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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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Callisto (Arrival - Bit 1)

And here we are back on our way out to Callisto with a bunch of grumpy Tracys, their Dad, their Uncle and a former enemy. It’s all sunshine and lollipops...not. :D But there is some great scenery :D

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and @onereyofstarlight You guys are absolutely amazing and so patient with my crazy. Bri, you are a great teacher for a dunderhead like me :D

Anyways, here we are back on board the Excel. I hope you enjoy. :D

-o-o-o-

Part Three

Virgil ended up dosing Gordon as the aquanaut turned positively green after the second jump.

He dragged his brother to the infirmary and made him lie down for the rest of the ion pause. Gordon protested the anti-nausea injection, but Virgil wasn’t willing to risk airborne innards. He was barely holding it together himself.

John, surprisingly wasn’t much better. Not that the casual observer would be able to tell. His space brother was the master of self-control. But Virgil could see the tightness around his mouth, the slightly pale cast to his skin…he kept an eye on him.

By the third jump, Virgil was dosing himself with anti-nausea meds.

It was the oddest feeling. His body wanted to register it as a g-force, but it wasn’t quite the same. It hit his stomach and his head and it was like spinning in both directions at once.

Ergh, even thinking about it was nauseating.

John didn’t need any medication. Or so he claimed. As far as Virgil was concerned, it came damned close. He kept an eagle eye on his space brother anyway.

As for the rest of the crew...Scott and Alan didn’t appear to even notice the issue, their Dad grunted a little and Uncle Lee made several salty comments.

Michael just arched an eyebrow when Virgil queried him.

Before the fourth jump he forcibly dragged them all through the tiny sickbay, just in case.

The whining was extensive.

But this was new technology. A threat to call back to Grandma was all it took to shift both his father and Uncle Lee. Who could have known their uncle was mildly terrified of their grandmother.

His father was rather amused. The story behind that one was not fully divulged, but it lightened the atmosphere a little.

Michael worshipped Mrs Tracy, as he called her, and was out of his seat so fast, he created eddies in the artificial atmosphere.

Virgil was not going to question that one at all.

Ultimately, Virgil didn’t find anything wrong with any of his brothers or the others, but he did record all observations. Perhaps the reason could be found and negated sometime down the track.

In the meantime, Gordon and himself were suitably drugged up and Alan’s smart-ass comment on the matter stamped on by Scott.

Finally, thank god, they emerged from the fifth jump and Alan was able to shift to more familiar spaceflight permanently.

Beside Virgil, Gordon let out a relieved sigh.

The ship shuddered as the ion engines were once again engaged. Alan’s skill was ever so prominent and Virgil felt nothing but pride for his little brother. He must remember to mention it to the squirt later on.

John, still looking a little green, ran his fingers over his board and brought up their forward view on the main ‘projector.

“Well, I have to say that is quite a sight.” Dad’s voice was suitably awed.

Virgil’s jaw dropped.

Jupiter.

It was massive.

And far more impressive in person than through a telescope.

The huge gas giant was still distant, but the sun behind them lit it up in all its glory. Its brilliant swirls of colour were in such contrast to the black around it, it was like a hole in the fabric of space-time, a window to another dimension.

Its iconic red spot glared at them like an eye.

Virgil knew the planet well from both photographs and Five’s telescopes. Its colours were fascinating and inspirational. He’d done a few pours in acrylic to emulate the gaseous agitation with mixed results. One hung in John’s room, even. But nothing compared to this.

“That is one honkin’ great big ball o’ gas.”

Virgil flattened his gaze and glared at the back of Uncle Lee’s head. Beside him, Gordon snorted.

Typical.

On the hologram, labels suddenly appeared identifying each of the features in the space-scape. Ganymede coasted slowly on the left, Io was a tiny dot casting a shadow on Jupiter’s surface and an arrow pointed out where Europa was obscured by the giant planet.

Jupiter’s ring was located, along with several of its seventy-odd asteroid moon hoard.

A glance at John had Virgil smiling. The expression on his space brother’s face was a sight to behold. It was as if he had discovered the holy grail…which, considering the importance of the Jovian system, was a good analogy.

This was John paradise.

“Receiving recognition signal from Callisto.” His space brother’s expression shifted to one of quiet amusement as his fingers poked his console.

“How the hell did you get here so quick?!” The hologram that suddenly appeared in the middle of the cockpit was energetic to say the least. Graeme Walters was a bald, heavy-set man in his fifties. Fiery eyes set deeply below steel grey eyebrows were striking by themselves, but it was the extravagant moko that was the dominant feature of his expression. The black etched design on the entirety of the right side of his face spoke of his mother’s Maori ancestry.

Those dark eyes didn’t wait for an answer as they glanced around, only to fixate on Virgil’s father. “Jeff?”

“Hey, Gray. Long time, no see.”

The man stared for a long moment, lips pressing together. A drawn in breath. “Good to see you, Space Jockey.” The relieved smile that infused his face was a big one.

But it didn’t last long.

Scott spoke up. “Mr Walters, we are responding to your distress call. What is your situation?”

Dark eyes flickered to the commander, a frown forming between them. “Ju and Kate were exploring the caves beneath the Base. They extend for hundreds of kilometres in all directions. They took three staff and one of our spelunking crawlers towards the north. Kate is fascinated by the Asgard impact zone and in particular Burr crater. They had planned to be gone a week. We lost contact yesterday, only two days in.” A map appeared in the hologram. “We think they made it to Burr, but we are unsure as our sensors are swamped with interference.”

“Interference?” John sat up straighter. “Send me a radiological profile of the area.”

Walters blinked and gestured at something out of range. “It’s yours. Though I’m hoping that big fancy rocket you’re riding has more bang for its buck than our orbital.”

John’s voice was calm. “I can assure you, Mr Walters, we have plenty of bang.” His brother was intent on his console, frowning at whatever the Base commander had sent him.

“Good.” He turned back to Jeff. “Looking forward to a beer in your honour, Jeff. Park your rocket in orbit and I’ll see you down here asap.” A curl of his lips. “Watch the Jefferson. I’ve just had her waxed.” The hologram blinked out.

“The Jefferson?”

Nobody answered him and the cockpit was suddenly quiet.

Virgil wondered if it was pure accident his father didn’t know or if Scott and John had left the name out of the briefing on purpose. Hell, why hadn’t Uncle Lee told him? Perhaps they had meant to approach Dad later in private. Perhaps Virgil should have done that himself, but the rush to leave…

Damn.

The massive space hauler that had brought the Callisto mission to the moon had left Earth in 2056 a year after their father had gone missing.

Virgil sighed internally. ‘Gone missing’ was a euphemism for ‘died’ that they all used. They didn’t name spaceships after people they thought might be coming back.

“On approach.” Alan’s words snapped him out of his thoughts.

His little brother tweaked the view on the main projector.

Dad was tight-lipped as he stared up at the scene.

Jupiter still hung in the distance like a massive Christmas ornament, but its second largest moon was swelling in the foreground.

Callisto was a moon of rock and ice. Unlike her sister, Europa, the surface was not one continuous blanket of white. More a cratered wasteland, the moon’s ancient crust sparkled like it was dusted with glitter. As the Excel powered into orbit, that glittery surface turned its eye towards them.

And it was an eye. Not like the red spot that continued to stare at them from Jupiter, but a single massive crater outshining the millions of smaller ones, glaring up at them from the surface.

Words appeared on the display yet again. Valhalla.

“Wow. Something hit hard.” Gordon’s voice beside him was little more than a whisper.

The Excel swooped past and around the moon, turning away from Jupiter as she caught the curve of a new orbit. Virgil’s attention was focussed on Callisto, so he didn’t see the approach of the other ship at first.

“There she is.” Alan’s voice was awe itself. “The Jefferson Tracy.”

“You let them name a ship after me?”

Again that silence enveloped the cockpit.

Scott sighed. “It was a sign of respect, Dad.” His eyes were sad as he looked up at the display.

Jeff stared at the commander for a long moment. Scott simply stared back, the expression on his face enough to clench Virgil’s heart.

Uncle Lee was either oblivious or strategic in his words. “Jeff, she is a beauty. Just look at those engines. She hauled the entire base all the way out here and didn’t blink.” He grinned at the ship as she slowly floated past. There were enough similarities in design between the Jefferson and Thunderbird Two in the way the hauler carried chained ‘modules’ and sported a massive rocket on her backend for Virgil to admire. But she was many times the size of his ‘bird, had never seen planetfall and never would, having been built in space.

Zero X technology had been the next step in space exploration.

The Zero X had failed.

The Jefferson was the result. Alternate technology named after the man the original technology had taken.

Most of her modules were missing and no doubt deployed on the moon, but the hauler was still massive, her giant hull decked out in blue and silver.

A splash of red on her bow completed the illusion. While she was built more like a giant Thunderbird Two, she drew her paint job from a much smaller craft.

“Well, that looks familiar.” Gordon murmured beside Virgil.

He had to agree. Even the white lettering down the side of the huge craft that spelt out their father’s name was an echo of the Thunderbird lettering down One’s flank.

“Why?” Their father didn’t specify who he was addressing, but it wasn’t necessary.

Scott sat straighter in his seat. “As I said, they wanted to show their respect. I couldn’t see the harm. Tracy Industries was a major sponsor, after all.” And they had been hurting.

Bad.

Virgil remembered far too well. Scott had received the request after a long and hard day. He had been vulnerable and had sought out Virgil’s counsel.

It had been like declaring Dad dead and it had hurt so much. But the opportunity to see their father so recognised, so esteemed by the planet he had sacrificed himself for…in the end there had been no question of giving permission.

It was what their father would have wanted.

They hadn’t expected him to actually see the Jefferson Tracy.

Again Uncle Lee spoke up, this time his voice was unusually quiet. “Berry and Ju just wanted you to keep them safe, Jeff. You were our lucky charm, after all.”

Virgil’s father frowned at the engineer.

Jeff opened his mouth, but Alan cut him off. “Orbital stability achieved and locked in.”

The Jefferson passed them at a respectable distance on its own orbital trajectory and sailed off towards the moon’s curved horizon. Below them, another very large impact crater slowly rotated into view.

The word ‘Asgard’ appeared on the display.

Scott’s voice was sharp as he unstrapped himself. “That’s our target. John, what are the specifics?”

The astronaut turned his seat around to face them all. “The Base is contained within Doh crater, part of the Asgard complex.” An arrow appeared on the display pointing at a tiny shadow at the centre of the massive crater. “The docking facilities are large enough to support Thunderbird Three. Alan, I recommend a rear landing. Let’s not drill a hole in their hangar.”

“Well, yeah, derrr.”

Gordon piped up. “No, it’s D’oh, little bro.” The aquanaut grinned.

John did not roll his eyes. Not quite.

Virgil had no such control and just groaned.

“What? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Gordon.” Scott’s voice was firm, but Virgil could see the slight crinkle around Scott’s eyes and appreciated Gordon’s effort to break up the atmosphere a little.

John ignored both of them. “Gravity is only 0.126g, even less than Earth’s Moon, so no stupid stunts.” Virgil wasn’t going to argue with the glare John sent in Scott’s direction, but when Uncle Lee picked up on it, the snort was a big one.

“It will be like being home on Alfie again.” The whack Lee planted on their father’s back was a solid one. “Hey, Space Jockey.”

The glare Dad shot at Uncle Lee was scathing. “Don’t you start.”

“Oh, it’s all coming back to me now.”

Virgil’s father grunted in disgust.

Uncle Lee only grinned more.

“We have a mission here, people.” Scott glared at all of them.

That shut up everyone and Virgil felt like throttling his brother. They were on pace. The break in tension was worth the moment.

Virgil straightened. “We have a number of pods available. I recommend a combination of all-terrain. We have the Dragonfly geared for low gravity environment, but it will depend on the size of these caves. John?”

“I’ve only just begun analysis, but as the Commander Walters said, Base sensors are badly compromised. I’ve tapped into the Jefferson with similar results. Using Thunderbird Five I hope to locate and negate the issue. Eos is working on it as we speak. My focus once the last communications buoy is connected, will be finding lifesigns and assistance with mapping the reported caves.”

“Thank you, John. Alan, you’re in Thunderbird Three. Virgil and Gordon, you’re with me. Dad-“

“I’m going down with you, Scott.”

“Me, too.” Uncle Lee was virtually bouncing in his seat.

Scott’s lips pressed together. “As I was saying, gear up and I’ll see you in Thunderbird Three.” The commander’s eyes flitted to Virgil ever so briefly, but the medic got the meaning immediately.

Medical supplies would be fully stocked.

Scott pushed off from his chair.

“Thunderbirds are go.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #John Tracy #Jeff Tracy #lee taylor #Gordon Tracy #callisto

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anxresi · 4 years

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Amity’s Amends

Story: After the events of 'Understanding Willow', Amity knows she has a lot to make up for. And she'll start tonight, right in front of four people who have been the bane of her existence for too long. Get ready for a roasting, s'mores optional.

...............

Amity Blight arrived home that night after her adventure inside Willow’s head, full of more hope and determination for the future than she ever felt possible.

Her initial skepticism of the Earthling Luz Noceda had long since disappeared, and now the two could honestly even describe themselves as good friends. Maybe even more, if the way I blush whenever she hugs me is anything to go by. Just like my favorite ships in those Azura books we both like...

The young witch quickly dispelled all thoughts of frivolous romance from her head, using the same methodology she would dispel one of her enchantments if it got out of control. That’s for the future, if it happens at all. Right now I have other stuff to take care of…

She burst through the front door, half-expecting her strict parents to meet her there with the standard ‘where do you think you’re been?’ or ‘your darling brother and sister would never stay out this late’.

Whereas she dreaded such searching questions before, now an odd mixture of defiance and resilience made her itch to hear them, just so she could show off her new steadfast attitude.

Alas, there was no Mr and Mrs Blight in sight. They’d taken the night off (again) to mingle with the VIPs their family relied on for its ‘prestigious’ reputation, so her long-awaited confrontation with them was just gonna have to wait until later. Goodie. Gives me something to look forward to.

In the front room however, were two other people Amity wanted to put straight on a few things… along with a couple of surprise guests. Erica and Edmira Blight, her ‘dear’ siblings, sat on the couch with her so-called best friends, Boscha and Skara. They seemed deep in conversation, but the intense chat soon faded to a whisper the moment Amity strolled through the door.

“ Mittens!!” Edric was the first to greet his little sister, grabbing her by the shoulder to give her a light noogie. “We were wondering where you got to! I was just about to send out a search party… or at least, borrow mom’s crystal ball to track you down.”

“Great to see you, sis!” Emira smirked at Amity in a non-too genial way. “And look who’s here too! Your besties, Boscha and Skara. They came over because they tell me they’ve been worried about you lately… and I must say, me and Edric have been as well. So think of what you’re about to hear as an ‘intervention’, if you like.”

“Amity, you’ve changed! You don’t insult the other losers with us the way you used to, you don’t let us tell you how to dress, and we’ve even caught you hanging out with that Earth creature!” Skara stared at Amity unblinkingly, as if unwilling to let Luz’s dreadful name pass her lips.

“Yeah, exactly! And after all the bad stuff you said about Willow, I can’t believe you defended her today! Almost like you were... friends or something, but of course that can’t be the case.” Boscha sniggered to herself, like the mere notion was just impossible.

Amity listened to all this ‘selfless’ advice until it was over, with her arms firmly crossed and her left foot tapping on the plush carpet. “So, you’re all here today out of the goodness of your hearts, to tell me I’m hanging with the wrong crowd and I should act more like everyone else here?”

“Yeah, Mittens. I mean, we love Luz and all but…” Edric gave his opinion, hesitantly.

“...She’s just not right for you. She’s lucked out so far in her spell training, but when she crashes and burns she’ll take you down with her. Not a pretty sight.” Emira was a bit more forthright than her twin brother.

“Plus, she’s always with Willow. Ugh , instant popularity killer.” Boscha put her finger in her open mouth to illustrate her point.

“Also, what’s that other kid’s name? ‘Gas’, or something? He’s as much of a geek as the others, always going on about Earth stuff. If he likes it ssssoooo much, why doesn’t he just move there? And take those other two freaks with him?” Skara chortled at her joke, obviously thinking she’d said something hilarious.

Amity heard all this rudeness and bile aimed at her newest pals with the patience of a saint, but finally she could take no more. “ Excuse me , but his name happens to be ‘Gus’. Him and Luz are two of the nicest people I’ve met, so if you think I’m going to let you talk that way about them around me you’ve got another thing coming. If everyone in the Demon Realm was as stuck-up and conceited as you and Boscha are, believe me… I’d be on the first broomstick out of here with them! Now, what else was I going to say…”

Amity’s siblings and ‘friends’ sat there open-mouthed, unused to hearing such backtalk from someone usually so compliant, but she wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot. “Oh, yes. Sorry Skara, I am unable to attend your 15th birthday celebrations because of a prior… wait, I don’t have any pressing engagements. It’s just that you’re a total bitch, who I no longer want to be associated with. I set your butterfly free, too. Never mind, I’m sure there are loads of other brainless bullies out there you can hang around with, to make your fragile ego feel better about itself! Which brings me neatly to…”

If Boscha thought her obnoxious snickering was going to win her any brownie points from Amity, she was very much mistaken. “...You. I don’t know what you’re finding so funny Boscha, in many ways you’re twice as bad as Skara. You lead, her and me follow. At least, that’s the way it used to be. I hope you’re happy with this trio becoming a duo, because I am through . As for what you said about Willow, strange you should mention that as we were besties once, before I messed it all up. Now I’m trying to make up for it, by apologising a lot, attempting to be a better person and getting away from two horrible girls I only hung around with because my parents made me…”

To this last statement she gave a meaningful look at her quaking ex-pals on her couch. “...And I wonder who they could be.”

She turned around without missing a beat to her equally nonplussed siblings sitting nearby, but addressed them in slightly less harsh tones than the previous pair. “ Edric, Emira… you know I love you both dearly, even if your childish pranks do sometimes leave me wondering if you really are the older, more ‘mature’ brother and sister you claim to be. But please, stop trying to ‘encourage’ me by subtly putting me down. It’s not helpful, it’s just dispiriting. And please stop calling me ‘Mittens’. That was cute when I was a baby and couldn’t put my gloves on, now it’s just irritating and makes me think you don’t respect me. Lastly, you’ll be glad to know that by tomorrow, you’ll both stand out a lot more. I’m washing the green out of my hair! Brown is so much more my color, dontcha think?!”

At this juncture, and with everyone around her completely shut down by her searing outburst, Amity stretched and gave out a fake yawn. “Anyway… early start in the morning. You know how it is: the pressures of being top student never go away. Well, see you tomorrow brother, sister… and as for you other two, see you never . Ta-ta!”

She then made her way upstairs with a noticeable spring in her step, the only things on her mind being to work hard to achieve all her goals in life, being the best friend she could be to Willow to make up for years of neglect…

And the way her cheeks flushed whenever a certain Earth girl held her real close.

Oops. Here we go again.

.......................

Well, what do you think? I know this is very unlikely to happen... after all, they do have a lot of episodes to pad out. But hopefully, now that Amity understands how some of the more toxic influences in her life have been allowed to shape her, she can start confronting them and making her own decisions.Also, it's so obvious her and Luz are a future ship. Fight me if you disagree... kidding. ;)

#amity blight #luz noceda #owl house #the owl house #gus #willow #fanfiction #Disney

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spectraspecs-writes · 4 years

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Kashyyyk - Chapter 66

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 65. Chapter 67.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues thank you for reading you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

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I wake up with a sneeze. There was a vision, too, but the sneeze interrupted the vision as well. My head feels fuzzy and puffy. Haven’t felt this since… well, ever, actually. No idea what’s going on.

I sneeze again, and it hurts. Bastila wakes up now. Startled awake by my sneeze. She stretches a bit, asking, “Are you alright, Rena?”

“I’m fine,” I say, and my voice sounds stuffy, “I think something’s just tickling my nose.”

“We’ve received another vision,” she says, “The Force is guiding us, helping us retrace the steps of Malak and his old Master. Leading us ever closer to the Star Forge. Kashyyyk is a lush but simple and undeveloped world. I would not have expected to find the alien technology of a Star Map here. Kashyyyk is a lush but simple and undeveloped world. I would not have expected to find the alien technology of a Star Map here.”

“I thought the same thing about Tatooine,” I say. I stretch and roll my head. “It looked to me like the Star Map was on the forest floor.”

She gives a small shrug. “The Wookiees of Kashyyyk make their home high among the wroshyr branches; only their bravest warriors dare to descend into the forbidding depths of the forest. If the Star Map is located far beneath us on the planet's surface, as our vision seems to suggest, it is unlikely the Wookiees even know of its existence,” she says, “No doubt things will become more clear once we discover the Star Map's location.”

I sneeze again. “Ow!”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“No,” I say honestly, “but there’s not much I could do about it anyway, is there?”

“We could…”

“Bastila,” I interrupt, “I can handle it. I’ll be okay.”

She looks at me skeptically, but she accepts it. “If you insist,” she says, “Czerka maintains the port here…”

“Fantastic.”

“... I expected that would be your reaction. I suspect when they ask for a docking fee you will find a way to avoid it?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Ordinarily,” she sighs, “yes. In this circumstance, no.” Oh? What changed your mind? “As a Jedi, I know I should remain neutral, but personally, I find the slaving operations on this planet to be appalling. For the record, I do not encourage any disruption to the slaving operations…”

“But if something were to happen to stop or hinder the operations you wouldn’t be all that upset about it,” I finish, “I get the picture.” I clear my throat and cough a little. “Zaalbar must feel awful still.”

“Mission would know better than I could,” Bastila says, “but I would imagine yes. He still knows a great deal about the planet, however. I would recommend bringing him along when you go.”

“Mission, too - if he’s uneasy, she’ll probably help,” I say. I sniffle a little. “I’ll ask Carth, too - he should keep my more chaotic impulses in check for you.” She smiles at that. Bastila can’t fool me - she thinks I’m very chaotic although she’ll never say it out loud. Compared to Bastila, who’s very consistent. I’m just… not. Sometimes she feels like a real stick in the mud. But then she probably sees the balls-to-the-walls party that I am as a danger to others or a disaster waiting to happen. She may not like my friendship with Carth, probably because she’s afraid that the fact I think he’s attractive will turn into something else, which I doubt, but like it or not she can’t ignore that he does keep me from going wild.

I swap out my stamina implant for a neural one. Hopefully that will do something for the fuzziness I feel in my head. It won’t do anything right away, but maybe it’ll do something.

I order a little breakfast out of the synthesizer. I can’t tell if it tastes gross because of the synthesizer or because my nose is stuffed up and everything tastes bad. But as gross as it is, I need to eat something. It’s weird, because I usually like this, it’s a sort of berry bread, and the synthesizers made it okay once before.

Carth comes up to the synthesizer and gets a cup of caff. “Morning,” he says to me, “Sleep okay?”

“No different than usual,” I say, and then I sneeze again, painfully. “Damn!”

“Are you alright?”

I sigh. “I swear, the next person to ask me that… I’m fine. I’m just sneezing a bit. Something’s just tickling my nose.”

He holds his hand to my forehead - Dad Carth much? “Well, you’re not feverish, so that’s good. Even a mild bug can make short work around a ship as small as this.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I tease him.

He chuckles shortly. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from,” he says, “You were fine yesterday. I wonder if it’s something about Kashyyyk.”

“Only one way to find out,” I say, and I sneeze again, “Feel like coming with me?”

“Of course,” he says.

“Let Zaalbar know if you see him,” I say, “Mission, too.”

“You got it.”

-------

We find Mission and Zaalbar and head out. I can’t see the sun because of all the trees, but if I had to guess it’s around midday. Zaalbar shuffles a little uncomfortably, seeing the Czerka workers at the docks. “The slavers are still here,” he says, “This dock is theirs. I doubt anyone has risen to try and fight. Nothing has changed.”

“We’ll see what we can do, Zaalbar,” I say.

A Czerka worker comes up to me, an Ithorian. “Greetings to you. I am Janos Wertka. I am the dock master here,” he says, and then he starts to scroll through his datapad. He makes an uncertain noise. “While I am pleased to welcome you to planet G5-623, I do not see your ship on my docking schedule.”

“G5… uh, whatever it was - am I in the wrong place?” I’m confused. “I thought this planet was called Kashyyyk?”

“That is what the dominant indigenous species calls this world,” Wertka says, “but maintaining this outpost grants Czerka Corporation naming rights in the trade guides.” I’m sure they didn’t think to ask the Wookiees about that. “But, I'm sorry, I really must insist that docking fees be paid before I impart any further services. I must follow proper procedure. Upon collection of the correct fees, I will extend what resources the Czerka Corporation can offer. I'm sure you understand.”

Yeah, sure. I’m not going to support your slaving operations. I wave my hand, reaching out with the Force. “I don’t need to pay the docking fee,” I say.

His face changes - success! “Perhaps you don't need to pay the docking fee. Any services you need will more than make up for it.” As if. “I see you have a Wookiee with you,” he says, looking at Zaalbar, “Can I assume you understand their language? For a fee, Czerka Corporation can provide a translator for you during your visit.”

“No, I’m fine,” I say. I sneeze again.

“Very well,” he says, “though only the most adaptive people seem to comprehend the Wookiee language, such as it is.” Relax, Rena, causing an incident with a simple dock master is not going to do anything to improve the situation for the Wookiees. “Now then, please follow me to our information center. I will answer any further questions there.” Might as well.

When we get to the information center, the Ithorian stands behind a counter and asks me, “How can Czerka Corporation serve you during your visit to Edean?”

“Edean, G5-whatever - how many names does this planet have?”

“G5-623 is the numerical designation,” he answers, “The galactic Basic name is ‘Edean,’ chosen by corporate ballot among stockholders. At any rate, ‘Edean’ is more pleasing than "Kashyyyk." The language of the dominant indigenous species is quite crude.” What the hell is it with Czerka that if you can’t comprehend the native language at the first listen you think of the natives as less than? First the Sand People, now the Wookiees! Good God, have some morality.

“What else is on this planet?” Carth asks for me - I think he understands that I’m getting ever more angry the more this Ithorian says.

“An endless array of dangerous creatures, it seems,” he says, “The great trees harbor any number of dangers below. We've detected odd energy signatures on occasion, but exploration is costly amongst creatures even more difficult than Wookiees.”

“Odd energy signatures?” Carth repeats, “Have you ever checked those out?”

“We send expeditions, of course, but they come back with little, if they come back at all,” he says, “In any event, it would seem you are already acquainted with this world, given your choice of travelling companion.”

“I have been away for a very long time,” Zaalbar says sadly.

Wertka looks surprised. “You let the beast speak for you? You allow it more liberties than most of our customers.”

Excuse me? “Allow him more liberties?”

“He means that they are slavers,” Zaalbar growls, “They take my people from their homes and sell them to the highest bidder.”

The Ithorian looks at Zaalbar sideways. “Your current Wookiee seems displeased with the situation, but I fail to see a concern. You seem to be a satisfied customer.”

“Zaalbar isn’t a slave!” Mission shouts.

“He’s here because he swore a life-debt to me after I freed him from slavers!” I want to strangle this Ithorian. Yeah, yeah, there is no emotion, there is peace, to hell with that! An entire population of a planet is at risk of enslavement because of this damned corporation!

“Ah, a very difficult thing to stage,” he says, “I commend you for it. So much easier than relying on restraining collars.”

Zaalbar roars. “Do not demean the life-debt! Do not!”

Now I think Wertka understands just precisely how pissed I am. “I must warn you that you will be blamed for the actions of your Wookiee. Please… call him off.”

“And just why should I?” I say quickly, “Hell, I should kill you myself, you disgusting slaver!” Thank God Bastila’s not here.

“I am merely a servant of the corporation!” he says nervously, “The Wookiee leadership is in agreement! Harvesting is made as delicate as possible!”

“HARVESTING?!?” I shout.

“Please! It is not my decision! It is… an acceptable practice, I assure you!”

Finally, Carth pulls me back. Almost like Bastila had a talk with him about keeping my hands clean. “Why do the Wookiees tolerate you doing this?” he asks, and he takes my lightsaber from me.

“It is not me, personally,” Wertka says, sweating nervously, “I merely represent Czerka Corporation at this outpost. There are other directors at other stations, of course. Arrangements have been made with the Wookiee leadership. Harvesting is handled as delicately as possible, relatively speaking.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Carth says, “but she’s not exactly delicate. Maybe if you tell me more, I can try to calm her down.” I’m glad he hates this as much as I do.

“If it will ease her temper, I will give specifics.” Wow, Carth can sweet talk aliens? Impressive. I’ve always had difficulty sweet-talking Ithorians. “We supply arms in exchange for a supply of healthy Wookiees. We are kept profitable and an agreeable leader is kept in power. It keeps the process from becoming a constant firefight.”

“What’s this leader’s name?” Carth asks.

“I believe his name is Chuundar. I don't deal directly with them, thank goodness. Far too brutish.”

Zaalbar flinches a little, hearing the name. “That was not a name I wanted to hear.”

“It sounds as though your thrall has an opinion about our arrangement with this leader,” the Ithorian says, “but it doesn't matter. Chuundar is unquestioned.”

“What’s the matter, Big Z?” Mission asks him.

“This is not something I will talk about,” Zaalbar says, “Not yet.”

“I won’t let this continue,” I say.

“It's not up to you,” he says, “This planet is not a member of the Republic, and its backward citizens hold no rights. I'm sorry you are offended, but this operation is very humane. Even the Wookiee leadership knows it is more beneficial to work with us.”

“Humane, you call it?” Carth repeats, “Beneficial? Sounds like a bunch of excuses, if you ask me.”

“Even if you did do something drastic here,” he says, “the Czerka Corporation has other outposts on Edean. It would change nothing.”

“Let’s go,” I say, “We’re not going to get anywhere here.”

When we’re out of Wertka’s earshot, Carth comes up to me. “You alright?”

“I’m pissed!” I shout, “An entire species is being exploited and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it!”

“I agree!” Carth says, “But threatening people isn’t going to help the Wookiees any.”

“What do you expect me to do? Just let it happen?”

“No, but…” He stops. “How long have you been scratching your arm?”

“What?” I look. “I don’t know, it itches.” I sneeze again.

“There’s blood - you’ve scratched your arm open!” He pulls my arm away to stop me scratching through my robe.

“So I’ll slap a kolto patch on it, big deal.”

“I’m getting you back to the ship,” he says, turning me around back towards the Hawk. He hands Mission my lightsaber.

“Carth, I’m okay, I…” I sneeze again. “Damn it!” It’s worse out here!

“Uh-huh. Come on, back to the ship,” he urges. And I’m not in much of a position to argue with him.

#knights of the old republic #star wars #kotor #fiction #autistic artist #specs writes stuff #kotor fic #rena visz #oc #fem!revan #ls!revan #carth onasi #bastila shan #mission vao #zaalbar #kashyyyk #chapter 66

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honekitteh · 5 years

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FIC: Countdown - Chapter 2

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T (this chapter) Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out. Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes. Warnings: See Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Crossposted to AO3

“I sensed our course has changed. What’s going on?” Kira walked onto the bridge and stood behind me. I gave her a simple nod as I watched the colors of hyperspace on the screen.

“Pandemonium is a better name, it’s at least somewhat pronounceable,” I heard Doc’s voice behind me.

“Phelgethon fits better,” the deep imperial cadence retorted. Lord Scourge, the former Emperor’s Wrath, didn’t hold any emotion in his voice, so it was difficult to tell if he was teasing the human doctor or not.

“Ph.. Phel… That sounds like something is stuck in your throat or you’re coming down with a cold.”

“That would be impossible.”

“Just saying…”

Kira laughed looking back at the two men who entered the bridge, “You have a hard enough time saying Barsen’thor when we’re meeting with the Council.”

“What is it with Jedi and Sith with their impossible titles?”

Kira rolled her eyes and took the seat opposite me and looked at the controls. “Ziost?”

Lord Scourge tilted his head. “We’re headed to Ziost?”

I took a deep breath. “Theron called for backup.”

Doc quickly responded, “Think he will need medical attention?”

“It’s Theron, so likely,” Kira stated with a small chuckle. The small laugh she shared with Doc stopped though as she looked over at me. “Jyana? What’s…” Her words stopped as soon as we left hyperspace and started to enter orbit over the blue world of Ziost.

Suddenly all that was let out was a simple, “Oh…”

My heart sunk as well. The presence was unmistakable, the darkness within the force encircled the blue globe in front of us. I kept getting flashes of images: blue turning to grey, green turning to grey, everything living turning to ash. My hands balled into fists on the controls.

It was Scourge who broke the silence. “We’re too late… his plan is already in motion…”

I closed my eyes. “We have to try.”

“The odds of his survival are…”

“Screw the odds, we have to save this world, whatever it takes.”

Kira started softly, “Jyana…”

“This isn’t about Theron… this is about the Emperor.”

Scourge and Kira shared a brief look and nodded. I moved to stand up and started walking back to my quarters to grab my shoto and cold weather gear. The others followed me. As I walked, Scourge spoke, “Teeseven and Kira should accompany you. The rest of us could come easily under his influence if my sense is correct.”

I nodded my agreement, but Doc spoke up, “I’m sure they would need medical…”

“No. The risk is too great.”

The medic opened his mouth, but Lord Scourge quickly ushered him away as I began to get my kit together and throw on my hooded coat.

Kira put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m with you, Jyana. As always.”

Without looking back at her, I put my hand over top her hand. “I know.”

She sighed softly, “What if we can’t stop him?”

“We’ll sort that out when it comes.”

“And Theron?”

I closed my eyes, trying to reach out my senses. There was a part of me that was certain I’d know if he lived or died, but I wasn’t entirely sure if we were connected in that way. I mean, we were connected somehow, but…

“Jyana?”

“I… We’ll sort that out later too. Right now, the Emperor.”

“Guess we’ll sort out the lack of holoing ‘til he’s in trouble when we get there?”

I made a small chuckle.

“See, got a laugh. I’m sure he’s fine.”

I nodded and looked back at her and smiled. “Let’s get to work.”

Imperial military forces on Ziost have ceased responding to orbital comm signals. Reports indicate the military has turned on the civilian populace. An Imperial military outpost may yield more information. A transport is available for departure.

I pulled my hood over my head, shivering slightly from the cold as it hit my skin, as I stepped out of the shuttle. I could feel the waves of chaos surrounding me. The Dark Side of the Force, ever present on Ziost as Lord Scourge had warned us, was present. It took a bit of willpower to put it to the back of my mind and then I realized my eyes were frozen shut and I looked out.

Soldiers were firing their blasters at civilians; civilians were firing back. None of them were in control of their actions. I could feel the power of their puppet master. I looked over at Kira who stepped out of the shuttle after me. Her face was white, clearly sensing what I was. She adjusted a fairly sizable bag around her belt awkwardly.

“What is with that bag?” I asked, deciding to ignore the other bantha in the room.

She sighed with great exasperation. “Doc insisted. If he wasn’t going to be able to come down, we had to take these.”

“How many kolto injections are there?”

“I lost count at 5 if I’m completely honest. Could be 20 or so?”

“Why would we even need that many?”

Kira gave me a blank stare. “Have you met yourself? That doesn’t even include the chance we find Theron...”

I pursed my lips. “I cannot deny your point, even as much as I want to.”

The astromech T7-01, the first friend I made when I came to Tython to complete my training, rolled out of the shuttle and beeped his intent to head towards the outpost. Kira and I nodded to each other and followed him, attempting to not draw too much attention to our movements. I pulled my hood closer around my face, shielding myself from the chill wind. Kira pulled up her scarf around her nose and put the goggles on over her eyes. I frowned and looked in my pack. To this she handed me mine and I worked on getting those on.

Somedays, I wondered who took care of who when it came to Kira and I.

I pulled out my scanner to follow the signal that T7 was very clearly following. We ducked against the building, watching the soldiers as they shambled. They looked like they were looking for prey and weren’t very picky as to what kind to have. I took a few deep breaths as we pushed on forward. I slipped slightly, barely managing falling into a snow drift by probably two inches. Another glance at Kira was met by a slight point toward her kolto pouch.

Sighing I took another look at the signal. I couldn’t get a sense on much of anything beyond the cacophony of blaster fire, dying men, screaming children, and a complete feeling of helplessness. T7 beeped a warning as we rounded a corner. Speeders and shuttles were crashed outside the vehicle bay that the signal was coming from. We moved inside, the droid moving quickly to investigate any potential console.

“Seems like we made some friends,” Kira spoke up.

“We need to reevaluate our standards,” I sighed as the soldiers started shooting at us.

Kira and I made quick work with a few flicks of our lightsabers. The soldiers came in waves of three. I frowned looking down at the last one I had to pierce through the heart.

No one deserved this fate. Sure, they were Imperials and would have attacked me anyway, but I would have preferred they’d had a choice to do so. These did not.

T7 beeped down to us from over a balcony. I nodded to Kira who remained behind as I followed T7 up the ramp and took a look at the holoconsole. It was busted, T7 beeped his frustration. There was no way for him to access any of the data that could have been held here. This bay was a complete wreck. I took a sigh and made a quick call to the ship.

“Scourge, come in.”

“Reading.”

“You were right, they’re all possessed.”

“Slaves to his will. He is attempting the ritual again. When he is done, there will be nothing left.”

Suddenly I knew what I felt in the back of my head and cut the comms. The presence was unmistakable and it was overpowering. For a moment I wondered how long I’d need to keep him out of my own head, but then that slow build up behind my eyes moved away.

Like this was something we’d rehearsed, but we obviously hadn’t, both Kira and I said in unison, “I can feel your presence Vitiate.”

Three people entered the Vehicle Bay one at a time, their voice theirs, but not under their own control. Their eyes glowed silver and I could feel the aura radiating off of them, flowing off of them in red waves in my Force sight. The first that spoke was a male Imperial Commando. “My little insect, no doubt here to drone and flutter once more.”

A female soldier followed him. “Dromund Kass, the Yavin moon... It must not be clear to you yet. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”

Seriously, Vitiate, a monologue? I ignited my shoto but slightly startled as I noticed the last one who moved in.

A Jedi. The way he carried himself suggested one who specialized in Form III, Soresu.

“That’s all right though. Seeing you, it’s like visiting with a forgotten friend. I’m oddly pleased you’re here. You’ll bear witness to a world’s end if you survive long enough.”

As the group moved to attack Kira, I leaped off the balcony.

The jedi focused his attention on me, while Kira made fairly quick work of the Imperials. He swung his yellow blade vertically at my head which I parried with my purple shoto. The shoto were much shorter than his longer normal bladed lightsaber, but I’d found their mobility gave me a slight edge when I dual-wielded. Since the first lightsaber I made on Tython had fallen on hard times… okay I honestly can’t remember what happened to it. I just remembered the Masters sighing heavily at me and pointing me where I could find more materials to make a new one. At the time I thought it had been a punishment, to not have enough material for one, but after time, I instead found it a blessing. It wasn’t the size that mattered to a weapon, after all. It was how you used it.

With a motion of his hands, the he used the Force to knock me back. I smacked into corner of the ramp. With a grunt I tossed my shoto at him. He parried one of them, but the other struck true. As they returned to my hands, I leaped back into the air and met his blade with mine.

It was a whirl of blades. Purple and yellow reflecting off the damaged walls of the vehicle bay. He fought more aggressive than I would have expected. Had he been under his own power, I would have expected far more defensive maneuvers. If it had been, we might have been a bit more evenly matched. One slight miscalculation proved fatal, and I cut his lightsaber in two, and he fell. His eyes looked up at the ceiling, unfocused, exhausted, and they changed from silver to brown. As he took his last breaths, he gasped out, “He’s gone... I can... I can finally...”

I felt the life force leave the man. I looked down at my shoto, which had fallen to the floor at some point. I removed my goggles and lowered the scarf from around my mouth. Frowning, I reached my hand towards the Jedi’s eyes, but the back of my mind sent a warning through me. Instead of getting a chance to pay my respects to a man who fought well despite his circumstance, I stood, taking my sabers back in my hands. “More of you already?” I stated, “I suppose I should be flattered.”

I ignited my shoto but before Kira or I even moved, an orangish red lightsaber made quick work of the enemies just outside the Vehicle Bay. Then the blonde Sith Lord made her way towards the entrance, her green cape flicking behind her. Her yellow eyes looked tired as they fell on me.

“So my senses haven’t betrayed me. It really is you.”

“Lana Beniko.”

Lana pinched the bridge of her nose for a few seconds before stating, “You don’t belong here, Jedi. You shouldn’t have come.”

Before I could retort, Kira approached Lana and I could tell that the redhead sensed the Sith Lord’s exhaustion. “It’s nice to see a friendly face. I’ve missed you.”

I simply blinked.

Lana exasperatedly responded, “I’m trying to avert a mass catastrophe while keeping the most powerful mind in the galaxy out of my head. I… I can’t think about that.”

Kira let out a breath of air. “You don’t gotta tell me twice,” she muttered.

I blinked between the two, then looked back to Lana. “What do you mean, we don’t belong here?”

Lana’s expression was somewhere between exhaustion and exasperation and gave me a non-committal response and put her hand up to her temple, as if she was listening to incoming communications and status updates. She then looked back to me. Before she said anything further, I cut in, “In case you might have forgotten, standing up to the Emperor is kind of my job. And I’m not about to start backing down from him now.” I raised an eyebrow and looked Lana over. “And I’m thinking you could use the help.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that. As you can see, things are already out of hand.”

“Seems we’re not the only Jedi here,” Kira pointed out, looking back at Master Garault’s body behind us.

“His mind was not his own.” Lana sighed heavily. “He belonged to the Sixth Line.”

“Sixth line… I’ve never heard of it.”

Lana raised an eyebrow. “They’re a team of Jedi commandos working in secret for the SIS. They follow their own addendum to the Jedi Code, hence the name.”

“There is no contemplation, there is only duty,” A bald man in a crisp imperial uniform with a tech brace around his head approached. I pursed my lips, trying to hide my on distaste for the “there is no” version of the Jedi Code while he continued, “A great point of view—so long as they’re working for you.” He looked around the room and then addressed Lana. “Pardon the interruption. I sent a probe droid to look into that crashed shuttle, Minister Beniko. It’s empty.”

I looked back at Kira and shared a raised eyebrow with her before looking back to the imperials.

“Agent Kovach, this is the former ally I’ve mentioned,” Lana stated, “Right now, we all want the same thing, so I suggest we work together.”

I lowered my hood and tilted my head. “He called you ‘minister.’”

With a dismissive wave, Lana replied, “Yes, he did.”

Agent Kovach continued, “We know Theron Shan was on that shuttle. And we know he’s responsible for the Sixth Line being on Ziost in the first place”

I gave Kira a slight glance. A tightness in my chest that had been forming since I’d landed on the planet only seemed to increase its pressure.

Lana rubbed her temples. “So far, Theron has only added to our troubles. He’d better not be here to cause any more.”

“Theron’s here to stop the Emperor, same as me,” I replied quickly.

“Vitiate is not our Emperor. Not anymore.” Lana gave a glance around the vehicle bay and motioned to the numerous bodies. “As you’ve witnessed, Vitiate is taking hold of an increasing number of soldiers and Sith. His goal continues to be the accumulation of power. Agent?”

Kira and I glanced at each other and then back to the Agent.

“The dark side is strong on Ziost. Using the outpost’s resources, our former Emperor can massacre the defenseless to fuel him. The more powerful he becomes, the more people he can control. He will keep on killing until nothing’s left.”

Kira whispered to me, “Isn’t that exactly what Scourge said happened before?”

I simply nodded and moved to speak, but Lana was having a short conversation on a call. “Yes, I’m on my way,” she spoke into her communicator. “I’m needed everywhere, all at once. I’ve already lingered too long. Agent Kovach has a plan to help stem the bloodshed.” She gave a kurt nod and turned on her heel as she left the vehicle bay.

Agent Kovach watched Lana as she left, a little too closely. I raised an eyebrow and looked back at Kira. T7 beeped a question as well.

“Agent?”

As soon as he seemed sure she was gone, he began speaking quickly, “After the Yavin event, I was sent here to infiltrate Sith Intelligence. I work for Theron Shan. In fact, we were supposed to meet up here.”

“If you know where he is, now would be the time to say so,” I snapped. After the words were out of my mouth I felt a small presence in the Force, Kira. Mostly just telling me to relax subtly. I took a deep breath and tried to offer an apologetic smile to my response.

Either Agent Kovach didn’t notice, or didn’t care, because he just responded, “I haven’t been able to reach him. Not since the crash. Best not to think about that now, I guess.” I frowned and looked down.

Kira stepped forward and spoke up. “Lana might seem like the nicest Sith Lord ever, but don’t thinks he won’t eviscerate you if she finds you out. Or worse.”

I looked at Kira and blinked slowly, then looked back to the agent, who simply shrugged. “I know all the risks that come with my line of work. It helps not to think about them either.”

I looked back towards the Jedi laying lifeless behind me. “What was his name?”

“Master Garault.”

I moved back towards Master Garault’s body and took a knee. He was free of Vitiate, but at what cost. Sighing I finally reached to his forehead, meditated on his memory in the Force for a few seconds. Then I took the tips of my fingers and lowered his eyelids over his eyes.

“The outpost armory, it’s wide open right now,” Agent Kovach continued, “Anyone can get in there. We need to lock it down.”

T7 beeped an agreement and I stood up and pulled my hood back over my head. “Then point the way.”

“I’m on it.”

I hadn’t been watching where my feet were going as we worked our way through the outpost towards where Agent Kovach indicated the armory would be. It was miraculous that I was only in a snow drift and not somewhere more unfortunate. A hand reached down and took mine. Before allowing myself to be lifted up, I reached out with my senses to be certain that it was Kira and not someone who was just going to pull me out and make me dead. With some grumbling, I allowed myself to be pulled up.

“Kolto?”she asked after I straightened up.

I muttered, “I’m not hurt. Just embarrassed.”

“You should be, that was completely hilarious.”

“Ha ha. If this world wasn’t utter chaos…”

“Yes I know. This way.” Kira and I quickly worked our way to the armory, T7 beeping locations and parameter warnings along the way.

By the time we got there, Imperial officers were already in the armory. At least, it’s more possible that these officers had been originally stationed here, long before this whole mess started. Now, they just no longer had wills of their own. I could sense Vitiate’s hold on each one of them. They could sense us as well. Upon our entrance, we were immediately under fire and T7 very quickly attempted to evade attention. If they had been normal imperial troops, operating under their own free will, they would not have ignored the droid. They seemed more interested in humanoid lifeforms. I assume Vitiate can’t really accumulate more power from the deaths of droids.

One, two, they fell to Kira’s dual-bladed lightsaber. Three, four, my twin shoto ended more. Now it was the Quartermaster who stood between us and our goal, someone who probably just simply wanted to put in an honest days work, go home, see family, friends, have a nice drink, have a great meal, and then repeat the pattern over again.

The poor soul didn’t stand a chance against Vitiate’s control. Nor did he stand a chance against Kira and my blades. After the haze of battle was lifted, I slowly made a point to close every one of their eyes.

No one deserved this. Not even Imperials.

Agent Kovach had made it into the armory while I had paid my respects to the deceased. He quickly moved to a console to lock the building down. “You sure cleared a path out there. That’s good… but it’s bad, too.” I raised an eyebrow at him and made a motion for him to explain, which he figured out without me needing to say anything, thankfully. “Each time a pawn’s killed, Vitiate gets a little bit stronger. Not as much as when they kill, but… That’s what Minister Beniko says, anyway.”

Pulling off my hood and cold weather protection again so I could cool down from the exertion, I studied the Agent, tilting my head. “So we have to stop them without killing them.”

“Or we destroy Vitiate. Not that anyone seems to know how to do that…”

A pressure built up in the back of my head. “Agent, we’ve got company.”

“Almost there…” he worked quickly at the console. The door opened and the force-field was just pulled up just in time for a dark skinned, armored jedi to waltz in to meet. “Master Surro,” Agent Kovach stated, looking downcast, “The Sixth Line commander.”

“This one’s my favorite so far,” Vitiate poke through her voice, “Even now, she struggles. You know, she’s done some terrible things in the Republic’s name.”

I wrinkled my nose and let out a breath. “I’m the one you want. Release Master Surro and the others. Take me instead.”

“Again?” I flinched slightly but held my ground, waiting. “No. I don’t think so. When this world turns to red and you choke on torrents of blood, remember that this was your chance to flee.”

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #theron shan #kira carsen #female jedi knight/hero of tython #oc: jyana kai #otp: come what may #fic: countdown #ziost #swtor: rise of the emperor #swtor #fanfic #in which kira keeps jy alive #nor will kira's sass ever be denied

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duhragonball · 5 years

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (109/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[21 February, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

"Six Saiyans all at once? You must be slowing down in your old age, little mammal. I remember a time when you defeated fifty without breaking a sweat."

In the sickbay of Luffa's star-yacht, Dr. Topsas applied bandages made of his own webbing to Luffa's wounds. On occasion, he would hold out a section of his silk with two hands and smear a medicated gel onto one side with a third hand. Four other limbs supported the weight of his massive arachnoid body. He used the eighth to hold one of Luffa's hands as he worked.

"They were tougher than usual, that's all," Luffa said. "And I knew you'd be along to patch me up, so I didn't bother blocking their hits."

"Yes, of course," Topsas said as he wrapped up Luffa's right shoulder. "You meant to shred your forearm like this. Forgive me. It can be difficult for my untrained eyes to tell the difference. What seems to be a careless mistake is actually a masterful forgery."

"Ow!" Luffa said. While she had been watching him tend to her arm, one of his other limbs had stuck something into her thigh.

"A regenerative serum," Topsas explained, "to help repair that tendon in your leg. Most Saiyan patients might have caught me before I managed to inject them with it, but you acted as if you were completely unaware. It pleases me to see how much you trust me, Luffa."

"Look, I know you two missed each other," said Zatte, who had taken a seat on one of the other examination tables in the sickbay. "But could you cut the banter for a few minutes and tell me what's going on?"

"Some clown named Trismegistus is powering up Saiyans and sending them after me," Luffa said. "If Dotz hadn't foreseen their attack on Planet Lubegev, they would have wrecked the place and waited for me to hear about it and walk into their trap."

The revelation startled Zatte enough to make her forget her earlier impatience. "You mean they wanted to fight you?" Zatte asked. "That's crazy."

"I think you just defined the Saiyan species, Ms. Zatte," Topsas remarked.

"They weren't that crazy," Luffa said. "Their combined power gave me some trouble. Plus, they were very well-trained for fighting as a group. Pretty sure some of them used to serve in the Royal military. These guys would have been pretty talented, even before Trismegistus got ahold of them. With his Jindan treatments, they were pretty impressive. If they hadn't lost their nerve in the end, I might have been in some real danger."

"Define 'danger'," Zatte said.

Luffa looked at her and smiled. "They might have killed me."

"Yes, but let us remember that they did not kill you," Topsas said as he waved a diagnostic scanner across Luffa's back. "You prevailed over difficult odds, as we have all grown accustomed to seeing. Then you returned to the ship, where you will make a full recovery, much to the relief of your long-suffering wife."

"Thank you, doctor," Zatte said.

"Hey, I told you I was okay when I came on board," Luffa said.

Zatte pointed at Topsas. "I just like to hear it from him, all right?" she said. She looked at Dotz, who was lying in one of the beds, with an intravenous drip in her left arm. "I'm sorry, I should be thanking you. If Luffa hadn't known about this in advance, it could have turned out much worse."

"Oh, uh... well, I'm afraid I wasn't much help, ma'am," Dotz said. "I only forecast one Saiyan, not six, and I had no idea they'd be so powerful. If anything, I should be apologizing..."

"Oh, come on!" Luffa shouted. "You guys are acting like I lost back there. I had my back against the wall and I still kicked their asses! It was amazing, at least until the end when one of them turned coward. Isn't anyone happy for me?"

"In a word, no," Topsas said.

"Hell no," Zatte said.

"I still feel guilty about it," Dotz added.

"Well, too bad," Luffa harrumphed, "because this won't be the end of it. I may not have precognition powers like Dotz, but I've fought enough battles to know this Trismegistus isn't finished yet."

"What are you saying?" Zatte asked.

Luffa hobbled over to a chair and took a seat. With most patients, Topsas might have questioned the point of getting up from an exam table to sit in a chair only a few paces away, but he had learned to pick his battles carefully where Luffa was concerned.

"Those guys who jumped me on Lubegev had the same upgrade as Jolok, the Saiyan who put Dotz in a coma and tried to take me out on Quadzityz," she explained. "When Jolok and I fought, he told me he was defying orders by running off to fight me, but he did it anyway because he thought he could catch me off guard and take all the glory for himself."

"...And?" Topsas asked.

Luffa rolled her eyes and groaned. "Think about it!" she said. "If there were only seven of these jacked-up Saiyans, why wait to deploy them? Why draw it out, long enough for one of them to lose patience and run off to go into business for himself? The reason is that there's a lot more than seven. Trismegistus is trying to build an army of Saiyans with these powers. These six were supposed to be the first wave. A test, to see how well I'd do against them. But it would take a while to move that many pieces into place. Jolok couldn't wait that long, which is why he tried to start things early."

"The first wave?" Zatte asked. "Luffa, you make it sound like this is the start of a full-scale offensive!"

"Hah! You always say the sweetest things," Luffa said. "To be honest, I have no idea how many Saiyans are in league with Trismegistus. Once those six fail to report in, he'll know they weren't enough to beat me. So next time he'll send eight, or ten! If I beat them, he'll send more, assuming he has more to send. But I think he's thought that far ahead. One thing's for sure. There's plenty of Saiyans out there who'd love a chance to take me down, even if they have to gang up on me to pull it off."

"And how, little mammal, do you expect to defeat these enemies when you're still recuperating from the last battle?" Topsas asked.

"By doing the one thing those bastards would never expect," Luffa said as she rose out of her chair. For a moment, she seemed to strike a heroic pose, like a wounded warrior preparing for an epic last stand. Then, she shuffled over to the bed next to Dotz and lay down in it, pulling the covers over herself.

"I'm sorry, but what would that be?" Zatte asked.

"Following my doctor's orders!" Luffa exclaimed. "My body will get stronger with every battle I fight. As long as I stay one step ahead of my injuries, I ought to be able to keep up with Trismegistus' attacks. He thinks I'll run myself ragged trying to stop his goons, but I'll tackle them on my terms, not his. And then, when he's finally out of options, he'll have to give me what I want."

"What's that?" Dotz asked.

"King Rehval," Luffa said with a satisfied smirk. "If that bastard's not already mixed up with Trismegistus, then it's only a matter of time before he will be. They need each other. Trismegistus has a way to increase a Saiyan's power, so if he really wants the most out of it, he'll have to use it on the strongest Saiyan he can find, and that's still Rehval."

"What if you're wrong?" Zatte asked.

"Then I'll deal with it," Luffa said. "For now, all I can do is fight these guys with everything I've got."

"But what if that isn't enough?!" Zatte shouted. "What if they're too much for you?"

"Take it easy, would you?" Luffa said. "We can always ask for a second opinion."

Dr. Topsas cleared his throat before speaking. "I have little experience with such matters," he said, "but if you sincerely wish to hear my advice, then I would recommend--"

"Not you, Doc," Luffa said. "Dotz here is a fortune teller. She may have gotten the details wrong, but she knew when and where the Saiyan attack would happen. I bet she could predict the next one if we give her a chance."

"I'm not worried about where the Saiyans will strike next," Zatte said. "What I want to know is whether you'll still be alive when it's over!"

"Well that's easy enough," Luffa said. "Dotz can read my fortune, can't you, Dotz?"

Dotz was taking a drink of water when Luffa said this, and nearly spit it out. "I, uh... I'm not sure if I should get involved in this..." she said. "I wouldn't want to cause any hard feelings between the two of you."

"Don't swear it, Dotz," Luffa said. She reached across the space between their beds and offered her hand. "Zatte and I have been through tougher situations than this. And I'm a lot stronger now than I've ever been before."

"That isn't the point," Zatte said, putting her hands on her hips. "Dammit, you always get this way when you smell a worthy adversary."

"It's great, isn't it?" Luffa replied as Dotz began examining her open palm. "I feel like a kid again, hunting dinosaurs in the wild. I'd probably have trouble keeping still, but Doc wants me to rest, so it's sound tactical advice."

"I should really get to the bridge," Zatte said.

"What's wrong?" Luffa asked. "You don't want to know my future?"

"Oh, I'm sure you live to be a hundred, and you conquer the whole galaxy or something," Zatte grumbled.

"I'm sorry," Dotz said, "but I'm having some trouble."

"What is it?" Topsas asked. With a speed that belied his bulk, he moved to Dotz's bedside and checked the readings on medical sensors.

"No, I'm fine, doctor," she said. "What I meant was that I can't seem to read Luffa's palm."

"What is it?" Luffa asked. "Bad news?"

"No, it's..." Dotz swallowed hard as she tried to find the right words. "Well, it just... stops. Unless I'm doing something very wrong, Luffa, you have no future."

"How very melodramatic," Topsas said.

"Cool," Luffa said with an impressed smile.

"Wh-what?!" Zatte asked.

Dotz looked at Luffa's hand very carefully as she ran her fingers across her palm. "I've never seen anything like this before," she said apologetically. "I've been telling fortunes for thirty years, and I've never..."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Luffa said. "You're not fully recovered from your run-in with Jolok, so maybe that's got something to do with it. Besides, my species makes its own destiny. It'd be kind of boring to know how the movie ends, right, Zatte?"

But Zatte didn't answer. When Luffa looked up, she saw her running out of the sickbay, sobbing.

*******

[21 February, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

Cardune's entire life had been leading up to this moment. He had been so blind in his youth, wasting his talents on pointless battles, siezing just enough plunder to break even. Marriage, family, success, they had all been hollow pursuits, but he did not regret those years, for even these had been part of the plan that had been laid out for his life.

He loved Trismegistus, more dearly than he had loved anything before. The Thrice-Blessed One had transformed Cardune, perfecting him into his true self. In his former ignorance, Cardune had come to him seeking strength of the body, but Trismegistus had given him so much more than that. It made so much sense now. What good was physical might without harmony of the spirit? Only by balancing the mercurial and sulfurous essences in his soul could Cardune achieve his true potential. This was Jindan, the power that turned an ordinary Saiyan into the Universal Reagent. Through Cardune and others like him, Trismegistus would transform the entire universe.

There were difficulties, to be sure. No path worth following would be easy, least of all the Sacred Way. Cardune had sacrificed much in exchange for his newfound power. Trismegistus had taught him that this was the way of alchemy. It was best to forget what he had given up, so as to fully embrace what he had received. This was easier said than done. Often, Cardune caught himself thinking about his partner, and their daughter and son. Mostly, he wondered what had become of them after he was admitted into the cult. Once, he thought he had seen his daughter serving as an attendant to one of the high priests. It was hard not to be relieved, even proud, but this wouldn't do. Cardune had given up his family, so it was no longer his place to worry for their safety, or to take comfort in their prosperity.

This was why his joints ached from time to time. His emotional indiscretions interfered with his spiritual balance, which diminished the effectiveness of the Jindan formula in his body. Meditation helped. While it never seemed to improve his condition, it at least distracted himself from the pain, and kept him from dwelling on things he couldn't control. Like the clock on the wall of his quarters.

Trismegistus was an alchemist, possessed of the secrets of creation itself. For the Thrice-Blessed, remaking the universe was no different from a child mixing vinegar and baking soda. He never called himself a god, though somehow this seemed to make him seem even more noble, as if he were laying silent claim to something even higher than divinity. The Saiyans who belonged to his flock would become his Holy Reagent, the means by which he would effect his great work, but the kinetics of this act were a complete mystery. Mere acolytes like Cardune could not hope to understand. He was a glob of clay wondering when the potter would begin.

Cardune could only act on what he knew, which were the orders he was issued. He was given command of a starship, and he and his crew traveled to a particular location and held their position until the time was right. Their supplies were limited, as Cardune was expected to lead his crew in ritual fasting at certain intervals. Cardune found the hunger useful for diverting his attention from his own problems, but the other officers relied on their assigned consorts to distract themselves from their empty stomachs.

Sex was held in high regard within the Jindan cult. Trismegistus taught his followers that it was a means of balancing bodily humors. Through repeated physical intimacy, they could rid themselves of those essences they did not need, and replenish essences which they lacked. Ever a prudish species, the Saiyans found this polyamorous philosophy deeply disturbing, but this was part of the price for the Jindan power they all shared. Trismegistus had arranged a complex system to determine who was to sleep with whom. Higher ranking members were given greater freedom of choice in this, while the lower members had none. As the commander of his ship, Cardune could have anyone else on board whenever he wished, but he preferred to decline this privilege. Whenever he took a consort for the night, it only reminded him of the husband he gave up to join the cult, and so the entire exercise was self-defeating. He only partook as often as he did in order to set a good example for his crew.

Mostly, he spent his off-duty hours waiting in his quarters, letting his hunger and restlessness argue with his faith. His orders were to hold his position in deep space, maintaining radio silence and a cloaking field to avoid any possible detection. For three weeks, he and his crew had been cut off from the rest of the universe, waiting for a sign to move out. If it pleased Trismegistus, they would die here, waiting for his sign, and the ship would serve as their cosmic tomb. At times, Cardune wondered if their master had forgotten them. He forced himself to repeat the mantras he used during meditation, in an effort to refocus his devotion.

And then, at last, the sign came. Cardune hadn't known what to expect. There was no subspace radio transmission, no voice speaking to him in his mind. Just a feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a sudden urge to find his spear. All of Trismegistus' followers were issued spears. Along with the Jindan power and the Mindworm, which guarded them from telepathic assault, the spears were said to be the third of three blessings Trismegistus bestowed upon his flock. Cardune was never told what the spear was for, just that it was important. Now, as he found it leaned against the wall of his quarters, he began to appreciate its importance.

The head of the spear was shaped like the barbed point of a harpoon, and now it glowed a dull red color, though Cardune could feel no heat when he touched it. Instead, he felt an almost instinctive understanding that this was the moment he and his crew had been waiting for. Trismegistus had cast them into the darkness, and now he was summoning them back. And suddenly, the mental anguish Cardune had endured these past three weeks seemed to melt away. Gazing at the spear, he felt there was nothing he could not do, and he knew that his entire crew now shared the same feeling.

With a newfound sense of purpose, he stepped out of his quarters and headed for his post to order his ship into action.

*******

[21 February, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

On the bridge of Luffa's star-yacht, Zatte had finished crying, and somewhat awkwardly tried to get on with the work of checking the ship's systems. She could sense Luffa approaching the entrance to the bridge. For those who could sense ki, it was hard not to notice Luffa's presence on board. While she had the chance, Zatte turned away from the door and wiped her eyes one last time, in an effort to look a little less pathetic.

"Hey," Luffa said as she stepped through the doorway. "I would have been here sooner, but Doc thought I should give you some space."

"It's okay," Zatte said. "I'm fine, really."

"I'm sorry," Luffa said. "Whatever it is I've done, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," Zatte said, finally turning to face her. "You can't be sorry for what you are. I'm sorry. I lost it back there. I let you down."

"What are you talking about?" Luffa asked.

Zatte turned and took her hands into her own. "You want to fight," she said. "It reminds me of the day the colony fell. You were covered in Tikosi blood, and we both expected to die there. You always told me how much you enjoyed that battle, and how impressed you were with me."

"I guess it is a lot like that," Luffa said. "I probably got a little too excited about this Trismegistus thing."

"I know you love this sort of thing," Zatte said. "But it scares me. It always has. Fighting is one thing, but against the kind of odds we faced on Dorlu Prime? I know that's a dream come true for you. Most days I can handle that. Today, I slipped. She said you had 'no future’ and I just couldn't..."

She pulled Luffa close and wrapped her arms around her tightly. "I want you to have a future!" she said. "I want to be there with you, and fight for your cause, and I'll burn for you if I have to, but I want to grow old with you too! I want one of us to die in the arms of the other, and if it's me, then I want you to leave my corpse behind wherever it happens to fall."

"Hey, I already promised you that at our wedding," Luffa said. "Dorlun funeral, all the way. I won't let your death get in the way of the living."

"And if you die first, then... then..."

"Of course," Luffa said, returning her embrace. "If we make it that long, that's what we'll do. But there's no guarantees. We won't make it there unless we fight for it. Every step of the way."

"You're right," Zatte said. "It's just... it's hard sometimes."

"It's okay," Luffa said. "It really is. You're allowed to be weak sometimes. Weakness is part of getting stronger. Look at me. I took a real beating on Lubegev, and now I've got to stay in bed and heal up."

"Can you really beat them?" Zatte asked.

"I think so," Luffa said. "But I won't know until I try. That's why I have no future, Zattie. The only future a Saiyan can have is the one she takes. It's whatever I make for myself."

They held each other for a time, and then an alert sounded from one of the bridge consoles. Luffa pulled away from Zatte to check it out. "It's a recorded message from the Federation Council," she said as she read the display. "What the hell do they want?"

She tapped the console to begin playing the message, and the main viewscreen displayed the image of a bald man with brown skin and a red military dress uniform. He smiled somewhat insincerely as he spoke into whatever recording device he was using. "Madam Federatrix," he said.

"Ryba Booth," Luffa said aloud, though she knew he couldn't hear her. There was a somewhat one-sided rivalry between them. Booth commanded a military dictatorship before Luffa forced him to co-found the Federation along with three of his adversaries. He longed for greater power over the Federation, to extend his personal rule to other worlds beyond his home planet of Despye, but Luffa's influence over the Federation made this impossible. She was too popular to outpolitick, and too powerful to overthrow. His only chance was to wait for her to fail on the battlefield, and then he could use his command over the Federation starfleet to usurp her position. The smile on his face suggested that he felt closer to that outcome than he had been in some time.

"If you are receiving this message, it is because I am unable to reach you directly. The Federation is under attack by an enemy fleet. I have deployed our own fleet to intercept the invaders, but intelligence indicates that many of them are Saiyans. Should any of them manage to land on an inhabited world, my ships may be incapable of dislodging them."

Luffa and Zatte exchanged concerned looks. "If these are anything like the Saiyans you fought on Lubegev--" Zatte began.

"I know," Luffa said. "Booth may have no idea what he's dealing with..."

"I'm including tactical charts with information on the planets most likely to be invaded. I believe the Saiyans will attempt to concentrate their forces on Gudgid III, so I've--" there was a disruption in the message, as the audio briefly devolved into static-- "hold the line for now. The Ninth Wing may be vulnerable, but--" Static again. "--ommend you join the battle at coordinates J58 by 126."

There was an interruption in the playback of the message. The image of Booth became distorted, and though he appeared to be speaking, the audio was gone. Luffa looked over to the navigator station, but Zatte had already there, plotting a course. "It'll take us four hours to get there," she said.

"Then we'd better hope Booth can last until then," Luffa said.

"Luffa, you're hurt," Zatte said.

"I know," she said. "I'll have to get creative when we get there. Let's take a look at his charts..."

"Luffa, you said you would rest," Zatte reminded her.

"I just want to take a look," Luffa said, "and then I'll go back to-- This... this can't be right!"

"What's wrong?" Zatte asked.

Luffa tapped a few keys on the console and put the charts on the main veiwer. "Look at this," she said. "Booth's showing Saiyan activity in at least two dozen star systems."

"Two dozen? But what about Gudgid III?" Zatte asked.

"I mean, they could converge on Gudgid," Luffa said. "Normally, that would make sense. Harass the border, keep the defenders spread out while they try to chase you down, and then concentrate your forces on a planet worth sacking. Booth's analysis is sound, or it would be if these were garden variety Saiyans. But if we're talking about Saiyans as strong as the ones I just fought... If these are more of those Saiyans jumped up with this magic power, and if they're all working for Trismegistus, then they could do more than just sack one planet and run for it. They could hold an entire sector or two if they play their cards right. It might take weeks to clear them all out!"

As Zatte looked at her wife's face, she saw her expression grow increasingly concerned. There could be no doubt now. In four hours, Luffa would fight again. And again. Perhaps she would prevail, but at what cost? This was the question Zatte wanted to ask, but she didn't want to break down into tears again, and so she asked another question instead.

"Even if we do clear them out, what'll be left of the Federation when it's over?"

NEXT: Fight Fire With Fire.

#dragon ball #fanficton #lssjluffafic #super saiyan #luffa #zatte #dr topsas #dotz #cardune #ryba booth

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truthofherdreams · 6 years

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Of baseball bats and psychic powers (2)

Kali doesn’t exactly know what to expect when she enters the cabin. It looks old and musty from the outside, not unlike the empty warehouse she’s been squatting since she was fourteen. One gets used to never truly be warm again after a while, that shiver down your spine, nose ice cold in the middle of the night. But whatever she expected when she entered the cabin, arm clasped in Jane’s, it isn’t this.

Everything is warm and welcoming, in a rustic kind of way. There are pillows on the couch and books everywhere, a few pictures above the fireplace. She even spots a bunch of drawings on the fridge across the room, even if her eyes are more interested in the pictures.

Home for Kali is a long lost concept. Flashes of a life that used to be hers behind her eyelids – London in the summer, all the lights during Diwali, the henna on her hands and in Mamma’s hair. Home for Jane is a gruffly man and a ragtag bunch of skinny kids, the smell of burning logs and ancient dust.

It leaves Kali… nostalgic for a past she never got to live. For a life ripped from her clenching hands.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jane is at her side, a glass of water in her hand. She’s taller now, her hair longer. So far from the small toddler who’d draw until there were smudges of crayon all over the paper.

“Nothing stronger?” she asks, her fingers in desperate need of a cigarette to hold.

One of the boys, the one with the curly hair and colourful vocabulary, snorts a laugh. “Hopper locked the wine cellar. Says he doesn’t trust us.”

“As should he,” says goody-two-shoes from where he leans against a wall, arms folded in his chest. Kali glares at him, but he doesn’t react. It unnerves her.

She downs her glass of water. Too bad her powers never worked on her own mind, otherwise she would have tricked herself into believing it was vodka. She winces, before she hands the glass back to her sister. Her sister, god. Kali never was a very sentimental person, but she has to admit she missed Jane. They were only together for a few days, and there are many a great things she regrets doing in such a small amount of time, but. At the end of the day, Jane is still her sister and Kali was not lying when she said she felt whole again by her side.

Like she can breathe easily again for the first time in ages.

“How you doing?” she asks softly.

Kali doesn’t do sentimental, or anything of the like, but still she raises a hand to brush her fingers against Jane’s cheek. Her hair is so much longer now, falling in pretty curls on her shoulders. She doesn’t dress like a farm girl anymore, but there is still something suburban about her, like she can’t shake it off. The way Kali can’t shake off the look that comes from a decade living in the streets of Chicago. The dirt under her nails was never meant to go away.

“Good,” she replies, soft. The fire still burns in her eyes, but it has been tamed by peace and quiet. Kali envies her that. “We haven’t had any problems since... last time. I’m going to school now.”

No monsters, no evil government, just the jolly old life of a teenage girl. Kali definitely envies her that, in a weird way. Normal has never been in the cards for her, and she’s done a good job of acting like it’s fine. No use letting your mind wander on things you’ll never get, after all. It hurts, and Kali stopped hurting when she was ten.

Still, she is happy for Jane, because Jane is happy. This kind of selflessness is new, but welcomed. It makes for a nice change. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Jane is about to add something when the front door opens with a loud bang, and Kali reacts before she even thinks. One hand grabs Jane to pull her behind her, a blade switching open in her other hand as she faces the newcomer. She vaguely hears the teenagers gasp and whistle in response, all her senses focused on the man at the door. The beige uniform and the badge on his hip only make her tighten her hold on the knife, until she remembers what Jane told her. Doesn’t mean she move, though.

“What the hell?” comes the loud, bear-like voice. The man glares at her, and Kali glares back. “Kid, let go of the knife.”

Behind her, Jane grabs her arm with both her hands, squeezing until it pinches. “It’s fine. It’s Hopper, he’s not a bad man.”

“I sure as hell am not,” the guy echoes.

Which, not helping. But Kali will believe Jane’s opinion above all else, at this point, so she stands straighter after another beat, folding the knife before she slides it back into the pocket of her jeans. The kids are staring at her, and so is goody-two-shoes. His eyebrows disappear beneath his stupid fringe, a familiar look in his eyes – confused lust, yep, she’s used to those.

“Sorry,” she tells the policeman. She’s anything but.

His eyes travel up and down her body, frowning, before he sighs loudly. He doesn’t say anything as he moves toward the kitchen, opens the fridge and cracks open a beer. So much for not having alcohol, but Kali knows better than to ask for a bottle. Instead, she waits for him to sit down in the only armchair, and to point at the couch with his beer.

“Sit. Talk.”

And so she does.

The words come difficulty to her at first, as she talks about her childhood in London, discovering her powers, being kidnapped and shipped of to another country. Cold and caged and lonely, terrified. It somewhat gets easier as she goes on, talks of the rainbow room and Jane as a toddler, the tests and experiments, being probed and pushed until her nose bled and she passed out from exhaustion. Jane being taken to another room. Deciding to escape. Not being able to free Jane and having to leave her behind. Finding her way to Chicago. The life she made for herself here.

She leaves out the details of life as a runaway brown girl. They want the truth but they don’t need the trauma, the nightmares and memories she swallowed down to make herself stronger. They don’t deserve her secrets.

When she finishes with an explanation about how she found and killed Brenner, Kali is so exhausted she rubs her hand under her nose.

It comes out clean.

…

She leans against the wall, staring at the forest without seeing it. It is quick but for the quiet hoots of an owl and the sound of cooking and table dressing inside. The night wind is cold against her cheeks, a sharp contrast with the warmth of the cabin and in her blood.

Kali hates that she feels like that, so at odds with the world. After her tale, Jane had shown her her bedroom, with the teddy bear on the bed and the books on the desk and the pictures pinned to the walls. This outrageous display of normalcy doesn’t sit well on Kali’s stomach. Jealousy isn’t an emotion she is particularly fond of but, seeing Jane so at peace in this little world of hers, so loved and cared for, it stirs something within Kali, something that had been dormant for too long. It is why she came her, she knows, but having her nose pushed into it on the first evening is a little too painful for her own good.

Hence, taking a time out, away from this life she never wanted for herself but can’t help but envy.

She’s grabbing a cigarette, pack in one hand while the other pats her pockets for a lighter, when the front door opens to her left. She’s about to tell Jane to go back inside, it’s cold and she will get sick, but it is not Jane opening the door. Instead, Kali finds herself frowning at goody-two-shoes when he offers her a tentative smile. Yeah, she isn’t smiling back.

“Fire?” he asks her, taking the same Zippo as before out of his his pocket.

She snaps it from him, lights up her cigarette in a second, before pocketing the lighter. He looks affronted, but doesn’t call her out. Instead, he rolls his eyes and leans next to her on the wall.

“At least it’s tobacco this time,” he comments, nodding to the pack of Marlboro still in her hand.

Kali’s glare hardens. “And you are?”

“The babysitter,” he replies without missing a beat. There is a smile at the corners of his mouth, but she’ll be damned before she asks him what the private joke is. She very much doesn’t give a fuck. “Name’s Steve.”

“Cool.”

She’s not looking at him anymore, gazing back at the forest in front of her, but his stare is drilling holes into the side of her head. She wonders how he would react, if she snapped at him. If he would react at all, the creep. He wasn’t in any of Jane’s stories about what happened after she escaped the lab, and Kali wonders where he fits in all of this. What happened for him not to be scared of her powers and her invading his mind.

“I have a perfectly comfortable couch if you want,” he goes on.

She does stare at him this time. How could she not? “What?”

His ears and cheeks turn red, but he doesn’t look away from her. It takes balls. “Don’t tell me you wanna stay with Hopper. Nobody ever do, and you just admitted that you’re a murderer so…” He shrugs, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to have with the estranged sister who dropped out of nowhere. “And I have a couch, cold beers, and I can look the other way when you’re smoking pot.”

She squints at him. “You’re a cop too.” Less of a question, more of a fact.

He shrugs again. “In training. But, like, it’s Hawkins. We’re used to looking the other way.”

Kali hesitates. She doesn’t want to stay away from Jane now that they are reunited, but goody-two-shoes has a point. Kali doesn’t feel entirely comfortable under the policeman’s knowing gaze, not after confessing to several murders under the guise of vengeance. He seems nice and all, especially since he’s letting Jane use her powers now, but. Still. Once a cop, always a cop.

She looks him up and down, smirks a little at the way he fidgets under her gaze. What’s the worse that could happen, anyway? Jane will be, like, fifteen minutes away at best. She can mentally reach out to Kali if she wants to speak. And they’ll see each other tomorrow, and the day after. And he’s right. Kali’d rather be with someone her age, just for a little while. She does miss Mick with a passion.

“What’s your name again?”

He grins.

#stali #steve x kali #kali x steve #kali prasad #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #ff: stranger things #ff: of baseball bats and psychic powers

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lydias--stiles · 7 years

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Thoughts whilst watching 6x12

- I actually feel sorry for Theo. He has no one. He came back from the dead, was forced to help the pack, bonded with Liam, but then got neglected again. He does have a really fancy Jeep so idk how that worked out but okay. - It’s the spiders again. Rats, bugs in wolves, spiders. Odd. - Can someone try out Scott’s number and see what happens? - Hunters? - Oh, come on why you gotta shoot him? he just pulled a spider out of his back. - I wonder why Scott hallucinated. It has, as far as I remember, never happened before. Was it the shock that the bullet was Argent’s, thinking he’s killing the supernatural again with stronger, more dangerous weapons? Perhaps. Or it has something to do with the aftermath of the Wild Hunt. Liam can’t control himself sometimes, and Scott wolfed out in front of an entire squad of police officers. - The Sheriff is just not impressed anymore lol. Like “wop, there I go again, attacked by something I don’t know the name of.” - Also why is Malia running behind him? For Lydia, it’s logical, but Malia is a were-coyote. Use that super speed girl. - Ugh, why are they all so pretty? - Pack feels in the car ayyye. - Liam and Mason are so cute, it’s all just parallels of Stiles and Scott. - Those kids are so cute. I remember being hopeful in Freshmen Year that highschool would be awesome and full of dreams. (Spoiler Alert: it is filled with homework and tears) - “Go lacrosse!” “yay sports” I CAN’T XD - Bitch if he doesn’t make an appointment than you can’t force him. - “Opportunities Multiply as They Are Seized.” True. - lol and then Mason happily walking in nearly fangirling over his favourite peot or something. - that knife though. threat from the argent’s? - aw come on, why do the black people always get hurt here. First the black orderly, now him. He’s just fourteen, leave him alone. - Thank the Gods that Parrish is finally useful. You were shit in season five and 6A. Thank the Gods for making him go and not Lydia. - I want Lydia’s top. - Please, Scott should’ve known from the beginning the passport was Allison. His own passport for everything in sophomore year was Allison. - Oh and thank you Teen Wolf for not forgetting one of your greatest characters. Allison Argent will be forever missed. I really, fucking miss her. - Malia’s humour is on point btw. - So the name of the dead hellhound is Halwyn. Halwyn Hellhound, nice to meet you. - So the white haired dude is a doctor ohhhhh. - bitch even if you do lock him up Parrish can still burn down the gate he’s literal fire. - BRETT - Wait since when does Corey play lacrosse? And do girls still play in the team? Because you had Kira and then later on Gwen in 6A. Now it seems like there are none. CONSISTENCY, TEEN WOLF! - Liam hold your wolf in, please. - Aye it’s that relative of Brett that I always forget the name of. No hard feelings, girlie. - Keep it in, Liam. - “That’s the IED I remember.” dude. not cool. wait, doesn’t Brett know that Liam is a werewolf? Isn’t Brett one himself? Or did I just read that in fanfiction? I’m so confused. - oh yeah he knows nevermind. - fuck he’s hot - well hello Samarah from The Ring. - oh wait fuck is everyone dead? - ah, a doctor is evil. what a surprise. - Come on, Liam. Don’t lose it. Also, where is the black freshman? - ayyyye Argent please don’t be the bad guy, thank you. - he’s so not impressed I love him. Him and Melissa are also, clealry, not together, so why did they kiss in 6A if it had no meaning? - Oh, Malia. - “Bitch you think im getting out there? hell no.” MALIA I LOVE HER THIS SEASON SHELLEY IS DOING A WONDERFUL JOB. - For a man like Argent, it’s odd he even used “Allison”, as hackers often opt first for things that are familiar to the ones they are wanting to hack. Like family names, pets, dates, et cetera. - Fuck, man, he’s also part human. You’re a murderer. Well, he’s a hunter, actually. Now it’s just not an organised party, everyone is just killing. It’s basically season 4 only without the money. - wop, guess Jordan will go in hibernation then. - This woman fucking stayed at school for hours just to give him back that ball and threathen him or something. Jesus get a life. - oh fuck you. using wolfsbane is a dick move. - Lydia fucking register for MIT odwn throw that away please. You have a little less than two hours so do something. - I love her ring. Very minimalistic. (gets sudden thoughts of married stydia and starts crying. trash ophelia has arrived) - oh my God, Lydia, how much has Stiles influenced you. Like “Woopsie she caught me just pretend you’re really interested in this pack of post its yep totally not suspicious yep perfect perfect plan amazing awesome.” - Also her banshee powers are on point. - Bitch he has never even terrified anyone. You have nothing to him personally but you’re acting like he did. - oh sure just stick a pole in his body. - “That’s incredible”, oh so now she’s a sadist, great. - oh cry cry you bitch be fucking afraid. what a dumb bitch. - no no no don’t go to the counsellor - How did Liam not smell blood? Or just the stench of a body? Anyway, good job Mason. - Holy fucking shit. I get why the call it the most gory season yet. I’m fascinated though. - NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LYDIA STAY AWAY sTILES WOULD MURDER EVERYONE IF HE KNEW lYDIA WENT I ALONE; - Her booties... I want them. - nononononono don’t lock Lydia up, please let her go she doesn’t deserve this. - great she’s probabaly having some sort of PTSD attack. great great great. -_- - LYDIA - Even though I’m still against Lydia being there, her having her warrior “overcoming fears” Mulan-esque moment is so badass and inspiring. I’m here for it. - But you can’t just kill a hellhound. It should be a special kind of bullet. So, if the doctor puts a bullet against Parrish’ head, it shouldn’t kill him. Something’s off. - YESSS LYDIA - Even though I don’t ship Parrish and Lydia, it’s like now they’re even. he saved her in Eichen, now she saved him. It’s cool :) - “I’m worried about you”, and in that moment, the whole scolia fandom died. - Scott’s look though, I’m even shipping it. He’s probably thinking of kissing her and then snaps out of it. - “cutesy looking down afraid of admitting feelings that have been developing since 3B” trope. - Scott’s smile - Yep. This is exactly how Stydia has been built up and I like it. I like Scolia. I’m here for it. - awww, bonding over almost being killed many times. cute. - cockblock!Argent - okay even I fangirled over that “Scott is looking while she isn’t”-look. That’s a parallel to this right here motherfuckers

- oh no they found the boy - wait, what was the flesh thing then? - Wait but Liam hasn’t done anything to the pupils. Or have I forgotten something? - oh fucking hell Gerard. - ah, so Gerard is going to recruit a new batch of hunters, as the Argent’s basically stopped.

#tw spoilers #teen wolf #tw #scott mccall #anti marrish #scolia #scalia #stydia #malia tate #lydia martin #jordan parrish #theo raeken #liam dunbar #mason hewitt

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nonbinary-kite · 7 years

Text

off the record

a shuuhina commission for @quasiplatonickarinhina

ships: romantic shuuhina, mentioned platonic shuuzuru, mentioned platonic kirahina, implied badship aihina

description: The Bulletin is quarterly nowadays. There’s just too much on his broad, if skinny, shoulders to churn it out every month. The Spring issue will be his best.

She knew it was rude for him to keep her waiting, but she sat upright and patient in the uncomfortable wooden chair, balls of her feet just skimming the floorboards. The world seemed always a little too big for Momo. Nothing fit just right. The uniform hung a little too heavy off her shoulders. Her skin felt too tight in places, too loose in others. She pulled at it to adjust, and she cut off her hair. Hirako-taichou said they matched, with a soft pat to the top of her head, which felt so much lighter. Any more and she would simply evaporate.

She knew it ought to be rude, but she had so many soft spots. Shuuhei's was big. One of the oldest.

Momo kept tucking the hair behind her ears, which rang these days. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous. Her old friend and senpai was too kind to ask about the wrong things. He'd told her the gist. They both had new captains, and their peers seemed curious as to hers. She could not blame them, what with his odd little haircut and his loud records. The mask and the monster he had inside him.

She couldn't get away from monsters. No matter how much she ran.

And it did feel like she was always on the run. Her feet ached constantly and her legs were weak. She shut her eyes when the breeze came through the office window. It hadn't really tickled her neck before. Must be the haircut, must be the nerves. She kept her eyes closed because she was a little bit a masochist. Not like Izuru, and not like Shuuhei. Well, she did not know what they saw when they shut their eyes, but it couldn't be like hers. Izuru drank and cut himself open. Shuuhei worked himself quite literally to the bone and she was pinned down by memory and phantom pain.

The door slid open too fast and her heart froze, as it did, like it did then. It took three medics from the Fourth to get it going again. Perhaps she'd suffered brain damage in the interim. She was convinced her wound had made her even more foolish.

“Sorry, Hinamori-san,” he said, pleasant. Momo knew the tone. Happy to see someone you love, but hurt inside because it was not the right person. She turned just her head, and her neck made that little cracking sound, but she smiled at him. He bowed his head a little, looking almost bashful.

The sadness had made him so.

Shuuhei opted to sit in another chair, facing her, but not behind his desk. That would be too cruel. They were closer, once. Sure, he'd protected and defended her in battle, just as she'd done years ago for him, but it felt too much like duty. She was a comrade. But then he saw her, impaled and hanging limp in the air before one he knew was dear to her, and she became his impressionable, sweet kouhai again. He'd yelled. But he couldn't do a damn thing. Only watch as Izuru pressed his healing hands to the gaping wound in the center of her chest.

But his mind was elsewhere, then. He couldn't have helped even if he had the skill. He was too busy blinking and panicking each time it went dark. He could see, he could see. His most revered had only done it once.

“It's alright, Hisagi-san.” The little smile stayed on her face like a plaster impression. “Hirako-taichou cleared my schedule for the day.”

“Well that partly answers my first question.” He flipped open his little notebook. Do you find Hirako understanding of your personal life and extra-curricular duties? She laughed, and it was like bells.

He'd made her laugh countless times, and he hated himself for not remembering each and every one. He should have cherished that melodious sound, because it would soon be drowned out. Ah, there was one...He tried to push a marshmallow onto one of Tobiume's spikes. She whacked him softly with her hand. But then those men...their benefactors and their masters, they entered the training room for a routine survey.

“So,” he began, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His arms were like a new born calf's legs, he thought. No time to eat when your stomach is busy rising, rising into your chest. “Tell me about your first day with him.”

She blinked. Him had become too loaded a word. How unfair, three letters so common and each time she heard them there came visions. It took her too long, lips parted and probably trembling, to realize he meant her new captain.

“Oh, he was very kind. I was supposed to be welcoming him, you know...” But he'd wrapped an arm around her shoulder, this okay, Momo-chan? and walked her into his office. He had grunted at all the changes that had been made to the furniture, and promised to take her antiquing in the human world. “But he made me feel like...like I was just getting there. The Fifth wasn't the same place where everything...you know...” The walls seemed to be coated in fresh paint and the breeze traveled more freely through the once-stuffy halls.

Shuuhei's face seemed to droop. She should have known it would be impossible to skirt around it. It was too far seeped into their skin.

“He settled in like he'd never left. I told him I...I wish he hadn't ever left.” Uh-uh, Momo-chan, then ya wouldn't be wearin' that badge.

She watched him scribble. The part of his lip that was touched with old scars seemed to curl upwards. She wondered why the scars stayed so long. Perhaps he clawed at them. Perhaps there was no one two wrap his wrists in restraints and tie him to a hospital bed to keep him from tearing into himself.

Unohana had done it to her with the gravest of expressions, like she knew.

Momo's wrists hurt, and she wrung her fingers around them like a childish burn from sticky palms. She blinked too fast and her mind followed. Thrashing in a bed always, no matter where she was she was always floundering and flopping. She was always doing someone else's bidding even if she was strung out on anesthesia and sleeping pills, someone was always shoving something down her throat and why did she feel so empty if she had been full of everything bad? All bad, bad things and she can't put any good things in, like food, or water. Her body doesn't live on that anymore--

She jumped to feel arms around her. She had not even heard the awful noise of a wooden chair being dragged across the floor to be nearer to her. The arms were skinny but strong, and bare. She was in Shuuhei's office, folded into him, and she settled.

“I'm sorry...” She was crying, she then realized.

“Don't,” he said. It sounded like some of her freshly-cut hair was sticking to his face. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” She noted that his pad of paper was strewn upon the ground. He must have tossed it.

“He'll be disappointed. He loves attention.”

Shuuhei laughed, soft and sad but sincere.

“I can come up with something about him, don't worry.” He rocked her back and forth. She knew which him they spoke of.

Her hair smelled clean. It felt soft upon his cheek, painted always. Muguruma-taichou hated that. Her shoulders were too slight in his arms, like she would shrink into nothing if he held on long enough, but he did it anyway. He slid one hand down her back, again, again, as if pressing wrinkles out of her clothes, pressing tears out of her heart.

“We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” he assured her. His voice was quiet but gravelly all at once. He hardly recognized it anymore.

“I don't.” There was no one she wanted to tell. Their horror would outweigh her confession. She couldn't put anyone through that. He nodded, and the motion of his skin against her ear made her shiver. It had been so long since anyone was so close. It had been so long... “Can we stay like this?”

“Yes.” He did not hesitate, and he adjusted, getting closer, a hand upon the back of her head. It was quiet for a while. “...I think this is a good interview.”

“Yeah?” She was at the point in her crying when she was sniffing back every bit of herself that wanted to pour out of her reddened nose.

“Yeah, my favorite interview.”

“I'd...be happy to come in for a second one.”

This just in: girl's skin is soft in my hands. Breaking news: Local man is idiot, should have realized it sooner.

He pulled away just enough to see her. Just enough that she could see the warmest smile his broken heart could produce, and she let out a sharp and startled exhale. Like a revelation they stared too long, eureka! We've found something we've never seen the likes of...

The little scars that topped his lips felt odd, like little scores upon his face. This is where it is broken up into pieces. It was the shortest kiss. She had to ease back into affection bit by bit.

“I'll have better questions next time.”

“Can I get them in advance?”

He ran a thumb down her cheek. The pad of it was rough. He was rough, she was sure. He could be. All of them had that mean streak built into them by betrayal. But his touch was feather-light.

“Okay. Do you think...do you think if two people take it slow enough it won't hurt at all?”

“It always hurts,” she said.

“That's off the record. Do you think if someone kisses you enough it hurts less?”

“If it's the right one.”

“Is it the right one?”

“Yes, if you take it slow.”

#aaron's commissions #shuuhina #bleach

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my-dear-hammy · 7 years

Text

The Ship Wars

Masterpost

Chapter Fifteen Sacrifices

Time line is going to get a little weird. I'll explain it when it's important.

----

Warnings: This fic is not a light fic so beware. Blood, homicidal tendencies. Colder than the ninth circle of hell, Jefferson is really bad right now, be careful.

----

Hamilton lifted John from the boat and carried him on board the Adrienne. “Someone get me the surgeon! Now! Come on, stay with me, John.” Hamilton gingerly set John down inside the captain’s quarters, not caring that it wasn’t his ship, and pressed his drenched coat against the bleeding wound. “Goddamnit! I want a surgeon now!” Hamilton yelled.

The surgeon, however, was busy treating all the other yelling sailors. French crewmen came first, not some lowly pirate captain’s first mate. Hamilton swore and set about removing the ball himself. Laurens’ groaned in pain, his body jerking away. Hamilton pinned him down as he worked and was eventually rewarded with the musket ball. Luckily, none of the clothing got shredded pushed into the wound. If it had and Hamilton had been unable to retrieve it, it would get infected quickly and be a death sentence for John.

Hamilton pressed his coat back against Laurens’ wound, willing the bleeding to slow to a stop. He didn’t have anything to stitch it up so all he could do at this point was pray until a real surgeon showed up, if John lived that long. Hamilton kissed John’s still lips, “Stay with me, John.” He didn’t know how long he stayed like that until the surgeon finally showed up and finally set to work, kicking Hamilton out of the room.

There was more for Hamilton to see to. He had his crew to take care of, how many had survived? How many were crippled? How many had been sent to the Davey Jones’ locker by Jefferson? Too many.

Hamilton spotted Lafayette looking through a spyglass and followed the direction to find another approaching ship. Please be French or Spanish. Lafayette lowered his spyglass and growled, “English.” Goddamnit. Lafayette turned and took in the state of his ship. If they engaged, there was the possibility of losing and sinking as well. Lafayette was an exceptional captain but he knew when the best decision was to outrun. “Make sail!” he commanded, “East, avoid the English vessel at all costs!” he turned the helm as all available sailors leaped to their jobs.

Hamilton watched the wreckage of his ship and the Monticello steadily grow more distant. If Jefferson lived and the English ship picked him up, Hamilton would hunt him down and slaughter him. If he was already dead, Hamilton would hunt him down and slaughter him in hell. If John died, Hamilton would burn the entire English navy. John was not a sacrifice Hamilton was willing to make.

He blocked out the pained noises that rose from the ship as he watched the dark English ship pull up to the Monticello and set sail again after finishing rescuing sailors. Hamilton was surprised when it didn't give chase, an odd decision for an English ship that had the upper hand. Hamilton supposed he should be relieved, instead, he hated not knowing whether or not Jefferson survived.

He turned back to his pained crew. “Where's Morris? Did he survive?”

“Here, sir,” Morris called, getting to his feet and limping over, favoring his left side heavily.

“Are you going to be able to handle this right now?”

“I'm just a little beat up sir, nothing broken or pierced. I'll be fine.”

Hamilton nodded, “Take command for a bit, respect Captain Lafayette’s orders. It's his ship after all,” and returned to the Captain's quarters. Hamilton wasn't one bit sorry for getting blood stains on Lafayette's bed. The surgeon was just standing to leave. “I've done all I can. It's up to him now,” was all he said as he hurried out the door to treat other people. Hamilton filled the chair the surgeon had just vacated, taking John’s hand in his own and rubbing circles in the flesh between the thumb and finger.

Hours passed and John continued to breathe shallowly, any breath could be his last. Hamilton was slumped over him, still holding his hand, but barely keeping his eyes open when Lafayette walked into the room, rubbing his face tiredly and throwing his coat into the corner of the room.

“Ah, I see my bed has been taken,” he said humorously, “and here I thought I was going to get a couple hours of sleep.” Hamilton looked at the tall Frenchman who looked just as frayed as Hamilton felt. “I didn't take you for such a softy.”

“I'm not soft,” Hamilton growled, dropping John's hand.

“Yet your first mate lies in my bed when the rest of your men are spread out on the deck. And you seem to have no regret.”

“Ran out of the room.”

Lafayette laughed. “Okay, Alexandre. Sleep with your boyfriend then, I’ll find other accommodations.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” Hamilton said lowly.

“Yes, he is,” Lafayette replied, shirking off his pants, leaving him in his undershorts and a loose billowy, long sleeved shirt.

“You're mistaken. He's just a close friend.”

Lafayette threw some blankets on the floor and stretched out on them, groaning as the aches of his back loosened. “Alright, then come sleep next to me instead.”

“The bed is more comfortable.”

“The bed has a dying man on it.”

“The floor has a man with a death threat on his head.”

Lafayette chuckled. “Whatever you wish, Alexandre, I don't care where you sleep. Just get some while you can. Tomorrow is going to be rough,” Lafayette said, curling up on his side and pulling a blanket over himself. A smile curled his lips when he heard Hamilton blow out the candle and slip into bed next to John.

***

Madison and Kinloch we're having a much different time.

After what was assumed to be a few minutes lying face down on the beach, Kinloch decided it was time they made sure they weren’t going to die anyway. “Madison, do you have any salt water in your lungs?” His question was met with silence. “Madison?” Kinloch asked, raising his head to see Madison lying face down in the sand too. “Goddamnit, Madison,” he muttered, crawling over to the smaller, sickly man. He was either dead or unconscious. If he was unconscious, was it from exhaustion or something else? Like his illness. Kinloch rolled him over and found him breathing. There was probably a whole bunch of salt water in his lungs from nearly drowning as he did. If Madison were to have a chance of surviving, that water needed to come out. Kinloch opened up Madison’s coat and started rhythmically compressing, hoping to resuscitate him.

Madison snapped awake and rolled out of Kinloch’s reach, having no idea what was going on. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m not-” Madison bent over and started coughing up water, “Shit.”

“Let me do a little bit more. I’m sure you’re aware that it’s going to dehydrate you and make it harder to breathe,” Kinloch said, “and with your condition, I don’t think harder to breathe is going to help you.”

Madison just wanted to fucking sleep. Was that too much to ask? To just let his exhausted body get some rest? Yes, definitely too much to ask. “Let’s find some shelter,” Madison replied, forcing himself to his feet and walking toward the canopy of the forest.

“Madison, you’re honestly a strong man but if you think for one second that you’re going to survive with any salt water in your lungs, you’re not as smart as I thought,” Kinloch said, pushing himself up and following behind Madison.

“I’m not an idiot, I’m well educated on drowning.” He’d nearly done it before after all. “You can try and force whatever salt water I have left out when we’re safe out of the storm. I don’t want to get it all out only to be dragged back out to sea again by high tide and have to start all over.”

“Of course,” Kinloch said, stepping under the shelter of the canopy, “If there’s one good thing about a storm, it’s that there’ll be lots of wood to work with once it’s passed.”

They walked along for a bit, getting further away from the beach, hearing the harsh wind whistle through the trees. It wouldn’t be long before the rain started, hopefully, the canopy was thick enough to where not much would hit them. “What about you?” Madison asked, “Do you have any saltwater in your lungs?”

“Most probably,” Kinloch answered. “This is far enough, lie down again, I’ll help you and I’m sure you’ll do the same for me.”

“Shelter first,” Madison coughed. He hated help.

“We’re under the canopy. Deal with the water first. You’re going to die if you allow it to sit there.”

“Fine.” Madison found a mostly flat spot and lied down, hating every second.

“Thank you.” Kinloch set to work.

Turns out, Madison had a lot more water than he thought. Apparently, having a coughing fit in the middle of the ocean during a storm and almost drowning will do that to you. Madison wiped the remaining water from off his mouth and turned to Kinloch. “Now you.”

He didn’t have it nearly as bad as Madison, considering he managed to keep his head above water almost the entire time. “How about some mouth to mouth?” Kinloch joked, wiping his chin.

“Shelter, Kinloch,” Madison said tiredly.

He rolled his eyes, “Of course, Madison. Any ideas?”

“This doesn’t seem like an island with caves so we’ll have to build something. How about a lean-to?”

“Sounds good, let’s get to some higher ground, maybe we can find a decent place.” As they searched, the storm steadily got worse, so they eventually decided on a spot that would do. They could always relocate later, the goal was to get out of the storm as quickly as possible. Madison though logically over anything else. Sure, Kinloch wasn’t someone he’d choose to survive on an island with but he was who Madison had. At least he was strong and could carry his own wait...and Madison’s too apparently.

That’s another life debt to tack onto Madison’s list. Fuck. Like he didn’t have enough of those.

“Separate shelters?” Kinloch asked, looking to Madison.

Madison looked up at the sky and felt rain drops start to hit his face. “One. It’s faster. Less material. Warmer. Less work.”

“Works for me,” Kinloch said, searching for sizable logs to build the structure with. Madison started dragging some over as well, he knew he was putting too much strain on his body after just going through what he did. He was barely standing as it was, usually, he’d have to sleep for at least a day afterward, depending on how bad it was. He didn’t have that option right now, the storm was too close. His body, just to prove his own thoughts, decided to gift him with another one, as if that would help.

They started off low and easily suppressed as he dragged logs across the clearing. When they started to become more obvious the more he worked, Kinloch looked over at him. “Are you sure you got all the salt water out?” Kinloch needed to keep Madison alive. Why? Because Kinloch was shit at survival and hopefully, Madison was better. If Madison died, every chance Kinloch has went with him. He had to make Madison into an ally that would help him live.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Madison coughed lightly, picking up the log and setting it in place.

“Take a break if you need it.”

Thunder cracked ahead and they rushed to finish. As soon as they did, Madison crawled into the lean-to and instantly fell asleep, his abused and exhausted pulling him into unconsciousness.

Kinloch would’ve stayed up to keep watch but then the rain started pouring relentlessly and the wind howled horribly so he decided to crawl in and sleep as well.

***

Fast forward several days. (Keep in mind that we’ll probably rewind those days later, I’ll let you know)

Jefferson woke up to a dark room and unimaginable amounts of pain that burned up his right leg. He tried to sit up and cried out, immediately sinking back down on the cot. He winced as his leg throbbed. Jefferson gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, looking down at his leg which ended mid thigh.

He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Breathe. Jefferson took several more breaths before opening his eyes again. Nope, still gone. His hands clenched, nails digging into his skin. He was going to kill everyone on this ship, just as he promised. He was going to start with the son of a bitch who cut it off and then he was going to hunt down that bastard Hamilton and slaughter him where he stands.

Jefferson grit his teeth and swung his legs-leg-over the side of the cot, he cried out in pain and doubled over. He stayed that way for several minutes and forced himself to stand, swaying uneasily on one leg. How was he going to walk out to the deck if he couldn't even take a step?

Jefferson grabbed his sword, which was leaning against the wall at the head of the bed and used it like a cane, leaning on it heavily, as he hopped a couple inches forward. That's when he realized all he was wearing were undershorts and his billowy white shirt. Where were his pants?

Glancing around the room, he spotted them draped over a chair, one leg was shredded, not that it mattered since Jefferson didn't have that leg anymore. He thought about trying to shove his leg into them and decided that people wouldn't mind if he killed them while only in his underwear.

Jefferson dragged himself out of the room, scooping up his pistol, and down the hallway, managing to shoulder open the door onto the deck. He wasn't noticed at first but when he drew his sword, leaning on the sheath, and demanded to know where the scumbag that took his leg was, people started paying attention. Burr seemed to materialize out of nowhere, standing erect and taking in Jefferson's condition.

“You're bleeding,” he stated. It was true. Blood had soaked through his bandages and was dripping down onto the deck. “And staining my deck.”

“Fuck off, Burr. I'll kill you in a minute. He's first,” Jefferson said, cocking his pistol and aiming it at the man who had cut off his leg.

Burr stepped forward and kicked the sheath out from under Jefferson's hand, sending him sprawling the ground in pain. Jefferson cried out and Burr stepped up to him and looked down at him, a look of indifference. “Somebody drag him back to his room, I have a letter to send André about a delusional Captain,” he turned on his heel and walked off, scooping up Jefferson's pistol as he went. “Rebandage the moron’s leg while you're at it.”

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cathygeha · 5 years

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REVIEW

Highland Crown by May McGoldrick

Royal Highlander #1 In 1820 life in Scotland for the Scottish was one of oppression and being under the yoke of an occupying force. Having lived in such a situation I know that what the occupier and those being occupied experience is not the same. It is true of Scotland and many other countries that have been occupied in the past. There are atrocities perpetrated, freedom-fighters heroes of the country considered terrorists by the occupiers and...anyway...it has not changed in centuries and no doubt will remain the same for centuries. Anyway, this book is set in Scotland when England is occupying it. The English feel they have valid reasons for being there and doing what they are doing BUT that is definitely up for debate. The people that suffer most in situations like this are often the poor who are without means of any sort to deal with the political shenanigans and horrors they face but...they do often survive against the odds. So...I digressed but in doing so perhaps set the stage. There is a woman with a bounty on her head. She is wanted by the English and also by others. She believes she has found a place to hunker down and hide till she can move on to Halifax with her half-sister and step-daughter but while she waits to move on events are set in play that change her life entirely. A ship founders on the rocks of the bay near where she is hiding and when her skills as a physician are put into play saving the ship’s captain both her life and the captain’s are changed forever. This book contains a fair bit of politics and history but not to the detriment of the romance and the wonderful introduction to the books that will follow. We meet Isabella: physician, widow, step-mother, guardian of her half-sister, forward thinking female who is being hunted for treason. We also meet Captain Cinead MacKintosh: orphan, man of the sea, ship’s captain, man of honor, charismatic leader, superb lover, and more. That Isabella saves Cinead’s life is not lost on him and when he is able to return the favor he manages to do so even when not at his physical best. What I liked: * Isabella’s strength, intelligence, skills, calm demeanor, passion and so much more. * Cinead...I really liked him and how he managed to do what was needed even when he should have been laid flat on the floor PLUS he was a swoon-worthy book boyfriend – at least in my opinion. * Searc (though I think his name is said Shark) – his cunning and ability to play both sides for the benefit of all...especially himself. * Jean: for an older woman she is a great role model * Carmichael: the physician didn’t get a lot of time in the book but his role really supported Isabella’s abilities and character * The relationship between Isabella and Cinead and how the two grew together and as individuals. What I didn’t like: * Hudson the Hussar and his buddies – talk about people who deserve to be roasted on a spit over a fiery pit! * Habbie – and his village companions out to glean what they could from the ship that crashed on the rocks...I mean...really? Sure...the sea takes and it gives but it also gives not only goods from shipwrecks but also human lives that should be saved and not squandered! * The historical times – I hate reading about injustice...in the past or in the present and yet...sometimes the story has to have mention of these injustices to give them the setting and impact they need to solidify the story. What am I looking forward to in this series? (yes, I do want to read more in this series) * Finding out how Isabella and Cinead move forward now that they are a couple * Finding out more about Cinead’s background * Seeing who Maisie and Morrigan end up with * Finding out whether or not John Gordon survived his time under torture and finds a HEA. Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the ARC – This is my honest review. 5 Stars

ABOUT HIGHLAND CROWN:

Scottish pride, persuasion, and passion—this is Highland romance at its breathtaking best. Inverness, 1820 Perched on the North Sea, this port town—by turns legendary and mythological—is a place where Highland rebels and English authorities clash in a mortal struggle for survival and dominance. Among the fray is a lovely young widow who possesses rare and special gifts. WANTED: Isabella Drummond A true beauty and trained physician, Isabella has inspired longing and mystery—and fury—in a great many men. Hunted by both the British government and Scottish rebels, she came to the Highlands in search of survival. But a dying ship’s captain will steer her fate into even stormier waters. . .and her heart into flames. FOUND: Cinaed Mackintosh Cast from his home as a child, Cinaed is a fierce soul whose allegiance is only to himself … until Isabella saved his life—and added more risk to her own. Now, the only way Cinaed can keep her safe to seek refuge at Dalmigavie Castle, the Mackintosh family seat. But when the scandalous truth of his past comes out, any chance of Cinaed having a bright future with Isabella is thrown into complete darkness. What will these two ill-fated lovers have to sacrifice to be together…for eternity?

EXCERPT

Cinaed looked up into a woman’s face. Fine black eye- brows arched over brown eyes that were focused on his chest. Thick dark hair was pulled back in a braid and pinned up at the back of her head. Intent on what she was doing, she was unaware that he was awake.

Her brow was furrowed, and lines of concentration framed the corners of her mouth. The grey travel dress she wore was plain and practical. She was not old, but not young either. Not fat, not thin. From where he lay, he guessed she was neither tall nor short. She was beautiful, but not in the flashy way of the women who generally greeted sailors in the port towns. Nor was she like the eyelash-fluttering lasses in Halifax who never stopped trying to get his attention after a Sunday service. He didn’t bother to assess the pleasant symmetry of her face, however. The “brook no nonsense” expression warned

that she wasn’t one to care what others thought of her looks, anyway.

But who was she?

The last clear memory he had was seeing a flash from the shore. The next moment his chest had been punched with what felt like a fiery poker. Everything after that floated in a jumbled haze. He recalled being in the water, trying to swim toward some distant shore. Or was he struggling to reach the longboat again?

Cinaed didn’t know what part of his body hurt more, the fearsome pounding in his head or the burning piece of that poker still lodged in his chest.

“Where am I?” he demanded. “Who the deuce are you?”

Startled, she sat up straight, pulling away and scowl- ing down at him. In one blood-covered hand, she held a needle and thread. In the other, a surgeon’s knife that she now pointed directly at his throat.

“Try to choke me again and I’ll kill you.” “Choke you? For the love of God, woman!”

His ship. The reef. The explosion. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to clear away the fog. Everything he’d been through struck him like a broad- side.

The Highland Crown was gone. He’d detonated the powder himself. Where were his men? He’d climbed into the last longboat. They’d been fired at from the beach. He’d been shot.

Cinaed grabbed the knife-wielding wrist before she could pull it away. “Where are my men?”

An ancient woman in Highland garb slid into his line

of sight behind the younger one. She was making sure he saw the cudgel she had over one shoulder.

“This one is worth less than auld fish bait, mistress,” she taunted. The crone was ready and obviously eager to use that club. “And thankless, too, I’m bound. I was right when I said ye should never have saved him.”

Should never have saved him. He released the wrist, and the hand retreated. But the dark-haired woman didn’t move away. As if nothing had happened, she dropped the knife on the cot, out of his reach. The brown eyes again focused on his chest, and she put her needle back to work.

He winced but kept his hands off the woman.

By all rights, he should be dead. A musket ball had cut him down and knocked him into the water. He should in- deed be finished. Someone on shore had tried to kill him.

But he was alive, and apparently he owed his life to this one. Gratitude flowed through him.

“Want me to give him another knock in the head?” the old witch asked.

“Last stitch. Let me finish,” she said in a voice lacking the heavier burr of the northern accent. “You can kill him when I’m done.”

A sense of humor, Cinaed thought. At least, he hoped she was joking. She tied off the knot, cut the thread, and straightened her back, inspecting her handiwork. He lifted his head to see what kind of quilt pattern she’d made of him. A puckered line of flesh, topped by a row of neat stitches, now adorned the area just below his collarbone. He’d been sewn up by surgeons before, and they’d never done such a fine job of it. He started to sit up to thank her.

That was a grave mistake. For an instant, he thought the old woman had used her cudgel, after all. When he pushed himself up, his brain exploded, and he had no doubt it was now oozing out of his ears and eye sockets. The taste of bilge water bubbled up in his throat.

“A bucket,” he groaned desperately.

The woman was surprisingly strong. She rolled him and held a bucket as his stomach emptied. She’d been ex- pecting this, it appeared. However horrible he was feeling before, it was worse now as the room twisted and rocked and spun. Long stretches of dry heaves wracked his body. “Blood I can deal with,” the old woman grouched from somewhere in the grey haze filling the room. He heaved

again. “By all the saints!”

“I’ll clean up later. Don’t worry about any of this. Go sit by the fire, Jean. You’ve had a long night.”

Cinaed felt a wet cloth swab the back of his neck and his face.

Jean mumbled something unintelligible about “weak- bellied” and “not to be trusted” and “a misery.” When he hazarded a glance at her, she was glaring at him like some demon guarding the gates of hell.

“Does my nephew know that yer a doctor?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of him as she snatched up the knife and handed it to the younger woman.

A doctor! He lifted his head to look at her again. She was definitely a woman. And a fine-looking one, at that. He was still breathing, and she’d done an excellent job on whatever damage had been done to his chest by the bullet. But the possibility of any trained physician, or even a surgeon, being here in this remote corner of the High- lands was so implausible. Male or female.

“John knows.”

“But ye say yer not a midwife,” Jean persisted, a note of disbelief evident in her tone. “And not just a surgeon, in spite of all them fine, shiny instruments in that bag of yers.”

“I trained as a physician at a university. But I’m find- ing that my abilities as a surgeon have more practical uses wherever I go.”

University trained. Cinaed stole another look at her. She had an air of confidence in the way she spoke and acted that convinced him that she was telling the truth. And for the first time since the Highland Crown struck that reef, he wondered if his good fortune was still hold- ing, if only by thread. Lady Luck, apparently, had sent him Airmid, his own goddess of healing.

Long-forgotten words, chanted over some injury, came back to him from childhood. Bone to bone. Vein to vein. Skin to skin. Blood to blood. Sinew to sinew. Marrow to marrow. Flesh to flesh . . .

From the floor, she retrieved a bowl containing bloody cloths. A musket ball lay nestled like a robin’s egg on the soaked rags. By the devil, he thought, his admiration nearly overflowing. She’d not only stitched him together, she’d dug the bullet out of him.

The deuce! He’d never seen anyone like her. Frankly, he didn’t care if she came from the moon to practice medicine here. He owed his life to her.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Authors Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick (writing as May McGoldrick) weave emotionally satisfying tales of love and danger. Under the names of May McGoldrick and Jan Coffey, these authors have written more than thirty novels and works of nonfiction. Nikoo, an engineer, also conducts frequent workshops on writing and publishing and serves as a Resident Author. Jim holds a Ph.D. in Medieval and Renaissance literature and teaches English in northwestern Connecticut. They are the authors of Much ado about Highlanders, Taming the Highlander, and Tempest in the Highlands.

Buy this book: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250314987

Author website: https://www.maymcgoldrick.com/

Author Twitter: @MayMcGoldrick

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MayMcGoldrick/

SMP Romance Twitter: @SMPRomance or @heroesnhearts

SMP Romance Website: https://heroesandheartbreakers.com/

#May McGoldrick #Royal Highlander 1 #St. Martin's Press #SMP #NetGalley #Romance #Historical Romance #Scottish Romance #Romantic Suspense

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sailorspazz · 7 years

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[Fanfic] No Words (Black/Zamasu)

Yup, look at me, still caught up in this damn ship that isn’t getting nearly enough attention in the form of fan works. Hence, I was “forced” to write another story :3

Title: No Words

Series: Dragon Ball Super

Pairing: Black/Zamasu

Rating: M (for sex)

Words: 5,100

Summary: As a jealous Zamasu enacts punishment upon him, Black wonders what's really on his other self's mind.

Where to read: Posted on fanfiction.net and ao3. Or just click below!

Well well well…looks like this piece of fujoshi trash is at it again! A few months have passed since I wrote my previous fic about these two, and I’m still sailing hard on the Black/Zamasu ship. I’m a bit disappointed to see that not many on the English-speaking side of fandom have joined me in creating fan works, though :/ Seriously, the number of fics out there right now can be counted on one hand! So here I am, adding another one to the very small pile with the hope that we can someday make it into double digits…!

But I can at least take solace in the thriving Japanese ZamaBlack fan-art community, which led to the inspiration for this story. In fact, the premise is based on a particular comic by a highly prolific artist. Though the scenario may be distinct enough that those who’ve seen the original piece will probably recognize the source, it’s basically the setup and a small amount of dialogue that are similar, and I do my own thing with it from there.

One more thing: after I put myself out of my own element by making my previous fic about these guys a bit dark and twisted, this time I’m back in my more comfortable fluff and smut zone♥ Try not to gag on any excessive cuteness that may occur :P

Completed: 2017.02.15

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

“…completely unforgivable! How dare you!”

One moment I’m taking a well-earned nap following a hard day of working toward creating an ideal world, the next I’m being rudely awakened to hear the tail end of an accusation being hurled at me by my partner. I try to sit up, but find that I’m being pinned to the bed by an unseen force, still too groggy to comprehend what’s happening.

“I don’t care if you were just talking in your sleep,” he continues ranting, piercing me directly with a fiery glare now that he sees I’m waking up, “The only name you should ever speak is mine.” His hand snakes its way under my shirt, fingers stroking my chest and abs, and as I try to move again I realize that he’s using his godly powers to hold my mortal body immobile. Only my head and neck can move according to my own will, though it seems other parts can still move instinctually, as demonstrated by the erection forming in my pants. Even though I don’t know what’s going on, being forced down by him is undeniably a turn on.

The growing lump doesn’t escape his notice and his hand moves down to caress it, his gentle motions sharply contrasting with his irate expression. “Is this…for me?” he asks with a disconcerting amount of mock sweetness. “Or…for that Saiyan?” his tone darkens and he grasps my erection tightly. I cringe and gasp as he maintains his forceful grip for several unbearably long moments.

When he finally lets go, I look up at him, pleading for a measure of rationality. “Za…Zamasu, don’t be ridi—” He cuts me off with a brutal kiss, his tongue violently probing my mouth. I meet his lips with the same level of desire, even though as I’m clearing the fog of sleep from my mind, I find his behavior to be quite baffling. Based on what he’s said, I must have inadvertently mumbled Trunks’ name in my sleep. Yes, I can see why that could upset him, but his reaction still strikes me as rather extreme.

He breaks his lips away from mine, a silky thread of saliva briefly keeping our tongues connected as we part. “I have to punish you now,” he states coolly, making me leery for what sort of punishment he has in mind if that painful vicelike grip on my dick wasn’t even the start of it. But the menacing look in his eyes from moments ago has dissipated, and he now wears an impish grin as he slides my pants downward. “You need to repent for what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve ‘done’ is nothing. Talking in my sleep doesn’t…” I trail off as I realize he isn’t listening to my protest anyway, his attention becoming undividedly fixated on my dick as it pops up after he removes my pants. He takes it in his hands and is concentrating so hard that it almost seems as if he’s addressing it rather than me as a whole when he speaks.

“Now I’m going to make you come. For thirty minutes straight.” After making this declaration, he begins softly blowing on my erection, seemingly at odds with his stated goal. Such gentle stimulation isn’t going to get me off, after all, so if he wants to make me come over and over he’s going to have to get serious rather quickly.

But as he continues this seemingly unstimulating action, alternating between hitting me with cool, concentrated streams of air, exhaling warm breath onto me, and sucking air away from me, I soon discover that this is far more arousing than I would’ve expected. Perhaps the fact that I can’t move is making it even more effective (though if I tried, I could easily break out of his hold; even if his technique is highly effective on mortals, I have the mind of a god, not to mention a body that had access to godly ki even before I took it over). This teasing is making me yearn for him much more than I would if I could simply decide the pace as usual and do whatever I please.

And thus, an embarrassingly uncouth moan escapes my throat when he finally decides to take me into his mouth. After taking his time to work me up, he’s now going all out to finish me off. In an instant, he buries my erection so deep that the tip hits the back of his throat, then propels his head rapidly up and down. Not even a minute passes before his mouth fills with my cum, which he noisily gulps down, then he sloppily licks up small droplets that have dribbled out from his mouth onto my dick. He’s clearly playing this up, and looking so erotic doing it that I almost immediately become hard again.

My counterpart glances mischievously at me as he finishes running his tongue over my once again stiffened member. “Ready for more already?” he chuckles. He goes to work removing my remaining clothing, giving me a moment to go back to the thought of how odd this all seems. Of course I’m enjoying what he’s doing, but the reasoning behind it, this apparent jealousy over that Saiyan boy, makes absolutely no sense. How could he question our bond so much that he’d display such inexplicable insecurity? We’re working every day to create a utopia in which no one but the two of us will be left alive. Our dedication to our cause and each other is unshakeable. I would never—could never—betray him for anyone else; he must know this. So why…?

Zamasu undresses himself after he finishes throwing my clothes aside and lies on the bed next to me. Our faces are almost close enough to kiss, but he stays out of reach when I try to move my lips closer to his. He slides a hand down my body, firmly taking my erection in his hand, and begins stroking it at a leisurely pace.

I try searching his face for clues about what he’s thinking. Is this merely a sex game, and he came up with the contrived jealous lover act as a flimsy excuse to play out this fantasy? He notices that I’m looking at him and our eyes meet. I recall being told in the past that my face was highly inscrutable, and it was impossible for others to ascertain my mood just from looking at me. But knowing my own former face as well as I do, it’s usually easy for me to tell what my other self is feeling, mostly through those subtly expressive eyes. As I look into them, I can detect a myriad of emotions: a palpable sensual playfulness, a hint of steely determination, and, hidden a bit deeper, a sense of unease and anxiety. He’s not just putting on an act; there really is something worrying him. But I highly doubt it has anything to do with Trunks.

My partner seems to not appreciate the lingering, inquisitive look I’m giving him, and moves his face closer to mine. Just as our lips are about to touch, he fakes me out and pecks my cheek instead. Starting from there, he kisses a trail down my neck and across my collarbone, stopping once he reaches my chest. He drags his tongue over each nipple in turn, using long, laborious strokes to work them into rigid nubs. His hand starts working me a bit faster, though I can tell he’s still drawing this out and doesn’t intend for me to come right away, giving me a bit more time to think.

I know there’s no way he could legitimately believe that that Saiyan could tempt me to do anything other than use him to enhance my fighting skills. Zamasu and I have a link to each other that’s impossible to experience with anyone else. I’ve heard humans have a cliché of referring to romantic partners as being two bodies sharing one soul, but we actually embody that sentiment, and certainly have a far deeper understanding between us than those simpleminded pests could ever comprehend. No matter how long two separate beings have known each other—including gods who’ve spent countless millennia together—they could still never know the inherent kinship felt with another version of oneself. Calling it a relationship, a partnership, or anything of that sort that feels insufficient to describe what we share. There are no words for it; we are simply everything to each other.

Though our bond as a whole may be indefinable, obviously there’s a romantic and sexual side to it that’s heavily defined by mortal behavior. Gods don’t tend to form these sorts of relationships, so the way we act as a “couple” has ended up being based largely on what we’ve observed over long spans of human history. “Love” seems to be the closest representation of what we feel, though what we share goes far beyond that. And we do use that word to express our feelings for one another, even knowing that it’s basically meaningless to do so. Now I have to wonder if this jealous outburst is the result of Zamasu getting too carried away in the human-like influence of the romance we share, and he’s being swayed to act this way based on observations of how they behave when they betray each other.

The realization hits me that it’s a cover-up. This thought brings some sense of relief, knowing he doesn’t truly believe I would forsake our bond for any reason. But I can’t feel at ease yet, because there’s still something bothering him, and the fact that I don’t know what it is disturbs me immensely. As kindred spirits, it shouldn’t be possible to have misunderstandings or secrets between us. And yet, we’ve noticed during the years we’ve spent together that our personalities have gradually started to diverge. At our core, we’re both still Zamasu, but the differences in our life experiences, though in terms of time have been a very small percentage, have included hugely formative events like my decision to take over the body of Son Gokuu. Up until now, our emerging differences have been insignificant enough that they’ve only led to occasional minor disagreements. Now he’s intentionally hiding something from me, and even trying to cover it up. Still, I believe in our connection to each other more than anything, and I will figure out what’s on his mind, even if he doesn’t want me to know.

I can feel Zamasu becoming serious about getting me off as he starts to jerk me more vigorously. He breaks away from licking my nipples and looks me directly in the eye, maintaining eye contact as he repositions his body, silently imploring me to keep watching him. He puts his face near my dick, and though I expect him to finish me off with his mouth again, he keeps stroking away, still staring at me with a sly sparkle in his eyes. I finally succumb to his energetic hand job and release my load all over his face. The sensuousness of his joyously amorous expression increases many times over when covered in a fine sheen of jizz, I discover.

He can tell that I’m completely in awe of him, and grins lecherously as he licks his lips. “Mmm…the taste of you just drives me wild.” He wipes some of the cum off his cheek with his hand, then starts rubbing it against his nipples. “It feels so good on my body. I want to feel it…everywhere.” His hand moves down to his dick, touching the tip where his pre-cum is leaking out and mixing our fluids together. “I want it…Ah! Inside me…” He moans as he moves his hand around to his backside, pushing cum coated fingers into his asshole.

God damn, I wish I could move right now. He’s making me lust for him so hard, I can’t even think straight enough to figure out how to counteract his god powers and release myself from his hold. And he looks incredibly pleased with himself as he gazes down at me, relishing my obvious agitation. I’d love to throw him down and fuck that smug smirk right off him…though I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants me to be thinking right now, and doing so would only heighten his smugness to new levels.

He stops fingering himself and brings his face close to mine, offering me the cheek still dripping with cum. “Taste it,” he softly commands, quickly switching to his dominant side after teasing me with his submissiveness. We’re both capable of fulfilling either of these roles for each other, so I willingly submit and begin licking him. I brush my lips and tongue over his cheek, tasting my own essence, lapping up every last bit. When I attempt to move to the other side of his face to slurp up whatever he failed to wipe off before, he stops me by catching my mouth with his own, pulling me into a long, probing kiss. When he detaches his lips from mine, he scolds me playfully, “I said you could taste it, not have all of it. Now I’ll have to make more…”

His hand latches onto my dick again, though this time he’s slathering it in a lubricating substance of his own creation. He maneuvers his body so he’s straddling my lap facing away from me. I can see him peeking over his shoulder to make sure I’m watching him; clearly he’s chosen this position to ensure I have a good view of what he’s doing. So I obediently look at the intensely erotic sight of my own erection slowly entering his ass as he pushes down on me. He slides it all the way in in one drawn out, smooth motion, then rises up again to repeat the process. After a few of these protracted establishing thrusts, his hips start moving with more speed and power, and he starts throwing in moans and yelps that I can tell aren’t entirely genuine, yet still sound so enticing.

And as I remember what he stated at the beginning of all this, I have to wonder, how the hell does he consider this a punishment? Immobilizing me and “forcing” me to endure incredible sex hardly seems like an effective deterrent. Then I realize that calling it such was also a cover-up to hide his true intentions. Thinking back to everything he’s done to me so far, it seems more like this is supposed to be a showcase of his skills.

I’m momentarily distracted by the feeling that I’m about to come…except right before I get there, he suddenly slows his pace way down, preventing me from hitting that peak. Which only solidifies in my mind that he’s indeed showing off how well he knows my body. Back when we first teamed up, it was much easier for me to pleasure him than the other way around, since I had the advantage of knowing everything about the body I formerly occupied. Zamasu, on the other hand, had to learn how to best satisfy the body of Son Gokuu…and did he ever. Over the past few years, we’ve spent countless hours enjoying each other’s company, exploring and experimenting, doing things this body’s original inhabitant would never dream of. I’d say at this point, when it comes to pleasing my body, my other self probably knows even more than I do.

He knows too much, in fact, as he again builds me up to just before the point of climax, only to deny me once more. I protest with a dissatisfied grunt and he glances back at me, looking more self-satisfied than ever. He doesn’t say a word, but looking into his eyes I can clearly imagine his voice: “See, you don’t need anyone else. No one knows you like I do.” I know he doesn’t believe I’d leave him for Trunks, but I can tell there’s some threat he doesn’t want to lose me to, and I still have no idea who or what it is.

He repeats this pattern again. And again. And my mind starts becoming so mired in desperation that I can’t even keep count anymore, but after at least a half dozen repetitions I feel close to losing it. My body is trembling, aching for the release he refuses to grant me. I try to plead with him, though I can barely even speak through my haggard breaths. “Za…su…”

“Beg,” he states bluntly, not even bothering to turn his head to address me.

“Pl…se…”

And he immediately picks up the pace again, thrusting himself down onto me vigorously. I’m quickly pushed over the edge, the primal vocalizations pouring out of me shockingly undignified and unbefitting of a god. He waits until all of my seed has been emptied into him, then lies down next to me on his side, watching my body shiver as I recover. “How was that?” he asks, and though my eyes aren’t even open I can just hear the smirk in his voice.

Despite the fact that my breath is still coming in shallow gasps, I attempt to answer anyway. “You…you’re not really…doing what you said…”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“You said…you’d make me come…as many times as possible…in thirty minutes.”

He snickers. “Well, that’s not actually how I phrased it. I never mentioned anything about the number of times.” I open my eyes and see that he’s giving me a highly seductive look with those smoky gray eyes. “Just that I’d keep you coming continuously. Of course that includes the buildup to that payoff. Wouldn’t you rather have quality over quantity?” His hand drifts down to my cock again, caressing it tenderly. “Although we still have a few minutes left, so we could try for one more…”

But after that last insanely powerful orgasm, I find it highly unlikely I’ll be able to get hard again before time is up, even with Zamasu’s unmatched skill. “I…I don’t think it’ll…”

A slight furrow appears on his brow as he tries and fails to make my flaccid member erect again. But his expression turns alarmingly sadistic in an instant. “Then…I suppose…” He sits up and appears to be stroking his own erection now. “…there are other ways to make you come.” I realize that he’s not merely touching himself, but is applying lubrication.

I look at him warily. It’s not that we never do it this way—though usually it only happens if I’m rather intoxicated. I certainly don’t mind letting him do whatever he wants to me, but I am concerned about that vicious grin on his face. I realize now that he’s been so focused on demonstrating his precise control over my body that he hasn’t come even once yet, so he’s probably incredibly pent up and eager to unleash his passion on me.

I suddenly find myself being forcefully flipped over. His hand connects with my ass, smacking it sharply. I instinctively cry out, though not entirely from pain; I have a masochistic side too, after all, so this isn’t actually unpleasant to me. He continues slapping, and I groan salaciously each time he makes contact; I can’t work him up quite as much as he did to me earlier since I still can’t move, but I can do my best to play this up.

I hear him chuckle after he stops spanking me, brushing his hand against the spot he had been concentrating his strikes upon. “My, what a pretty pink color. So your ass can turn Rosé too?” Once he finishes admiring his handiwork, he yanks me upright roughly by my hair. He wraps an arm around me to help keep me vertical as his mouth attacks my neck and shoulder, gnawing on me ferociously then dragging his tongue across the wounds he’s caused. He moves up to my ear, tickling me with his warm breath as he whispers demandingly, “Who do you belong to?”

“You. Only you,” I answer unwaveringly, wanting him to know how much I mean these words. “We belong…only to ourselves.”

His voice sounds slightly calmer as he chimes in, though still a bit on edge. “Only us two. No other…”

“Only us kindred spirits, sharing the same mind and soul, are worthy of each other.” As I’m about to turn my head toward him, he’s already jerking me back and kissing me fiercely. I can sense a surprisingly large amount of insecurity behind this action. Somehow my efforts to allay his unspoken concerns have only made things worse.

He lets go of my hair and unwraps his arm from around me, causing my limp body to flop inelegantly down onto the bed. He rolls me onto my side and scoots forward to position himself between my legs, lifting the top one slightly. I grimace as he pushes his hips forward and slides himself inside me, not at all bothering to start out slow and gentle. As he continues thrusting at a steady pace, at first I’m biting my lip and hissing at the pain, since I’m not used to being taken by him this way. But as he continues, he starts hitting me in just the right spot, and I find myself panting and moaning involuntarily. He takes my sensual vocalizations as a sign that he can ramp this up a bit, and begins plunging into me deeper and faster. The room fills with the sounds of the bed creaking, our skin slapping, and my own moans quickly increasing in pitch and fervor. He brings his mouth down to my nipple, sucking and licking and biting, sending me even more into a frenzy; if I were able to move, I’d absolutely be writhing in pleasure right now. It won’t be long until he makes me come…

But I’m abruptly ripped from this blissful state as he pulls out of me, leaving me bereft. I sit up and glare at him. “What the hell…?” I start to shout, belatedly realizing that he’s released his hold on me and I’m able to move again.

“It’s been thirty minutes. Your punishment’s over now,” he explains in an irritatingly matter-of-fact manner. But then slyness creeps into his expression. “Now you’re free to do…whatever you please.” Obviously he’s expecting—and hoping—for me to exact revenge upon him. And I’m very much inclined to do so, but after spending the last half hour completely at his mercy, I don’t want this to play out exactly as he thinks it will.

I shoot him a sinister grin, then shove him down on the bed and crawl on top of him. “What I’d like to do is…” At first he looks at me with anticipation, fully expecting me to spread his legs and fuck the hell out of him. Then he looks perplexed as I straddle his lap instead. “…finish what you started.” I press my hips downward, inserting him inside me once more. As I rock up and down, my smile grows as I see him gripping the sheets and gasping, the flushed coloring on his face spreading like fire all the way out to his pointed ear tips. Even after everything he did to me before, he still hasn’t come yet, so this’ll probably be over quickly. I start to buck my hips wildly, relishing the lustful moans coming out of him. My hands are pressed against his chest to brace myself as I grind against him, and his hand moves up to rest upon mine. One of his fingers brushes against the Time Ring, and in that moment I see a hint of distress in his eyes.

And after more than thirty minutes of unsuccessfully trying to figure out what’s been bothering my other self, all it takes is one almost imperceptibly subtle change of expression to give me the one hint I needed to tie all the clues together. It’s true that we’re the same in most ways, but the biggest difference between our personalities is my high level of ambition. My need to exact justice on the evil I could no longer sit back and watch is what brought us together, but I realize now that he worries it could also tear us apart. It’s likely a fear he doesn’t want to legitimize by speaking aloud, but he thinks it’s possible that I’ll reach the point where I won’t need him anymore. Of course he knows no other god or mortal could come between us, but knowing that other versions of us exist in other worlds means there’s still someone else out there with whom I could form the same kind of unrivalled partnership. This reason for his jealousy does make logical sense, but I still can’t help but feel he should believe in our bond more than that. He needs to recognize how important he is to me, without having to resort to trying to “prove” his value.

I cease my hip movements momentarily, bringing my face down close to his. “Zamasu…” I cup his chin in my hand and smile tenderly. “I don’t need any other me but you.” His eyes widen, then soften, and he beams with pure joy and relief. I push myself up for leverage again and thrust him deeply inside me a few more times, bringing us both to our climax simultaneously. He throws his head back and lets out a tantalizing shout as his body shudders and ejaculates inside me. I wait for him to finish filling me up, then roll off of him onto my side. We wrap our arms around each other and spend several long moments just listening to our own heavy, perfectly synced breathing.

“Th-thank you,” Zamasu stutters once he fully regains his breath. “I…I realize it may have been unfounded, but I’ve been worrying about that recently.” He looks timid, almost ashamed that these doubts even crossed his mind. “I know you’ve noticed too that we’ve been diverging lately. We don’t always agree anymore, so I thought…maybe you’d rather move on and start over with another Zamasu. You could learn from what happened with us and find another version that you could stay better in sync with.”

I shake my head adamantly to dismiss his fears. “Traveling to another time in the first place was a huge risk. With each world having its own circumstances, there was no guarantee that I’d find another me. Other versions of myself could’ve not existed at all, or might’ve even been appalled by my plan and tried to stop me. I wasn’t looking for just any other me; it had to be one that wholeheartedly supported what I was doing…and I found that in you. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have ended up with you, because I have no doubt that this combination of us is the best possible partnership. So what if we have petty disagreements? That’s utterly meaningless in comparison to all that we do share. Our minds, our souls still resonate on a far deeper level than anyone else is capable, or even worthy of understanding. No matter where the Zero Mortals Plan takes us, you will always be by my side. I need only you, I want only you…”

I’m cut off as he leans forward and softly brushes his lips against mine. He smiles warmly at me. “I know. I should’ve never doubted you. It’s just…these feelings we have are so overwhelming, it’s hard for me to stay rational when it comes to you. But I know that I…that we…” Our eyes are fiercely locked in an unwavering gaze, both feeling completely engulfed by a swirl of unbearably strong emotions, and we say the words together.

“…Love ourselves…more than anything.” Practically speaking, expressing our love shouldn’t hold that much meaning, but in reality it’s profoundly heartwarming to do so. We’re compelled bring our lips together and share a delicate kiss. It stays very chaste at first, gradually progressing to us opening our mouths slightly, then a bit more to let our tongues touch lightly. We start with them barely brushing together, slowly work up to sliding them against each other, and eventually allow them to enter each other’s mouths. Even then we keep our pace unhurried, breathing into each other deeply, caressing each other with the soft touch of our lips and tongues. It becomes so overpoweringly intense that we ultimately need to break it off to get a hold of our senses again. We stare at each other intently, basking in the heated passion threatening to overflow once more. His eyes are shimmering from the pure enormity of our love for each other, and I’m sure mine must be too.

There may be no words that even come close to describing what this is. But what we share, what we feel, what we are is simply…

“Beautiful…”

THE END

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Hhnnnngggghh♥, oh my god, I love these two so much~! I don't even care if the fluff got too mushy, I just want them to be happyyyy...why they gotta die ;_; Anyway, I hope it was enjoyable, and I look forward to seeing what the fandom continues to produce for this ridiculously addictive couple (moar fics plz :3)

#fanfic #dragon ball super #zamasu #goku black

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ne1comics · 7 years

Text

My Gender

I've been having a lot of trouble writing lately. Whatever, it happens. It's not like I'm doing it for a living or even for any money at all anyway. But yesterday I started writing this. I think if I get this all out I'll be able to write again like I used to. It started as a poem but I hated it. I don't know what to call it now. It's not a confessional. It's not coming out. It's not educational in any way. I'm just talking. I know lots of you are tired of hearing me talk about gender. Or you love when I talk about gender because hey, at least Connar isn't talking about politics for once. The truth is, although I've come out of Facebook, most people I talk to don't know I'm genderqueer, they just think I'm a guy who dresses odd even feminine sometimes, they don't believe there's more than 2 genders or a combination of all 3. The only people left in my friends list are people who haven't outright expressed views that make me feel unsafe which isn't a whole lot of people. Worse than that, I don't know if my parents know yet. I've made the information available. They have Facebook. I express my gender in how I dress around them. I've just never had a conversation about it with them. They are great parents who support me no matter what, but we don't talk about personal stuff ever and both of them drop casual transphobia and misogyny without realizing they are doing anything wrong. Shut up, Connar, no one wants to hear about that. This isn't my back story about coming to terms with my queerness, although I guess it is. This isn't me dissecting everything I did as a kid and how it should have been obvious to me sooner, although I guess it is. This is about me writing a thing down because I need a therapist but you guys will have to do, although I guess it's not. It's easy for me to write this then dissociate long enough to hit post than it is for me to just talk to anyone about any of this in real life. Trust me, I'm going to want to delete this in embarrassment in a day, a week, a month, a year. I'm not going to let myself do that so just do me a favor and don't read this. Especially the bad poetry. It's such bad poetry. My gender is pedals arranged from lightest to darkest before a breeze washes them away. It's a box of chocolates that are sometimes reese's and sometimes dark caramel. A tadpole swimming away as you place a bare foot in the cool rushing water. Not many people know this. I'm not sure why they would. I don't tell people and I don't talk about it. Maybe I'm embarrassed because it's unofficial. I'm definitely embarrassed for a ton of other internalized stuff. I have self diagnosed dysphoria and dissociation. The dysphoria I've had for a long time, a very long time in fact. I was only able to confidently identify it in myself in the past 2 years or so. None of that should be all that surprising given that I came out as genderqueer last year. The dissociation I have known about longer but told fewer people about. My gender is the trees you can't see as the dawn blinds you. It's the active volcano 150 years past its last predicted eruption. The black marching jacket bought as a Halloween costume and worn year round. I used to have a temper when I was younger. Looking back, it's kind of obvious now that I was lashing out from being frustrated by the dysphoria. I was frustrated by a lot of thing actually. I wouldn't just throw tantrums when I didn't get my way. I was quiet most of the time. The tantrums were thrown when I would try to speak and got interrupted. The tantrums were thrown when I would try to use reason like the adults told us to use and was ignored even by those same adults. Then of course, if my logic was wrong, I would argue it anyway, hating not being right. Friends aren't easy to keep when you act like that. I kept that temper for a long time but somewhere along the way, where tantrums would have been, dissociation took their places. My gender is the bear explaining that its cubs are nearby as you continue to approach. It's the phone going to voicemail but not leaving the message. The blue bleeding into the purple but only on a field of black. Sure, my temper still flared sometimes in middle school and high school. If you beat me at any game, you ran the risk of seeing it resurface. I really was a sore loser. Unfortunately, my classmates saw a major meltdown when Mr. Sullivan taped a childhood picture of me in a pink bunny costume on the board. But for the most part, my mind removed me from lots of situations. Dissociation doesn't mean I sat there zoned out. I would continue conversations, participate in group settings, interact with classmates the same, but it wasn't me. I remembered things that happened as if I was looking at myself from the outside. There was no emotion attached to anything I was saying or doing. So much became about a performance of what I thought other people would do in situations without draw any attention to myself. Marching band made it easy to justify to myself that this was what everybody did. I still felt different, but I was playing a part just like everyone else. My gender is a gesture to three stars saying, "there's orion's belt, and his legs there, and that's his sword." It's never being able to pick out another constellation. A retreat from the aliens before the ship opens. As I began to recognize I was dissociating, a lot of things became easier. I mislabeled things I did because my brain was refusing to feel fear, or disgust, or shame in those moments. Then, when I was dissociating, I could do some things again because I knew I had already done them. Mislabeling emotions became too commonplace. Even now I'm still reassigning the correct emotions to past relationships. I had friendships that I realize now may have been attraction. I had girlfriends who I wasn't attracted to, to me strictly platonic so I accidentally lead them on. I made enemies and straight up hated people I actually maybe cared about keeping in my life. My gender is a conspiracy theory about the mechanics of time travel. It's disguised as novel, no, a comic, no, a TV show, no, a novel. The funds being spent on rent but the theory proven correct in memories being reframed. A pretty great thing about dissociation is the lack of ownership of my body. My pain tolerance is pretty astronomical if I know the pain is coming. This was ideal for playing cymbals in drum line, carrying around the largest saxophone, and getting hit in the face with a soccer ball. I could do anything to my body without much thought. My sister pierced my ears in our parents' bathroom. I stretched those to 1/2" guages. I dyed my hair crazy colors. I grew it out. I shaved it into a Mohawk, then bald the day before my driving permit picture. I got a tattoo as soon as I turned 18. I don't regret any of that, though I guess I do want to change the male symbol on my back to something more accurate. Planning is something I did for a lot of stuff, but when big stuff was happening in the moment, my dissociation would say "just do it, that's not even you anyway." My gender is holding the door open, not for a significant other, anyone a different gender than me, or the group I'm entering with, but for everyone. It's ordering food and asking 4 times who wants the last piece. Guilting someone who won't finish their food into offering the rest. And it wasn't me. I'm beginning to think that's why the dysphoria didn't bother me that much. Actually I can say with some confidence that I know that's why my dysphoria never got the better of me. It's also why I'm coming to terms with my gender identity so late in life. If you knew me in high school or before, you know I hated pictures of myself. I didn't let them happen. Dissociation let me do anything in the moment, but a picture was a record. It would come up again and I'd be told by the act of seeing the picture that "this body is you." I never I had the context for it then but that was my dysphoria kicking me repeatedly in the head. Now, I can look back at those pictures. If I knew then what I know about myself now, I could have morphed that body into one my gender dysphoria would be okay with. I could have had a goal for all those changes I made to it. Maybe I wouldn't have looked like a completely different person from year to year. I'm getting a handle on it. My gender is being socialized as a boy and performing toxic masculinity to form romantic bonds with platonic friends. It's only feeling a connection to an item of clothing the first time you purchase from the women's section. Wobbly eyeliner smudged to look straight. My gender isn't for anyone but me.

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ulikando-blog · 5 years

Text

The Quantum Rabbit

The door to Erbot’s room vibrated loudly. He wrenched open the metal panel to reveal Ark’s grinning face.

“So,” said Ark, exuding charisma as always, from a gland just above his right eyelid (his long tongue flicked out and caught the drop before it fell). “Where’s this rabbit then?”

Erbot pointed across the room, to where a newly bought hutch stood, its guilty door hanging open.

“It’s underneath there,” he said. “At least.. I think it is. It’s hard to tell.”

Ark advanced to the hutch with his usual childish glee, pulled its door wide and inspected the interior.

“The captain said I might have to get rid of it,” continued Erbot, “He came to tell me himself, in person, at breakfast.”

Erbot had bought the rabbit when they docked a few days ago. They were on a cruise ship, hopping between the closest three planets in the solar system. The last stop had been to a space station with themed swimming pool, water park and gift shop. The rabbit’s bulging eyes had called to him as those of a fellow lonely soul and he had bought it in an uncharacteristic nod at spontaneity.

“Why do you have to get rid of it?” said Ark, lying down on the floor to get a good look under the hutch. “There’s loads of pets on board. I saw a girl yesterday with a pink llama! She was hot. The girl not the llama.”

Erbot shrugged.

“The captain said it could be dangerous, I have to catch it and take it to him. Apparently its a Quantum Rabbit.”

“What's that?”

“I dunno,” said Erbot. “One of them I suppose.”

The rabbit’s fat, whiskered face poked out from under the hutch and stared, petrified at Ark’s shiny face in front of it.

“It’s a bit weird looking,” said Ark. “Why is it all bulgy at the front and back and thin in the middle?”

“Dunno. The shopkeeper said it’s orbital.”

“That’s a roundabout way of putting it. Why don’t you just pick it up?”

“Ha!” said Erbot. “It’s not so easy. I’ve been trying for hours.”

Ark gingerly stretched out a hand towards it. As he did, the rabbit slowly started revolving at its center, as though it were sitting on a motorized Lazy Susan.

“What’s it doing?”

“It’s spinning.”

The rabbit rapidly gathered speed, spinning faster and faster. Soon it was spinning so fast that it appeared to be a large, pulsating donut of fluff.

“Now what do we do?”

Erbot had seen this several times already today, and so wasn’t surprised to see it again. The next bit was usually more interesting though.

“I know! I know!” said Ark, triumphantly. “Put a towel over it so it can’t see and then just bundle it up and put it in the cage!”

“Sure,” said Erbot, a little smile escaping at the edge of his mouth. “On you go. Be my guest.”

He pointed to the many towels which were now strewn all over the room, as though they had been organized by a tornado.

“Take your pick.”

“Right,” said Ark, grabbing the nearest towel.

He sidled nonchalantly towards the whirling fur-ball.

“You see,” said Ark, knowledgeably. “You’re probably too quick for it. I used to have a rabbit. You need to be smooth about it. Like I am.”

He stretched out the towel and slowly prepared to leap.

“You have to catch it by surprise,” he added.

He lurched towards the rabbit, and slammed the towel into the floor.

“Ha Ha!” he shouted, then. “Ohlp!?”

The towel twisted into a tight helix and was catapulted across the room.

Ark’s eyebrow raised quizzically as a burst of blue electricity leaped from the floor and hit him on the knee.

The spinning rabbit had disappeared.

“Ow!” Ark rubbed his knee. “Well my rabbit never did that.”

“Now,” Erbot sighed, “we have to look for it again.”

“Why? Where’s it gone?”

“I don’t know. After all that business it disappears and then turns up in somewhere small and dark, like under the bed or in the cupboard.”

Ark started frantically searching all the possible places the rabbit could have gone, even looking in his own pockets.

“No,” said Erbot. “If we find it then it will just do the same thing again.”

Ark thought for a moment. He didn’t usually do much thinking. It was quite a long moment. His tongue flicked to his eyebrow to catch another drop of charisma.

“Ok,” he said at last. “Lets go for a beer.”

Erbot should have expected this. Why did he think Ark was a good person to call in an emergency situation? He couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes. When they had been at the water park, Ark had waited in an hour-long queue for the highest water slide but when, almost at the top, he forgot what they were doing and dragged Erbot away for an ice-cream.

The problem was that Ark was the only friend he’d made on this two year long cruise. Erbot wasn’t very good at socializing. Look, he’d even failed to make friends with this ugly rabbit.

“Come on,” protested Ark, “let’s go. I wanna beer.”

“What am I going to do about this rabbit?”

Ark shrugged. “He can have a beer too if he wants.”

“Ha ha,” Erbot said, but suspected that he might actually be being serious. “I can’t leave it here. What if it... does something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Chews through the wiring? Anyway I don’t like the beer, it’s powdered.”

“Everything’s powdered... expect the tomatoes of course. Everything we can afford anyway,” said Ark, then shrugged again. “Suit yourself but I’m going.”

He slid back the door and bounced into the corridor.

Erbot surveyed the bomb site that was his room. Towels and clothes decorated all surfaces where the rabbit-vortex had thrown them. His computer panel lay cracked on the floor where he had tripped during one attempt to capture it. The entertainment screen on the wall flickered white lines across it’s warped face. He hadn’t left the room since he had come back from breakfast to find the rabbit had escaped.

“Wait for me!” he pulled on some plastic clogs and ran to follow Ark, closing the door tight behind him.

Ark had stopped in the corridor to show his arm muscles to a bemused looking cleaning girl.

“Don’t bother cleaning that room,” Erbot said to her, pointing back to his door.

The girl hurried away down the corridor, glancing back at them like a child who has just been offered sweets by a strange man.

Ark’s wide eyes followed her as she disappeared around a corner.

“What happened?” he said. “Was it something I said?”

It was true, girls did usually find him enticingly attractive. It was strange for her to have had such an odd reaction.

“It was probably just because I’m here,” Erbot mourned. “Girls never like me.”

“Hey!” said Ark, slapping him supportively on the back. “You’re probably right!”

He strode towards the food hall, Erbot traipsing behind.

***

The food hall was always packed at this time of day. In fact it was packed at all times of the day. There were people on this cruise from so many different parts of the solar system that their meal and sleeping schedule mismatches ranged from “10 minutes later for lunch” to “I’ll have breakfast and you have bedtime coco”. There were always people wide awake and ready to eat, which was one of the reasons why Erbot had so much trouble sleeping. It’s hard to fall asleep when you know that, somewhere nearby, a beautiful woman is eating a three-course steak lunch, particularly when they’re both so unobtainable.

The queue for the bar was quite long when they arrived, but shortened considerably as a large group of women seemed to collectively decide that this was not the right time for beer as Ark and Erbot approached. Ark winked suggestively at one departing girl, who smiled back, but continued retreating, a conflicted look on her face. They joined the end of a now all-male queue.

Standing in front was a beak-nosed, balding man and two boys with large foreheads. The boys greeted them with manly nods and the balding man registered their presence by staring at their shoes.

“Of course,” he said, not looking up from the floor, “we are infinitely more likely to encounter a black hole on this voyage than an alien.”

“How come?” said one of the boys. The unlikely trio were obviously as deep into a conversation as they were likely to get.

“Yeah,” said the other. “Aliens fly around and stuff. Black holes just sit there, looking... holey.”

The balding man, whose name was Krunst, ejected a burst of air from his beaky nose.

“But we’ve never!” he hissed, his face turning mauve. “Ever. Found an alien! Not one! It’s a matter of probability. We’ve seen infinitely more black holes than aliens because there aren’t any aliens.”

“Probably,” said Erbot sadly.

Krunst shot a withering look at Erbot’s clogs.

“Yes,” he hissed reluctantly. “There probably aren’t any aliens. So, to the best of our knowledge, we are infinitely more likely to hit a black hole.”

Krunst breathed out and his face returned to a pasty white. He and Erbot didn’t really get on. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other, it was just that they were both so socially awkward that potential conversations never took off. Instead they stood around staring at each others shoes and failing to interact.

“You know what I like about you Krunst?” said Ark, displaying an electric grin. “You’re clever.”

Ark’s eyes were flitting around the food hall. His long tongue flicked to his forehead.

“Have you seen the girls in this room?” he nudged Erbot. “I’d sure like to rub against some of them. Let’s go and talk to them.”

Erbot figured that if he got within a metre of any girl the only thing he’d be rubbing against was a block of ice where they’d punched him in the face.

Ark made a beeline for a chubby girl wearing furry bunny ears and naughty eyebrows. She giggled at his wolf whistle, but then seemed worried as he advanced towards her and ran to hide under a nearby table.

“So I take it you want me to get you a beer then?” Erbot shouted after him.

“Yeah! Good idea man,” said Ark, catching sight of a beautiful, lizard-skinned girl near the cashier's desk and pursuing her instead.

Suddenly, the entire ceiling of the food hall flashed with pulsing red lights which lit up the room like an all-you-can-eat disco. Sirens blared and a booming voice spoke through the huge speakers in the walls.

“Warning,” it said. “This is a security announcement. Please do not approach this man. I repeat, this man is dangerous.”

Erbot looked up at the ceiling to see a 15ft high version of his passport photograph staring back at him.

It was not a pretty picture. At 1 inch tall it was a bad photo but stretched across the whole ceiling it was terrifying. The slight squint in his eyes from when the camera flash had gone off now looked like the frown of a disgruntled rhinoceros, and his badly positioned smile like the sneer of a constipated leopard. A woman across the room screamed, pointing at the photograph. This was a little unfair, Erbot thought, at least he had been wearing a shirt.

An circle of people quickly formed around him and stared like a cactus had suddenly sprouted from his forehead.

“Are you a terrorist?” one of them shouted.

“I don’t think so,” said Erbot.

He looked again at his snarling face on the ceiling. It did look like the face of a dangerous terrorist. Perhaps he was.

(It must be noted here that, in fact, everyone’s passport photo has the expression of a dangerous terrorist. Anyone who claims to have a good passport photo is highly suspicious, and should probably be arrested.)

“You! Stop!”

A biohazard suit pushed through the circle of people, pointing a bright orange, gloved finger at Erbot.

“Stop!” it repeated.

Erbot glanced down at his feet; they looked stopped to him.

The biohazard suit loomed over him.

“Are you Erbot Figgle of Room 8463B?” it said.

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid we have an issue regarding your rabbit.”

“I know,” said Erbot. “I did mean to bring it to the captain, honest, only it’s escaped.”

“Did you touch the rabbit?”

“Well yes, maybe once or twice. I was trying to catch it.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to escort you off the ship. You are dangerously contaminated. You will be confined to your room until we reach the next station in 3 days, then we will have to leave you there for a decade or so.”

“A decade!!” exclaimed Erbot “Just because I bought a rabbit!!?”

“I’m sorry, you’ll need ten years to calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“It’s unfortunate,” said the biohazard suit, “but you shouldn’t have been sold the rabbit. The cage was supposed to be empty as part of a promotion with gerbil growth supplements. The rabbit was there by mistake.”

Across the room Ark was failing to hit it off with an entire group of thirty, blond haired, green skinned girls near the mustard fountain, oblivious to everything else as always.

“The shop doesn’t usually stock Quantum Rabbits,” added the biohazard suit. “They’re too dangerous.”

Krunst, who had been staring thoughtfully at the orange, biohazard boots looked up suddenly.

“Quantum Rabbits!..” he proclaimed, “are very interesting creatures...”

He coughed to be sure he had their attention, then launched into lecture mode.

“At rest they are docile creatures but when they perceive that they are being attacked they move to a superposition, although it is uncertain exactly how they do this - ”

The biohazard suit cut in, irritated that this pale man was trying to steal its thunder.

“Yes,” it said. “The rabbit is measured to have supercharged the surrounding environment, including Mr Figgle here, and moved to a superposition within his room.”

“It went under the bed,” offered Erbot. “I don’t think it was a very super position.”

“Of course,” said Krunst, “anything it touched would be at risk of excitation.”

“Yes, thank you sir,” said the biohazard suit, quickly. “Mr Figgle is electrically, positively excited.. and thus very dangerous.”

Erbot didn’t feel very excited.

“In fact, he’s supercharged. Anything which Mr Figgle touches is in danger of cancellation, particularly if its negatively charged. So don’t go near any women.”

A tall, dusty looking woman pushed her way into the circle and glared accusingly at the biohazard suit.

“How dare you! Women?! Negatively charged?” she barked. Are you trying to be funny? I’ll report you to the captain.”

“No madam,” the biohazard suit sighed, “I’m not being sexist. It’s the cosmetics. All the perfume, lipstick and skin cream on board has been negatively charged for cosmetic reasons. Its supposed to make the skin sparkle apparently.”

“Yes. Well! Even so...” tutted the woman, rejoining the crowd and leaving behind the smell of old teabags.

“Any woman,” continued the biohazard suit, “who Mr Figgle touches skin with is at high risk of reacting and... well...”

“You’ll blow the ship into pieces,” said Krunst knowledgeably.

There was an audible gasp from the circle of people. One man dropped the sandwich he’d been eating. Several women tried to hide behind their handbags.

“So don’t touch any girls!” shouted somebody.

Erbot didn’t think that was going to be a problem.

“Get him!” shouted one man. “We can’t have such a dangerous person on our ship.”

He advanced towards Erbot menacingly.

“What if the animal escapes?” cried someone else. “We’ll all die.”

“Yes kill it. Kill it,” shouted someone else. “Our lives depend on it.”

“Kill them both!” said another. “Why take the risk?”

“Hey!” Ark’s voice came from the other side of the food hall. He was chatting up a beautiful girl with immaculate green hair, dazzling eyes and sparkling skin, oblivious to the rest of the room.

“Hey Erbot!” he shouted. “Can you get another beer for my new friend here?”

The girl examined her fingernails and yawned.

“What about him?” said Erbot to the baying crowd. “Ark’s touched the rabbit too.”

Everybody in the circle held their breath simultaneously. Suddenly their life hung in the hands of this randy idiot who was standing worryingly close to a female wearing more make-up than an oompa-loompa in drag.

“Sir.” the biohazard suit boomed. “Step away from the woman.”

Ark pointed at himself in surprise.

“Me?”

“You can’t be near that girl, Ark,” piped up Krunst. “You’re positively excited.”

“I was born positively excited, man,” Ark grinned. “That’s why I’ve gotta be near her.”

“You’re in danger of releasing an unprecedented amount of energy into the ship if you touch her skin,” continued Krunst.

“I’m counting on it,” said Ark, stepping forward and rubbing the girls shoulder energetically. Someone in the crowd groaned in fear.

“Please, sir. I must insist,” shouted the biohazard suit. “For the safety of the whole ship, you have to come with me.”

Ark pulled the girl closer to her like a child whose toy is about to be confiscated. The girl looked a little uneasy, but seemed too bored to resist.

“But she’s so pretty,” he said sadly. “She’s the only girl that will talk to me since this morning. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“Ark,” shouted Erbot, feeling some moral duty to avoid destroying all these people, even if they did want to kill him. “Please, just put her down.”

“But... Aww. Okay then,” said Ark, trying valiantly to battle against his inner spoilt child. “If I have to. But just one little kiss first.”

He pulled the disinterested beauty’s heavily made-up face towards his.

“Nooo!” The biohazard suit tripped over itself trying to run to him.

Ark’s puckered lips pressed into the girl’s lip-glossed frown.

If particles of light didn’t move so slowly, Erbot would have seen patches of the girl’s lips disappear one-by-one as they came into contact with Ark’s vanishing skin. He would have seen both of their noses vanish as they briefly touched together, to be replaced by a rapidly blossoming ball of infinitely white energy. He would have seen the energy ball grow to engulf first the couple, then the mustard fountain, then the surrounding people.

As it was, the energy ball moved so much faster than light that Erbot was swallowed by it moments before he was even able to witness its conception.

Back in Erbot’s room, the Quantum Rabbit was nestled in the darkest corner of his sock drawer. It thoughtfully nibbled the toe of one of Erbot’s lucky socks before it too was wiped out of existence by the wave of energy.

***

Three days travel ahead in space, inside the Bagelosaurus Space Station - home of The Solar System’s Top-Rated Zero-Gravity Dinosaur Theme Park and Bagel Emporium - Chef Picklebroiler was finishing up preparation of 16 billion welcome sandwiches for the arrival of the cruise ship.

With a flick of his knife he slapped some butter and a nondescript, pinkish paste onto a slice of drying, triangular bread. He attempted to console himself that, in 2 weeks, the cruise ship would be gone again and he would be able to put his feet up.

The door to the kitchen opened and a waiter, wearing the standard-issue, blue cap and triceratops-feet boots, poked his head into the kitchen.

“What?” barked the chef.

“Erm.. Excuse me chef,” said the waiter. “The captain told me to tell you that the cruise ship has gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” said the chef. “It hasn’t even arrived yet. Honestly I don’t know where they find you people.”

“No I mean it’s disappeared. Captain says that they could see it approaching for weeks now on the scanner, then about half an hour ago it just disappeared. It sort of exploded into a giant ball of light.”

Chef Picklebroiler brandished his butter-knife warningly at the waiter.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he said.

“Nothing chef. Captain told me to say to cancel the food orders, because it looks like they’re not coming.”

“Cancel The Food Orders!!” the chef stabbed the knife into a nearby meringue. “I’ve got 16 billion sandwiches made here! What do you expect me to do with those!?”

“Umm. I don’t know,” said the waiter. “Keep them for the next cruise ship?”

“The next cruise ship,” the chef said, seething, “is in 6 months. Do you know what 16 billion sandwiches look like after 6 months?”

“No chef.”

“Neither do I, but the last thing we’ll be able to do is convince people to eat them.”

Chef Picklebroiler rubbed his face, accidentally smearing butter on his eyebrow. He’d been awake for almost a week making these sandwiches. He dreams were even full of sandwiches - giant sandwiches which chased him brandishing huge inflatable bagels.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with 16 billion sandwiches..?” he muttered to himself.

“I’ll have one,” the waiter offered, taking a nearby chicken and mustard sandwich and running from the kitchen.

Chef Picklebroiler sat down on a nearby stegosaurus chair. ‘Get a career in the cruise ship industry’ they’d said, ‘You’ll get to see the whole solar system’ they’d said. How wrong they’d been.

The End.

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void-tellings-blog · 5 years

Text

I wrote 2 other stories before, and one was was a complete mess. One later on became a complete mess, while another, has yet to meet it's fate.

If you like one or he other, drop a comment about which you liked.

Twin's Ball

King Jon of the Crimson Moon Kingdom was a good king, feared not by his people, but respected, low taxes, elite national defense, and allies all around. The king had a ball for his twin daughters' 18th birthday, since this was the first gathering of kings and lords in over 100 years. 100 years after the North Matriarch of the Bear Mountains (NMBM) Invaded the 4th Pillar watch Tower causing the Tower to collapse.

"Here we are, 100 years after the 'tower tragedy', King Jon invites the Lord's of his kingdom and their children to see who Medley (King Jon's first Daughter) will be married to."

Luna sat patiently as the castle Stewart announced that the King has a speech. As the King approaches to the podium, the stewart whispers to him as they pass by "You should have left the water at the table". "It'd be fine" the King too, whispered. As the King walks up, he slips on a step, but catches him self before landing, he reaches the podium as says, "Dear lords, ladies, and lucky citizens of Crimson Moon Kingdom, today, I marry my daughter, Medley, off to the man of her choosing, I kept trying to tell her 'you should wait till your mother comes home to be married off' but she insisted to get it out of the way, so, here we are", he sneezes away from the microphone, but the party attendees still hear it over the speakers. He looks at his tissue and sees more blood than a normal sinus infection should have, almost as if a baseball was thrown at his nose but continues to speak.

"As I was saying, Medley Insisted to be married off, and could wait no longer. So, I shall turn the stage over to her now." She eagerly pranced to the stage as everyone pathetically clap as if it's school play with a story that had no imagination, excluding Prince Edward who was too busy trying to stay up after a long night of insomnia. "Hello everyone, as you may already know, I'm Princess Medley, and I was thinking really long, and really hard about this, I have chose General Nayman, lord of The sunflower meadows". The attendees looked around for the General, some in shock, some in disbelief, and some actually. Most everyone was in excitement because they didn't know shit about this guy. As General Nayman approaches the stage, Luna begins to question why Medley would ever want an old man like that. Old, wrinkly, and a long unkept beard.

_____

Directive

As Her scan of the ball room came to an end, Mary noticed a sleeping Luna to her right, "She's going to miss Medley's speach." She placed her hand on on Luna's back, slowly rubbing it while pressing down. "Are you trying to break my back?" Luna said with a grunt. "I'm not a sleep, but I'm just tired, Solar kept me up with his damn video game!" "You don't like video games? This is new." Mary recalls that Luna always loved video games, but Solar and Luna had very different tastes in such forms of media. Luna was more interested in storytelling, meanwhile, Solar only enjoys fast pace action games. But ironically slower at everything else that has greater importance.

"Doesn't help that our rooms are practically right next to each other." Luna was annoyed with good reason, their rooms have been near each other since birth. These twins, Solar and Luna, Luna being the oldest, while Solar being the youngest. When they turned 10, they both took each others toys It was a dark time for the 2 because they used to play together, while Medley watched over them. Their mother died once the twins were born. King Jon often said before they were born that Medley looked exactly like their mother. White hair to her shoulders, Blue eyes with greenish ring around the outside of her iris, and skin as white as the snow, blinding anyone who looked her way while in the sun. She and her mother practically had the same exact genes, the only difference was that Medley had their father's small ears and her jaw line was a bit boxy even among the guards, yet she was still beautiful. Her mother had more of a V shape like Luna and Solar.

"Luna." Mary asked, "will you miss your sister after she's married off to this man?" "Well yeah, she's the only person I could talk to." "You have me... King Jon often told me that Medley admired your mother to the point where she even tried to copy her motherly personality, the only reason she failed was because she never had a child of her own but Medley was very happy with you two because she got to experience what it was like to take care for a child while your father lead the nation out of war and into a Golden age for so many things." "Like cybernetics?" "Yep, I was in an accident when I was about your age. Lost so much that day. Even cloning the missing organs and limbs wouldn't be enough." "Is that why you're arms, legs, and spine are mechanical?" Mary wanted to say yes, but before she could go on, Medley began her speech so Mary lost her chance.

Medley is stood at the podium, Mary wasn't really paying attention so she could keep an eye out for dangers, she was Luna's body guard. All she saw were people looking around, and this old man Stands up. Mary couldn't identify who he was and even her "Ocular Network Index" couldn't say, either something was jamming the signal, or he was never registered in the index which are both crimes. Mary asked Luna, "Who is that man?" "He's definitely not the best general by far, so it's odd for Medley to choose him." "I was asking because the 'oni' couldn't ID him." "Really?" Luna said with surprise. "Hes been to LunarKeep at least 1000 times with you here." She had to force herself to not look in shock, though her face is mostly mechanical, her mouth and nose were seen as fine even after the accident.

Fortunately, they only replaced bones and mussles, tried their best to keep the skin. But the face was too delicate and too badly damaged to keep skin. The eyes were going to be replaced anyway due to failing vision from a parasite. Strangely, the accident killed the parasite and all the eggs and larvae. They said "your eyes were sling shot out of your skull, and back in but they were too badly damaged to keep attached." They were big and purple by the time first-responders arived, Mary could only remember seeing the air ship, then all she saw was one of her eyes being gouged, it was all dark red, though. Her eyes were considered to be "8ball fractures", the hospital kids mocked her and called her "blind Mary". She had lost almost her whole body then.

_______

Valkyrei: Chapter one Part one

Luna walked down a wooded trail, where she encountered a young woman sitting back on a bark bench, with her head hung low, and her shoulders slung down. She appeared the same age as Luna, who remembered this same scene that happened since she was little, she decided to walk to the young woman instead of running off as she usually did. Luna saw that the young woman had red hair. As the space between her and the mysterious woman declined, she also noticed grey skin, yet she was not dead, nor dying as she later realized. She took a look at the young woman's face and saw blue eyes, her skin was still grey.

Luna sat down and examined the young woman's palms only to discover that she had no finger prints and only about 3 lines on each palm. The young Woman felt that her hands were being messed with, and slowly pulled her hands away. "You're alive!" Luna exclaimed. "Should have figured as much since your hands felt hydrated." Luna noticed that despite it being chilly outside, the young Woman was wearing what she thought was a mini skirt. And a winter cheerleader's top, exposing her belly to the cold. Luna reached over and felt her stomach and realized that this lady was very much alive, but hungry. "How long have you been here?" Luna asked as she admired the young woman's belly. "Well, at least you have less weight than I, if I had to guess, you'd weigh about 130 pounds. Wait here, I'll find away to bring you to the palace Grounds."

Luna ran off, leaving the mysterious woman alone where she sat motionless. She cried because for the first time, she met her daughter, realizing that the curse put on her 16 years early, is finally being lifted. Within those 16 years, she's remainded a sentient statue, watching her daughter, notice her and run in fear until now. When Luna got close, The curse would fade and bring life back to her, making her more lively. Luna returned, this time with her friend and an old 1998 ford pickup truck. "You know Luna, this statue has been here since you were a kid." Mary said, "My grand father knows who this was." Luna looked at Mary, "I know, but she seems different this time, feel her hands." Mary, did but only felt stone. "Luna, I'm going to help you, but I'm telling you, she's statue and I think you're nuts." Luna only smiled as Mary lifted the statue off the bench, and put her in the bed of the pick up.

Luna and Mary arrived at the palace, and because Luna is the next in line to inheret the throne, Mary was granted clearance. They took the elevator to the top floor where Luna and her family held the throne. "Ok, Luna" Mary said, "I'll just put her in your bed, ok?" Luna exclaimed "great idea", with a huge smile on her face. "You really love this statue that much"? "Yes, of course!" But Luna couldn't explain why, for she did not know why, on that she did. "Well, I'll you 2 alone for he night." Mary left the room and softly shut the door. The statue slowly lowered it's limbs, and began to breathe, but was still mute. Luna noticed that the young woman was covered in dirt, so she and her hand maid, Belle, took her clothes off and sponged her down in the bed.

Luna saw on her back a sigil that only said "bounded" in a circle with circles running down her spine. Once the word "bound" was scrubed away, the young woman violently caughed, and her skin became less grey and more pinkish white. Her hair and eyes remained the same. Belle sat the young woman up, as Luna went in for a hug. "You really are real!" Luna, and the Young woman cried. But she was still mute, Belle fetched a pen and a note pad for her, and the young woman wrote, "I very much appreciate your help, if it wasn't for you, I would still be trapped in that park having birds shit on me, dogs piss at my feet, and heathens vandalize me. I only need 24 hours before I can finally speak, so please, bare with me." Luna and Belle agreed to stand by, as the young woman recouperated. She then gathered her to clothes her clothes and headed for the bath, where Belle was ordered to assist, leaving Luna alone where she cleaned up the room a little.

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