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breeeliss · 4 years

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i heard some people don’t know about the Taang/Kummi theory

So this was originally supposed to be a response to an ask I had gotten about this ATLA theory, but because Read More links on Tumblr asks seem to break once you edit them, I’m reposting so that people can actually see the post lol

For anyone who wasn’t a part of the Toph x Aang LiveJournal fandom in the early 2000s, buckle up, because this bugged me out as a 13 year old.

Remember the end of “The Swamp” (Book 2, Episode 4)? We find out the swamp isn’t haunted, Huu was just protecting it the whole time, and then he explains to Katara, Sokka, and Aang why the swamp is so mystical and sacred.

The swamp is just one big banyan grove tree that’s grown out over miles and miles. All the branches and trees they see are connected because they’re one big breathing organism. And that extends to life as well. We’re all living beings. We all share the same roots. We all are from the same tree, even if we don’t act like it. Everything is connected! Cool stuff.

But when Katara asks what her seeing her mother and what Sokka seeing Yue meant, Huu explains that “in the swamp, we see visions of people we lost, people we’ve loved, folks we think are gone, but the swamp tells us they’re not. We’re still connected to them. Time is an illusion, and so is death.” So Katara never really lost her mother and Sokka never really lost Yue because the connections we make in life transcend death and time. They’re not gone. They’re still a part of us. The swamp reminds us of this.

Now, to keep in theme with this, we probably would’ve expected Aang to also see visions of people he’s lost and loved before (Gyatso, the other Airbenders, his culture, etc.)

But for some reason, Aang sees...Toph. Someone he doesn’t know.

Huu doesn’t really give Aang an explanation for this, he sort of just lets Aang figure it out for himself. And what we’re left is “okay well if time is an illusion and this isn’t someone I’ve made a connection with yet, it’s someone I will make a connection with.” We’re made to accept that as viewers, but why was Aang’s vision so different? Was it really just to lead him in the direction of his Earthbending Master so that he can continue on with his destiny?

Or was it because, unbeknownst to Aang, Toph actually was someone that he had loved and lost before? Just not in this life. In another life. A past life. When he wasn’t Aang, but rather Avatar Kuruk, the Southern Water Tribe Avatar that came before Avatar Kyoshi.

✨Basically the theory is that Toph is one of the reincarnations of Ummi, the southern water tribe woman that fell in love with Avatar Kuruk and had her face tragically stolen by Koh, the Face Stealer.✨

Stay with me, because it gets way deeper.

Who are Kuruk and Ummi you ask?

We formally meet Kuruk during “Sozin’s Comet Part 2: The Old Masters” (Book 3, Episode 19) when Aang is appealing to his past lives for wisdom with regard to what to do with Ozai. Kuruk was a “go with the flow” (lmao) Avatar and sort of just let things play out and it seemed to work for him. He met a girl named Ummi, they fell in love, they were gonna get married, cool.

According to the comic books, Koh I guess was kinda off-put by Kuruk’s arrogance? So as punishment this spirit straight up abducts Ummi on their wedding night and steals her face (ultimately killing her). He blames himself, saying if he’d been more attentive and active he could’ve saved her. He tried to kill Koh out of revenge over it, but could never do so. Koh alludes to this when Aang visits him in “The Siege of the North Part 2″ (Book 1, Episode 20) and shows Aang Ummi’s face. All in all, super tragic.

The Avatar never really “dies.” He’s constantly being reborn. The reason Aang is able to consult his past lives for wisdom is because all of his past lives are him. If the point of the swamp is to get you to understand that death is an illusion, then the swamp understands that the separation between Aang and Kuruk is also an illusion. They’re different people but also the same person all at once. They’re still connected.

So, assuming that Aang was no different from Katara and Sokka and was also seeing people that he’s loved and lost in the past while in the swamp, maybe Toph really is someone he’s met and known before. He just lost and loved her in a past life that neither of them remembers back when they were both completely different people.

But wait, what’s the proof that Ummi is one of Toph’s past lives?

This theory hinges on the assumption that the Avatar isn’t the only one who is capable of being reincarnated. So if you keep with that assumption, there are a few moments highlighted by the theory that connect Toph and Ummi.

The most obvious of which is that Toph is blind. Seeing as how Ummi lost her face when she was a human (and Koh still has it), it would make sense that her future reincarnations would potentially have some kind of loss of their senses attributed to, you know, getting your face ripped off. BUT, another detail that is, in my opinion, a little more interesting is one of Aang’s anxiety nightmares from “Nightmares and Daydreams” (Book 3, Episode 9). Specifically the part of the nightmare where Toph is featured looking like this:

(so creepy ;A;) But why does Toph manifest in Aang’s dream this way, devoid of life and devoid of a face of all things?

This dream that Aang is having is over his anxieties/fears over losing his friends. Sokka, Toph, and Katara all succumb to some sort of horrific end in this dream and Aang is unable to save them. It seems like his anxieties over losing Toph manifested through showing us Toph as a lifeless husk with...no face. Maybe when Aang was having this nightmare, some of the fears and anxieties felt by his previous lives were bleeding in. It would make sense that Kuruk’s greatest anxiety/fear would be losing his loved ones as well, after he failed to protect Ummi from having her face stolen.

And if we assume that Toph actually is Ummi (i.e. a reincarnation that Aang subconsciously remembers), it would make sense that Aang would see Toph standing there in the darkness. Her face stolen. Helpless to save her.

And then in “The Avatar and the Firelord” (Book 3, Episode 6), after learning about Zuko’s lineage and Avatar Roku’s relationship with Sozin, it’s Toph who remarks, “do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

It’s interesting that Toph would be the one to ask this. And it’s interesting that Aang is the one that reaches out to hold her hand first and tell him that he doesn’t see why that can’t be possible. Because these connections that transcend lifetimes aren’t limited to just the Avatar. They’re apparent in everyone’s lives, no matter who you are. And the fact that Toph and Aang were able to share that brief moment and give each other that reassurance makes sense if you consider that, several lifetimes ago for them both, they were a lot closer than just mere friends.

And are there other connections between Taang and Kummi?

The theory supports some interesting parallels between Kuruk and Ummi’s relationship and Toph and Aang’s relationship. Kuruk and Aang are very similar in that they both avoided their Avatar duties. Kuruk because of his lackadaisical nature and Aang because he was afraid.

Ummi ultimately ended up being Kuruk’s punishment for not being able break from this passivity and actively pursue his responsibilities as the Avatar. But, by contrast, Toph ended up being Aang’s greatest asset with regard to helping him break from his passivity and learn to face things head on no matter how impossible they may seem.

The Earthbending portion of “Bitter Work” (Book 2, Episode 9) is exclusively about this. Aang is passive by nature, hence why Earthbending is such a hard element for him to master. As Toph so eloquently put: “You had a perform stance, and a perfect form, but when it came right down to it you didn’t have the guts.” The whole episode she’s goading him into being strong and firm. She mercilessly lays into him for not being direct. For being a pushover. For not facing his problems. For not standing up for himself. For being passive. The very thing that was Kuruk’s downfall.

But the pushing works because Toph unlocks something very powerful in him. Toph taught him how to be active. To face his struggles head on. To not flinch before responsibility or danger. That moment where Aang stands up to the moose lion and promises Sokka that he won’t leave him alone (that he will be there to protect him, and he’ll stand staunch in the face of danger) is a really important emotional milestone. It’s a role that’s very different from the one that Katara plays in Aang’s life, but it’s no less important.

Katara has always been someone who cared deeply for Aang’s emotional needs, who understood the reasons why he was afraid, why he wanted to run away, why he wanted to avoid responsibility. But Toph was very much someone who took a much rougher approach to Aang. Because Aang needed it. Because Aang’s inactivity also threatened to be his downfall in this life because it got in the way of him mastering the Earth element. Toph and Aang became a victory instead of a tragedy. Toph wasn’t used as a way to hurt Aang, like Ummi was used to hurt Kuruk. Toph was one of Aang’s greatest sources of strength.

And it was their connection to each other -- their connection that transcended lifetimes -- that brought them back together as friends.

And maybe more if you feel like adding a ship to your repertoire.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #taang #toph beifong #aang #god this was like one big flashback to my youth #how scary #this ended up being so long lmao #but it went DEEP MAN #every shipper thought aang and toph were starcrossed lovers #me included lmao

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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So, any thoughts on The Green Lama (who unexpectedly became one of my faves), the Pulp Hero who is also a Superhero?

Much like other pulp heroes of the time, The Green Lama had multiple secret identities and a massive supporting cast aiding him in his quest for justice. Unlike his contemporaries, The Green Lama eschewed guns in favor of radioactive salts, magic, and sleight of hand. He rarely, if ever, killed his enemies. His tales also had an advanced sense of continuity, with characters growing and changing over time, plot points introduced in one story paying off several tales later. The Green Lama is a character of contradictions, driven forward by a faith he is forced to betray. It makes him flawed and imperfect, and in that way, one of the most human of all pulp heroes - The Green Lama: Scions

While not the "only" example of a pulp hero who is a superhero, The Green Lama is arguably the one who leans the most into the superhero aspect out of all the classic 30s pulp heroes that usually get brought up. I would argue that The Green Lama is the most direct answer to the question "what happens when you combine The Shadow and Superman together", considering he was modeled extensively after both in his forays into pulp, radio and comic books, and has also grown into his own character.

He's got the unique skills bordering on superpowers (that eventually became outright superpowers). He's got pretty much The Spectre's costume, except of course he came first. He's an urban costumed crimefighter wh deals with gangsters and criminal masterminds, and yet has an extremely strong stance against killing and carrying guns under any circumstance, even saying they would make him no better than the criminals he fights, which makes him by default the pulp hero that Batman would get along best with. The comics took it way further even turning the “Om Ma-ne Pad-me Hum” chant into a Shazam! transformation cry (Shazam came first, although the two debuted in the same year).

He's got a suitably punchy and dramatic origin: guy spends 10 years in Tibet and returns to America intend on spreading Buddhism's pacifist doutrine, only to witness the murder of children at the hands of mobsters the literal second he steps off the boat, and after spending restless days in the police station to see if they would find the culprit, he sees the killer walk out of the commissioner's office free, which convinces him he needs to take up crimefighting because the police are useless, and he outright calls the police "incompetent" in a letter to the papers that he uses to introduce himself to the world, which is not something you find often in 30s/40s fiction even if's an implicit part of the pulp hero/superhero fantasy.

He had a stronger sense of continuity than most pulp heroes were usually afforded. He has a lot of the pulp hero stock and trade like the assistants and the pseudo-science and the odd radio gadgets and of course the Orientalism that we'll get into, but remixed in a pretty cool way that allows him to stand out from his inspiration. He's got incredibly weird aspects to him like the fact that he gets enhanced abilities from crystallized salt or even becoming radioactive (which could be interesting to explore considering "radiation" became the go-to origin for superpowers in the 60s). He's got an allright supporting cast and Magga, while ultimately a deus ex machina, is a very interesting addition to it and I wish her mystery was played up more often in subsequent stories past the original run. There's a lot about The Green Lama that really works, he was incredibly successful at the time and he's managed to thrive over the years lot more than most of his contemporaries

Despite all the powers he wielded he felt impotent, nothing more than a rich boy playing the games of gods. He had chosen the path of the Bodhisattva, sacrificing himself for the good of all sentient beings, but even so the weight of responsibility, the lives of so many in his hands, threatened to crush him. It was tempting to turn away, to deny his calling, but the life of a Bodhisattva demanded more; and it was only recently that he had begun to realize how much it truly required.

The main problem with The Green Lama, and by problem I mean "the character works fine for his time but this is seriously holding him back from becoming sustainable again", is the fact that he's a white rich man who fights crime by going as hard into Orientalism tropes as possible, which is inescapably baked into the premise.

Now, I will argue that The Green Lama was, for his time, a progressive character. The Buddhist aspects of his character weren't just backstory fodder or an excuse for his superpowers as they were to pretty much every other character at the time, Jethro was a practicing Buddhist, who fought crime informed by his beliefs, trying to respect them (and not exactly succeeding) and offering a wholly positive perspective of Buddhism. Nowadays, it creates a problem, but at the time, it made the character stand out from every other hero who had "traveled to Tibet" checked out, because Tibet and Buddhism were heavily incorporated into the character. The Lama may have been born merely out of a desire to cash in on The Shadow's newfound radio popularity, but Crossen took it much more seriously than his contemporaries and made it an effort to instill admiration in his readers towards what he was referencing, which he was pulling from books about the subject and the Pali language. Is research the bare minimum? Yes. But it’s a bare minimum that even today’s writers don’t do even having an infinitely bigger wealth of information at their disposal.

To further cement my point: There's a particular Green Lama comic story called The Four Freedoms, which is about the Lama receiving a letter from a fan in the army who's worried about a racist private who keeps insulting the black privates while crowing about racial superiority, and so the Lama kidnaps the private and takes him on a tour through Germany so he can witness firsthand how his talk aligns with Nazi ideology, even specifically referring to Jim Crow's laws, criticizing how easily Americans fall for racial war rhetoric, and pointing out the idea of racism as a tool of tyrants to divide and conquer. It's not my place to champion this as some great representation and that's not what I'm doing, but if this all seems passe or simplistic or even problematic to you, trust me, this was still the era of Slap-A-Jap Superman, stories like this were absolutely not the norm at the time, even in other stories where superheroes dealt with racial discrimination.

He even caps off the story by stating that punching or ending Hitler is not the solution (although he lets Jones take a couple of swings) because Hitler is just one part of a much bigger problem that needs to be fought on all of it's forms. It's all very much afterschool special/anti-racism PSA, sure, but it's easier to mock those in our time. You find me a Golden Age superhero comic that shits on Jim Crow specifically while the hero tells the reader that Hitler is not the ultimate evil but merely "a cog in the wheel", part of a problem that's deeply entrenched in America's own shores (really, do, I'm genuinely curious if more of them did anything like this).

Does any part of what I said negates the fact that, at the end of the day, he's still a white man using Orientalism mysticism to fight crime? No, it doesn't. And if Iron Fist can't get away with it, if Dr Strange only just barely does, the Green Lama sure as hell can't. And you cannot downplay those aspects either lest you end up with a completely different character. It's a bit of a conundrum that makes the character tricky to approach from a revival perspective.

I completely agree with what you said here, Green Lama would benefit from a Legacy Hero approach very strongly. And Green Lama: Scions opens up an interesting possibility of Jethro Dumont not being quite what he seems, backed up by the fact that he wore disguise make-up in the original stories:

They had a lot of names for him in the papers—the Verdant Avenger, the Mysterious Man of Strength—but Reynolds had always been partial to “Buddhist Bastard.” No one had ever seen his face or, at the very least, the same face. Seemed like everyone had a different story. The Green Lama was white, he was black, he was asian, he was old, and he was young. You could fill a room of witnesses and no two would describe the same person.

Really I think if you just got rid of that one thing that holds the Lama back the most from catching on in modern times, I think he's the kind of character that lends itself a lot to long-term sustainability. He's already fairly popular as is, definitely an indispensable inclusion of any shared pulp hero or Golden Age superhero universe and definitely one of my favorites among the 30s American pulp heroes. And there’s ways to make the concept more interesting and workable.

Maybe The Green Lama is just a title that's been going on for generations, with Jethro being one of many to fill in. Maybe Magga used to be it, maybe the tulku that instructed Jethro did, maybe there's a new character with it. Maybe Jethro is just an identity used by an Asian-American adventurer to operate safely in the US, or maybe Jethro has a sort of Lamont Cranston arrangement going on. Maybe he's part of the reason why Tibet was the superpower capital of the world in the 30s or 40s, or part of the reason why radiation started granting so many heroes superpowers in the 60s.

The character's skillset has been fairly "anything goes" ever since his author made him a flying superman for the comics, and really he already started out being able to deliver electric shocks through his fingers by guzzling radioactive salts. He's a very weird character, and I will always argue that weird is what works best for the pulp heroes.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #comic books #comics #the green lama #jethro dumont #alex ross

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wellimaginethat · 4 years

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Quite the Scare

Pairing: Matt Casey x (female) Reader

Requested?: Yes

Word Count: 2083

Author’s Note: Another Matt request! Yay! I love him

Trigger Warning(s): Injury, near death, mention of an argument, a child is injured as well (but saved)

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Y/N and Matt have been dating for about a year and have been living together for a few months. One night they have the biggest fight of their relationship and Y/N leaves and goes to stay with a friend. A week later, while she’s working, Matt is rushed in to the hospital after being severely injured.

Y/N = Your Name

You couldn’t even remember what started the fight. Just that it started and quickly spun out of control. You remember running out of your shared apartment and that Matt didn’t try to stop you.

You went to your best friend’s house, showing up in tears. She swore that she was gonna kick his ass and was halfway to the door before you managed to stop her.

Sarah comforted you and told you that you could stay with her for as long as you needed.

Only problem was that you didn’t grab anything.

You knew when Matt’s next shift was, so you went to grab some stuff and then went back to your friend’s house.

A week passed by and you hadn’t heard from Matt, which made you worry. You two had been living together for nearly a year now, and things were going fine. Sure you fought every once in a while, but it was usually nothing. And nothing like this ever happened. The two of you usually cooled down and made up, but this time was different.

You knew that maybe you shouldn’t have run out, and at first you were just too proud to go back, but now you were too heartbroken. It had been an entire week and he hadn’t come to see you, or called you, or even texted you. Maybe he didn’t love you anymore.

You pushed those feelings aside as you got ready for another shift at the hospital.

When you got to the hospital, however, you were immediately plagued by the feeling that something bad was going to happen. You could feel it in your stomach.

Hours passed and everything was fine, and then the ambulance showed up. You were immediately greeted by two patients being wheeled in from a fire, a man and his young daughter, with her being in the worst condition.

You could hear him pleading with anyone who would listen to save his daughter, and your heart hurt.

You rushed over to help, but then your eyes landed on the firefighter being brought in behind them. Your heart sank, and the minute you recognized who it was, it broke completely.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

You tried to catch your breath.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you knew that you couldn’t tend to him given your relationship, so you headed over to one of the other patients. “Let me know his condition asap.” You told Connor before disappearing, off to operate on the little girl.

You forced yourself to focus on what you were doing and to keep your mind off Matt, but it was hard to do.

Somehow you managed to go about your job and finished the surgery, ultimately saving your patient.

As soon as you were done, you walked out of the OR and you were met by Connor standing there. Immediately you felt a pit in your stomach as your eyes met his. “Is he-”

“He’s alive.” Connor assured you.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding.

“He’s in critical condition though.” Connor added gently, knowing how worried you must be.

You swallowed hard. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?” You asked timidly. “I want your honest opinion.”

Connor watched you for a moment, he knew you were a smart doctor and that you would figure it out eventually, but he still hesitated. “The next twenty four hours are crucial, but overall he’s in good condition, all things considered.”

You swallowed hard again and nodded.

As soon as you could you went to see him, he looked bad. You slowly stepped into the room and over to his bedside. Gingerly, you picked up his hand and very gently stroked the back of it with your thumb.

He was unconscious and intubated, and you knew that he most likely couldn’t hear you, but that didn’t stop you from talking to him.

“God, Matt.” You breathed out, tears stinging your eyes. “What happened to you?” You asked quietly, looking at his face. “I’m sorry about the fight.” You spoke after a moment. “I shouldn’t have left, or I should have at least come back, but I wanted you to chase me. I know that sounds so immature and stupid, but it’s the truth. I wanted to know that you still wanted me.” You sniffled and a few tears trickled down your cheeks. “I love you and I still want you, so please don’t die on me.” You begged. “Please, I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

You stayed there as long as you could, sitting in that chair next to his bedside, until Connor came in.

“You should go home and get some rest.” Connor told you gently, his hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t leave him.” You said monotonously.

Connor shook his head. “It won’t do him or anyone else any good with you being here and not getting any rest.”

You sighed, you knew he was right, so you nodded and stood up. You didn’t wanna leave Matt, but you knew you should try to get some rest. You leaned over and kissed Matt’s forehead. “I love you.” You whispered to him before turning and walking out. You stopped by the nurse’s station. “If Matt Casey’s condition changes in any way, I want to be notified asap.” You informed them in a polite but firm tone. You were met with a few nods before you finally left.

You went back to the apartment you shared with Matt and it just felt so cold and different. You were worried you’d be met with your stuff packed up by the door, but you weren’t, everything was the same.

The first thing you did was take a shower and change into some comfy sweats and a t-shirt that would work for bed, but also stuff you wouldn’t mind being seen in public wearing in case something changed in Matt’s condition.

After your shower, you decided you’d better eat something which is when you went to the kitchen and found the post-it note on the fridge.

Y/N- If you come back and I’m not here, please wait for me. I want us to talk and work this out, I love you and I miss you. Love, Matt

That was enough to cause the tears to spring to your eyes again, and next thing you knew you were on the kitchen floor crying your eyes out.

You didn’t know how long you were like that, whether it was five minutes or two hours, all you knew was that when your phone rang and you sprung up to get it, your body was stiff with fatigue.

You answered your phone quickly, worried. You were greeted by April’s voice telling you that Matt was awake.

“I’ll be right there.” You hung up after saying that and hurried to the door to put your shoes on, you were at the hospital in record time and rushing in.

When you walked into his room, you paused at the door seeing the others there with him.

“Hey guys, why don’t we give them a minute?” Herrmann spoke up, shifting his stance before beginning to herd the others out. They all looked at you, but you were too focused on Matt to register their feelings behind them, until Herrmann finally headed out and gave you a gentle, caring smile.

You returned it before slowly walking into the room and over to Matt’s bedside. “You know the limit on visitors is only two people, right?” You asked, chuckling softly, you were trying to use humor to ease the situation, since the last time the two of you talked you were screaming ‘go to hell’ at him. “Then again, I know how they are. You guys are a tight knit family, so I’m not surprised they were here with you.”

“I was told that you had to be kicked out.” Matt spoke out, his voice quiet and even, a little hoarse from being intubated.

“You seem to be doing much better than you were when I was here earlier.” You commented, chewing on the inside of your cheek a bit, fiddling with your hands.

“Y/N-” Matt started, causing you to look at him. “I’m sorry about the fight.”

You let out a relieved breath. “I am too.” You said softly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and picking up his hand. “And I’m sorry for leaving like I did.”

Matt’s eyes met yours and he just stared at you for a moment. “Will you come home?”

You smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah.”

Matt smiled. “Can’t believe it took me almost getting killed to get you to come back.”

“It didn’t.” You shook your head. “It just took you asking me to come back.”

He looked at you in shock then. “All I had to do was ask?”

You nodded. “Pretty much. Neither of us were innocent in the fight, but neither of us were completely at fault either. All you had to do was ask me to come back, let me know that you wanted to work things out.” You said softly. “But, I could have done the same. I could have let you know that I wanted to work things out too.”

Matt nodded slowly.

You fell silent for a moment, staring at his hand in yours. “I found your note.” You said softly.

“You did?” Matt asked softly, knowing that meant you had already gone back to your apartment, which made him happy.

You nodded. “I did.”

“I put it there right after you left.” Matt admitted with a small smile. “I really have missed you, so much.”

“I missed you too.” You said softly, gently squeezing his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Happy.” Matt answered you.

You looked at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Sore.” Matt sighed.

“You gave me quite the scare, what happened?” You asked softly, not sure you wanted to know but at the same time feeling like you needed to.

“I got distracted.” Matt told you. “A beam fell on me, knocked me out and then the next thing I know, I’m waking up here.”

“You got distracted?” You asked softly, raising a brow.

“We were getting ready to pull out and I heard a child.” Matt told you softly.

You gasped, eyes widening.

“She’s fine, they got her and she’s fine-”

“I know.” You cut him off softly. “She was my patient.”

Matt smiled at you. “So you’re the one that saved her.”

“It was a team effort, if you hadn’t heard her, she wouldn’t have been brought in for me to save.” You told him with a soft smile.

He returned the smile. “I’m glad she’s okay.”

“Me too.” You agreed, nodding.

When Matt was eventually released, you drove him home to recuperate. It didn’t feel weird being there this time, the coldness seemed to dissipate and was replaced with the warm, inviting feeling you always felt. It felt like home again.

“So where did you go when you left?”

“Sarah’s.” You answered. “She wanted to kick your ass, by the way.”

Matt snorted. “Of course.”

“Although she said the universe did that for her.” You laughed a bit. “She’s glad you’re okay and that we’re okay.”

Matt smiled and pulled you over to him. “We’re more than okay.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss you gently.

You pulled back slowly. “Don’t scare me like that again, please.”

“I’ll try not to.” Matt told you.

You were both aware that it would most likely happen again, but you knew that when you started dating and you learned to deal with the worry.

“Good.” You responded after a moment, kissing his cheek lightly before moving to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Matt asked, quick to grab you again, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“The kitchen to make us something to eat.” You responded.

“Let’s just order in, I’ve gone too long without you in my arms.” Matt responded as he placed a tender kiss to your neck.

You giggled softly and turned in his arms. “You need to rest.”

“I will.” Matt responded with a smirk.

You looked at him for a moment before smirking back. “So what are we ordering tonight? Pizza?”

“You can pick.” Matt told you.

“Well I obviously want pizza.” You responded with a small laugh, your arms wrapping around his neck as you leaned in for another kiss.

#matt casey x reader #matt casey imagine #matt casey imagines #chicago fire imagine #chicago fire imagines

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dreams-got-dimmer · 4 years

Text

NEW GIRL (BolinxReader)

PART 1

Summary: multiple part fic?? + AU kind of (The reader is 18, Bolin is 18 and mako is 20) Reader desperately needs a place to live and finds an advertisement for two brothers who need a roommate. Maybe more than just living arrangements may come out of this deal... (reader x Bolin) (slow burn)

Warnings: abandonment??

Word count: 1600~

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Time was running out and I still didn’t have a place to stay. I can still hear my fathers voice telling me that no bender belongs in their family. I never asked to be born a bender, but it was a part of me. Something I couldn’t deny and my parents didn’t want to accept that. I had tried to keep my practicing a secret but my little sister let it slip that I was working on fire bending. I thought I would resent her for the slip up, but nothing in me could hate her for it, she meant no harm. Even still that slip up cost me my relationship with my family. There was no hesitation in throwing me out. We fought and screamed and eventually I lost my temper and my emotions boiled over. As tears spilled down my face I burned down our whole dining room area. That right there is what solidified me never being able to return to my family.

“You monster! Look at what you did! Get your things and leave, you’re not our daughter anymore,” my mother spat at me in disgust. I ran as fast as I could to gather my things and slipped out in the dead of night.

Since then I haven’t seen or heard from my family and it hurt so bad. Even if they didn’t accept who I was I just wanted to be loved and cherished by them and I would never get that. It was hard to go a day without a lump forming in my throat and my eyes welling up, but I had to be strong and determined for myself. Three weeks at the shelter had already been wasted and they only allotted a month for you to get back on your feet.

Most days were spent trying to find some sort of income, most jobs were just quick money, but I was closer and closer to finding steady income soon. If I wasn’t looking for a job I was trying to find a place to stay. Most, of not all were out of my price range. I ended up back at the shelter day after day discouraged and frustrated by my lack of luck. The staff at the shelter were getting increasingly annoyed by my outbursts of anger and flame and I’m sure they were happy that I was almost out of there. Granted I felt bad about being destructive but they always gave me a tight smile and assured me that things will get better.

And today was the day things got better. I almost squealed out of happiness seeing the paper plastered on a bulletin board at the pro-bending arena. I thought I wasn’t reading it right, but after a few moments I knew it was true.

The poster read,

“2 BROTHER IN NEED OF A ROOMMATE

•Three bedroom loft just above the pro-bending arena

•Great view of Air temple Island

•100 Yuans a month

If interested just knock on our door

- Mako and Bolin”

That’s all I needed. I ripped off the poster and made my way to the loft. I didn’t care who they were, just the fact that 100 yuans was totally doable. I had about 500 yuans saved up from the little jobs I had done here and there and the little bit I had saved from birthdays. I nearly sprinted my way to the loft and left myself breathless in front of the door. I was too excited to even feel nervous as I started knocking. Practically banging until the door swung up.

“Is it that necessary to bang?” Before me stood a very attractive. Like very attractive man. Tall and even a bit lanky. He towered over me. And while he seemed serious he didn’t seem too intimidating. Maybe it he was and I just couldn’t realize it because I was so determined at this opportunity.

“Yes. Definitely,” I rushed out quickly as I pushed past him. I took a look around and while it was simple, it was perfect. Roomy and open and a great view through big windows. The light flooring made the place seem so much bigger too. “Are you going to tell me who you are since you just barged in like you own the place?” I turned back towards the tall man and saw him narrow his eyes and his hands twitch. His eyes were like fire.

“Oh yeah sorry, I’m y/n and I’m most definitely going to own this place,” I nodded my head assuringly, more for myself then for him, “well not own, but at least pay rent,” I waved the poster a bit.

“Okay okay before you introduce yourself let me guess which brother you are,” I surveyed him and then looked at the poster with the names. Bolin didn’t really seem to fit so I went with the latter. “I’m gonna guess your Mako. I feel that it fits with your whole persona you got going on,” I smiled, but he just stood there wordlessly, “Oh wow I’m so sorry I know I must sound crazy and very upfront right now. I’ve just been desperately trying to find a place to stay. My parents kicked me out and I have no where else to go. I’ve been stuck at the shelter and my time is almost up and I saw this poster and I thought this was my lucky break. Now I’m just rambling...” I trailed off and was surprised at how honest I was.

“Mako! Who are you talking to down there?” My head whipped towards where the sound came from and saw a form jump down the stairs and landed loudly on our level. And once he straightened out I was faced with ANOTHER gorgeous man. What the hell have I gotten myself in to!? My breathing stopped as I got a good look at him. He was stocky and you could tell he had thick arms and legs without him even taking his clothes off. His broad build and wide stance lead me to believe he was an earth bender and his emerald green eyes were something to get lost in. I shook my head waving these thoughts away. These are potential roommates, not people to drool over.

“I’m y/n I’m trying to find a place to stay and I luckily found your poster. I hope no one has taken you guys up on the offer,” I smiled sheepishly. I fiddled with the poster looking down, “I promise I’ll be a great roommate, I can cook and clean and I’ll stay out of your way-“ I was trying to plead my case and ultimately got cut off

“You’re perfect!” Emerald eyes broke out into the cutest grin there could be “let’s get you moved in right away! Are you a bender? I’m an earth bender,” he flexed his arms subtly, “My brother and I are pro-benders and that’s how we get to live up here in the loft. Oh by the way I’m Bolin. We’ve had people try to be our roommate, but they’ve all been a bit... how do you say serial killer-esque,” he grimaced at the last sentence. He was so much more talkative and charismatic than Mako who I guess was the older brother. Had to be serious to contain this ball of energy.

“BOLIN! you can’t just let her move in we need to discuss this together. We barely know her!” Mako clenched his jaw.

“Well, what do you want to know?” I asked quietly looking back and forth between the two.

They both started firing questions at me. Bolin a bit more enthusiastically than Mako. His questions were also a bit more light hearted. Favorite color, food, what my hobbies were and easy things like that. Mako on the other hand was digging real deep asking questions that I wasn’t even sure I wanted to answer, but I knew they had to be said.

“What did you do to get kicked out?” Mako looked at me with an accusatory glare.

“I didn’t do anything!” My eyes welled up, “I got kicked out for being who I am! I’m a fire bender and no one else in my family has there bending ability. They are so against it. My whole life was a battle. I wished so bad they would love and cherish me even, but all they wanted to do was suppress who I am,” I started crying without shame and I knew the boys didn’t know what to do, “My sister let it slip that is have been practicing bending. I’ve gotten away with it for 10 years and it just now became known,” Bolin handed me a tissue with the utmost concern in his eyes. Even Mako looked a little sad, “Well, my family disowned me immediately and in the midst of our fight I lost control and burn our dining room to bits and that made them hate me even more. So, here I am a month later trying really desperately for two brothers to let me become their roommate,” I smiled weakly my face sticky with drying tears.

“Alright you can stay but I need the first two months rent right now. Please don’t make us regret this. I feel for you and your hardships, but if you do anything to fuck over what we have I won’t hesitate to throw you out,” Mako looked at me sternly and Bolin was almost jumping with excitement.

“REALLY!??” I practically screeched. I rummaged through my bag and threw the money at Mako all while pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. I moved to Bolin and did the same thing.

“You guys won’t regret this I promise!”

#lok #legend of korra #atla #avatar the last airbender #bolin #bolin x reader #bolin au #slow burn #thicc boi bolin

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kyasarinkishinuma · 4 years

Note

So you know how Caesar used to be this thug on the streets who use hamon? So what about one day Caesar is roaming around and he sees this girl fighting by using hamon and she just beats the absolute shit out of her opponent, Caesar sees himself in her and like tries to convince lisa lisa to like take her in or something??

This prompt is really great! Thank you for requesting this, I love the idea (as well as Caesar, he's my favourite 'side character'). I hope you'll enjoy!

Also, I changed your scenario up a bit to make it more interesting (in my opinion). I hope you don't mind!

Caesar x Reader: Rebels

Life on Lisa Lisa's island was lonely.

Caesar was the only young Hamon trainee at the time, making it fairly difficult for him to interact with anyone in his age group. Not that he minded so much, though. When he wasn't flirting with cute girls in Venice's restaurants, he preferred to be alone, meditating in his room to practice his Hamon breathing. Very few dared disturb him.

He didn't dislike it, though. Caesar had been a loner ever since his father had left his siblings and he. Sure, he had a small gang in his thug days, but those following him mostly did out of admiration. Caesar had been a powerful, feared man of the streets. He barely ever lost to anyone.

His pride wouldn't allow him to be humiliated in such a way.

But those days were over, and far from glorious. He'd never go back, now that he had taken up his bloodline's quest for the Stone Mask.

It was a past that was so far, yet so close.

And it hit him in the face, one day, when he returned to his home city, Naples.

Caesar pulled his hat over his face as he quickened his pace in his former neighbourhood. He didn't want to risk getting recognized. Yes, he had changed a lot, but he had quite a number of followers in his thug days. And most importantly, he didn't want to drive his family out of the safety of their ignorance and into his perilous quest.

Once he reached a busier street, farther off, he gave off a long breath and leaned up against a wall to calm down. It was all right. This wasn't his home anymore. No one had recognized him. He had to carry out Lisa Lisa's orders.

After having collected himself, the Italian man stood back up, going on with his business as he merged into the bustling crowd.

Until some distant screams caught his attention.

He'd recognize that kind of scream anywhere.

Try as he might, he was unable to contain his curiosity. He slipped away toward the dark alleys from which the furious yells had sounded.

He felt his heart pounding as he got closer and closer to what he knew was a street fight. He really shouldn't get involved, but he just had to see.

And when he did, hidden behind a wall, his eyes popped right out of his head.

There was a street fight, all right. But he knew one of the fighters all too well.

It was one lady against three burly men.

And yet, the males were the ones yelling.

From what Caesar had seen, the girl was really pissing them off.

"You damn woman!" The leader of the trio seethed, a vein popping out from his neck. "You're fucking crazy!"

"Just give me back what you stole and we can put this behind us," calmly spoke the woman, arms crossed over her chest. Caesar gulped. He hadn't heard that voice in ages.

The men chuckled darkly, starting to close in on their target. "You don't know what's good for you, woman. You asked for it!"

They pounced.

She jumped.

As a result, the men's heads smashed together, making them wail as they stumbled back and cursed.

"What the--- Fuck!" The woman's first victim gave out a scream as he was gracefully punched in the jaw, sending him stumbling into a rock wall. Caesar stared on with wide eyes. For her size, the lady was incredibly strong.

Growling, another man went for the lone fighter, wrapping his chunky arms around her neck from behind to choke her. Helpless against his massive form, her face rapidly turned to a cherry-like colour, although she took a deep breath.

And then, she leaned forward, somehow flipping the man over her head to make him smash onto the ground.

As he howled and writhed in pain on the alley street, she calmly came up to him and kicked him in the face with her boot, knocking him out.

Caesar couldn't believe what he was seeing. This lady was single-handedly whooping these bulky thugs' asses. He would've intervened if it had been necessary, but it looked like he'd only be a witness today.

The woman turned back toward her ultimate opponent, the trio's leader. His face was growing redder and redder by the second. He was downright furious.

"You'll pay for that, you fucking broad..." He growled lowly under his breath, hands balling into fists.

A smirk tugged at her lips. "If you want a piece of this, come get it."

That was it. That was the final straw.

The burly man charged at the last fighter with a blood-curdling scream.

The lady stood, unfazed.

She was brutally bowled over by the oversized thug's strength, falling to the ground beneath his suffocating weight.

And yet, next thing the man knew, he was flying through the air. His face smashed into the alley wall, and he crumbled to the ground with a quiet groan before he passed out.

This time, Caesar had spotted the lady's little secret.

Her legs had been shining slightly when she kicked the brute off of her. And her breathing confirmed his suspicions.

She was using Hamon.

He had seen enough. Caesar emerged from behind his wall, clearing his throat gently as to alert the woman of his presence as he approached.

When she turned to face him, ready in a fighting stance, he couldn't help but smile fondly.

You, (Y/N), had not changed.

It didn't take long for you to understand what was going on. "...Caesar?" You whispered his name weakly, staring as you struggled to believe what you were seeing. "Is that really you?"

"(Y/N), bella, you haven't changed." He came up to stand in front of you, his height forced you to tilt your head up at him, as it always had. Grinning, "But it looks like you've got some new tricks up your sleeve."

You returned the grin. "Oh, Caesar, it's really you!" You threw yourself against him for a hug, giggling as joy washed over you. "It has been so long! I've missed you. How have you been?"

"I've been well," answered your old friend, gently returning the hug. "I've left the streets to start a better life. How about you?"

You pulled back, handing him a weak smile. "Me? I'm still here, I'm just same old (Y/N). It's been a bit rough on the streets, but I'm all right..." Your voice trailed off as you noticed how intensely your former gang leader was staring at you. "Hey, Caesar, don't look at me like that. It's weird."

"O-Oh," gasped Caesar, blushing slightly as he realized what he had been doing. "Sorry, (Y/N). It's just..." He gave you a serious look. "How long have you been fighting like I did?"

"Oh, you mean how long I've had this?" You held your fist up as it sparked slightly. The sight made you grin widely in pride. "Ever since you left. I had noticed how you breathed when you fought, so I tried it myself!"

"Ahh, I see..." Seeing you so proud made Caesar smile, yet worry. Hamon was a useful but dangerous ability to have, and you didn't know that. Neither one of you heard about Hamon in the streets...

"Hey, Caesar! Hellooooo? Earth to Caesar?" Said Italian man jolted out of his thoughts as he blinked, noticing the hand you had been waving in front of his face. You were observing him, arms crossed as you pouted at him. "There you are! You know, it's rude not to listen when someone is talking to you!"

Caesar chuckled at that, focusing his bright eyes back on you. His smile was back. "I know, I know. My apologies, (Y/N). But, I must tell you something..."

His seriousness caught your attention. And so he guided you out of the dark alley to someplace safer and nicer, in a local park full of flowers.

And he told you everyone he knew about Hamon.

He left out the part about the Stone Mask. He didn't want to make you panick if it wasn't necessary.

However, he did want you to leave the streets to come and train with him.

"If you come, you will master this ability," explained your friend, gazing at you pleadingly. "(Y/N), please. I want you to come with me. Come and start a new, better life."

You gave a long sigh as you struggled to process all of this new information. So Caesar and you weren't the only ones who wielded this power? It was a power that had been carried down from generation to generations by Hamon masters...

But he was asking you to leave Naples, the only home you knew. You had never been beyond this city, you knew nothing else of this world. Could you really just leave with him?

He was your best friend, yes, but... This was where you belonged.

You nodded solemnly after a moment, looking at your friend sadly. "I'm sorry Caesar, but... I can't come with you."

*****

Caesar could no longer live with his past. Not when he knew you were out there, living in dark, rat-infested alleys. Not when he knew you could be here, training with him.

He needed his friend by his side. Especially when Joseph Joestar arrived, dooming them both to fight the Pillar Men.

Caesar needed you to lean on.

He pleaded Lisa Lisa to take you in. He promised he'd work harder, he promised he'd protect the Red Stone with his life.

But Lisa Lisa would only ever shake her head.

"Caesar, we cannot force her to come here. You must understand."

He knew that. But he didn't want to accept it.

He wanted to see his best friend's face, one more time.

But he never got the chance.

*****

A bouquet of flowers. That was all that was left of Caesar, brought to you by Joseph Joestar.

Your world crumbled around you at the tragic news. And suddenly, you oh so regretted not agreeing to his offer, back when he had seen you a few years ago. What if you could've saved him? What if you could've died in his place?

You grew miserable. You grew depressed.

Naples no longer felt like home, now that Caesar's memories no longer breathed into it.

No, Caesar's memory was now elsewhere, you understood.

It was in the sparks your Hamon produced.

And you'd keep his memory alive, you decided.

Even if it meant starting all over like he had.

[END]

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo part 2 #jojo #jojo's+bizarre+adventure+x+reader #jojo+x+reader #jojo imagines #jojo's bizarre adventure imagines #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #caesar zeppeli x reader #caesar zeppeli imagines #jojo battle tendency #jojo battle tendency x reader #jojo part 2 x reader #jojo reader insert #jjba reader insert #jojo's bizarre adventure reader insert

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saiilorstars · 4 years

Text

The Serpent

Fandom: MCU // Pairing: T’Challa x woc!OFC

Chapter Summary: **One shot. Agent Citlalli Del Rio struggles to keep her professionalism in check whenever she visits Wakanda and its King. If she paid attention, she would notice that T'Challa has the same issues with her. Only he will know how to eventually get through to the woman who was once known as the warrior Serpent to her own people.

A/N: This is just a one-shot of an OC I'm currently drafting. I always like sampling a new OC with a few one-shots before I post an actual story and since I already did an OC/Steve and OC/Bucky one-shot series for each, we're going for the last OC I had in mind for now! A little context, she's a descendant from the Aztecs and, thus, from Mexico! The pronunciation of the OC's name is 'Seet-la-lee'!

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles

Citlalli’s Masterlist // Masterlist to my other OCs

[If you’d like to be added to this specific OC’s stories/edits, send me a message!]

"You certainly look as sharp as ever," Okoye remarked in her rigid stance when T'Challa walked up beside her. She didn't even look at him completely, she had enough sight from the corner of her eyes.

"As King of Wakanda, I have an obligation to look my best," was the very King's response. Had they not been surrounded by the Dora Milaje, awaiting for a scheduled visitor, perhaps Okoye would've snorted at the weak excuse. She may also be holding that snort out of sheer pity. She knew well enough why he was taking extra care in his appearance today.

As agreed upon, their visitor arrived a short moment later. Okoye could see T'Challa straightening himself up when the jet landed a safe distance from them. It was frankly bemusing.

The jet opened up and in a few seconds, a tall woman dressed in a traditional black pant suit with a white buttoned up blouse stepped down. Her caramel brown eyes met the awaiting group across from her. She walked towards them in a purposeful stride. It wasn't the first time she was lucky enough to visit the King in Wakanda itself.

"Your majesty," she said. Even the slight Spanish accent in her tone wasn't enough to hide the overwhelming sarcasm.

If Okoye hadn't already met her plenty of times before, she would've been outright offended with the sarcasm.

"Don't you dare bow," T'Challa warned the woman as soon as he caught one of her legs already bending.

The woman chuckled and straightened up that leg. "Caught me," she put a hand over her chest. "One of these days, you won't."

"I will keep my eyes sharp and open when you are around," T'Challa promised her. Beside him, he could see the tight-lipped smile Okoye was battling on her face. He had half a mind to send her away but that would out him in a second. Instead, he put all of his attention on the woman standing in front of him.

She was waiting for him with a polite smile on her face. Her curly brown hair was neatly laid on the left side of her neck but the light breeze in the air would occasionally pull loose strands.

"Agent Del Rio, welcome to Wakanda," he said, making her smile widen.

"It is beautiful as always and, just as always, my name is Citlalli. I beg you to use it," she glanced at Okoye with a polite smile. "Nice to see you as well."

Okoye gave a dutiful nod. "Likewise."

Citlalli put her hands together in front of her. "I am ready to start whenever you are," she said to T'Challa. "But I need to return to Virginia by the end of the day."

"Of course," T'challa gave her a nod. She was always on a schedule given her work in the C.I.A. but he always managed to stretch out her visits a bit more than what she always scheduled for them.

Citlalli motioned him to lead the way back to the palace. She assumed their meeting room was already waiting for them.

"Actually, I thought we could do something different," T'Challa said, much to her surprise. "It's just you and I this time so I thought we would have more time, you know?"

"Ah," Citlalli slowly nodded, "O-okay. Where would you like to have the meeting?" T'Challa set his eyes on the city beside them. Citlalli didn't quite understand until she followed his gaze. "Oh." She blinked.

T'Challa smirked. "Shall we?" he motioned her to walk first. Slowly, she did. T'Challa followed behind her but he met Okoye's smirk on his turn.

"Hardly a place for a meeting," she mumbled as they began to walk.

"Shh," he promptly told her.

~ 0 ~

"This is hardly a place for a meeting," Citlalli would unknowingly repeat Okoye's words later on in the day. She and T'Challa walked side by side down the bustling city. "I am not wearing the right clothes, either." She fanned herself with her hand every now and then. It was a warm day today.

"Nothing wrong with a change of air," T'Challa shrugged his shoulders. He enjoyed watching her curious eyes gaze over the many stalls lining their sides. Despite being one of the people allowed in Wakanda-the only agent allowed for that matter-she'd never gone out of the palace during her visits.

"Of course not," Citlalli agreed, "But, as I said, I am here to talk business." She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Dora Milaje walking a good distance from them. Privacy reasons and whatnot. "And besides, we could save the Dora the walk, couldn't we?"

"They are fine. Trust me, Citlalli," T'Challa insisted. "What are we supposed to be talking about?"

Citlalli sent him a flattened-expressed glance. "Did you not read the file I sent you prior to this meeting?"

"Of course I did, I just wanted to make sure you read them. Have you?"

Citlalli couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. For a King, he was rather funny sometimes. She tucked a curl behind her ear and sighed. "Alright," she conceded with him. They could discuss their potential plans outside. It was actually rather beautiful outside anyways. "It's regarding the center you recently opened in Oakland. Stark is interested in aiding with the funding."

"I am very thankful for it but Wakanda is more than capable of taking care of the finances of the program," T'Challa said, purposely stopping in front of a stall.

Citlalli was forced to do the same without noticing what the stall was offering. She was focused on the conversation. "Of course, nobody doubts that. I certainly don't but the idea is-"

"Would you like some?" He offered her a small piece of bread.

"What?" She blinked at it, having been thrown in the middle of her conversation. "Are you listening to me?"

"Of course, what kind of person do you think I am?" He offered the bread again.

Citlalli sighed. "I didn't exactly bring money to go shopping."

T'Challa smiled at her. "My treat."

Citlalli raised an eyebrow at him. "Does that mean you will pay?"

Before T'Challa could explain to her how it usually went, the seller herself told her that it was really her treat. How could the King pay and much less a friend of the King?

With that, Citlalli had no choice but to accept the bread, or whatever it was. She took it from T'Challa and dropped it into her mouth. As soon as she started chewing, sweet flavors of honey and nuts flooded her mouth. "Oh, that is good," she covered her mouth as she went through the several stages of divine tasting.

T'Challa chuckled at her. "I thought you would like it. I remember you mentioning your like for honey."

"Mhm," she nodded. "You remembered that?" It'd been an off-handed remark in a conversation she could barely remember.

"Of course," he said in a matter-of-fact way that made her pause for a moment. She studied him.

"What is it?" T'Challa asked her when the studying lasted minutes.

"I am just trying to figure you out,"Citlalli shrugged. She began to move again, prompting him to do the same. "I never considered you to be the type of King who walks through his own city."

"Is that bad in your eyes?"

"No," Citlalli smiled at him. "It's humble."

"I am glad you think so. Can I show you something else? I think you might like it." T'Challa picked up his pace to reach another stall.

Citlalli had to sprint a bit to catch up. They ultimately stopped by a stall full of flashy jewelry. She was delighted at the sight-he knew that she loved accessories. Her favorite, though, were the...

"I thought you might like this one," T'Challa took one golden snake-head bracelet. She was always drawn to the serpents because of her background.

Citlalli's smile faltered at the sight of it. "Um..." she swallowed hard. "That's very beautiful but...I don't wear that stuff anymore, you know that."

T'Challa nodded. "Because you haven't found your people yet, but I have no doubt that you will."

Citlalli never knew whether or not she regretted telling him the story of her lost village. She trusted him to keep the secret to himself but she wasn't sure if she was alright with the fact that someone else knew about her personal mission, a personal mission that she was failing miserably at. "You are kind with your faith but my personal agendas should not be any of your concern," she offered him a polite smile. "You are King. You have enough on your to-do list."

"I will always make time for a friend." T'Challa suspected that if Okoye could hear the conversation, she would've scoffed for sure. He was guilty of wanting to offer Citlalli a lot more than friendship.

Citlalli lowered his hand with the bracelet to the stall. "Please," she whispered, eyes falling low with distinctive pain. "Can we go back to the meeting?"

T'Challa was alarmed with the hurt in her eyes. That was never what he intended and the fact that Citlalli even showed that type of feeling meant she was truly hurt about something. No doubt it pertained to that personal agenda she had. Ever since he met Citlalli, which had been under the worst circumstances due to his own pain with the death of his father, she always gave the aura of strength. She hadn't been nicknamed the Serpent in her village for nothing. She was strong, brave and best of all, a mediator. She liked solving problems and providing the justice that most people didn't get. But it appeared that her solitude was slowly getting the best of her.

Anyone would if they were separated from their people for as long as she'd been.

"Citlalli—" He tried to mend is mistake but she simply asked him if they could talk about the meeting again. He didn't want to make her feel any worse so he had to agree.

The rest of the day was, lamentably, all about the kinks of the outreach program and a few other potential programs they could start. At the end of the day, they returned to where they started. The jet was already waiting for Citlalli.

"Before I go," she said, "This was from Stark." She produced an envelope from her pocket.

"Do we have any idea what it is?" T'Challa raised the envelope to the sky to see a few words through the paper.

"I might," Citlalli rocked back and forth on her feet. T'Challa gave her an odd look until she answered, "I may have gotten one myself."

"Gotten what?"

"It's an invitation. Stark is throwing a birthday party for Miss Potts. Very nice place, very sunny place, so if you go, you should take that in mind for clothing preferences."

"Will you be attending?" T'Challa curiously asked her. He had no idea where that act of bravery came from but he thanked Bast that it came.

Citlalli sheepishly shrugged. "My relationship with Tony Stark is terse at times but I do appreciate what he is trying to do for people after, uh, what transpired with the Accords. Plus, Pepper is a good friend."

T'Challa had all the information he needed. "I will see you there."

Citlalli half smiled at him. He always spoke so easily, she envied it. For all her experiences with people, royalty, he always made her feel like she wasn't doing enough. He simply made her forget things she knew how to do, like talking. Why he kept such an open friendship with her, she had no idea. Surely there were other agents he could speak with.

You're the only agent allowed in Wakanda. What's that about? She ignored the warmth in her chest each time she remembered that detail. He'd chosen her to do Wakanda's business with whenever it came to speaking with the C.I.A. Why? It was an answer she never got an answer to and truth be told, she was a little afraid of what the answer was anyways.

"It was lovely visiting, as always," she spoke up after realizing she spent a lot of time thinking silently. "Your city..." she glanced at the city's landscape on their side, "It really is magnificent."

"Hopefully next time I will be able to show you much more of it," T'Challa said, really having faith that the next time she visited, he would get it right and be able to show her everything.

Citlalli nodded. She held a hand out to shake with him. T'Challa took her hand and shook it but just as Citlalli would pull her hand from his, he gripped it. She raised an eyebrow at him, curious. Had they forgotten to talk about something?

T'Challa would then raise her hand in his hand to press his lips over it for a kiss. Citlalli felt a deep warmth over her face. T'Challa looked at her from under his lashes, smiling at her in a way that spread the warmth down to her stomach. Butterflies would even arise.

"I hope to see you at that celebration," T'Challa lowered her hand between them but without letting it go.

Citlalli had to catch her breath before even thinking about speaking. "See you..." She swallowed hard, immediately feeling the cold when T'Challa let her hand go.

Very unprofessional! The voice in her head scolded. She turned to leave as soon as her feet responded. She couldn't trust herself if she stayed another minute.

T'Challa was left to watch the jet disappear in the sky. In a matter of seconds, Okoye had stepped up beside him. "Well, will you really be attending that celebration?" she curiously asked, eyes wondering over the invitation T'Challa held tightly in his hand.

"If it is my only chance, why not?" He countered, smiling to himself. He wasn't all that into the idea of being surrounded by unknown people but if Citlalli was there then it wouldn't be that bad.

~ 0 ~

Stark's choice of scene for the party was, as usual, a grand site. Even Okoye would admit to it, but everything else was irritating.

"This dress is far too uncomfortable," she grumbled to T'Challa as they walked in through the entrance. He wanted no Dora Milaje around today and the only way that would happen is if Okoye accompanied him.

"You could go back..." He said far too innocently for anybody to believe him.

She threw him a sharp look. "What for? Agent Del Rio has no quarrel having me around. Do you?" T'Challa purposely kept his gaze ahead of them. Okoye's smirk wasn't something he wanted to face.

They eventually came to the backyard, a large place for the party. There were far too many people around, none that really concerned T'Challa. He saw a few familiar faces amongst the crowd eventually, like Rhodey and Pepper. As politeness went, T'Challa moved towards the latter to wish her a happy birthday.

"Thank you for coming," Pepper smiled wide, especially when Okoye handed her their gift. "You really shouldn't have."

"I hope you like it," T'Challa sincerely said. His eyes swept over Pepper to see if he could finally spot Citlalli. Maybe she wasn't here yet.

"Tony!" Pepper called, motioning him to come over from wherever he was.

"The King!" They soon heard Tony's exclaim.

Okoye rolled her eyes as the man headed their way. To T'Challa's surprise, however, he was not alone. Citlalli was walking beside him, looking like she'd just entertained something no doubt Stark "funny".

"Nice of you to make it," Tony greeted the pair of visitors. "A change of sights doesn't hit bad, does it?"

"No," agreed T'Challa. He met Citlalli's gaze, brain racking to say something good to her as a greeting. The way she looked, though, would prevent much of that from happening.

Her curly hair had been tamed to one side again, braided to the tip. She wore a spaghetti-strapped white maxi dress with a bright turquoise flower pattern. There was a beaded necklace of browns and turquoise sitting around her neck with a large shiny brown stone in the center. With little makeup, she boasted her natural beauty, whether she realized it or not.

"Your majesty," she beat him to the greeting, just like she typically did.

T'Challa wondered when he would be able to say the first word to her. Probably when you stop staring at her. Perhaps then...or perhaps not. He tended to lose air when he was around. "Citlalli," he managed to say her first name this time around. Baby steps.

"Okoye," Citlalli flashed a smile at the woman. "I love the dress today. Red is your color."

"Thank you," Okoye pressed a hand down her side. "But I can't keep wearing this all day. How do you do it?"

Citlalli and Pepper laughed together. The former then admitted that she wasn't all that used to wearing dresses anymore. "When you're a C.I.A. agent, you don't really get a down time for leisure. But Miss Potts over knows her way around pencil skirts." Okoye's face might as well have said there'd been a murder.

"We are not going to stand here and discuss skirts, are we?" Tony pretended to be oh-so-tired already. "There's music, there's dancing, food, amazing drinks. Please enjoy."

"Please do," Pepper said in a much kinder manner. "And thank you for coming." She headed off with Tony.

"I must admit I thought you would not come," Citlalli said to the pair when the others had gone.

"Why?" T'Challa curiously asked her.

"I don't know..." she shrugged, suddenly looking shy which was one thing Citlalli Del Rio was not. "I didn't think you and Stark were that close, that's all."

"We are not, but it is a good idea to be on a amicable terms for both sides."

Citlalli nodded with an understanding that only they would understand. After the Accords, everyone knew that the ties between Stark and most of the Avengers had been thoroughly severed. "I am glad that you can do that," she said. "And I am also happy that you came."

Now that brought a good smile from T'Challa. "Really?"

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side, hoping to calm that warmth in her face again. "Yes, I...I need to speak with you, actually."

Surprising given the location they were in, but T'Challa would take it. He glanced at Okoye, not needing to say it out loud. She could barely hold the struggle to not roll her eyes.

"I will be over there..." she excused herself and walked away.

"You look beautiful today, agent," T'Challa said as soon as they were alone for fear that he would lose his courage. It was all worth it when she smiled bashfully. Did he make her shy?

"Thank you," Citlalli found her voice a few seconds later. She couldn't help look him over—ignoring how utterly unprofessional it was—and concluded that he was as handsome as ever in his casual dark suit. If he moved, she would get a flicker of purple. "You look good," she returned when she was sure that she would be able to say it in one go.

"Would you like to dance?" T'Challa made a gesture to the ongoing dancing behind them. It wasn't quite his style but he could only dream of being that close to Citlalli and today he might just get the chance.

Citlalli's eyes flickered past him towards the dancing. "I was just dancing with Stark..." she started, already sounding weary as she began to remember it.

T'Challa chuckled at her expression. "I will not be like Stark."

"I doubt you could be," Citlalli said. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"Does it pertain to business?"

"No, not really."

"Then can we dance first? After that, I promise I am all ears."

Citlalli bit on her bottom lip as she considered the implications of a dance with him. It wasn't a slow dance but it did require for arms to be around each other's. Could she handle that? Whether or not she could, did she want to? Absolutely, she answered herself on the spot.

She finally gave him a nod. "Okay."

T'Challa reached for her hand, raising it first and foremost to kiss the back of it. She awarded him a soft smile in return. "Beautiful bracelet," he remarked as he led her towards the dance by the hand. Citlalli could feel his thumb grazing over the feathered jade-colored bracelet he mentioned as well as her skin. A ploy she wasn't really against.

"Thank you," she said once they stopped together. He turned to face her, picking up her hand against to hold on their side. "Hand made," she would say as she moved her free hand over his shoulder. She swallowed hard when his free hand slid behind her back. He had the gentlest touch.

"You don't say?" T'Challa sarcastically asked, making her chuckle.

"My aunt made it for me a while ago. She tried to get the most precious stones to make it," Citlalli explained as they started swaying to the music. "She tried to make it like home," she added in a quieter tone. Her gaze fell for a moment. Home was a raw subject even years after everything had occurred.

"That was very kind of her," T'Challa's voice would pull her out of her moment. He didn't know how he did it but he was glad he did. Citlalli met his eyes. "I have heard terrible stories of adoptive parents and their respective families. You have no idea the relief it brings me to know that it was not your case."

Citlalli half-smiled at him. "You shouldn't feel anything," she told him. "You've only known me for a year. Everything that happened to me was a long time ago."

"If it pertains to your well being, I will," he clarified.

"You simply care too much but I suppose that's what will inevitably make you a good king," she shrugged. "And a good friend."

Friend. It stung even though she used it so kindly on him.

T'Challa surprised her with a twirl. It had her laughing when she came back to him, leaning on him. He was smug when he grinned. "I can be many things, Citlalli."

She had to agree there. She peeled herself off him and continued to sway kindly to the music. "A good dancer, amongst those. Did Shuri teach you some of those moves?"

"The fact that you think I could only be a good dancer is if my baby sister taught me is quite offensive," T'Challa bobbed head as if he was doing his own little dance to the song. Citlalli giggled. She hardly did that too so when she did, T'Challa relished it. He may replay it in his head a couple times too.

"I would never offend you, your majesty," she drummed her fingers over his shoulder. "...but did she?"

T'Challa's face fell flat. When Citlalli started laughing again, he surprised her with another twirl. This time when she came back to him, he made it so that they were closer than before. Their foreheads would nearly press with their inch gap. She smelled sweet and floral, intoxicating and addicting. How dare she walk around like that and expect him not to fall for her? Because that's exactly what happened to him. He craved her presence whenever she wasn't around, and it was unfortunately like that most of the time. Her visits to Wakanda were sporadic just as his were to America.

Citlalli was very aware of their closeness and as much as she told herself to step away, her feet were only responding to the rhythm of their dance. If she were to move just an inch, maybe half an inch, something would happen that should not...but it was something that she really wouldn't mind either. "Uuh...can we talk now?" she thought to ask. Her question, though asked in a whisper, was still enough to break their moment.

T'Challa stepped back from her and nodded at her. She took his hand, an act that made things a little better for T'Challa, and led him away from the dance. She found a nice place on one of the garden sitting walls.

"What is troubling you, Citlalli?" T'Challa asked as soon as they were comfortable.

"I was thinking about the last time we saw each other and...T'Challa, I am so sorry for the way I behaved what that jewelry stall."

"What—"

"You were being kind and no matter what, I should have appreciated it. I know I have a hard attitude and sometimes I don't realize it then but I'm really sorry."

"Citlalli," T'Challa touched her cheek, an act that left her frozen while he spoke, "There was no problem there. My plan simply didn't result, but it wasn't your fault."

"Plan?" Her face scrunched. "What plan?"

"My plan to show you the city, of course, and see your smiles."

Citlalli's eyes flickered to the side in thought. "I...do not understand. I thought I was apologizing, it's been gnawing at my head since it happened."

"Please let it go, I hold no resentment. As if I could ever do that with you," T'Challa flashed her a smirk. "You do not see it, do you?"

"See what?" Citlalli watched him carefully. Her nerves were rising and she wasn't even sure why. Nothing was happening.

T'Challa's smirk faltered and soon it turned into a sad smile. "Nothing. This conversation did steer us towards something I wasn't sure how to best introduce."

"What do you mean?" T'Challa motioned her to give him a second. He shifted to better face her then reached for something in his inside pocket. Citlalli watched him pull out a small box. She was startled when he held it out for her. "For me?" she pointed at herself with wide eyes.

"Yes, I chose it with great care. Open it."

Citlalli was hesitant at first but who could say no to him? She couldn't. She took the box from him and pulled it open. Her eyes widened even more when she saw a coil, double wrapped, snake bracelet tucked inside. It was golden with the stones of the snake head in her traditional color of turquoise. "This is beyond beautiful!" she gawked. "Where did you get this from?" It was hard finding those two colors together, she would know.

"I had this made for you," T'Challa explained, earning her fully stunned face. "I know that you always have a hard time finding things that are close to your home. Wakanda may be a place far away from where the Aztecs lived but I hope that this makes home feel a little closer."

Citlalli didn't know what she felt except for the stinging of tears in her eyes. "Oh...this is...T'Challa, you really didn't have to do this. I-I can't take this." She closed the box quickly and tried handing it back to him but he wouldn't take it.

"It's yours, Citlalli. The Serpent," he reminded her of her old name.

"I used to be," she corrected him.

"No, not 'used' to be. You were a warrior for your people and you're still a warrior today. You're just a little lost."

"A 'little'," Citlalli said bitterly, more to herself than anyone else.

"There is nothing wrong with being lost so long as you try to get back on the right path." T'Challa reached a hand over to her cheek and cleared off her tears. "I would like to help in any way that I can."

Citlalli sniffed. "Why?"

T'Challa tilted his head at her. "Because I want you to be happy. It could be selfish of me but...I would like to be the reason you're happy. Whatever it is, I'd like to be it." Citlalli softly smiled at him. That smile counted for millions. "May I?" He motioned to the box. She nodded and opened the box for him. He pulled out the bracelet and took her wrist, gingerly sliding the bracelet down her skin. His hand caressed her skin as he secured the bracelet around her wrist. Citlalli felt the shudders from his touch and wished time would slow so that his fingers could stay over her like that.

"Thank you," she said meaningfully. She could thank him for everything and it would still feel like it wasn't enough.

T'Challa was on the same page as her. "Thank you." He would never have the right words to express his gratitude for everything she'd done for him since the moment they met.

Citlalli shyly met his gaze, lips quirking into a small smile. Words weren't enough, but actions were. T'Challa's fingers came to her chin, gently pulling her forwards a bit. He leaned the rest of the way and pressed his lips against hers. Citlalli's eyes fell shut with the contact. Time did stop for them in the end. Her lips easily moved with his, discovering how truly soft he was. Everything about him was, even when those same lips were used to make sarcastic little comments every now and then. Little did she know that he thought the same thing of her. She was always professional, never saying the wrong thing. Sometimes, he wished he could get her to do loosen up and that was coming from him. Either way, however she was, he wanted her to stay just like that.

T'Challa pulled away first. He lowered his hand from her chin to her hand. He found her fingers to interlace with his and to his delight, she gripped his hand in return.

"You know, in my village, our stones were so beautiful and valued that we would use them in our conversations to refer to anything that we found precious." Citlalli's lips stretched into a wide smile. "To me, you're as precious as any one of those stones, even more." She touched his cheek, her fingers stroking a few gentle circles over his skin. "It's just hard to admit it with my hard attitude and all..."

T'Challa chuckled lightly. "You keep that hard attitude. I don't want to change anything about you." Citlalli chewed on her bottom lip while her insides desperately fought off the intense heat when T'Challa wrapped an arm around her waist. "My Serpent," he whispered fondly.

Citlalli brought her hands to her shoulders. "We're at a party—" Her laugh was muffled by another of his kisses. "Hardly the way a King would act, no?"

"I think I'm doing exactly what I should be doing," T'Challa said proudly. Citlalli playfully rolled her eyes at him. "Would you like to dance again?"

"I...guess..." The party did seem a more cheerful suddenly. Citlalli ended up nodding.

T'Challa let her go to stand up then offered her his hand. This time there was no hesitation when she reached out to take it. He pulled her up to her feet then kissed her hand.

She smirked. He saw her knees bending but this time, he couldn't stop her. She bowed. "Your majesty!"

"You did not—Citlalli!" He exclaimed. "Stop that!"

She giggled as she straightened herself up. "I told you that you wouldn't be able to catch me one day."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded proudly. "Oh..." He pretended to accept his defeat only to snatch her body and pull her up to him. She yelped with the sudden yank. "Look at that, I just caught you," he said innocently.

Citlalli took in a deep breath and rested her hands on his shoulders again. "Game on, your majesty."

"Game on..." T'Challa laughed. He cupped her face and planted another kiss on her, a longer one that would leave them both in need of air.

#ocappreciation #marvelocsdaily #mcu #black panther #fd: mcu #avengers #t'challa #t'challa imagines #black panther imagines #mcu imagines #avengers imagines #oc: citlalli del rio #oc: serpent

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laur-rants · 4 years

Text

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 3

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud/The Outsider. yes, I made that executive decision.

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. The story centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: Daud transforms. It’s horrible and wonderful all at the same time. There is a mild description of consuming a person, but I wouldn’t consider it cannibalism. Necessarily. Werewolves sometimes... eat people. AO3 link First :: Previous :: Next

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Dunwall, Gristol

Month of Clans -- 1820

Daud set up a meeting with the contract creator the next night. It gave him time to prepare, to consider his options and perhaps, to look a little less frightful for the person he wished to work with. The address given on the contract was nondescript; a small general practitioner's office, tucked away in Draper's Ward and identified by the universal dual-snake staff on the window. Daud chose to drop by after hours, of course; no need for others to see the owner conversing with an assassin. He had planted an earlier note to say he would be visiting unconventionally but the individual inside the office room still jumped when suddenly a whaler mask was knocking gently at the upstairs office window.

It was a small man with a round face and large eyebrows that greeted Daud, glasses getting pushed up as he quickly came over, unlatching the terrace doors and allowing the assassin entry. Daud slipped in, silent and stealthy despite the tremble in his hands and shoulders. He hadn't expected his client to be a doctor and quietly hoped the man wouldn't pay close enough attention to ask questions.

"Thank you for finally getting back to me on this contract," the man -- Misha Romanov, if Daud remembered the contract properly -- nervously said, looking over Daud. His eyes trailed from the mask and hood to the black clothes to the whaler blade at his side. He swallowed, clearly intimidated, walking around the office to physically put distance between the two of them. Daud tilted his head, clicking his tongue.

"You've never hired a hitman before," Daud remarked, posing it more as an annoyed observation than a question. It was clear; from the man's unease to the amount of coin offered, he was a novice when it came to dealing with and understanding the job he was asking for. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all; but Daud was here, and it would be ludicrous to turn around now. Might as well make the best of it.

"This is my first time, yes," Misha replied, choosing to busy himself with one of his displayed medical instruments instead of looking Daud in the glassy eye. "I have never had a need before. I try more to save lives, rather than take them, you see." He wrung his hands, then offered a small smile. "But now... my brothers are dead and I have no idea what happened to them, or their dogs. They were the only family I had left… I didn't know where else to turn."

"Misha Romanov then, right?" The doctor nodded, confirming what he knew. "What happened to your brothers-- before they disappeared?" Daud asked, his voice muffled behind the thick mask. Misha, emboldened by the question, answered as clinically as possible, recounting how his brothers had gotten into a dog fighting business over the last few years, completely sucked in, throwing money into dogs and gambling over Fink's wagers. It had been an obsession -- one that ultimately, they didn't return from. Naturally, Misha feared the worst and blamed Eustace and Howard Fink for their disappearance.

"I saw the one brother, Eustace, sulking near the cafe one morning soon after Adrian and Mikhail didn't return at their usual time," Misha supplied, "and that's when I knew I'd be powerless to get justice unless I hired an assassin. So I posted my contract and waited. And waited. I had almost given up on anyone taking the job, until you contacted me. Your interest in this hit is greatly appreciated."

Daud held up a frustrated hand. "Please do not offer appreciation, not until my work is done. I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I'm doing it because it's personal, and the pay is so low only someone like me would take the contract anyway. If anyone is the lucky party in this deal, trust me, it's you."

Misha blinked. "Oh? You… you know Fink?" He then blanched, his face going terrified. "You didn't work for him in the past, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," Daud said, taking a too-ragged breath. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck, across his wounds-- even that simple contact burned. "I actually was contracted to kill Eustace's brother, Howard. The same day your brothers most likely perished, I almost died, too. Lady Luck herself is the only reason I'm still alive; the Fink brothers were into some deep, disgusting shit."

Misha blinked, adjusting his glasses before giving Daud a more thorough look-over. Daud stiffened under the gaze, suddenly self-consciousness, and he tried to still the tremor of his limbs.

"Are you well now? You appear in pain, or feverish."

Of course this guy could tell. Daud cursed him for being such an astute doctor.

"You're not being paid enough as a doctor if you can tell that just from looking me over," Daud sneered, hiding the rasp of his voice. This only furrowed the man's brow further, his tone growing serious.

"If you need me to offer medical assistance before the mission, I'd be more than willing to--"

"I'm here for a job, doctor. Not a diagnosis."

"Right, of course, of course… But, if you're still in a state when the job is over, consider it part of the payment. I can easily add it to the contract between us, mister…?"

Void-- "Daud. Just Daud." He said, annoyed. "No Lord, no mister, no honorifics at all. I'm an assassin, not a noble."

"Sorry, just trying to be polite. And you know my name, of course, but I can supply a business card if needed--"

"No. All I need is half payment up front, and as many details on Fink that you can provide." Misha nodded; he went to a dusty safe in the corner, opened it, and pulled out a small purse of 100 silver. Daud noticed very few valuables in the safe and wondered just how lucrative being a general practitioner was in the Draper's Ward. Or, perhaps, his gambling brothers had preyed on his meager earnings too, an addiction that drained the doctor and ultimately tore apart their family. He felt the urge to ask, to reach out and inquire, but he managed to keep his curiosity to himself. It wasn't important to the job, and it wasn't Daud's business to know how wealthy his clients were, or where they got the coin they paid him with.

Misha returned with the coin and Daud carefully pocketed it. Misha also handed over papers: they contained a few addresses, including one not too far from here. Daud frowned under the mask, his breath hissing out of the respirator.

"That's his home and work addresses," Misha explained. "I tend to see him at this cafe, Swinney's, down off Cashmere Ave in the mornings. I pass it on my way to the clinic in the mornings."

"That's quite a ways from here," Daud muttered, before he could stop himself. Misha just shrugged.

"The commute is long on foot, but it's what I can afford. Most nights I just stay here. Cheaper that way."

Daud said nothing. Just crumpled the paper in his hand before folding it up and tucking it away, next to his contract.

"Do not be surprised if this takes some time. Assassination is not easy, nor is it quick in the way you expect it is. I will seek you out once the hit is complete, understood?"

Misha nodded, and if he had any further questions, he didn't ask them. "Whatever you need to do, I suppose."

"That's why they call it 'wet work,' Romanov," Daud told him, a hint of dark humor coloring his words. Daud then took his departure, leaving Misha and the office as silently as he had entered.

------

It should be simple. An easy set up: an easy take down. Silent, efficient, no trace to let anyone ask after. Eustace Fink was not well guarded, not spatially aware, and he was incredibly routine. Textbook, really.

Instead, it was shaping up to be one of the hardest stake outs of Daud's career.

He had spent a few days setting up the kill, pulling himself through the motions. He cached any necessary food, plenty of coin, and a few changes of clothes. He knew where he needed to be and when. He had all of his equipment restocked from the black market right outside of the Distillery District, where nobody asked twice about his mask or his stance. It was all ready to go.

But of course it couldn't be that simple. Nothing of importance ever was.

It was the fourth night of his stakeout when it happened. As soon as he settled in to make the hit finally happen, his fever rolled him over like a riptide.

It came on quickly, the nausea. He hadn't expected it; for the last week his fever had been low-grade, barely noticeable. He had, effectively, learned to ignore it. But it came roaring back up as if it was the day he spent crawling out of the sewer. One second, he was relaxing, waiting for Fink to be alone in his own home; the next he was lurching, tossing the whaler mask up and over his head just in time to empty the contents of his stomach over the side of the roof.

It stank so bad he reeled, dry heaving again. He managed to keep the rest of it down, the sweat drenching his forehead as he wiped his mouth with the back of a clammy glove. He growled in frustration, his arms barely holding his weight, but he spent the extra moments to breathe, evening out his heartbeat and emotions. He looked over to the estate; Fink was alone. Daud felt his stomach flip again, making itself known. He swallowed back the sensation; it was now or never.

Sickness be damned, he needed to get this hit off.

He stood and his feet were surprisingly steady for the vertigo he was experiencing. Not that he was worried; Daud had stalked and successfully killed someone drunk before. It was a dare, one that Rulfio didn't think he would go through with, but he was even younger and cockier back then. A little head sickness was nothing compared to that job, but the thought of Rulfio sobered him enough to keep focused on the task at hand. He lithely jumped from the roof, heading to the Draper's Ward residence, as silent as a street cat.

He kept a bead on Fink even as he felt the sweat gather on his forehead again; something in his chest felt like it wanted to burst, and Daud vaguely hoped it wasn't his heart. He slipped on a roof tile, steadied himself, then listened intently, hearing Eustace's voice float up.

"I should be fine, but I can't help but think that I should be more worried about what happened that night. I mean-- I woke up and Howard was dead and so was that huge black magic brute. There was another person, dead in the corner, and so many unlucky bodies that didn't make it out alive… there will be questions soon. So many questions. How do they not smell it there under the Pub? Maybe the rats ate the bodies… how convenient if so. Nothing to investigate, nothing to convict. If the City Watch ever got wind of this..."

It took Daud a bit of processing to suss out if Eustace was speaking to someone else in the room, but no; the beat and cadence was reminiscent of someone recording an audiograph. If he listened closely enough, nearing the balcony door, he could hear the whirr of the machine, the click of the hole punch. His breathing hitched and his pulse thundered in his ear.

His prey was so, deliciously, tantalizingly, close. Daud stayed his hand, listening closely.

The machine stopped, pushing the card out and finishing the audiograph. There were footsteps, and Eustace walked out onto his balcony, his hands tight as he tucked the audiograph away in his vest, where he clearly thought it safe. His back was to Daud and the balcony door, lighting a cigar, the smoke curling up into the warm summer night air.

The wind roared in Daud's ears. It would be so easy to drop down, slit his throat, watch the blood spill over his gloves-- and suddenly he was aching for it, longing for the crunch of bones, the heat of crimson rivers running from a burst vein, the thrill of a new kill…

The thoughts were intrusive and revolting, nearly causing him to heave again. He still managed to hold himself together, not wanting to drown in his mask, even ignoring the persistent itch on his face. The rising threat of bile burned at the back of his throat but he swallowed it down, his grip growing tight on the roof's edge. He held his position and waited, patience baked into him from years of careful practice. Fink eventually finished enjoying his cigar, extinguishing the butt before turning back to his room.

Daud waited for Fink to pass under him. He then slipped down, his boots silent against the stone. He crouched, righted himself, and pulled his blade from his side. His thumb found the notch in the metal.

When Eustace Fink turned around to close the balcony doors, Daud was there, glassy eyes and muzzled mask glaring down at the second noble that had caused this nightmare of his to happen.

Fink opened his mouth to scream. Daud rushed him, faster than he's ever moved. A powerful hand gripped Eustace by the throat, silencing him and guiding him over to a wall far from any escape route. He felt like nothing in Daud's grasp, like he was a weighted bag that Daud had the displeasure of carrying for a friend. The man was larger than him, heftier, and yet Daud could take him and lift him with a single arm, his right hand still holding the blade he'd drawn. It was heady and unbelievable, Daud didn't know where this power was coming from but it surged through him like a rising storm. He tapped further into that tempest, slamming Eustace into the wall next to his desk.

The man whimpered. Daud snarled. Fink flinched and gasped and Daud almost laughed. He can't believe someone so weak-hearted tried to command a literal monster.

Or perhaps, a nasty little voice in his head supplied, the monster was the weak one... Show him that you are different. Show him what your Power is.

"You and your brother sure made a lot of enemies, didn't you, Eustace…" Daud growled out, his teeth feeling oddly heavy, morphing his words as he spoke them. They came out graveled and sharp and he suppressed the urge to lick his lips as he continued. "If I'm here, you have a bigger problem than the City Watch finding bloated bodies under a riverside bar."

Fink said nothing. Instead, he started crying. Of all things, the man wept in front of his soon-to-be killer. Daud almost recoiled in disgust; this man wasn't even worth the coin. He slammed Fink against the wall again, eliciting a startled yelp from him.

"Do you even know why I'm here, Eustace Fink?" Daud spat the name out like it was undercooked blood ox. "Do you know who killed your brother? It was the assassin who you thought was dead in the sewers when you woke up. Your brother's monster ruined me but I survived and if you value your life, you're going to give me the answers I deserve."

His voice grew in power despite the low whisper he spoke with. His words filled his own ears, reaching the room around them, and Fink gulped visibly. He looked Daud over, rasping against the hold that kept him in place.

"Did it mark you?" He asked, finally. "The Outsider's monster?"

"And if it did?" Daud threatened, mask dangerously close to Fink's face. "What does it matter?" He brought the blade up, his head tilting. "What do you know, Eustace Fink?"

"Ah, I-I don't know as much as Howard did! He found the original beast, not me! But it… they always changed. The curse was always passed down. There isn't a cure for it. They all went mad and eventually--" Eustace gasped and his words died as Daud's grip dangerously tightened. He recalled what Brimsley had said to him, the words burning in his ears.

"You're one now too, aren't you?"

Daud's body lurched. His grip loosened, freeing Fink as that nausea filled him again, along with a different sensation, one where his head, his chest, his limbs wanted to burst, his skin scorching him all over.

"No," Daud rasped out, his eyes far away. "I am not--" He stared at his gloves; his vision blurring dangerously. When Fink tried to crawl away, however, his sight caught the movement, head turning sharply. In a flurry, the blade was singing through Eustace's heels; the tendons sliced like butter and Fink collapsed, crying out. The blood pooled around his ankles, the smell of it sharp in Daud's nose. Eustace stayed prone on the floor, whimpering, his face rapidly losing color as shock set in.

Pathetic.

Daud hunched over Fink's form, his breath ragged and heavy. Eustace stared at him, eyes wet and terrified, and Daud felt his seams unravel, his body falling apart.

"It's happening? Here, now? Oh Void, oh Outsider's eyes…" Fink continued to babble, crying out for the fabled god of the Void, as if such an entity existed, could even save him from what was happening. Daud opened his mouth to refute Eustace; it came out as a splintered roar, words failing him.

"Where is your god, Eustace?" His voice boomed, but he did not know where the words came from, not when his mouth was making such unearthly noise. "You were the one who played god, killing assassins for your games, your bloody gambling coin. Did you think yourself honorable, setting such a trap? How many men died to serve you and your fucked up brother?"

Eustace paled and he looked so small, so tiny, so weak. To think this man and his brother succeeded as much as they had, enslaving unknowing participants for entertainment…

His head reeled in anger and rage. He pulled the man close, his hands curling into smoking, burning claws that dig deep into Eustace's clothes, ripping at skin.

"Stop praying to a god who won't listen! This is your reality! Now face your judgement!"

Daud ripped the whaler mask off and underneath was no longer the face of a man. A true muzzle burst from his face, black and filled with glistening, razored fangs. His wounds burned and steamed as his eyes bulged and he screamed, the pain of the last month consuming him entirely. Ribs cracked and bones shifted and he grew, his body doubling, tripling. His skin was tearing off and it felt so good, like he had been waiting his whole life, his whole existence, for this singular moment of unbridled ecstasy.

He roared and it was like the land, the sea, like the Void itself, shook under the sound of his cry. He laughed, eyes watering, filled with relief and pain and it was all so much, too much. He screeched, the sounding reminiscent of a dying whale, before his teeth slammed together like a crashing wave. Fink was still in his vicinity; he could smell the fear, hear the pleading, but all it did was anger him further. He didn't need this sniveling worm of a human.

A clawed hand grabbed Eustace and in the next second his body was in ribbons. Guts spilled and a head rolled and Daud felt his mind flee, the smell of iron and heat overwhelming his senses in a way he'd never known after a kill. Suddenly he was ravenous, he needed that blood on his tongue. He obliged his primal desire, ripping the man's arm off with ease, letting bone and fat and muscle fill his mouth with the heat of a fleeing life.

There was a scream. Daud's ears caught it and he turned, lip curling. He had nothing to say to the woman standing in the door, hair tied back and clutching her dress. The sound of her distress continued, unwavering. Daud stepped towards her, snarling.

She ran.

He was moving faster than he could ever have imagined, his legs possessing a strength that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His body moved on its own accord, spurred on by the thrill of the hunt, of the pursuit of prey and he was giddy, drunk off it. The house was a maze but his nose cut through the turns, following the fear and nausea, the horror of his unhinged rampage left in his wake. Walls and doors meant nothing; his body either forced its way through or smoked through openings, dissolving and coalescing in ways he didn't understand and spent no time dwelling on. He was consumed instead with the goal of reaching for and pouncing on his next victim, then the next. He caught sounds over the rush of his own blood; a tiny shrill voice here, a male voice there, the howl of hounds released upon him. All of them meant nothing; their teeth could not hurt him now. Their attacks were just pin pricks of lucidity within his fever dream, all dying or cowering before his unbridled wrath. Two dogs were bodily thrown, another bitten in half, still another tossed at a human handler, throwing both dog and man through a wall. He pursued, determined to not let anyone in the house escape. Not this time. Not after this hell month, not after everything--

A drop of water rippled through the chaos of his mind. The scent of the sea filled his nostrils, the sound of whales keened in his ears. Daud stilled, suddenly entranced, and turned his head.

A rune chittered and vibrated and sang on an ensconced shrine. The room was small, perhaps a hidden pantry; it had been revealed when Daud had thrown the body through the wall. Purple cloth fluttered from the disturbance of the crash and used candles scattered about the floor and table.

Someone was sitting on that table, cross-legged: someone lithe, dark, and still holding the ageless beauty of youth. Despite the slim, ethereal frame the person presented, Daud could sense the incredible shadow lurking just out of sight, the leviathan crying from the deep.

The figure smiled, his black, endless eyes glittering. He beckoned, and Daud obeyed. Like a leashed hound, he was irrevocably pulled under the waves, his huge body buckling before the sight of something greater, something far more ancient than he could ever fathom to be. He bowed his giant furred head and cold hands ran over his wounds, calming the persistent itch and smoothing away his month-long fever. Daud whined, giving himself over entirely as the figure held him close, arms embracing him like a long lost lover. The voice in his ears calmed his storm and soothed his pain and called him Home.

"Oh, Daud, beautiful Daud," the man cooed and Daud was enraptured, a whale's cry leaving him like a warbled gasp. The grip tightened on him and suddenly his body was melting away, the fur turning to ash to reveal his human skin underneath. He breathed, his left hand itching pleasantly where the figure held it, the other hand running smooth circles across his shoulders and down his back. Daud looked up into that ancient face and when it smiled, there was no warmth, no stars in those endlessly black eyes.

"I knew you would come back to me, Daud. After all..." the god's smile spread, breaking his face.

"...It was just a matter of time."

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cihrp · 3 years

Photo

Vampire Nests

Vampire nests are very much in feel as a witch coven or a lycan pack: they’re a group of the singular species which similar ideals and beliefs that make them a stronger unit and community and provide support and loyalty to their own. In Salem, there are two prominent nests with two very different views.

San Gennaro Nest

This is the oldest nest to exist in the USA. Founded in 1610, the supernatural appeal of Salem is what brought them to settle in the area. They have vocally stood alongside witches through their torment and offered aid in the form of safe hiding spaces within their underground lairs in exchange for a steady supply of blood.

Witches and vampires have a very strong partnership, however, behind the scenes, this nest is not satisfied with the fruits of their labor. They expected a little more grandeur; to be up at the top and not second down the chain of command. Vampires can still be punished for hurting humans and these vampires do not appreciate having to limit themselves.

Their ideal world is almost achieved, for they are allowed to thrive and be themselves but that’s simply not enough. They whisper of vampire superiority behind closed doors and want to make it happen.

San Gennaro is an exclusive nest, where membership is given by invitation only. What happens within the nest is a closely guarded secret, but the truth is, they’re a hedonistic group of vampires who enjoy turning feeding into something of a sport. Whether that be organized hunts, a game of hide and seek - humans vs vampire, or indulging on fae - some who are there by choice, others perhaps not as they have a steady supply of snacks that are always available.

Here in San Gennaro is a love for all things taboo and the dream of vampire supremacy.

The Nest Leader: (Reserved for Beau) Bruno Moreno

After the Great Revolt, when the humans were put in their place and the vampires were left out of the top spot, the founder of the nest exploded into a frenzied bloodlust and took out dozens of witches. He was subsequently captured by the Enforcers and executed. The current right-hand was expected to be the next leader. He was the new oldest member of the nest and experienced, so it was a shock when he was outvoted by Bruno.

But Bruno rose to the top with his charm and his passion to speak out about creating a space where vampires can be who they are. Indulge in blood, be animalistic and hedonistic, enjoy a life of leisure whilst planning for the new uprising of vampires in secret. The Right Hand: (Reserved for Crow) Name TBD

He’s cold, a little cruel and believes he should be the rightful leader of the nest. The only thing holding him back from challenging Bruno and taking it from him is Bruno’s popularity but he’s working on changing that. And besides, he has a seat in the Vampire Oversight Committee whilst Bruno doesn’t which has certainly helped settle his mood.

He shows respect where it’s due but who knows what kind of game plan he has cooking... The Negotiator: (Reserved for Xandria) Paris Wolff

The one who strikes the deals. The one with the gift of the gab and charm, who speaks on behalf of the nest to rally allies and supporters. They make connections with those who may be useful to them in the future, via means such as charm and passion, but also through fear, blackmail and if they’re important enough, financial gain.

Members: OPEN to all vampires who share the same ideals

House Fledglings: OPEN to young vampires

These are the new vampires seeking guidance and friendship amongst the vampire community. These are the future leaders; whilst they get to indulge and be part of the nest, they’re expected to offer some kind of service for their place, which should be considered an honor. This can be in the form of being part of a clean-up crew, and mostly, bringing back snacks to present to the members of the nest.

The House Wine: OPEN to all drinkable species

Referred to colloquially as the house wine, these are the snacks, so to speak, who are part of the nest. For those of the more delicious species, i.e fae and witches, these are sometimes offered up in return for gain, sometimes financial, sometimes to seek protection and others just really enjoy the thrill of the bite.

However, more frequently you will find the humans who are part of the nest’s wine collection and held within the nest to be a readily available boxed beverage.

Location: They own a fancy Victorian style house, colloquially called 'The Parlor', which is a safe space for all members to come and go as they please, where they can indulge in luxuries and appreciate the finer things in life. Such as on-tap blood, gossip and live music. This is of course, reachable via the Catacombs and can be found within the vampire district.

House of Selene

The golden rule of this nest is to ask permission before feeding. When you do so, know your limits. They believe in living in harmony amongst all supernatural beings, and are embarrassed by the very existence of San Gennaro, who are causing havoc for their image.

They are firm believers in the sense that vampires are now catered for in today’s society, with the introduction of bottled blood which is readily available and therefore, turning feeding into a brutal sport is unacceptable and inhumane.

The two nests have a violent history and have clashed heads many times over their ideals and the leader of Selene is attempting to have the second-in-command of San Gennaro thrown out of the vampire council for immoral conduct.

Despite their moral stance, House of Selene are not to be taken as gentle. They are vocal, proud vampires. This nest has some important figures, such as high council members and are held in higher-regard by the witches, despite being a newer nest, only formed in 2008.

The Nest Leader: (Reserved for Findlay) Silas O’Connor

The first leader was found to be double-bluffing and enjoyed participating in blood sports for fun and the torment of humans. Since then, the new leader feels they are being watched very, very carefully. For this reason, they are a little on edge and have very high expectations of how the nest conduct themselves but ultimately, are a great leader.

The Right Hand: OPEN

Fiercely loyal to the nest leader and has a very meaningful relationship with them. They are a little gentler than the leader and are there to offer support, guidance and do a lot of the leading and peacekeeping within the nest.

Members: OPEN Location: [Up for Nest Leader decision]

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These factions are for the two vampire nests of Salem. Not every vampire needs to belong to a nest, though many desire to if only to have a strong sense of community to an otherwise long and solitary existence. Additionally, their morals and ideals are on such opposite sides of each other that many find themselves in one of the two camp, pushing them over to be more passionate for their cause and rally around those they can aid in those efforts. Not every vampire needs to belong to a nest, however, and that is fine.

San Gennaro is ‘invitation only’ by lore or canon and does not apply in real time if you wish to have your vampire involved in this nest. Invitations can be given by IC interactions, but if you make a vampire you would like to be part of this nest, you can say they were invited just fine.

The open canons are very loose and we hope to carve out this section of Salem with those that wish to take lead on any of these nests and round them out further to their characters’ goals or desires, often times being made in their image as far as rules and comfort in location. The House of Selene canon could use a few more roles added by their nest leader if they would like; the San Gennaro canon has roles added by the nest leader.

If you would like to reserve an open spot in this canon, please send us a message on here with your reserve (nest/position + character name + alias) and we will make updates! Reserves are first come, first serve. Once your canon is reserved, we will update this post and our reserves list, and you will have two (2) weeks after the soft open to finish your character before the hold on that position is released. If a Sovereign role is reserved, we will send a message looking to make contact on discord so we can work together to get details hammered out before the site is officially released, if you’re comfortable with it! Any of these details will be updated in this post as well.

#crownedinhorns #cihrp #site buzz #canons #canon reserves #factions #open canons #vampire nests

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txthearteu · 4 years

Text

all i could see

note: i only just realized halfway through the story that this is about blindness again, i apologize, i swear i will try something different in the next story that i’ll make :)

pairings: choi yeonjun x reader

some soulmate stuff hihi

im sorry i really dont know how to do these intro things on top

warnings: none

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You knew it was the right thing to do. You couldn't remember much about the things that transpired on that day, but you knew you owed that man something in return. As you try to remember his features, his actions, his name- all you could remember was his eyes filled with desperation. You could get lost in a forest filled with beautiful trees but none of the trunks could compared to his brown colored eyes. His hooded eyes were full of emotions on that day, at that moment. You didn't know him, but in that split second that you saw his eyes you felt as if you knew him for the longest time. They say the eyes were the window to your soul, and in that moment you felt as if your soul and his were one.

You woke up to nothing. You knew this day will ultimately change you life. You were still confined in the hospital after the events that happened, and it was a miracle that you're still alive and breathing. Recovering from the injuries wasn't an easy process, but you managed to heal well. The only things you had on your body aside from your hospital gown were your hospital bracelet and 2 casts, one on your right and one on your left.

As you were playing with the plastic flower propped in your bedside table, you're mind was lost in thought of the man- his whereabouts, his current status, how he was coping, and the like. A soft knock interrupted your train of thought followed by the voice of a female nurse, nurse Jane as what you can recall, greeting you with a beaming smile.

"Good morning (Name)!" "Good morning nurse Jane." Your response held no emotion. Everything you can see- the color of her scrubs, the wheelchair she was bringing, the walls in your hospital room, the plastic flower- you took in for the last time, since today would be the last time you’d be able to see.

Nurse Jane, on the other hand, did not let your emotionless reply go unnoticed. "I know you wanted to do this, but are you really okay with it? If you wish not to proceed, I can always tell the hospital staff to discharge you instead." She suggested.

You chuckled, "Sure I won't be able to see from this day on, but I can manage. Besides, that man saved me, this is the least I can do to save him."

Nurse Jane nodded, "Okay. I will escort you to the surgery room now, I hope all will go well. We are all here for you in your recovery process." She then proceeded to help you get on the wheelchair.

The trip to the surgery room felt long though it only took 5 minutes. In that short amount of time, nurse Jane tried to engage some small talk with you, but you only tuned her out since you tried to take in everything for the last time. There were kids in the hallway, some smiling and some giving you questioning looks, but you didn't mind since this was the last time you'd see the beauty in all you could see. If you were being honest, you wanted to back out the moment you were in front of the surgery room. But then you remembered your reason as to why you chose to do this. You knew this was the right thing to do.

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The man woke up to hushed voices in his hospital room. He knew he was okay, but one thing seemed very off to him.

"Guys?" The hushed voices halted. "Can you please turn the lights on? I can't see you right now." The man requested.

"Um, hyung, you see..." Taehyun started off calmly,

The man could hear the uncertainty and worry in Taehyun's voice. I am perfectly fine right? He thought. But he couldn't help but think something was wrong, and he was starting to get anxious by the second, "What? What is it?"

Another unrecognizable voice started to speak, "You see-"

"-that's the doctor in-charge hyung-" Kai, who was right beside him all along, saw his question look and decided to answer his question in mind.

"-you managed to get out the accident unharmed, but unfortunately, you bumped your head pretty hard on the pole as you pulled that person you tried to save and you damaged some nerves connecting to your eyes. You're practically blind right now, and the only way to fix it is through surgery. Which is what we were discussing before you woke up."

"What?" he asked dumbfoundedly, "I can't possibly be blind right? I just bumped into the pole and blacked out, there's no way I could've possibly damage anything. What about our showcases? How can I practice when I can't see? Why can't I see?! What's happening?! This can't be a joke right? Haha nice joke guys you really can't be turning off the lights right now I could hear the cars outside-"

"That's the thing Yeonjun-hyung! You can only hear them, but you can't see them. You're literally in front of your window right now." Soobin said with a mixture of annoyance and sadness.

Yeonjun was devasted to find out that he was blind. Not only can't he see his fans anymore, but he can't live and not see the world he has yet to see. One year in to his career, and now this?

As Yeonjun thought of all the things that may happen from the on, he started to recall why he became like this in the first place. At the time he went in to save her, he perfectly mapped out how he could get out without any injury. He thought of pulling her back towards him to prevent anything else from happening, but what didn't cross his mind was how strong colliding bodies could cause a great imbalance to his stance. And that's how he bumped hard on the street light pole behind him, curse that street pole. He barely got her alive, but at least she was still alive as paramedics went in to get him and her.

"Hyung," Beomgyu spoke softly, "This isn't the end you know. The doctor said so himself, you have an option, and that's surgery. We just found out earlier that you had a donor. The donor requested we need not know him, or her, but we're grateful for his or her sacrifice. The fans will understand hyung, you'll need to rest after surgery though, but I know MOA will be supportive in your recovery process. So, what do you think? Will you go for it?"

Yeonjun, although blind, felt all eyes were on him now. He knew their eyes were filled with hope and desperation. He had to make a choice at that moment. He didn't want to deprive the donor of his or her sense of sight, being able to see was one of the greatest gifts given to human kind. But he also didn't want to disappoint or burden anyone, especially his groupmates and his fellow fans.

"Okay. I'll do it."

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A few months and many lifestyle adjustments later, you were back on track. Post-operation felt like hell, since you had to ask everyone for help in many things. It was a good thing your sister and friends were there for you every step of the way. After being discharged from the hospital, you immediately started braille lessons. If there's one thing you wanted to enhance significantly post-surgery, it was your sense of touch. That was one way you could identify someone or something, but you had to start from somewhere. You were yet to find out the name of the man, but you decided not to know who he was since there was no point- you wouldn't be able to see him.

And here you were, walking alongside your guide dog Neko in the park near your home. It was already afternoon and you just finished braille lessons a few minutes ago so you decided it was high time you'd go to the park, because why not? You passed by a cafe when you heard someone say, "No way. Bin, that was the girl I tried to-" and deciding not to eavesdrop even more, you continued on your walk towards the park. You ordered Neko to escort you to a bench near the fountain, it was the same bench you sat on that fateful day.

Flashback "For the last time Mom, I won't send in money unless I know the real reason behind it. Who knows, you might use it for drugs, again."

You had enough of your mom calling and begging. Although she promised to get well, you knew better that she wasn't getting any help.

Deciding that it was time you’d go home and take a rest, you stood up almost too stiffly and started walking back home. It was already late at night and you didn't pay that much attention to anything else. It all became muscle memory to you every time you walk back to your apartment, but you were still unaware with everything that was happening around you. You were so deep in thought that you didn't notice you were walking towards traffic. The last thing you heard was a long, loud honk, a voice calling out to you, and before you blacked out, you saw those deep, dark brown eyes.

End of flashback

Dark brown eyes. That was the only thing that stood out in your memory. You had the same shade of brown as what that man had, maybe that's why you were so captivated by them. But before you knew it, you blacked out. You were thinking hard and long about what happened on that day, and how that man saved you, but before you even had the chance to think deeper and deeper, you felt Neko wagging his tail beside you.

"What is it boy? What do you see?" You asked your dog, knowing damn well that he couldn't talk back to answer you. On heightened senses, you felt no sunlight casting on you, immediately thinking that someone was right in front of you. Assuming the worst that could happen, you immediately held on to Neko and, with a brave voice, started talking defensively.

"Look, I don't have much to give to you right now. I'm just trying to have a peaceful day, please don't take anything- even my dog- away from me. I only have a few dollars in me and no card and I just want to have a peaceful day please reconsider before you steal anything from me-"

"Woah woah woah. I'm not gonna do anything to you don't worry." That voice. It sounded familiar, "You look like someone I know and I just wanted to ask a few things, if you don't mind." very familiar. But you couldn't pinpoint who it was.

All doubt was gone and you trusted this man, whoever-he-is, so you complied to his request. "Sure, ask away."

"Um, this may sound very weird but, you look like the girl that I tried to save from a car crash a few months ago. I just wanted to make sure if it was you, though, the girl I saved months ago wasn't- here I say it- blind. But you really look like her though!-" The man said, rushing his last sentence in order to make it clear to you that he only had good intentions in his quest to find out if you were the girl he tried to rescue.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't shocked at all. Was this really the man that saved you? His voice did sound like that person who called out to you on the day of your crash. And to add to your thoughts, he wasn't ever supposed to see you again. You didn't want the man to know you were the one who donated your eyes for him. As your thoughts started to battle against each other, you asked him out of nowhere-

"Why did you save me that day?"

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Yeonjun was sitting on a cafe with his groupmates near the park where you lived. It was their day off, and they decided what better way to spend their day off than to go and relax at a cafe sipping Americano's. They were casually talking about everything that happened to them on the past few months, trying to catch up on anything that needed to be discussed. He was deep into the conversation between him and his groupmates when something caught his eye.

It was almost 4 in the afternoon when he saw you walk past them. The girl he saved a few months ago. Remembering that day, everything was still crystal clear in his mind.

Flashback Yeonjun was walking back to his dorm after a long tiring day, it was almost 10:30PM and he just finished polishing the dance break in which he had a hard time perfecting.

You walked past him in the opposite direction with a look of deep-thought. He didn't mind it though, but he wanted to know what your thoughts were behind those brown eyes. He couldn't believe someone had the same colored eyes as him, almost exactly the same. He knew himself too well, and when he saw your eyes, he felt as if the heavens just copy pasted his eyes to your face. It did have a difference, your eyes just had a glimmer that no one had, not even him. Maybe it was at that moment when he saw the emotions behind your eyes that you had that glimmer. That was technically the only difference you and him had, your eyes glimmer when you are feeling lots of emotions, his doesn't. And he believed in the same thing you ponder on, "the eyes are the windows ones soul."

As you walked past him, he saw every emotion behind it. It was filled mostly with anger mixed with sadness and confusion. He wanted to know more, but he wouldn't want to seem as if he was stalking you. He continued walking, and you continued walking as well. But he just had to look back at you, just to see if you were okay. You continued walking stiffly, but it was him who saw you walking towards traffic with a speeding car almost reaching you. He didn't hesitate to call you out, "Hey!", while running towards you.

"Shit." He said to himself. He couldn't stand the fact that in just a few seconds, a persons life will perish if he didn't do anything. He caught up to you on time, pulling you back towards him. He was happy that he got to you on time, but he didn't think it over properly either. He pulled you hard- almost too hard- towards him, and you ended up crashing hard on his chest resulting to him falling back and receiving a hard blow to his head by the pole behind him. You, on the other hand, also fell hard on the ground and fracturing your arm in the process. Your left leg, however, wasn't so lucky. Even if the man got there on time, the car already zoomed past you and in the middle of the heroic pull the man did, your left leg was still halfway through it and the car hit it. It took a few seconds for you to realize that when the man pulled you, you also hit your head hard on a street sign pole, curse that damn pole. You tried so hard to see who the man was, but the only thing (and the last thing) you saw, were his brown eyes.

End of flashback

What confused him was the fact that you were blind. He remembered clearly that you weren’t blind. He had a look of panic and immediately cut off whoever was talking, "No way. Bin, that was the girl I tried to save a few months ago! Or so I think she is her. Look." Yeonjun finished off while pointing towards you. The boys' gazes followed to who he was pointing at and sure enough, you were blind and walking alongside Neko.

"Are you sure though?" Soobin responded, "I mean it could be someone who really looks like her, you couldn't be too sure about it. Not unless you ask."

"Wouldn't it be weird if I just went up to her and asked her straight up? What if it isn't her? Or am I just assuming things-" Yeonjun started to argue but was immediately cut-off by Taehyun who said something that weighed him down,

"Wait. Hyung, I know this sounds crazy but, remember when the doctor said that you had a donor? And that she or he wishes to not inform us who she or he is? I know this sounds really weird and out of the blue but, hypothetically speaking-"

"Again with the deep words?" Beomgyu interjects,

"-shutup seaweed brain-"

"Guys, can we let Taehyun speak?" Soobin sighs, scolding the two boys bickering.

"-hypothetically speaking, what if she really IS the girl you saved a few months back? And when she found out you were blind, she got so guilty and burdened and decided to donate her eyes for you?"

The boys fell silent over this thought. The scenario was highly possible, since Yeonjun insisted that you really resembled the girl he tried to save a few months back. They wouldn't want to think of it that way, because then they'd feel burdened at the thought as well. They were doubtful, he was doubtful, but there was only one way to find out.

"Hyung," all eyes went to look at Kai, who spoke up for the first time after the long silence, "we wouldn't be so sure though. The situation IS likely, but you just have to ask her. We'll wait here, don't worry."

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

That was all it took for Yeonjun to be there in front of you. After you asked that question to him, 1/2 of his and his groupmates' suspicion was true, you were the girl he saved a few months back. What he wasn't so sure was you donating your eyes for him, he was yet to find out the truth.

And before you knew it, you were seated in front of 5 guys at the cafe you walked passed by. They go by the name of Tomorrow x Together, a boy group in which you swore you heard somewhere. They all had introduced themselves individually. Kai and Yeonjun sat comfortably at your left and right respectively, Taehyun, Beomgyu, and Soobin in front of you. Neko was seated to your left, inand it felt as if Kai was playing with him.

After all of you had your introductions down, Yeonjun then explained to you and to the boys why he saved you. As you listened intently, you heard some snickering across the table. Of course you'd understand why some of the boys would find this funny and amusing, it really did sound cliche. But you didn't mind it though, you felt attached to him, he believed in what you believe in. While Yeonjun was narrating his story, there were occasional hums of responses from you and the other members- indicating that you were listening to every word he had to say. The deeper he got to his story, the more you became attached to him. You didn't want to say it, but deep down you believe in soulmates. And maybe in this universe you are living in, your eyes were the only way for you to find your soulmate.

A long silence followed shortly after Yeonjun finished his side of the story. After what seemed like forever, Soobin cleared his throat and then proceeded to say, "Wow. Um- okay- so-, so what now?"

You heard someone slap his forehead, as if he was embarrassed that their leader was being awkward and shy despite not having anything to be awkward and shy about. You all laughed though, clearly humored by the reaction. But Taehyun had to ask you something, once again silencing everyone on the table and direction all their attention towards you.

"Noona?"

"Yes?" You responded calmly.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you blind? Basing off of Yeonjun-hyungs story, you still had eyes to see. What happened?" Oh no. Oh no. You were definitely caught off-guard. You didn't want them to know, but they also needed an answer.

"Yeah noona," Kai then butted in, "you see earlier Tae had this theory that you were-"

"Ya. Kai. Enough. Let's not assume things." Beomgyu tried to silence the youngster, but you reassured him that you wanted to hear the so-called "theory" as well. You knew where the thought was leading to, but you just had to brace for it.

Yeonjun was now silent, possibly waiting for what you had to say after Kai explained what Taehyun “theorized” earlier that afternoon.

"As what I was saying, Tae had this theory that maybe you were the one who donated your eyes to Yeonjun-hyung. Since earlier he was so sure that your were the girl he saved a few months, maybe- just maybe - you got so guilty that he got blind while saving you. So you had to save him as well, by offering your eyes up for surgery."

Everyone seemed on edge after Kai recalled the thought. You sighed and faced towards Yeonjun.

"I know what you saw that day." You said timidly. And Yeonjun immediately knew what you meant, the glimmer in your eyes. But he couldn't piece up what you're trying to say.

You continued on, "Try to think of a moment in which you were at your happiest, or saddest, or angriest. And then look at a mirror."

You heard one of the boys get something from their bags, possibly a pocket mirror. The others still didn't quite catch on to what was happening, but a few seconds of silence later, you heard Yeonjun gasp. "No way. No way-"

"What you guys theorized was true. I did feel guilty. I was told you hit your head pretty hard, causing you to lose your vision. I felt burdened. Had I just focused on where I was going rather than thinking deeply of all the thoughts that went through my head that night, both of us would've had our eyes. Not one or the other. And yes, I did feel the same. We had the same colored eyes, but I knew mine would glimmer when I'm filled with emotions inside. And with the way you reacted, I guess they still do, even if they're attached to another persons body." You finished off your mini-speech with a big, heavy sigh. You felt the weight on your chest being lifted off, one in which didn't know you were holding on for so long.

It was only until then that the boys noticed the glimmer in Yeonjun's eyes- a glimmer in which they haven't ever seen before. So soulmates are real. Soobin thought to himself.

"I- We- Thank you so much (Name)." that was all that Yeonjun said.

You knew every emotion behind those words, you knew he was thanking you for a lot of things. Life in the spotlight would've been very different if Yeonjun was blind. He wouldn't have been able to dance with the guys like how he used to. He wouldn't have been able to see his fans who supported his group unlimitedly. And you were happy since you knew what you did was right all along. Even more so since you knew your soulmate was the one to take very good care of it.

Since then, you always hung out with them- tagging Neko with you always. Yeonjun held you closer every time you were together, both physically and emotionally. He'd always help you out on things, like fetching some water, or walking with you and Neko, or even being there for you when you needed someone to lean on- especially if it were problems regarding your mother. It eventually led to something more than just friends, and the boys weren't even surprised. They were jealous since, as Kai puts it, "We want soulmates too!"

You were happy, to say the least. Your courage didn't go unnoticed. You took a big risk. And in the end, it was all worth it.

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt imagine #txt au #txt fluff #choi yeonjun imagines #choi yeonjun x reader #choi yeonjun #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun scenarios #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together scenario

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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A Path I Can’t Follow (4)

Chapter 4: New Adversaries | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn't know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 - 2 | Previous: Chapter 3 | Next: Chapter 5 | Masterlist

4 of ?

As Cal stalked the hallway, trying to find his way back so he can rejoin you, he comes across another empty foyer—but in that foyer, a bushel of vines blanketed the wall.

“Vines,” Cal muttered under his breath. “I hope they don’t break off.”

BD-1 trilled in Cal’s ear, almost like a whisper.

“Yeah, there’s this feeling that’s been bugging me. It’s been bugging [y/n] as well. Don’t worry, we don’t need to be scared,” the boy assured his lovable droid.

However, he goes against his own words as he sensed the presence of another. The optimistic mood instantaneously melted away as soon as Cal started to discreetly unclip his lightsaber. He turned around and out of the shadows come appears a new Inquisitor.

The deep blue skin and red scleras with the absence of a pupil were dead giveaways—this new Inquisitor is a Chiss. A straight line of healed flesh passes through his left brow and eye, and his hair was black as his coat whose hem billows at the musty, humid air.

There was a sophisticated grace in him as he strode, intimidating and authoritative would be the best-suited words to describe him. Despite the sunken cheeks and prominent cheekbones—a sign of aging, battles and experience etched on his face—there was a mature, threatening air about him as he approached.

He stepped into the light of the foyer, revealing himself more. Donning black robes with red accents, a black cowl whose excess length hung around his shoulders like a cape, he’s dressed like an aristocrat. He greets Cal with a malicious grin, baring pearly-white teeth.

“Hello, Jedi,”

The Inquisitor’s baritone voice was husky yet smooth, calm like him, and yet there was a tinge of mischievousness in his words. Cal’s thumb secretly goes for the switch of his saber.

“You seem new,” Cal’s sarcasm took the lead of their exchange.

“I have a name. Though, they prefer to call me the Fourth Brother—and I prefer the same myself.” He introduced himself indifferently.

The Fourth Brother angled his head ever so slightly, his eyes shifted and watched the redheaded Jedi’s thumb crawl towards the switch. He condescendingly chuckled.

“Do you really want to do this right now?”

Cal did not respond, taken aback by the new Inquisitor’s question.

“Very well then,”

The Inquisitor stretched out his right hand, summoned his lightsaber and ignited it in a split second. His hilt is identical with the Second and Ninth Sisters’ where a ring encircled the pommel. The weapon hummed as a beam of crimson-red plasma. Cal’s lightsaber ignited in unison with his.

“Let’s dance, Jedi!” he spoke in a hiss, the smile grew to a sinister, ear-to-ear grin.

He lunges at the Cal, the distance between them was wide, and he dashed through the air like it was nothing. Cal quickly deflected his first strike. They exchanged strikes, a graceful yet deadly dance. The Fourth Brother was lithe, the way he moved made him look like he’s light as a feather, but his strength and the intensity of his attacks were staggering.

The Fourth Brother’s fighting pattern was almost like a dance more than a series of fighting stances. His motion was fluid, and yet his strikes were astonishingly strong, abrupt, and firm. Cal comes close to fumbling whenever he finds himself in the receiving end of the Fourth Brother’s finishers.

Cal finds himself evading more than attacking, due to the Fourth Brother’s speed and agility. Dodging away just to heal was starting to feel impossible to do, the enemy could always catch up and close the distance between them. When he found the chance, the Inquisitor sprang from the ground and went for an overhead attack—another finisher. Fortunately, Cal was quick enough to finish hitting himself with a stim and then parried it at the right time—at the last second—and the Fourth Brother was rather impressed.

“Oh, you’re stronger than I expected,”

“Enough to take you down!” Cal spat back with his unwavering snark and renewed energy thanks to the stim earlier.

“Can you take me down before we could get to the holocron first… and the village?”

The Fourth Brother’s words shocked Cal, a sudden chill coursed down his spine, his lips trembled as his green eyes flitted in confusion. The Inquisitor sensed it—the instantaneous faltering of the mind, his perfect opportunity. He smirked in celebration. Cal feigned, made a precision evade to the side and kicked away the opponent, this is the first time of the entire duel where the Fourth Brother truly staggered—it did hurt his rib, but not his pride, at least not yet.

“Wait… we?! How did you know about the village?!”

The Fourth Brother’s malicious grin returned to his face as he straightened his posture. He was satisfied with what he’s witnessing right now—relishing Cal’s paranoia in the form of bombarding questions.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, boy. I’m not that feeble… like you.”

The duel continued. The long-lived silence of the temple ruins finally broken by the humming and crackling of lightsabers colliding with one another. The Fourth Brother was flashy—but he does so efficiently—with the objective of fazing the opponent, luring and baiting them until he’s finally found a suitable spot to deliver the killing blow.

However, Cal persisted… and survived. Fighting on, analyzing the Fourth Brother’s movements in real-time as they dueled. His movements’ speed have picked up and caught on with the opponent’s. Their footwork was so rapid they could practically tangle one another with just their legs.

Cal made use of his other abilities, making a medley of lightsaber attacks and Force abilities within the small window of time that the Fourth Brother had granted him. Admittedly, the Inquisitor was surprised when he was inflicted with the Force Slow—he felt sluggish as he is in reality, simply raising his arm felt like hauling a fully-occupied transport ship with just a tow cable, for a few seconds he is devoid of his beloved gift of nimbleness. He ultimately hated the sensation. Cal finally grabs his chance of retaliation. Separating the conjoined hilts, he strikes the Fourth Brother on the top and the bottom in opposite yet parallel strokes. The Inquisitor groaned in pain as he finally broke free from the Force Slow and his body fell limp on the floor.

Have I underestimated this boy? The Inquisitor thinks to himself as he watches Cal come at him.

He denied Cal the prize of a finishing blow. The Fourth Brother lunged away, evading the lightsaber blade coming down at him—ready to strike him at the head—and reveled the fleeting seconds of recovering from the damage he’s taken. He brought himself to his feet, Cal afforded him the dignity of regaining himself just so he can go back to being the worthy foe he ought himself to be; slowly standing up crouching, he winced whenever he tried to straighten his back—Cal has probably cut him deep.

“Well now,” he gasped, taking a deep breath, repressing an incoming wince. “You’re surely exceeding my expectations quite well.”

“You’ll find I’m full of surprises,” Cal scoffed back.

“Hmph,” he draws his lightsaber. He purred, “Though I wonder… how is she faring?”

She? Does he mean… [y/n]? Cal shuddered at the thought. More questions birthed out of the first one, the image of you suddenly flashed before his eyes.

Has he seen her? How? He can’t mean her!

The pace of Cal’s heartbeat increased tenfold. It’s impossible for the Fourth Brother to know about you when he has only encountered Cal.

“Well, I believe, we have enough of a breather now,”

It didn’t take long for the Fourth Brother to get his momentum back.

Meanwhile, you continue on the rest of the way, heading straight to where you’re supposed to be. You come across what ought to be another indoor garden and plaza. A ray of sunshine shone through an orifice in the ceiling, pooling in the deteriorated statue. The fountain’s basin had become a seedbed so the plants have occupied the space, their vines crawling and spilling out of the fountain.

For some reason, you found more comfort in the shadows than in the light. Though the sight of the ruined fountain had its certain charm, even in this state, you smiled at the comforting fact that sunlight still found its way through this derelict place.

You cautiously approached the center, with your main purpose being to reach the other side of the room on the way to the holocron’s hiding place. Each step you took, something didn’t feel right—and it became more and more obvious by the minute.

Out of the blue, a disembodied scream rings around the foyer. Thanks to your senses—whose keenness have heightened through the roof ever since you got separated from Cal—you snatched your lightsaber and ignited it, deflecting another lightsaber beam.

“You know, a sneak attack is useless if you’re just gonna scream!” you spat.

Your attacker is a female Mirialian. You’ve just met the Eighth Sister.

She made quite the entrance just to introduce herself to you: she had leapt from her perch—a stone parapet just inches below the ceiling, with enough darkness to hide in until she could buy the opportunity to strike you down, she had only miscalculated how responsive your reflexes were. She surely wasn’t expecting that, albeit she knew you were Jedi.

You elbowed her hard on the chest, followed by a kick to the shin. She fumbled as she stepped back away from you.

“Ooooh, I hope you didn’t break a collarbone in me because that was HARD!” she said cheerily, snickering as she stretched her good leg.

She was dressed very differently compared to Trilla or the Ninth Sister. Aside from their standard black garments, hers is unconventional and less conservative: a black cropped top with a hood, two red bands secured her black wrist gauntlets and wore another two pairs of the armbands around her skinny biceps, her pauldrons bore the insignia of the Empire painted in white, and a maroon scarf that she has tied around her waist tucked underneath her actual belt.

Her helmet didn’t cover her face, only her head—it’s merely a conical headdress with two appendages on both sides—exposing her three tattoos: a vertical stripe along the center of her forehead and a horizontal pair on her cheeks. Upon closer look, her blue, winged eyes glimmered with a juvenile frenzy, complemented with a grin playing in size from a narrow slit to a wide, toothy one.

She behaved like a teenager, even though she appeared to be the same age as you.

“That was a good hit though, gotta give it to ya!”

“You’re an Inquisitor,” you uttered in discovery.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “What else?”

“Ho-How… did you?”

“How’d we get here?” she continued for you. Casually waving her lightsaber around, tilting her head as if in a pensive expression. “Well, it’s simple. We got troopers stationed around the place.”

She turned to you, her childish façade melted, and a malicious grin plastered on her face.

“Enough talk. Let’s dance. I’d like to see you move with that light stick.”

You prepped yourself into an attack stance, “I hope you don’t carry that just for show!”

The Eighth Sister surely proved you that she doesn’t carry her lightsaber just for show..

Your dexterity was at par with one another, but only one can dominate this battlefield. It appears that she was her own brand of flashy—compared to the Fourth Brother—she was acrobatic and lithe. The speed in the delivery of her combos compensated for her lack of power and strength, her attacks against you had very little windows for you to cut in, though usually at the final part of it you can deflect them so you could have a turn in attacking.

You studied her every move, made yourself scarce from her strikes, saving up energy at the same time. Your attacks were precious and carefully-timed—striking her when you could truly afford it.

“Come on! You’re totally killing the fun!” she coaxed, the playful tone never left her voice.

You lunged and came at her, dominating her as you stepped forward with every blow. You brutally overwhelmed the fight with enough strength to stagger her. There was the moment where her footwork was noticeably failing, but kept her lightsaber arm raised, flimsily deflecting your attacks. She bared her teeth at you as she exerted in her blocking—you couldn’t tell whether it was a grin or a soundless hiss.

It frustrated her enough that you were winning in this bit. She was propped on her elbow on the ground, the split second’s worth of window was enough for her to roll away and avoid your overhead strike. Your lightsaber seared the stone ground, your enemy had recovered her bearings. Her grin had vanished, her cyan eyes emitted a cold stare as she pointed her lightsaber at you in a stance.

You grinned and shrugged at her, taunting her, at the same time you were begging her to come at you.

And she did.

A cluster of red sparks flew in the flurry of her lightsaber. You sensed that her attacks have become heavier—that was both a good thing and a bad. For one, it means she had tired herself out with her acrobatics; for another, her strikes had gained some brute force to it. Despite all that, you never faltered. You kept your cool while gradually exploiting your enemy’s skills.

Finally, your evading has paid off. She is wide open whenever she does the finishing strike of her combo: an overhead jump strike after two attacking twirls. If you could evade her landing at just the right time—you thought to yourself—you could either hit her back with a kick or your saber. Her lunging attack was the easiest to exploit, you can either parry her or Force-pull her out of balance to interrupt the move.

In every passing minute, the Eighth Sister was sluggish, stealing moments of rest in a great distance from you as she takes a breather for herself.

“Ugh, you’re too good for my taste, girl!” she hissed, greatly vexed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment then!”

She flexed and cracked her neck.

“I hope this treasure hunt was worth the wait!”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the discovery. So, they have gotten here ahead of you as well! Your instincts were right, you wished that you believed it in more sooner. But now, you have the most concrete of evidence, your fear and anxiety have taken physical form: it’s the Eighth Sister and whatever operation she and her companions have in mind the moment they’ve set foot into this temple before you and Cal did.

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doktorpeace · 4 years

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🖊 please introduce us to Erato, I know they're in a masks campaign but I have no idea what else

Oh, gosh, I feel like I talk about them too much as is but I can’t say I’m not glad to have the excuse. This is gonna be really long cause tbh I’m just gonna dump like, a bunch of their lore lmao.

Erato is my Masks: A New Generation character in a campaign being played alongside @twerkyvulture (As Amanda ‘Megafauna’ Ghorbani, The Transformed) @draayder (as Josephine ‘Rattlesnake’ Short, The Reformed) @spitblaze (as Les ‘Void’ Hawking, The Doomed) @heedra (as Enid ‘Frag Beetle’ Day, The Scion) and @skarchomp (as Parker ‘Cobalt’ Andrews, The Legacy) with @dykeceratops as our GM. The current arc features @mechanicalriddle as Zoe, The Nova as a guest member. Here’s a group shot done by @tredlocity. Clockwise from the top left: Cobalt in blue, Erato in the track suit, Les in the cloak, Zoe with the mismatched eyes, Enid’s the big robot, Amanda’s got the scales and claws, and Josephine’s got the mask and tonfa.

To get back to Erato specifically though they’re an Anti Metahuman/Metahuman Suppression Weapon created by the in universe tech group Wright Industries, founded by Ingrid Day, Enid’s mom. They’re generally stronger, faster, and more durable than humans and can copy the superpowers of others for 5-10 minutes by touching them thanks to what is basically a meta-stem cell transplant interacting with other parts of their systems. (Also, I 100% swear to god that I did not consider ‘Robot Hero Who Copies The Powers Of Others’ is literally fucking Mega Man despite loving Mega Man a ton until after I had hashed out the concept with my GM’s assistance. Only once Abby said ‘oh like mega man’ I was like ‘wait, shit’.) I’ll tell you some about them as a person before unloading their history onto you, lol. Being an android built for combat and kept in an underground research lab, kept on a rigid schedule, constantly taking tests, physical, mental, written, oral, ethical, etc. etc. etc. and under constant supervision Erato lacked for real interactive experience before the campaign started only really ever getting to takl with authority figures and their sisters. They were very passive and observational, owing in part to their power set requiring a lot of adaptation to make the most of. They’re naive and very bad at exercising discretion in decision making, sometimes they overstep boundaries when talking with people without meaning to, and they’re really emotional! They have trouble dealing with strong emotions cause they haven’t managed to discover coping mechanisms that work well for them, they tend to get angry kind of easily and need time to blow off steam. But they’re also very genuine, honest, and well meaning. They are almost never mean, rude, or snippy, they do their best to do well by others, and have a strong sense of justice paired with a deep distrust and dislike of the current legal system in universe. This is in part due to the conditions of their creation (and in part because the intent behind it was kind of right!) and in part due to Enid’s life being threatened by a representative of the state while they and their teammates were in jail after being arrested following a huge brawl with an anti-methuman terrorist group. They’re also very willing to put forth the effort to improve as a person and to mend relationship wounds, almost always apologizing first to Enid when they fight and genuinely trying to work in advice and feedback they get from others, which they often get from Les and Parker. They’re also relatively educated, from the tests of their creators, from home and public schooling, from personal research, but that doesn’t undo their naivety. They also just straight up lack some very basic and/or common sense knowledge. Like, they don’t know what a bear is. Why would you teach a battle android working in a densely populated, extremely built up city about wild animals? All in all they’re kind of inexperienced and immature and make mistakes a lot but they’re (usually) very willing to admit their mistakes and to try and improve and get better. They genuinely and truly want what’s best for others and are learning to value them self as much as their teammates. They’ve also taken it upon them self to start doing humanitarian work in their free time over the summer. In a fight Erato is adaptive and quick witted but tends to put themself in more danger than is necessary. They also sometimes use more extreme force than the others believe is called for, but after the first time they did they and Parker had a real heart to heart about it, Les helped Erato learn and practice some coping, centering, behaviors they could do even under pressure and Erato did their best to adapt. That said they Fucking Hate The Keeper So God Damned Much Because Of How Much Suffering He’s Caused Their Friends And How Much Danger He Presents And Would Kill Him With No Remorse. So they don’t intend to apologize for ripping his arms off whatsoever. They and their sisters, collectively known as The Muse Units, were made to work as a group and as a proof of concept that atomized units could replace traditional police for use against metahuman criminals and to slowly phase out The Registry, the legal department which handles general metahuman based laws. If successful the units could be mass produced and improved upon, rapidly replacing current, error prone, law enforcement. At the time of their development, between late 1999 for blueprint drafting and until mid 2002 when the project was shut down, they were the cutting edge for AI development aided in no small part by Ingrid’s technokinetic powers allowing her to make advancements few others could. (As a note Erato’s body was finished being built in early 2001 but their unique personhood didn’t really come to fruition until February 18th, 2002, so that’s what I consider their ‘birthday’.) Ultimately, however, while a few of the Muses excelled some did not perform to expectations, the project fell behind schedule, investors lost interest, and a minor scandal involving a casualty happened, resulting in the project being shut down. The Muses were placed in indefinite storage, the data gained from their short existence used on other projects such and some of the tech advancements used to inform future decisions by the company. And it would have stayed that way, if not for the fact that in 2018 Ingrid Day was revealed to be The Locust in a conflict where Enid tried to defend her against a militia group who had been hired to take her down, being shot and presumably killed in the process. As The Locust she had been terrorizing Boston for over a decade trying to take it over and being involved in the deaths of over 70 people. (Which irl btw would make her like, the 8th most prolific confirmed serial killer of all time, Yikes!) Wright Industries, desperately needing to prove their hard stance against metahuman criminals and needing a PR stunt to deflect from their connection to their former CEO re-awakened Erato. They weren’t the most powerful or best performing of the Muses, but they were above average, obedient, and had an easy enough to monitor and control power set with little risk for property damage to boot, the perfect choice. Erato then took to the streets of Boston acting basically as a vigilante, following orders, stopping minor crimes, and sometimes working alongside the police. They attracted the attention of The Viceroy, a semi-retired 56 year old hero who never registered in spite of it being compulsory legally. They both have the ability to copy the powers of others, though he can just by sight, and he has body elasticity too. These make him durable and extremely adaptable, add to that his detective skills and he’s something of a local Boston legend. He took them in as his Protégé. Though they remained distant for quite some time with Erato still coming and going between his place and Wright Industries, having promised not to reveal his assistance to the doctors who Erato reported their work to. It was this way for about a year and a half before the campaign started and Erato began living with Viceroy full time, no longer wanting to go back to Wright Industries as they began to think more independently and consider what they wanted for them self more. During this time Erato had chance encounters with each of the other characters a few times as they also did minor vigilante work, peaking with a villain who is a member of Superhuman, an extremist pro-metahuman group, attacked the school that Josephine, Les, and Amanda all attend. After that incident Erato was prompted by Viceroy to contact each of these other young potential heroes to form a team, The Upstarts. Additionally during this time Viceroy took in Enid who had been abandoned by her biological father and had been getting bounced around foster care. Over time the three of them have become kind of a weird family, living in a warehouse full of cats with a couple of bedrooms grafted on and an ultra secret basement lair underneath full of advanced stuff Viceroy makes. Though Erato and Enid have definitely had their ups and down, more recently in the story (and we’ve been doing this campaign for well over a year now) they’ve been putting in serious effort to better their relationship and be good adoptive siblings to one another. I love their relationship a lot, they’re good kids.

That gets us up to the start of the campaign but hoo boy, I’ve been writing for like, an hour now. Since then Erato’s helped take down a nazi-aligned terrorist organization, they’ve got a boyfriend in their teammate, Les, and they’ve made friends outside of their core group of teammates. They’ve also enrolled in school doing well on some classes and poorly in others, namely learning how to Code and Woodworking. Currently they’re at a sleep away summer camp for superpowered kids called Camp Justice, about 10 miles outside of Boston. They really, really hate it there. Constant supervision, being made to do tests, things scheduled out against their will, inability to leave the area? Yeah that certainly reminds them of something. The difference between it and school, which does share these features, is they wanted to go to school. They very much Did Not want to go to camp. As a result they’re finally going to have to start facing the trauma they’ve got from their origin and also actually tell the others other than Les and Amanda about their sisters. Whiiiiich...Enid saw one of them disassembled and showed off in parts at a school science fair display set up by Wright Industries to gauge interest in students. And she hasn’t mentioned this to Erato...for 4 months Uh Oh! Lastly, here’s my tag I use mostly for art I make of them, it includes some texts posts and picrew dumps too though, lol. Feel free to look!

#cubecubed #erato #masks

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inescapcble · 4 years

Text

This isn’t really an intro as much as an UPDATE featuring a biography and some changes I’ve realised as I’ve gotten to know Leah’s character better, but given that I’d still recommend y’all give this a once over. Thanks to everyone for getting involved with her and my other characters, and I’m excited to do so much more with her. <3

BASIC INFO ;

Name: Leontine Artemisia Morgan

Nicknames: Leah (by select friends & family only), Madam Prez (slang)

Gender & Pronouns: cis female, she/her pronouns

Age & DOB: Forty | 14 February, 1980 | Anchorage, Kentucky

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Orientations: Bisexual / biromantic (with a lean towards women)

Relationship Status: In a ( secret ; open ) relationship with Princess Ivana of the Netherlands ( @ofivana )

Nationality: American

Religion: Agnostic

Neuroses: Undiagnosed Asperger’s syndrome (note: I, the mun, have diagnosed Asperger’s!)

FAMILIAL ;

Hometown: Anchorage, Kentucky

Father: Kenneth Morgan, CEO of Morgan Financial

Mother: Candace Morgan (d. 2019)

Siblings: Bocephus ( @hxll-0 ) and Elise ( @ofchampagnetears ) Morgan (b. 1992)

OTHER ;

Languages Spoken: English, Latin, French, Italian, German (incl. Swiss, Austrian and Bavarian German), Spanish, Portuguese

Educational Background: Institut Le Rosey, Harvard University, John Hopkins University

Occupational History:

1. Intern / Political Assistant at Capitol Hill (2002-06)

2. Representative for Maryland’s 2nd District (2006 special election — 2010)

3. Junior Senator for Maryland (2010-2016)

4. 45th President of the United States of America (20th January, 2017—)

Achievements: Youngest and first female president of the United States; shortest initiation in Society history. If I listed her political achievements we’d be here a while, folks.

THE SOCIETY ;

Codename: Adrasteia

Meaning: Adrasteia means “the inescapable,” which I chose as her label. It’s another name for Nemesis, the goddess of divine retribution, which i found quite fitting because she’s always managed to rise above people and attain what she wants, even if it is through using her parents’ money and power to her advantage at least in part. And now she’s the defender of the free world, in the most powerful office in the world — don’t make an enemy of the inescapable, for the inescapable will always get you.

Traditionalist or Reformist: Leah struggles to shoe-horn herself into either camp, but she supposes in general due to her own ideas that she’s some kind of reformist, even if that reform doesn’t include party islands and hedonistic displays. She prefers more power for women within the Society; more space for non-established families and for people to get in on their talent alone.

Goals In The Society: Her own advancement. To make her rowdy siblings see their own potential, and perhaps find a bond with them that feels less like she’s that cousin you don’t see often and don’t know very well. Ultimately, to be the Grand Archon, where she can make the most positive change. To use the Society to get rid of the Twenty-Second Amendment so she has more time to create further equally positive change for America.

Opinion On The Society: It’s something she was always meant to be part of, but something that needs to be tweaked to fit the time that it’s in. Some people’s definition of ‘tweak’ is too far, but ultimately the most important thing is that she’s in it. Certainly she values it as an honour.

PERSONALITY ;

MBTI: ENTJ-A

Enneagram: Eight, with a Seven wing

Temperament: Choleric

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Inspirations: Birgitte Nyborg (Borgen) | Kidz & SOS (Take That songs, inverse) | Peggy Carter (Marvel Cinematic Universe) | Official Secrets (film)

Tropes: The Ace, Armour-Piercing Question, America Saves The Day, The Chessmaster, Contemplative Boss, Married To The Job, Workaholic, Badass In Charge, Brainy Brunette, Deadpan Snarker, Iron Lady

YOUR MUSE AS ;

A piece of art: The Kiss by Gustav Klimt

A song: Under The Ladder by Mélovin

A book: How To Use Your Enemies by Baltasar Gracián

A movie: Official Secrets

A TV show: Borgen

A historical era: Ancient Greece if she had to choose one, but she’s more one to look to the future than the past.

A historical figure: Artemisia of Caria

A colour: Royal blue

An animal: Lioness (she’s got the name for a reason.)

YOUR MUSE’S DREAM ;

JOB: She’s sat in the Oval Office, folks, she’s doing it.

VACATION: Leontine doesn’t have time for vacations, especially not if she’s attending Society events, but if she did, she’d like to go to the Acropolis.

DAY: One day where Bo and Elise are calm; getting to go on a real date with Ivy and be proud of it.

AS A CHILD: To be President of the United States.

LAST NIGHT: I can’t tell you, because she didn’t sleep long enough to reach the appropriate stage and dream.

THAT THEY GAVE UP ON: She’s never given up on a dream. Never once, not unless she realises it was wrong in the first place. She’s not someone who gives up.

THAT THEY HAVE RIGHT NOW: Constitutional change; getting her siblings into the Society

BIOGRAPHY ;

TWELVE years — that was how long Leontine Artemisia was the sole daughter of Kenneth and Candace Morgan, but also how long it took them to forget why. Through generations of the Morgan bloodline the same issue had persisted; a work-ethic that was either partly or entirely based upon an unattainable ideal of perfection.

Which, in itself, led to relationships like the parents’ own. Lacking in healthy emotional expression ( particularly on the side of the born Morgan, less so in his softer-hearted wife ) and with at least some business element regarding a ‘practical’ or ‘advantageous’ match. It wasn’t an arranged marriage, not quite, as they had found each other — mostly — alone, but neither could it be said to be a ‘love match’ the likes of which fill the daydreams of any hopeless romantic.

And then, from there, they hadn’t realised how it would impact any child of theirs until it was too-little, too-late to do anything about it. When the nifty Morgan motto had already taken hold, dug itself into the young girl, going deeper with every comment Kenneth made about how she could be ‘better,’ or ‘how do you expect to be like me or your grandfather?’

It became Candace’s — being the far more empathetic parent, the one who was there when Leah fell and who had attached herself to her first-born in a way she would not attach quite the same with inevitable additions — goal to get her as far away from her husband’s influence as possible, so that she might have half a chance at coming fully into her own. Except, prior to achieving that goal, the terrors ( I’m sorry, the twins, but they were, and are, terrors ) came into the trio’s lives, and Leah was both no longer alone, and more alone than ever.

Which suited her fine, or at least she said it did. After all, she was still her mother’s favourite, anyone could see it. Could feel it, where Kenneth had turned his attention to the young babes to see which child would offer him the legacy he craved; because Leah’s goal — politics; the highest seat in the land, even then, regardless if she had to claw her way up there with her nails or not — didn’t particularly interest him at the time ( Morgan Financial needed an heir, and he was consistently frustrated at his eldest daughter’s disinterest ) and would interest him even less after she came back with European ideas from her next destination: the Institut Le Rosey in Switzerland, where she would meet a whole host of future A-Listers and members of the Society, including one Étienne de Polignac.

When she returned from Le Rosey at the age of eighteen, her next destination was already settled: the famed Harvard University, to study political science. Of course, she could be nothing but the hardest worker, something she would not let her university boyfriend — as much as she loved him at the time — get in the way of; it was clear Kenneth’s message had gotten through to her ( too well, as she would never feel good enough, always striving to impress him, when it was impossible ) when she chose career over her love life upon graduation.

Because from a young age she had set her eyes upon the White House desk, organised her life around that ultimate dream; pursued law and civics, and abandoned the healthy social lives of others her age. While other members of her family could have been considered high-society socialites, all she knew was her own ambition. Quickly Leah herself became the pedestal for her siblings to follow — except, not her politics, as Kenneth would indicate by sending the twins to Phillips Exeter rather than Le Rosey — and was a point of pride when her parents decided she ought to go to public events; after all, she had to learn how to relate to people, didn’t she? Her first motto, and a tattoo she has that’s always hidden by her clothing, is: change your stars, if you try, you’ll succeed.

Leontine moved to Maryland after Harvard, where she worked as a political advisor at Capitol Hill for one of the Democratic representatives ( whilst balancing a second degree, in international relations, at Johns Hopkins University due to its proximity to Capitol Hill ) until she was of constitutional age to stand for election in the House. She won Maryland’s second district — rather than standing in her birth / home state of Kentucky — and then, upon turning thirty, became the junior senator for the state; however, these early political years were all overshadowed by one event: the war in Iraq, with which she vehemently disagreed, and which has continued to influence her strong anti-war stance throughout the rest of her political career.

‘The rest’ of her political career including her run for President in the 2016 election, resulting in the thirty-six year old defeating Republican nominee Donald Trump in the most resounding fashion since the Nixon landslide. And even then the opponent managed to win Massachusetts; not so here.

She grew up privileged, of course she did, and she’s found her balance between being at peace with and being very aware of what led her to where she is today: the Oval Office, the young trailblazer wherever she went. Leah Morgan’s ‘brand’ is record-breaking, perhaps ( after all, she very quickly charmed people to her favour to admit her into the society as a 25-year-old initiate, a Societal record that still to this day stands. )

Leah’s mother Candace, however, was killed in a ‘car crash’ last Thanksgiving, a tragedy which she has not processed; she hasn’t any understanding of how to deal with grief — none of the Morgans do — so, at some point, it’s all going to come back to her.

But she was raised on ‘this is good, but you can always do better,’ and that shows more than anything in this woman with a lot of dreams and even more ambition.

#gilded:intro

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chilly-territory · 5 years

Text

K Case Files of Blue 2, chapter 4 (part 2 out of 2)

Case Files of Blue 2 by Miyazawa Tatsuki

Chapter 4 (part 2/2) (volume 2, pages 224-246)

†

The one to make contact with her target first was Awashima Seri. When she opened the door to a big hall meant for wedding ceremonies and such, on the other side of the door she found Nakamura Gouki sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, drinking sake from a bottle and making no attempt to be shy about it.

Recognizing her, the giant man said, "Oh, so it's you who came for me, eh? How about a drink?"

He turned and held his bottle up in Awashima's direction. Awashima let out a small sigh.

"I'm on the clock. But even if I weren't, I'd only drink with people I have rapport with." "So with me you don't?" Nakamura Gouki asked after barking out a short laugh. "You," Awashima replied icily, "are somewhat lacking in delicacy." "Hmm," Gouki intoned, stroking his chin. "I personally like you quite a bit though. Like your strong will so atyical for a woman. Your brute strength, too. You shattered that cage all by yourself, without any help, right? For what it's worth, it was made in such a way that even a gorilla wouldn't be able to break it. Which makes you stronger than a gorilla, ain't it ri---" "I suppose I am," Awashima interrupted in a powerful tone, making Gouki bite his tongue. Her expression tightened and she drew her saber. "Against you, I have no slightest intention to pull my punches. I'm sorry to say but there is no room for that. For that reason, if you make a bad move, you might wind up getting severely hurt. Thus, I sincerely urge you to surrender."

Awashima took her signature battle stance with one leg bent in front, the other extended behind her and the tip of her raised sword pointing downward. Gouki narrowed his eyes at her.

"Good gracious. In the end, we both can only settle this by brute force, eh." Still relaxed, he kept sipping his sake. "But before that, mind telling me just one thing?" "What is it?" Awashima kept staring down her opponent, not letting her guard down. "What kind of man is Munakata Reishi? What is he to you?" Gouki's face when he asked that was earnest and serious, and one that Awashima had never seen him make before. "C'mon."

Awashima flushed a little.

Gouki went on. "At first, I only thought of him as nothing more than a man Zen'ichi is weirdly obsessed with. But you know, as this whole story unfolded, I started finding myself taking interest in him, too. Just like with you, I sure want to share a drink and a talk with him. So..." he repeated his question again in the same very serious tone. "What kind of man is Munakata Reishi?"

"..."

Technically speaking, Awashima was under no obligation to answer that. But, being a honest and serious person that she was, she couidn't help giving the question some careful deliberation.

"Let's see," she finally spoke up. "To me, he is my king." "What I want to hear is not a shallow general description like that..." "No," Awashima cut him off flatly. Relaxing her stance, she elaborated, "To me, that person really is my king. And to me, that's everything. This is the only way I can find to describe it." She looked Gouki straight in the eye.

Hearing the weight and gravity in her tone, Gouki refrained from saying anything. Awashima suddenly smiled.

"Captain and I met before he had his awakening as a king. The plane we both happened to be on was hijacked by terrorists, and I helped Captain suppress them. It was like something straight out of movies. But some explosives we didn't know about blew, opening a big hope in the plane's airframe and sending it plummeting down. It was at that moment that he had become a king. All to save the passengers who were on that plane with him. And I witnessed it with my own eyes." Her every word was permeated with strong conviction. "For a long time, Captain searched for an answer to the question of who he was, and in that instance he'd had a realization that becoming a king was his destiny. If that's how it was, then I thought that my destiny must have been to support and help him. So I became his first clansman." "..." "Nakamura Gouki. Now, it's my turn to ask you something. Why do you support Kounomura Zen'ichi?" "Hmm." The giant scratched his bald head. "Sadly, unlike you, I don't have any special reason. It's just..." He flashed his pearly whites. "To me, Zen'ichi is a friend I have rapport with. If I must name one reason, that itself is the reason," Gouki asserted. "...I can't believe you..." Awashima breathed out a sigh. "I had my suspicions, but you really are one strange person, just like Kounomura."

"My oh my, what an honor!" Gouki's shoulders vibrated as he laughed. And then he added, "It's never boring around him." He looked like he was having fun. "...Thanks to that, I even awakened this amusing power."

Getting up slowly, he took the front double biceps pose that bodybuilders do, flexing said muscles. Following the swell of both sets of his well-developed biceps, Gouki's power spiked. In the air between the two tension hung.

"Something's been bothering me for a while. Initially, you were simply Kounmura's friend who became a strain only after Kounomura had started scheming to usurp Captain's throne, isn't that right?" "Ain't you well informed?" Gouki took a side chest pose next, putting his perctorals on display. "That's right. While participating in that grand plan of Zen'ichi's, at some point I had an awakening as a strain. And that fact itself backed up Zen'ichi's theory." "...What theory?" "That the Slate has a uniform response to a person's will. If you want power, you will get power. That is..." Gouki finished his performance with the abdominal and thigh pose. "If you want to become a king, you just might steal that seat and become one if you wish for it strong enough."

For a while, Awashima contemplated his words. Then she let out another long sigh. "You're beyond help." Quietly, she moved to take her battle stance properly again. "That's nothing more than a conceited and self-serving wild delusion. I shall correct it for you." "Oh well," Gouki grinned, "I guess that fits me just fine. Now, c'mon!" he rushed towards her. "Time to talk with our fists!"

Awashima met his dash with a battle cry.

†

About the time the fierce clash between Awashima and Gouki unfolded, Fushimi encountered Marumoto. This run-in, however, didn't escalate into anything as passionate as Awashima and Gouki's.

If anything, it was more of a game of tag where Marumoto, throwing lines like "Why do you resist opening up your heart so much?! Just become my friend! I know you're lonely!", "Eh? You don't have any social network accounts? Then how do you call out to your friends when you have a barbeque party?" and "I'm gonna chillax at a hole-in-the-wall bar with a group of good friends who chase their dreams together, wanna come too?", specially designed to get on Fushimi's nerves as much as possible, tried to run away and hide, while Fushimi did the chasing, clicking his tongue tirelessly.

Marumoto may not have possessed a sliver of fighting prowess in a direct physical confrontation, but he didn't specialize in reading minds for nothing either, excelling in seeing right through Fushimi's thought processes and hiding in his blind spots with exceptional dexterity. Changing hiding places from behind a fire fighting panel to inside a ventilation fan to beneath a sofa, he ran screaming out throwaway lines in the same vein as those mentioned above.

And each time the shutter of his camera clicked, taking yet another photo, it grated on Fushimi's nerves immensely. Fushimi swung his saber, chasing after him.

"Tch!" Tongue-clicking was only a natural response.

Fushimi had a sickening feeling that all he did lately was being dragged into these stupid games of tag. Except, both he and Marumoto knew that it was coming to an end. Through ingenious positioning, the Scepter 4 operative managed to block Marumoto's escape routes and drive him into a dead end. Of course, Marumoto knew what his opponent was trying to do, but through Fushimi's strategic maneuvering that looked random at a glance, he was running out of places to escape.

Marumoto's voice sounded strained with panic. Trying to find a way distract Fushimi, he'd resorted to alluding to Fushimi's family and the clan he was affiliated with previously, but ultimately it proved useless as, despite Fushimi's face turning bitter, his steps never faltered.

'I already was going to punch him once, guess I'll make it 2 or 3 times now,' those were about all Fushimi's thoughts on the matter. That is, for all intents and purposes, he was not rising to Marumoto's bait.

Until one particular statement from Marumoto.

"Why don't you respect your boss more? You should be more of a team player, you know!"

When he heard that screamed out at him, for the first time Fushimi paused in his steps.

"Say," surprisingly enough, Fushimi sounded thoughtful, "why do you follow someone like Kounomura?"

Silence fell.

After a short while, an answer came from a shadowy corner of the hallway.

"Well, because I respect him a lot. Kounomura-san is a great man!" "..." Fushimi sensed something in his tone. Marumoto continued, as if enraptured, "You see, until a little while ago, I was a volunteer at an orphanage that Kounomura-san operates. Kounomura-san is a very busy man, yet he finds time to remember the names of each kid and is always very kind to them. I look up to him and dream to be a person like him some day." "Then you're being tricked," Fushimi cut off bluntly. "Eh?" "Mooooron." Fushimi smirked mockingly. "Do you really believe a guy like him who's only interested in achieving his own dream would give a damn about some kids?" "Wh-what?" Reading his opponent's state of mind like an open book, Fushimi cut to the quick, "You're just being used as a handy tool. As if he'd so much as glance at you if you weren't a strain." "T-Take that back." "I'll say it as many times as it takes. You're being duped by him, dude. Poor schmuck." "Take that back, this instance! Kounomura-san is not that kind of man!"

Suddenly, Marumoto's form emerged from a shadowy nook of the hallway. In his indignation, he left his hiding place without thinking. By the time the realization of what he'd done hit him, plastering the expletive of "Crap!" all over his face, it was already too late.

Kicking off the floor, Fushimi covered the distance between them in one mighty leap and tapped the handle of his saber against the back of Marumoto's neck lightly once. The blow that could be described as gentle and almost soft didn't fail to hit the vital spot with precision.

"D-Damn it!"

Tears in his eyes, Marumoto collapsed on the spot, out cold. Fushimi sneered.

"Is it really that much fun to dream up an idol, put him on a pedestal and worship him blindly?" Then, in a dry mutter, he added, "...That's probably why I disliked you from the start."

With that, Fushimi slouched, taking his leave.

†

Awashima and Gouki clashed violently. These clashes of absurd power and speed repeated again and again. As far as raw power went, Gouki was winning by a small margin, but in speed Awashima held an overwhelming advantage. Both dispensed of tricks and tactics, fighting fair and square and only relying on their skills. Gouki wasn't holding back despite his opponent being a woman, and Awashima, in turn, put all her might into the slashes she unleashed at him.

"Nhaa!"

Lariat that Gouki launched at Awashima along with a throaty shout was blown away.

"Ha!"

After gaining splendid acceleration in midair, a backspin roundhouse kick landed on Gouki's cheek, sending his kicked-in molars in the air. He lost his clothes, Awashima lost her saber, and the battle came down to hand-to-hand combat.

"And theeeere!"

Easily gathering Awashima into his arms, Gouki threw her violently against the floor.

"Ugh!"

Twisting her body like a cat to absorb the force of the impact, she swept her leg, catching Gouki just below the knee.

"Gha!"

He hit the back of his head on the floor.

"And there!"

Still, he reached his thick arms to try and catch her, but Awashima managed to leap from the spot and avoid his hold by a hair's breadth. Then both put some distance between them, watching each other fixedly.

"Fufu." "Haha."

For some reason, they both chuckled.

Their faces were sweaty, they both were breathing hard and bruises and minor hemorrhages blossomed here and there on their bodies as a sort of decorations. Despite that, the two's fighting spirit wasn't dampened in the least. An unspoken understanding that the time to settle this once and for all was upon them was shared between them.

"If I may be so bold."

With a gesture betraying deep respect, Gouki stepped forward. Awashima came a step closer as well.

"Haaaaa!"

Gouki threw a right straight punch with all his might. Awashima's movements were free of hesitation. Resolved to the possibility of getting hard-punched in the face, she dodged to the side only at the last possible moment. Only, it was a feint.

"Gotcha!"

Gouki grinned and elbowed the crown of Awashima's head now that it was perfectly within his range, hard. The downward jab was like a blow of a giant hammer and packing enough power to be instantly lethal for a normal person.

Except in the end it was Awashima who emerged victorious in the contest of predicting the opponent's moves. The elbow attack was well within her expectations. She had confidence she could weather it and made her calculations based on that. Crossing her arms, she took that bone-shattering killing blow head-on. Unable to absorb the whole force of it, her legs trembled and a grimace of anguish crossed her features.

And yet, despite the pain, that was where her ultimate chance lay.

Gouki's expression changed, reflecting a "Oh, crap!" reaction. Awashima didn't pause. Taking one more step forward that brought her infinitely close to her opponent, she tensed bodily, gathering all her spirit and strength and putting it into a piercing blow to Gouki's solar plexus. If Gouki's attack was like a falling hammer, then Awashima's like a sharp stab of a saber.

"Ugh!"

It managed to pierce even through her opponent's thick abdominals.

"Bah!"

Gouki's eyes rolled back, and his body folded down. Awashima didn't let that momentary opening go to waste. Setting Gouki's head that, until now was too high for her to reach, on her shoulder, "And with this..." she said and lifted the body of her opponent up. His massive giant body.

"Orryaa!"

The throw she executed was so-called Brainbuster from professional wrestling. It was a power technique that you normally wouldn't see outside the ring where you lift your opponent upside down high overhead and then throw them right down.

"Ghaaaaa!"

Landing on the floor on the crown of of his head, Gouki screamed. He tried to get up but it was beyond his ability.

"Fu, fufufufu." His shoulders shook. "You really are strong," he said to Awashima who was breathing hard but stood over him as the winner, looking down at him. "It's such a pity that you're a woman."

Awashima snorted coldly. "You were pretty strong yourself. For a man, that is."

The snapback made Gouki chuckle again.

"Listen," he said when he was done, "I've got a request. You and Munakata Reishi. And me and Zen'ichi. Can we share a drink together some day?" "Well," Awashima replied as she was searching for her saber and then returning it to its place on her hip. "I don't mind giving your request some thought. But asking Captain about his wishes comes first." "I see."

Once he'd heard her reply, Gouki closed his eyes, seemingly content. "Can't wait then... Really."

And with that, he was out cold.

Awashima took a deep breath, wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and turned away from Gouki, intending to head to the hall.

Her dashing profile was a testament to the strength of her resolve.

†

Kounomura Zen'ichi was in the wedding chapel on the top floor. Seated on the altar for taking the oath, he was swinging his legs as he talked to his wife.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," he was saying into the PDA. "That's right. That's how it is. Yeah, I'm serious. No, I'm telling you," he persuaded in a soft voice, "I can't come back for a while longer. Yes, right. Yes. Yeeees."

Carefree as ever, he hung up the phone. Spinning around, the short man faced the other side.

"You were gracious enough to wait for me to finish, eh, Munakata-kun?" he called, grinning all the while. "You seemed to be busy with a call."

Munakata Reishi who smoothly appeared in the spot of light, too, had a smile on his lips. His frame, clad in a blue uniform complimented with a sword, was set off quite nicely by the special atmosphere of sacrality reigning this particular space. On the other hand, Kounomura Zen'ichi, not blessed with height or dignified stature and looking quite dull in an oversized jacket and tawny slacks, was out of place there.

The two's appearances couldn't have been farther apart: Munakata with his clean-cut features, well-formed and perfectly-proportioned frame and the undeniable air of refinement and elegance, and Kounomura, with a bulky body of a penguin and plain though not without a certain charm features, who couldn't be called attractive by any standard.

Nevertheless, the two men had something about them that made them similar.

In was in their gaze that observed all phenomena of the world with utmost attention, more carefully than anybody else yet for some reason remained distant and detached as if they weren't watching at all, and in their free way of life that transformed sadness far removed from the realm of normal into amusement. But what made them seem alike more than anything else was a calm smile always playing on their lips. That was what the two men so different had in common.

"I have to say it is quite strange. This is my first time meeting you face-to-face, but it does not feel like it," Munakata spoke up unhurriedly. Tilting his head to the side slightly, he continued, "The reason may be the fact that I've gone through massive amounts of information related to you in the course of this affair." "This is my first time meeting you in the flesh, too, I guess?" Kounomura spread out his hands. "But y'know, I made a poster out of one of the photos of you that I'd taken secretly and pinned it up in my room." He closed his eyes. "So if I just shut my eyes like this, I can see your image in all its minute details in my head right away. All your data are etched into my brain, y'see."

Munakata answered with a wry smile. Kounomura opened his eyes.

"I did it because I wanted to become you so bad, Munakata-kun. Because..." he was not shy about his word choices, "Blue King, I thought you were beautiful." "Please tell me just one thing," Munakata asked. "Why did you choose this particular method to dethrone such a king?" "Hm?" "Why did you choose to trick and trap my subordinates instead of going after me directly?" "Hmmm," Kounomura took some time to think this question over. "Why, to tell you the truth, I didn't put much thought into it. It's just when I wondered what it was that made one king, I thought maybe the answer was one's retainers." His face suddenly turned serious. "No matter how much one claims to be king, so long as no one recognizes and acknowledges that claim, one remains but a naked emperor, y'know. So I thought maybe the Dresden Slate would revise your status if you were to be cut off your followers. Then again, it was just one out of currently 12 strategies that I'd come up with, and from now on I'm planning on testing out the other 11. And rest assured, among them there are some that involve cornering you specifically."

Munakata chuckled. "So you're set on trying again, I take it?" "Yup." Kounomura's reply was flat as a child's. "I totally am."

Munakata heaved a sigh, still smiling. Kounomura made a serious face again.

"Munakata-kun, I think you've already realized this without me telling, but..." His voice sounded low. "The Dresden Slate. It's very dangerous." "..." Munakata said nothing to that. Pushing up his glasses with a finger, he changed the subject. "You cannot escape any more, and I trust you are aware of the fact, yes?" "..." This time it was Kounomura who kept his silence. And then he said peevishly, "I've prepared a few means of escape. But the decisive factor that got in my way and prevented me from making use of them is this awful weather." "Your friend," Munakata spoke calmly, "said one interesting thing to me. According to him, apparently, when you get down to it, all coincidences are but inevitable. So wouldn't you say your running out of moves is some sort of fate at work?" "Munakata-kun, you..." "You do realize already, don't you?" The way Munakata said it reeked of eerieness. He was slowly drawing closer.

That was the first time when a shadow of fear slid across Kounomura's face.

All of a sudden, he did an about-face, dashed to hide behind the altar where he took a detonator out of his pocket and pushed the button.

With a thunderous roar, the chapel blew up.

†

When Kounomura made it to the roof, the sky was covered with dark clouds twisting like dragons as far as the eye could see. From time to time, flashes of lightning pierced them.

The torrential downpour, cutting and violent, beat his body mercilessly, and the accompanying gale made him stagger. His face was a sticky mess of sweat and dirt. His hair, thin even under the best circumstances, stuck to his forehead, and his clothes showed tears. Having crawled into the emergency exit made beneath the altar, it took him quite some time to get out.

Kounomura turned to take a look at the rubble that only a few minutes ago was the chapel, and the expression that crossed his face then could be interpreted as despair, fear or maybe even delight.

"...I knew it, Munakata-kun, you're simply..."

There stood no other than Munakata Reishi. Around him the blue globe of a barrier was projected, and despite being in the immediate vicinity of an explosion, not even a hair was out of place on him, to say nothing of injury. Munakata was getting closer, step by step, smiling with grace and refinement all the while.

Kounomura felt fear seizing him. And as Munakata was drawing closer, indivertible in his approach, the reason for this fear dawned on the short man.

For the first time in his life, Kounomura Zen'ichi and his carefully made plans were about to fail. Here, at this very moment.

There were things forever out of his reach, and he was made to realize he could never become someone like the person in front of him no matter how he tried. Between the two men there existed a wall that could never be scaled. In that instance, both Kounomura and Munakata sensed it.

'So this is what destiny is, huh? In the end, I never even stood a chance.'

The moment he thought that, a wave of exhaustion swept over him so bone-deep that he could barely stay upright. His long past its prime body had hit its limit long time ago, and the spirit that kept it going just barely after it had broke that instance.

Kounomura was ready to collapse then and there. But just then...

"That wouldn't do, Kounomura-san."

A quick and strong yet gentle arm suddenly caught him. The wind and rain stopped. Kounomura realized he was drawn inside the barrier projected around Munakata. When he looked up, he found Munakata smiling at him from above.

"He who aspires to be king must never take a knee."

That determination was overwhelming.

Kounomura's first ever failure triggered another strong reaction, and another feeling, new to him, was born on the heels of it. On instinct alone, Kounomura groaned. And then...

"It's okay."

Freeing himself from Munakata's supporting arm, he took a knee before the other man, of his own will this time, and said reverently, "I admit my defeat. You are the true king, Munakata Reishi."

In that instance, he found a new goal for himself, a new someone who he wanted to become.

Munakata, though almost imperceptibly perplexed, kept on smiling, and Kounomura, as he looked at him, couldn't help thinking of him as 'beautiful' once again.

#k case files of blue #k project #project k #k translation

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charmingturkeysandwich · 5 years

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I Could Use a Love Song Ch. 3: don’t need no reason or happy hour

Chapter 3 of my Country Singer!Emma AU is here. I added a tag on AO3 for alcohol abuse, because while I don’t think we have true alcoholism here... Emma’s coping mechanisms are shit and the heavy drinking isn’t the healthiest. I wanted to make sure that I added that warning here as well. Please don’t use alcohol like Emma does here. I know from experience it’s hella bad news. Find a therapist! This is actual advice, not a joke. For reals. Emma should have just gone to a counselor instead of making appointments with Jose Cuervo and Jack Daniels. If anyone has treated you the way this iteration of Neal treated Emma, talk to someone. If you can’t afford a therapist, talk to me. Seriously, no lie, no joke, I’m only alive today because I eventually adopted a dog and sought counseling to cope with life’s many traumas.

Mmmmkkay enough babbling.

Also on AO3

Previous Chapters 1 | 2

Their next few gigs were some of the best in Emma’s (admittedly tequila-hazed) memory, and for once that glimmer of hope for that future of fame and fortune… well, it felt like a hell of a lot more than a glimmer.

The crowds had been rowdy, raucous, and ready to sing along to every song on their whole set. A few people even more some of the merch Killian had started selling at the door, nothing fancy of course, but it made her heart burst with pride nonetheless.

It had all gotten so real, so achievable, so close to everything she’s been dreaming about before she ever really knew that dreams were a thing that could come true.

So of course something was about to bring back the quasi-comfort of her life always reverting to being a waking nightmare.

That was a deeply melodramatic way of putting it – it’s not like she was being beaten or shamed or any of the daily torments her tiny town had ensured were burned into her brain. But that was the problem with the past, wasn’t it? It wasn’t over, even when it was. Those days were past but they would always somehow be present, replaying in her brain and aching in her heart no matter how far from Pennsylvania their little van puttered.

(Whoever said you can’t go home again neglected to mention how hard it was to leave it, even after you’d physically gone.)

It had been a Tuesday. In some chain grocery store outside Virginia Beach, the sun glowing through the big front windows and the icy chill of the air conditioning raising goosebumps on her bare arms. Emma had only echoes of a hangover, so Ruby’s constantly chatting wasn’t nearly as grating as it could be. They moved slowly through the aisles, tossing various food and supplies in their cart, more than fulfilling the list Graham and Mary Margaret had given them.

They were still struggling artists but some weeks the struggle was… less. This was one of them and if they decided to celebrate with Patron instead of Jose Cuervo and fresh, organic honeycrisp apples instead of Great Value brand dried apple chips, well, it’s because they damn well deserved it.

They couldn’t have been more than a few feet away from the checkout when the radio (a constant calming presence, most days, being the object of their ambition and all) caused her heart to drop to the deepest pits of her gut, twisting her insides until she was nearly dry-heaving to get the gross sensation of feelings out of her body and in the sewer system where it belonged.

They say scent is tied to memory, and it surely is, but there’s something, too, in sound. Music had a distinct way of tying itself to a moment, to a feeling. For some people that feeling was joy, was love, could be better than the best drug to intoxicate them with no risk of hangover. But for Emma, for this song in particular, it was all hangover, no high.

I’m set on cruise control

I’m slowly losing hold of everything I got

You’re looking so damn hot

The lyrics were innocuous enough. Sweet. Loving. There was certainly some couple out there – many, probably – who smiled fondly at each other when it came on. But for her, it was just a reminder of how pathetic she’d been, once upon a time, how deeply manipulated she’d been. And oh, the consequences she’d suffered for falling for a sweet voice and a pretty face and a moment that had felt like a country song.

And I don’t know what road we’re on

Or where we’ve been, from starin at you, girl

All I know is I don’t want this night to end

It had been a song she’d listened to in Neal’s truck, on a back road, the moon high and the stars bright and her heart hammering in her chest before he leaned over the center counsel parked in his daddy’s field and kissed her like she was precious, like she was, like he could love her through this life and the next.

And even today, half-hungover in a Piggly Wiggly or whatever the fuck this place was, she still felt the whisper of butterflies in her. She still remembered how much she’d believed the lies and even hoped the bad stuff wasn’t actually real, holding on to nights like that first one, her and Neal seemingly the only two people on Earth and all she’d ever need to feel whole again.

Emma Swan was a fighter, a survivor, a strong, badass woman that no man would ever hurt again.

But one Luke Bryan song on a clear Tuesday afternoon had her so torn up in shame, she almost forgot her best friend was standing beside her, her little “family” of a band and crew waiting for her back at the block of hotel rooms down the road.

She wasn’t in Pennsylvania. Neal wasn’t anywhere near her. But she could practically smell his cologne and the exhaust of his truck and the fact that there was a tiny part of her that truly still wished it had all worked out, that he’d been the happily ever after she’d wanted, and she wanted to slap herself silly for how stupid one smart girl could be.

“I think we can afford some Reese’s mix, right?” Ruby asked, already tossing two bags in the cart as they entered the self-checkout line.

“Yeah,” was all Emma could respond, her traitor brain still wavering between wishing for an alternate ending to her stupid, sad tale and coming totally clean to Ruby about what horrors she’d suffered and hitting the road with her on a revenge-fueled quest to keep that fucker from ever hurting another sweet, could-be-innocent girl ever again.

“Emma, you with me?” Ruby’s voice was hesitant, her eyes wide as she took in Emma’s likely ghost-pale complexion and battle-ready stance.

(She was always fighting those internal ghosts and damn could those things travel.)

But she didn’t want to think about Neal or the bruises long-healed or how she wishes she could time travel back and prevent the most painful part of what that monster had done to her, the part where for a pretty little minute she truly thought she’d loved him.

No. The past might be doing its damnedest to creep into today but she was not going to let it.

Fuck you, Luke Bryan, and all your pelvic sorcery.

“God, I hate this song,” Emma finally croaked out. “I think we should celebrate today.”

“Celebrate how much you hate a song that I’m fairly sure David would kill you for hating?”

“No, Rubes. Celebrate this,” Emma motioned all around them, somewhat erratically, only serving to further confuse Ruby. At least for a moment. “We’re really getting somewhere, aren’t we? I mean, three hotel rooms. That’s, like, a record. We’re getting somewhere. You and I, we came from some shit, right? And now we’re headed toward something good and I think we should celebrate.”

“And how exactly do you propose we celebrate this? Because if it’s by having a four-way with Graham and Killian I’m absolutely in, with just a couple ground rules – “

Emma cut off her teasing before her brain had enough time to make any visuals of that: “Ew. God, no. Why does your brain even go there? No. I just meant, you know, hitting some bars or the beach or something. Day drinking. It’s the ultimate in enjoyment and not giving a fuck.”

“So you’re suggesting we celebrate the good the same way we drown our sorrows in the bad?” Ruby mocked, tossing the groceries on the conveyor belt and a packet of mints at Emma’s head.

“No, you drink your sorrows in the dark. You drink your celebrations when the sun’s out,” Emma said like it was the most normal, accepted thing in the world, like she was reciting it from a code of conduct instead of having made it up on the spot to cover for the fact that she very much, one hundred percent was drowning her sorrows but just didn’t have the patience to wait for the sun to set.

“Sure, Ems. Let’s go with that.” Ruby clearly wasn’t buying her bullshit – she always did have an excellent bullshit detector – but she went along with it all the same.

Emma paid for the groceries and hefted as many bags to the car as she could possibly carry, the burn in her arms like the warmth of the sun as she flip-flopped her way to the awaiting van, a great day of drinking and forgettingahead of her.

The usual six of them turned into seven that day, Killian’s old buddy from the service having been stationed at the naval base in Norfolk and here for a visit. Will, that was his name, and he was a pain in the ass in the very best way. He had been matching her shot-for-shot in the hotel room before they hopped the Uber to The Cove, a beachside bar favored by locals and tourists alike. He would tease her and taunt her and buy her drinks, but with absolutely the energy of a brother and not a I’m looking to get into your pants kind of way.

David saw her as a sister, sure, but he tended toward the serious, the protective. He cared so much and knew too much, and it kept him from being totally lighthearted or even downright rude. And Graham, well he never paid Emma quite that much attention, always on his own quests and whatnot. She couldn’t blame the guy, and truly she didn’t usually want attention, but there was something about today, something about the casual nature of her exchanges with Will that allowed her to just be free.

Killian wasn’t quite on board, though. Ever since she and Ruby had floated the idea of some casual no-show-tonight fun, he’d been weirdly quiet. Mary Margaret and David were notably excited, seeming to view it as an opportunity for date night, even with the five other tagalongs. And Ruby was pretty much always up for a party.

But Killian seemed to be cranky at her and she couldn’t figure out why.

“Let loose, why don’t you, Jones!” Emma shouted across the bar, Killian nursing a rum and coke while Ruby, Will, and Emma had joined another group of probable-tourists in a limbo competition.

“Eh, let him sulk,” Will had suggested, stumbling a little after returning to the upright position. He was suspiciously good at the limbo. Maybe he’d been a gymnast in another life?

“I’ll get him, Em,” Ruby promised, having fallen flat on her ass after the last round (the responding ooooohhhhhhshaving more to do with her skirt riding up to her waist as she fell than it was about the fall itself).

Ruby had spent the next hour or so in the corner with Killian, both steadily drinking but never really coming to re-join the party. So Emma and Will kept socializing with strangers while Graham flirted hard with a pretty girl and Mary Margaret and David found another grossly into each other couple to apparently double date with, because of course they did.

After a few drinking games, a few messy dances, and definitely too much liquor for before 5pm, Emma finally took a break, she and Will sidling up to the bar and ordering some nachos.

“Y’know, you’re not nearly as pretty as Killian described you,” Will said after a few minutes of nacho-focused silence.

“Hey! I think you’re insulting me and I don’t appreciate it,” Emma responded, cheese dripping down the corner of her mouth.

“Way he talks, you’d think you were a bleeding fallen angel or something. I definitely didn’t expect a hot mess who talked with her mouth full.”

“Hah! You said hot. I still got it,” she joked, chomping down on another cheese and chili covered chip.

Emma had become pretty good at reading people – people tended to adapt after you suffering the consequences of falling for it – and Will definitely wasn’t flirting with her. At least not with actual intent. So why on earth had he brought up her looks?

She was happy to play along with whatever game he had going, was even feeling a little bolder and more confident than usual with his carefree attitude and his backward compliments.

But his next comment was the proverbial bucket of ice on any of those feelings.

“He’s a good man, Emma. I hope you don’t toy with him.”

“Excuse me?” What exactly was this fucker accusing her of? She hadn’t even talked to Killian since they’d been at the hotel and she certainly hadn’t been mean. No, even at her most prickly, she was never all-out mean to him. He was a good guy, the type to hold your hair when you puked and nearly the opposite of her initial assumptions about him. Of course she’d never ‘toy with him.’ The fucking nerve of this dude.

“I don’t think you know me enough to continue those thoughts, Scarlet,” she warned, shoving the nachos away and downing her fruity drink.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like you, Emma. You’d make a good mate. But I’m more like you than you realize, and I know how many people I hurt before I got myself straight. Just … keep that in mind, won’t ya?”

And then the bastard just… left.

He didn’t say goodbye to anyone – not even to Killian – and left Emma pissed as all hell and sitting alone at a tourist trap in the worst city in all of Virginia.

So much for that attempt at celebration.

But before her thoughts (and actions) could turn to the dark side, Graham and David were approaching her for a friendly tournament of darts and after a couple bulls eyes and a little light taunting, her carefree spirit had returned, just in time to kick Mary Margaret’s ass and move onto the championship game between her and Killian.

“So, that friend of yours is something,” Emma observed, tossing her first set of darts and landing them with soft thunks into the felt.

“Will? Aye. He’s… he’s been a friend for quite a long time. There for me for some pain. So I choose to keep his pain-in-the-ass existence around.” His tone was light and his words sincere, but there was a weight to his expression that Emma didn’t quite understand.

He took his turn, little glints in his eye and mini-fist pumps when he hit his intended target. It was adorable, to be honest. But there was definitely something wrong and despite Will’s seeming accusations about her and her abilities to be a good friend, she wanted nothing more than to take away whatever pain he was reliving at the moment.

So she lost – yes, intentionally – and dragged him to the bar, ordering him some straight whiskey to loosen him up and hopefully to help him forget like she already was.

“Why, Swan, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk,” he practically purred, breaking the flirty tone with a gentle boop to her nose. “Which is usually my tactic.”

“Easy, Captain,” she joked with him, fiddling with the prosthetic ‘hook’ contraption he wore when they went out (it’s a perfect beer holder, he’d said, to which she’d responded yeah, right, you just want to play pirate).

Despite the fog of the liquor, a few facts clicked into place. He’d suffered some bad shit in his past, shit Will apparently witnessed. Killian had also lost his hand, probably in the Navy. And this town, it wasn’t far from a navy base. Could that have been his navy base? Had they inadvertently brought Killian to the scene of the crime, so to speak?

The way she never wanted to go back to her ‘hometown,’ the place she’d lived the longest and suffered the most… what if that’s how he felt here? What if she’d suggested they celebrate over the grave of whatever and whoever he lost?

God, she was a hot mess and she was dangerous, the way she sank into her pain without looking into anyone else’s.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she wanted to apologize. Or something. “I’m sorry about this. Or, I guess, about whatever led to this. Or accompanied it. I’m just… I’m just sorry?”

“For the ungodly amount of liquor you’re pressuring me into drinking? Don’t worry, love, I’m a big boy.”

Ugh, the deflection. She knew that tactic well. “No, I mean this,” she said, gripping the elbow of his damaged arm. “I don’t know what happened and I’m not asking, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry. Not in the fault kind of way. Just the way where I wish it hadn’t happened and I know there’s pain and you didn’t deserve it. Or don’t. Currently. You know what I mean.”

“I think you’re drunk off your ass, darling.”

“Call me darling one more time and you’ll be the one on your ass.”

“So defensive, jeez,” he quipped, finishing another drink and slamming the glass back down on the table, his face melting into something a little more serious, if only for a moment. “Thank you, Swan,” he said finally, cupping her cheek with his right hand.

Her heart about stopped as his eyes bored into hers. It was much too much, the closeness, the feel of his hand, the heat of his body, the truth in his eyes, and all she wanted was to go back to teasing and laughing and strangers who didn’t have feelings or at least didn’t share them with her and why did she even bring it up, anyway? Just because Will had made her feel bad? Why shouldn’t they drink away their pain if it quieted the demons for one blessed day? Why should we have to suffer the same memories over and over when instead we could just fucking let go.

She should have just stuck to letting go.

But his intense sincerity washed away in a blink, his flirty near-pirate persona back with a vengeance. “Now, Swan, what game shall I best you at next?” His gentle caress on her cheek turned into a full grip, his fingers scrunching her face almost comically.

“Name it, Jones. You’re on.”

Turns out their little crew had signed them all up for a cornhole tournament out on the sand and Graham had called dibs on Emma as a partner, for which she was thankful. He was pretty boss at all bar games, and she had a competitive streak even without her BAC being higher than her high school GPA.

But get her drunk and she’d pretty much lie, cheat, and steal her way to bragging rights on whatever silly game they were playing.

So of course she and Graham had made it to the finals, their opponents two bikini-clad college girls who could trash talk like no other.

Which is why Emma was totally fine with the little plot she had brewing in her head.

“Graham, we need distractions here.”

“What do you mean, like have Mary Margaret set something on fire again?”

“Oh, come on. Pretty girls. Fun, happy, drunk, pretty girls. I saw them ogling you earlier so they’re probably straight. Take your shirt off. Now!”

“I always said I’d reject your advances when you inevitably tried to get me naked, Swan, but you drive a hard bargain.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but Graham did as instructed, stretching lazily and pantomiming sweat before pulling at the neck of his t-shirt and whisking it over his head.

The girls missed their next shots, and Graham had the chance to win it with this last toss and Emma was ready to bust out her victory dance just a tad prematurely.

Until the brunette untied her bikini top and let the fabric fall to her waist just as Graham was taking his shot.

He missed, of course.

Damn, these girls were good.

“Can I be of assistance?” a husky voice offered, his breath ticking her ear lobe.

Killian, of course.

“What exactly can you offer, Jones?” Graham swooped in to ask, clearly annoyed that his bare chest hadn’t yet won them the game.

“Well, Graham, Emma here assures me that you’re one ‘fine specimen of man’ but sadly to those girls you’re all talk and no action, across the beach from them, separated by this very game. I think they need something a little more… tactile.”

Killian was over-confident when he was drinking, but it’s not as if he were wrong. If she were one of those girls and Killian came up to her, with his sultry accent and his maddening smirk and the way he’d run his fingers through her long hair…

Yeah, it would work. Definitely. Yup.

“Go for it, Jones, but don’t come crying to us if they don’t take to your charms the way you want them to,” Emma warned, rolling her eyes and banishing all inappropriate thoughts of Killian Jones to the dark recesses of her mind with her knowledge of calculus and the memory of that time she walked in on Mary Margaret sucking David off in their shared kitchen back in Pittsburgh.

Killians voice alone proved distracting enough for the blonde girl to miss her shot and Graham, his ego now challenged, sank his with ease.

Emma cheered far too loud and leaped into Graham’s arms, her legs around his waist, Ruby rushing up to high five them and pass along a few more shots to keep the day rolling.

By the time the sun sank behind the bar, the ocean in front of them streaked with the deep blues and purples of twilight, Emma was well past drunk and definitely no longer thinking of any painful backstories or traumas or anything, really, but the cinnamon burn of the Fireball and the feel of Killian’s arm around her as they walked down a set of stairs to a fire pit so much like those that she’d built on the banks of the Allegheny and yet so different, the smell of the salt of the ocean and the leather of Killian’s jacket keeping her brain from connecting the present to the past.

“Jones, haven’t you ever heard you’re supposed to keep your hands to yourself in the presence of a lady?” she teased, wiggling her shoulders where he was grasping her.

“Aye, but I see no ladies here!” He chuckled and she elbowed him and he bowed his head to her ear as they stepped down the last stair. “Besides, love, what if you’d fallen and no one was there to save you?”

She rolled her eyes again, shrugging off his support now that there was no excuse for it, solid ground beneath their feet. “Oh, I’m a loud screamer. Someone would have come for me.”

“Oh, how I’d like to experience both of those things for myself…” Killian groaned, his mind of course solidly in the gutter.

Emma just laughed it off and stumbled toward the fire, joining Mary Margaret and David on a log clearly only meant for two.

Tomorrow was going to be hell, definitely more than just the echo of a hangover. But they had hotel rooms and each other and now and really those things alone made every minute of tomorrow’s inevitable headache more worth it than she could ever have fathomed in any stage of her life before this one.

#cs ff #cs au ff #cs fanfiction #keisha writes #i could use a love song #no luke bryans were harmed in the making of this chapter #yes they play cornhole wrong #i had a brain fart #so suspend your disbelief please #and seriously #i'm here for you if you need it #i drank my feelings for many years #it was not healthy #fun at times #but def not healthy #your trauma is not your fault #I LOVE YOU

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