very useful. Anyone ever hear of a stalking kinloka?”

Surprisingly, Vezon was the only one who nodded. When everyone turned to look at him, he shrugged. “Vezok. He saw lots of things, and since I came from him, I saw them too. Say, when we are done here, who’s up for killing him? I’ll even clean up after.”

Lariska turned back to Brutaka, ignoring their lunatic companion. “Kinloka are rodents, found in many places, among them Zakaz. When the Skakdi need to cross land that might be booby-trapped, they send the kinloka through first. The creatures set off the traps and the Skakdi can cross safely.”

“And the traps here are sensitive to Makuta,” said Roodaka, smiling. “I see, I see. And come to think of it, Spiriah is somewhat rodent-like.”

Spiriah, back on his feet, looked right at Brutaka. “No. Not even if you threw in the chance to eviscerate that Vortixx --”

“Watch your mouth,” Roodaka spat, aiming her launcher at him, “while you still have only one.”

Brutaka put his arm around Spiriah and led him away. “You’re not looking at the big picture here. When all this is over, the Brotherhood could still be a powerful creature, only without a head. It’s going to need a new leader... and the beings I work for will remember who helped them... and who didn’t. Trust me, they have long memories.”

It only took a few more minutes of whispered conversation before Spiriah turned back to the group and announced that he would be their guide to Artidax. He immediately set off inland, with the rest following. Lariska fell in beside Brutaka, saying, “You know full well he could never be leader of the Brotherhood.”

“Let him think he might get to be the head,” Brutaka replied. “It will distract him from the fact that he might well lose his own here.”

Their path took them right up to the slope of a volcano. A tunnel had been bored through the mountain at some point, the only way to directly traverse the island. Spiriah was striding on ahead when Vezon leapt in front of him, holding up his hands. Then he pointed downward, at a razor-thin vine stretched across the path. It led up to a pile of boulders poised precariously on the slope.

Spiriah stepped carefully over the vine, followed by the others, and went into the tunnel. It was only when they were already inside that Brutaka noticed someone was missing. “Where’s Takadox?”

Lariska turned. “There! Look out!”

Brutaka turned to see Takadox bringing his blade down on the vine. In the moment before an avalanche of rocks cut them off from the Barraki and trapped them in the tunnel, they all could see his evil smile.

Chapter 8

Brutaka pushed aside a pile of rubble and struggled to his feet. Around him, Spiriah and Roodaka were using shadow energy to blast themselves free. Vezon and Lariska were nowhere to be seen.

He glanced back toward the now blocked tunnel entrance. A few blasts of power would no doubt clear away the pile of rocks and stones, but Takadox would be long gone by now. There would be time to settle with him later.

“I’ve got him!”

Brutaka turned to see Lariska holding a squirming Vezon by the throat. “I caught him sneaking down a side tunnel,” the Dark Hunter said.

“Let us track down that traitor,” snarled Roodaka. “I want his shattered body beneath my heel.”

“We’re here to do a job,” Brutaka replied. “We keep moving. All of us,” he added, looking hard at Vezon.

The tunnel proved to be far more than a mere pathway. It opened upon a vast underground cavern spanned by a narrow bridge made of fibrous protodermis. Down below, the floor was littered with a massive tangle of what looked like dead branches intertwined with each other. Deep channels had been carved into the walls by lava flows over the centuries. Strange flying Rahi hung from the ceiling, their six eyes blinking slowly at the sight of intruders into their realm.

“Remind me not to let Makuta Krika arrange for my next pleasure trip,” muttered Spiriah.

“This whole island is volcanic,” said Brutaka. “Minor eruptions over the years, but nothing major. Tahu and Kopaka are supposed to have taken care of the problem. Otherwise, we would probably be flash fried by now.”

“No Carapar, no Takadox,” said Vezon in a sing-song voice. “Who will go next? Spiriah the Sullen? Brutaka the Boorish? Vezon the Vanquisher? Or Lariska --”

The Dark Hunter whipped out a dagger and flung it into the stone right at Vezon’s feet. The mad half-Skakdi turned to her, smiling, and said, “Or Lariska, the wise, wonderful, and gloriously homicidal.”

Brutaka led the way across the bridge. At the far side, light spilled through a narrow opening. The symbol of the Brotherhood of Makuta was seared into the stone beside that portal. Someone – maybe Krika, maybe Miserix – had marked their path, so long ago.

“What are we going to do with this legendary Makuta when we find him?” asked Roodaka. “What makes you think he will help the likes of you?”

“Miserix hates the Brotherhood for turning on him,” Brutaka replied. “He would ally with three Matoran and an Ussal crab if it would get him revenge on his fellow Makuta.”

“And so what will he be for you?” Roodaka pressed. “A general? A hero? A symbol around which to rally resistance to the Brotherhood?”

Brutaka shook his head. “Nothing quite so grand. He’ll be a weapon, like a Rhotuka launcher or a ghost blaster. And we’re going to aim him right at the Makuta fortress on Destral.”

Roodaka smiled. “And who, might I ask... are ‘we’?”

Brutaka smiled back, the grin of a Kavinika about to feast. “Now, now … what you don’t know won’t cut you in two and dump you off this bridge.”

“I hear something,” said Lariska. “Up ahead... it might be a voice... or the rumble of the volcano.”

“I hear something too,” said Vezon.

“Shut up,” replied Roodaka.

“And I see something as well,” Vezon continued. “But since you aren’t interested...”

“We’re not,” Roodaka snapped.

“Personally, I always find my comments and observations most interesting,” Vezon rambled on. “You haven’t truly lived until you have seen the world through the eyes of madness. Why, half the time I don’t know if what I see is what’s really there, or what I wish was there … or what I pray, I beg, I plead is not.”

“Why did we bring him again?” said Spiriah.

“He breaks up the monotony,” said Lariska.

“I’d like to break something much more satisfying,” hissed Roodaka. “I hear Skakdi make a most appealing sound when you snap them into pieces.”

“But, since you seem to have no interest,” Vezon continued, utterly disregarding his teammates’ comments. “Well, then, I won’t tell you that the floor is moving. You can find out on your own.”

“The floor is...?” Brutaka repeated. He looked down. Far below, the tangled growth of dead branches had indeed begun to shift. The reason why rapidly became clear: they weren’t branches at all, but the twisted limbs of thousands of crimson insects, now disentangling themselves from each other. Apparently, it was time to wake up and they were ready for their morning meal.

Swifter than anyone could have predicted, they began to swarm up the walls of the canyon on every side. In an instant, they had blocked the openings on both ends of the bridge. The surrounding rock was now gone, buried beneath a skittering sea of red and thousands of unblinking, predatory eyes.

“No, no, no,” said Vezon, shaking his head. “Too late to apologize. Much, much too late.”

Chapter 9

Brutaka scanned the cavern with narrowed eyes. The glowing eyes of the insects all around made it feel as if he were trapped in some lunatic starfield. Behind him, he could hear Vezon humming softly to himself, as if out for an afternoon stroll.

“Do we fight our way out of here?” asked Lariska, hand on the hilt of her dagger.

Brutaka’s answer was to turn to Spiriah. “Okay. You control Rahi. Make them clear a path.”

“On one condition,” said Spiriah. “Once I do, I go free. I turn right around and march out, take the boat – if Takadox hasn’t already – and leave. And I never see or hear from any of you, or anyone associated with you, again.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” replied Brutaka. “I was telling you.”

“I am a Makuta,” said Spiriah. “Disgraced, perhaps; a victim of jealousy and prejudice, most definitely. But I will not be dictated to by some obnoxious, insane --”

Brutaka hit Spiriah a solid blow in the mask, knocking the Makuta over the side of the narrow bridge. Spiriah caught on to the span, just barely, and hung in space.

“I think this is what they call ‘in no position to deal,’” said Brutaka. He triggered his mask power, opening a dimensional portal in space just below Spiriah’s feet. “If I move that opening just a little bit further toward you, you’ll find yourself in a dimension full of beings made of solid light. Know what they eat there? Shadow. You’ll be a food bank for them, Spiriah, but I have to warn you – they’re always hungry. And they don’t close their mouths when they chew.”

Spiriah said nothing. Instead, he reduced his density and floated up and away from Brutaka’s portal. Then he drifted back down to the bridge and turned solid once more. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Then I leave. I advise you not to try and stop me.”

The Makuta concentrated, triggering his power to control Rahi beasts. Nothing happened, other than restless stirring among the insects. After a few moments, Spiriah gave up in frustration. “They’re already under the control of a more powerful will. It must be Miserix.”

Brutaka gestured toward the wall of insect life that blocked the way they had come. “Then I guess you’re not leaving.” He turned to Lariska. “And we’re fighting. You stay back with Vezon. Roodaka, Spiriah and I will lead the way.”

On Brutaka’s signal, he and his two powerful allies unleashed their powers at the insects who blocked the passage way up ahead. As quickly as the crimson creatures fell, more came to replace them. Worse, the ones behind were now skittering across the bridge, closing in on Vezon and Lariska.

“I have an idea,” said Roodaka, summoning a Rhotuka disk into her launcher. She fired at the insects up ahead, the power of her disk mutating them into unrecognizable creatures. An instant later, the other insects fell upon the unfortunate victims of her attack. The mutated insects were dead in seconds, killed for being different than the rest of the species.

Seeing that her ploy had worked, Roodaka repeated the process, this time focusing on the insects blocking the end of the bridge. As the mutations took hold and their former allies turned on them, an opening appeared in the wall of living creatures. With a roar of triumph, she led a charge across the bridge and into the tunnel beyond. The team didn’t stop running until they were well away from the cavern.

“Are they following?” asked Brutaka.

“They don’t seem to be,” Lariska answered. “Maybe they don’t like to leave their nest.”

“”Or maybe they just know we have to go back out that way, so they can eat us then,” Vezon offered, cheerfully.

“Maybe there’s another way out up ahead,” said Brutaka.

“Or maybe we’ll get to like it here,” said Vezon. “A few grass mats, some cave drawings, the heads of my enemies mounted on the wall … it could be quite pleasant.”

“Brutaka!” Roodaka called from up ahead. “I think you had best see this.”

The team rushed through the tunnel to join Roodaka. She was standing at the tunnel’s end, looking out at another vast chamber. More specifically, she was looking at the largest occupant of the chamber, a massive dragon-like beast chained to the stone floor. All around it flew much smaller Rahi, darting and dodging the shadow hand that occasionally shot out from the creature’s chest.

“What … is that?” asked Lariska.

Brutaka shook his head in amazement. “Well, it’s about 40 feet tall, red and silver, with four legs, a tail, and a nasty disposition – and it’s who we’re here to rescue.”

“Miserix,” whispered Spiriah.

“All right, we can take him home,” said Vezon, “but don’t expect me to clean up after him.”

Chapter 10

Vezon looked from the massive, chained form of the dragon-like beast to his partners, then back at the dragon, then over to Brutaka. He opened his mouth to speak, but Brutaka cut him off.

“Don’t say it,” said Brutaka.

“We’re going to need --” Vezon began.

“A bigger boat. I know,” Brutaka said. “Anybody know what those... things... are flying all around?”

Small, winged creatures were indeed flitting all around the dragon. Now and then, one would let out a scream that shattered rock. “They’re called klakk,” said Makuta Spiriah. “Something Mutran created a long time back – their sonic scream is formidable. They must be meant as guardians.”

Brutaka frowned. Guardians, all right, but against whom? He knew the dragon was in fact Makuta Miserix, ex-leader of the Brotherhood. He had been ordered executed, but Makuta Krika had instead chained him up here on the island of Artidax. It was Brutaka’s job to rescue him so the Order of Mata Nui could use him against his former organization.

At that moment, Miserix suddenly took notice of them. His great eyes narrowed as he spoke and his voice rumbled like a distant avalanche. “Who... are... you?”

Brutaka started to say, “Friends,” then decided he didn’t really want to be considered a friend of that thing. “We’re here to free you,” he said instead. “Can you shapeshift to a smaller form?”

“Why would I wish to do that?” asked Miserix. “Do you know how many of these creatures I had to absorb to reach a size where their screams no longer pain me?”

“See, the size is a problem, your immenseness,” Vezon cut in. “We only have a small boat, hardly more than a raft, really, and if it sinks we have to swim. Personally, I am not big on swimming – some friends of mine went for a swim, I heard, and now they look like sea snakes, just a head and a spine. And I have no spine, so I would be just a head, and --”

Miserix’s eyes glowed red. A burst of laser vision struck Vezon, sending him tumbling backwards. “Gnat,” muttered the Makuta.

Turning to check on Vezon, Brutaka saw that Spiriah had backed way up into the shadows. Miserix noticed too and bellowed, “Tell that one to come forth.”

Spiriah took a reluctant step forward. At the sight of another Makuta, the dragon smiled. “Spiriah. I do remember you. When Teridax rose against me, you were one of the first to be by his side. I have so looked forward to meeting you again.” Brutaka tightened his grip on his weapon. He did not like Miserix’s tone at all.

“Do you know I have not seen one of my species since Krika left me here?” Miserix continued.

“We all meant to come,” Spiriah said hurriedly. “Teridax wouldn’t let us. We all knew we would benefit by your experience, your power, your very presence.”

“But you did not come,” rumbled Miserix. “So now I shall benefit from yours.”

A hand made of living shadow erupted from the dragon’s chest, grabbed Spiriah, and pulled him into Miserix’s body. There wasn’t even time for a scream.

Vezon, back on his feet, stopped dead when he saw the Makuta consumed. “I thought we were here to rescue him from captivity,” he whispered. “Not from that mid-day empty feeling.”

“You know, we could just leave you here to rot,” Brutaka said to Miserix. “Or wait for the next volcanic eruption to rain lava down on your oversized head. Or... you could have your chance to take revenge on your brothers. What’s it going to be?”

Miserix considered. Then he leaned forward as far as his chains would allow him and said, “Make your attempt, for what good it will do.”

“I have seen those kind of chains before,” said Lariska. “They grow and shrink with him. They feed on his own power and use it to hold him.”

Brutaka hefted his weapon. “Can they be broken?”

“Not without causing him great pain.”

Brutaka gave a grim smile. “I’ll cry tomorrow. Find me a weak link. Roodaka, we are going to need your help.”

The Vortixx had been silent since they had entered Miserix’s presence. Brutaka had no doubt she was planning something. But she dutifully stepped forward and stood beside him, her eyes never leaving the chained Makuta.

“There,” said Lariska, pointing to a segment of the chain that held Miserix’s right arm. “We concentrate our fire there.”

Brutaka and Roodaka took aim, he with his blade, she with her outstretched hand. Energy and shadow bolts struck the weak segment of chain, bathing it in a continuous stream of power. After several minutes, the substance of the chain began to flake off. After a few more, it began to crack. Then the link shattered to pieces. Miserix screamed, loud enough to crack the mountain itself.

The klakk reacted instantly, flying toward the rescue team and unleashing their sonic screams. Vezon and Lariska fought them off, while Brutaka used his blade to parry the streams of sound. Meanwhile, Miserix raised his arm tentatively. Seeing that it was indeed free of its bonds, he reached over with it and tore the other chain from the ground. This time, he did not scream, but only smiled.

The klakk were gaining ground now, driving the team back toward where the insects were still lurking. Miserix watched the battle for a moment in silence. Then he opened his mouth and unleashed a power scream that felled the klakk, along with Vezon and Lariska. Brutaka and Roodaka barely remained conscious. Crawling over, Brutaka checked on his two team members – both were still living.

“Now, then,” said Miserix. “Where is Teridax?”

Brutaka laughed. “And if I tell you, you have no reason to keep us alive. Gratitude is not high on the list of Makuta emotions. I’ll show you. But you are going to need to shrink down to make it out the way we came.”

“Your lack of imagination is disappointing,” said Miserix, in as close to good spirits as a Makuta ever got. He reared back and struck the side of the mountain with all his might, once, twice, again. The rock cracked and began to crumble. Miserix followed up with his fragmentation power, reducing the entire side of the volcano to shards of stone. Beyond it, Brutaka could see the sky and the sea.

“At last!” said Miserix. “After so many millennia – I am free!”

Before Brutaka’s startled eyes, the dragon grew wings. Then Miserix turned his crimson-scaled head to Brutaka and said, “Come. Show me where my enemy hides, so I may grind his armor to dust and feed on his energies.”

“No!” shouted Roodaka. “They want to lead you into a trap! Listen to me, I too am an enemy of the Brotherhood. Brutaka wants to use you, to sacrifice you as a pawn in a war against the Makuta. I want you for an ally!”

Miserix lowered his lead and leaned in so that his massive face was up against Roodaka’s. When he spoke, it was in a whisper. “Little one, I am Makuta Miserix. I am no one’s pawn. I am no one’s ally.” His next words came in a roar that drove Roodaka back into the rock wall. “And I am no one’s fool!!”

Brutaka watched, looking unimpressed. “Are you done?”

Miserix nodded slowly. “Let us go. I have a universe to rediscover.”

Brutaka loaded the stunned Roodaka and the now semi-conscious Lariska and Vezon onto the dragon’s back. Then he climbed on himself. Miserix unfurled his wings and stepped out into the open air. They soared high above the island, pausing only long enough for Miserix to make a muttered vow to come back and destroy the place one day. Brutaka noted that the team’s boat was gone – Takadox had gotten away after all, then.

Let him run. It doesn’t matter, thought Brutaka. A storm is coming to this universe, and when it hits, there will be nowhere for anyone to hide.

Miserix spread his wings and turned toward the north, carrying his passengers into the unknown.

The End