here is my review of dungeons and dragons honor among thieves: yeah fucken nice!!!!!!

Title: A Party and a Spy

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Loki is forced to return to Asgard to unwillingly participate in the festivities honoring Odin and Thor’s victories in Alfheim. He ends up drunk and in a piss poor mood that he then wants you to help relieve. Your secret meetings also finally attract an unwanted visitor. Super brief cameos here by Sif, the warriors three, and Thor, as well as Heimdall again.

Warnings: Semi smut possibly, but no real sex this chapter. Sorry to tease, will be some next chapter. Here is just mentions of arousal, grinding through clothing. Mention of masturbation. Also some animal abuse, but a magical animal who will be fine I guess. The princes are just jerks like that.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername , @just-wordsandthoughts , @cringingmemeries

My Masterlist

——————————

You still felt warm, your head just poking out from under the blanket as you stretched a little. Your hand ran out across the mattress after a moment though, contacting nothing to your surprise as you then opened your eyes.

As you quickly sat up, the look on your face must have said far too much as you heard a chuckle from nearby.

“No, goddess, I haven’t left just yet. My, you are expressive though.”

As you turned your head towards the voice, you saw Loki now sitting in one of the two chairs at the small table opposite your side of the bed.

He was still dressed only in a pair of pants you also quickly noted, yourself still so unused to seeing this much of him as your eyes lingered on the lean muscle and pale skin.

“What?” He asked, not missing that stare either, though the sly look in his eyes told you he knew damned well what you were now distracted with. He just wanted you to say it.

“Asgardians really do wear too many clothes, if you are any proper example anyway.” You replied simply though. Why hide so much all the time?

He raised an eyebrow, but was smirking as he taunted a little further. “Oh I can assure you, there is no one in Asgard like me. And you’d prefer this not be reserved just for you then?”

You tried not to look caught off guard. Even if he were only teasing, the implication that he’d still be keeping this type of intimacy for you alone was something that made your stomach flutter slightly.

“Come here.” He said next though, snapping you back to attention, though you still hesitated. Was that a command or a request?

He only rolled his eyes after a moment though. “Oh, don’t waste time trying to be proud now. I do have to leave shortly, it will already be late morning in Asgard by now.” He extended a hand to you. “So come, sit with me.”

You eventually acquiesced, standing from the bed then, though intending just to walk to the other chair. Yet the very moment you were close enough, he only grabbed you by the arm, pulling you down to sit on his lap instead.

He was surprisingly fast and strong when he wished to be, his arms already around your waist as well before you could think to try and stand again.

“There. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He spoke lowly against your ear as you shifted.

But to your surprise he didn’t touch you any further, even though one arm did stay around your waist to keep you steady as his other hand just went back to the table.

“I have a job for you.” He added, then moving his hand oddly as a piece of parchment paper and a writing quill appeared abruptly from thin air. “At least I think it may work. I’m sure the majority of these animals are illiterate. I’m hoping at least the clan chief has some shaman or someone of the sort that understands these runes. It’s the only written language I’ve ever seen in this land.”

But even as he started to write on the paper, your mind was still only fixating on what you’d just seen as you asked abruptly. “How did you do that?”

He seemed focused on whatever symbols he was now putting on the page, but he still answered. “How do I do what? They’re just runes.”

“No, how did you conjure the pen and paper?” Controlling the elements, moving objects by will, or casting illusions was one thing. But forming a very unnatural, man made object from essentially nothing was different than the typical kind of magic you were used to.

Loki paused a moment then, like trying to digest what you’d just said before he glanced back up to look you in the eyes.

“The woman can move the seas themselves and is astonished by a piece of paper?” He mocked incredulously.

Your eyebrows lowered. “Listen, I know good and well I’m no sorceress. That’s why I’m asking. How do you create something like that from nothing?”

He shook his head. “Gods, they really just give magic to anyone these days.”

A joke clearly, as everything you had you had been born with, though learning to control it had taken time. And to be honest, was still an ongoing learning process. But you still wanted an answer as you looked at him pointedly.

He sighed under your gaze. “I really don’t have the time for this. But I know you won’t let it go.” He had continued writing though even as he kept talking. “I didn’t make them, goddess. I brought them with me. You are at least correct in that nearly all instances of magic, nothing can be made without taking of something else. I’m sure when you make those little whirlpools of yours for instance, you’re drawing the latent energy from the water. The currents, the temperature differences, what have you. To truly make something from nothing...well, that would be chaos magic. Which, may or may not even exist depending which of the ancient mages’ tomes you most believe in.”

You could tell he did take pride in his studies and the principles behind them clearly. If he wasn’t already concerned about returning to Asgard, you could probably get a whole lecture on this subject right now. But you couldn’t help but point out again, as you just responded. “Yet you still haven’t really answered my question. If you brought them with you, where were they before?” You glanced down at his pants as if to reaffirm your doubt that anything other than himself had been hidden there as they were relatively tight.

Yet he still smirked at your continued insistence. “On the scale of the things I’m capable of, my dear, that’s just a parlor trick. And if you really care so much, I can teach you at some other time.”

At that, he paused writing again though, placing the quill down momentarily as he then moved his hand again for a long dagger to abruptly be held in his palm. “You see? There are far better uses to this trick.” He flipped the knife just as quickly though, letting the blade’s point stab into the table as the dagger then stood on end.

And as it did so he made sure to look to see your reaction, also asking you, “Do you really just depend on your servants to follow you around at all hours with any weapons you may need?”

Yet you just looked from the dagger, then back to him. Surprised surely, but not actually frightened. “And do you have so many enemies as to always need that at the ready?”

“One never really knows do they?” He answered smoothly, just grasping the dagger’s handle again before it disappeared once more.

It didn’t seem like a threat really. But you felt he still wanted you to know a bit more of what he was capable of. You quieted afterward as he went back to writing for a few more moments.

When he was done, you could tell he glanced over the letter briefly, as if proofreading before he rolled the paper tightly and folded it.

He spoke rather business like then, an odd thing honestly as you still sat so intimately on his lap. “If it wasn’t already obvious, I’d like you to carry this to the village leader while I return to Asgard. I don’t have the time to deal with the mortals right now, and besides, they’re your pets.”

“Excuse me? Have you forgotten whose idea this whole ‘protector’ role was to begin with?”

“Oh, I was willing to let the lot of them be wiped out if you’d chosen not to save them. I’d only need to spare whichever the nicest home was from burning as the marauders moved through, and we still would have ended up with a place to meet regardless.”

The sad thing was, you were actually sure he really meant that too. But he just continued.

“Yet you pitied them, and now here we are. And as the beasts held up their end of the bargain, I agree it’s fair at least to give them some recognition for their work. A pat on the head and a ‘good dog’ essentially, that’s what this letter says. So you see, I’m not wholly ungrateful.”

“A thank you letter?” You asked dryly. Relatively sure it likely didn’t read completely as such.

“Well, essentially. But with a reminder on the rules as well.”

“Rules?”

“Our privacy must be respected. I’ll put a green flame at the end of the trail nearer the village when we’re present. During the night, this place is also solely ours. If during the day there’s no flame, then they can come up and clean and maintenance this tiny wood hutch like good help should.”

“Your staff at your palace must just adore you.” You mused sarcastically. “The mortals are not our slaves, Loki.”

“It’s really an odd thing how you fancy them.” He retorted, though with an air of someone just humoring another person they already thought irreparably deluded. “But I suppose you have nothing else fulfilling to pass the time when I’m in Asgard. Some people like to paint, others like to craft things...you, you have your pets.”

Arrogant god you thought. As if suddenly you had no other purpose outside of him? Surely he saw that insulted look in your eyes as well, because you could see the entertained mirth in his own before he pulled you closer to kiss you suddenly.

And this one was rough again, briefly reminding you of that night in the cave as you felt his hands move down to your hips. His tongue was already in your mouth before you could even consider pulling away.

From last night when he’d only held you, to now seeming so hungry again, the sides of him could change so quickly you were learning.

His hands didn’t move beneath your dress though, even though you thought his fingers may be grabbing you hard enough to bruise as he twisted you to be fully facing him. Straddling him actually with each of your legs now on either side of him as he rested against the back of the chair.

He kept kissing you, and it wasn’t long before you felt that distinct hardness against you even through his pants. As always though, you wore nothing beneath your dress, a matter of practicality really for as often as you were in the water. Who would want any undergarments constantly rubbing and chaffing where you were most sensitive? You liked sheer and loose material in the dresses you wore, so that it moved easily as you swam and dried quickly when you were on land.

But he knew all this by now of course, as he just ground his hips then, that rough seam of his pants then moving between your legs as he drug it back and forth.

He was intentionally trying to work you up. You sensed the trap, but still found your own hands moving across his bare chest soon enough.

Your newfound lack of willpower was really astounding. Finally though, you pulled your head back to break the kiss and warn him. “If you’re just doing this with no intention to actually follow through...”

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have taken it last night.” He retorted though. “I’ve already stayed too long.”

“Why can’t I want both?” You answered, meaning it as well. It wasn’t just sex, nor was it just being in his company. Neither by itself was enough anymore. Each had its own place.

He looked frustrated himself though as you felt him thrust against you reflexively, that bulge in his pants wasted even as it scraped against where you were now becoming wet. “I’m telling you, Odin is back at the palace now. I have to be calculated in the times I come and go. There is some damned ceremony today, likely starting any moment by now for their victories in Alfheim. If I’m not there, they’re going to come looking for me.”

As much as you knew he liked to bend the truth. It wouldn’t make sense for him to deny himself this right now unless it was actually for good reason.

“Well you’re the one who pulled me into your lap and kissed me.” You relented, though your own body now fully flustered and urging you to return to him even as you stood up and stepped away.

“Well you shouldn’t have slept so late.” He grumbled back. Pulling at his pants in some discomfort as he stood as well.

But you watched as his armor manifested then, horned helmet and all as his magic washed across him. What you guessed would now be his attire for the ceremony he’d spoken of. You assumed that clothing and armor had been in whatever void the pen, paper, and dagger had been.

At least with his illusions he could also conceal his arousal if it hadn’t faded on its own by the time he reached the palace though, you thought with some amusement.

Yet, even as he walked for the door, he taunted to you as if sensing your enjoyment of his current predicament. “You’re welcome to get back in the bed you know. Think of me while you self soothe, goddess.”

So crude. But you just fired back before he could close the door. “And is that what you do at night in Asgard? Think of yourself as well to finish things off?” You were trying to mock his evident self importance of course.

Yet he didn’t even miss a beat at the intended insult. “Why be myself when I can just be you? Then I never have to forget how you feel.”

And just to prove that he could, you stared in disbelief as a perfect likeness of yourself then smiled back at you lewdly, thin dress and all before shutting the door unceremoniously.

Gods. That was just unnatural. And you had to sit down at that, arousal now paused at least as your body’s resulting confusion was almost palpable.

———————————

Asgard, not long after

Loki was back to his normal appearance, hurriedly stepping into the small grouping of warriors he’d recognized at once in the rest of the crowd at the palace ceremonial hall.

Sif’s head turned in immediate surprise and annoyance as those golden horns entered her peripheral vision. The irritation was evident even as she tried to keep her voice low with so many others still around them. “And just where have you been!? Thor was looking for you everywhere!”

“I was in the library, did he think to look in the library!?” Loki spat back immediately, knowing that even if his brother had checked there, Thor knew the layout of it so poorly, he could always have claimed to have been in another section.

“Yet why are you breathing so hard, chap? Were you actually running?” Fandral asked as well, also looking Loki over.

“And why pray tell would I have been running?” Loki shot a glare to him next. Could they not mind their own damned business for once?

“Because you were late?” Volstagg offered in that simplistic, yet matter of fact way that was always beyond annoying even on the best day.

“Well I’m here now.” Loki huffed, though not missing the way Hogun was also staring at him critically. “And do you have something to add?” Loki grumbled at him.

But only Sif answered. “Well if you hadn’t been lost in the library,” Her tone made clear how little she believed that excuse, “You’d know that Thor chose you to give the congratulatory speech before-”

“The what?” Loki stared at her, that odd mix of horror and disgust then abruptly clear on his face.

——————————

“So what more can I say of Asgard’s favorite son?” Loki’s public speaking voice boomed richly through the great hall, the throng of happy faces sickening as he smiled right back at them. What fresh Hel was this really?

“Alfheim counts her graces I am sure to have such noble saviors defend her-” By the gods he didn’t even know what Odin and Thor had done there the entire time. He assumed there’d been skull bashing and the normal heroics. But if they’d been working out peace treaties instead the last few weeks, who knew. He’d been looking for hidden portals to Midgard still on the days they’d held the main debriefings.

“And with peace secured in the realms once more, please join me in giving thanks to the noble Allfather and the mighty Thor!” Loki wasn’t normally one for alcohol. Not in comparison to most Asgardians anyway. He thought it dulled the mind too much. But by all the mages in all the realms...he so badly needed it now, as he took a large swig of the strongest Asgard had, before throwing the glass down to shatter it as was custom. “And let the feasts commence!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. And on any other day, that would have been something he obviously would have wanted. But Loki knew that not one voice was for him as he suddenly felt a large hand and arm go around his shoulders, shaking him roughly before his brother’s voice joined the yells, yet right in his ear.

“HUZZAH!” Thor cried, one arm still around Loki as his other lifted Mjolnir triumphantly.

—————————

And it was so many hours later before Loki had finally escaped. Time and time again as he’d tried to excuse himself from the endless barrage of drinks and food, it was as if his brother had somehow sensed it.

Then there would be Thor again, telling him any one of those same stories over and over as he’d somehow corralled Loki back into the feast room. If he’d had to hear one more time how with one hand forced behind his back, and Mjolnir still in mid air, that Thor had kicked one of the enemies’ bombs right back into their own garrison, taking out an entire enemy troop as more of their stored artillery then exploded...Loki may have finally vomited.

As it was now, he wasn’t exactly walking a straight line either though. Just carrying his own helmet in one hand, his head already throbbing as he made his way slowly through the corridors. His other arm reaching out occasionally, grazing the walls for balance.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank so much. Well, more like been forced to drink so much, just to try and maintain his sanity in what was essentially just another gathering of his brother’s sycophants.

Honestly did Thor even see it? Did he really think all those hanger-ons were truly his friends? Perhaps there was some argument for Sif and the warriors three. As thick headed as they all were, they were about cut from the same cloth. And that was not a compliment.

But all the others? It’d be almost pitiable really if it weren’t so damned annoying. Yet maybe it was the alcohol there as well, making Loki linger on so many of these feelings again.

By the time he reached the entrance to his quarters, he was frowning as he pushed the heavy doors open. He still made sure that they shut fully behind him though as he waved his hand to lock them doubly with a spell.

It was not without precedent that in some true late night madness, either Thor, or Thor, Fandral, and Volstagg may still force entry to try and get him to accompany them on some additional drunken adventure while they were still riding so high on their accomplishments.

“Idiots,” Loki grumbled to no one though. Still stuck in that sour mood as he moved across the dark room, losing clothes as he did so before finally ending up in his elaborate bed. The silken sheets were then the only thing against his skin as he laid there in silence, though the room still feeling like it was moving slightly in his lingering vertigo.

But he just wanted to sleep. That and to will this headache and the thoughts that worsened it away.

But instead he only laid there. His drunken thoughts churning louder and louder as the minutes passed, alone in this extravagant, luxurious, and also very empty bed.

Scattered across the palace now, he could only imagine all the couplings likely occurring. Not necessarily in the full sense of the word. But he knew how these types of festivities normally ended.

Thor was likely in an archway somewhere with Sif, pawing at each other with all the finesse of a pair of schoolchildren. Fandral and Hogun would still be at a table, Fandral now showing off his sword to a couple maidens simultaneously with only thinly veiled euphemisms of how it compared to the hidden equivalent. And Volstagg would have his actual wife and children there, somehow still not bored of them yet as they all laughed together.

And that’s what it really was, laughable.

Loki rolled onto his side, glaring towards the balcony and the stars dotting the black sky beyond it. No, he didn’t need any of that farce of companionship. Not just for the sake of it anyway like all the others. He took what he wanted, when he wanted surely. Pleasure was one thing after all, but it didn’t control him.

You didn’t control him actually. Because no one controlled the god of mischief.

But the longer he lay there in silence, the more he could then imagine your fingers soon running through his hair, or the warmth of your lap to lay his aching head in. He’d had bad days before, many times retreating to this very room alone. But he didn’t have to be alone tonight. He didn’t have to be alone at all anymore did he?

“Goddamnit.” He finally hissed. It was foolhardy, dangerous even after just returning from Midgard already once today. But he wasn’t going to sleep tonight otherwise. Not until he had what he really wanted.

——————————

Loki certainly wasn’t going to be walking all the way to the bifrost gate. Not at this hour, and not in this condition. So he’d taken a form that at least no one would have second guessed if they’d just happened to look up as he’d passed quickly overhead.

One of Father’s ravens, or the rats with wings as he preferred to call them. And as he’d landed near Heimdall, then regaining his normal form, the older god just looked down at him, unimpressed.

“She’s returned to the ocean. She already sleeps.” Heimdall spoke unprompted.

Yet Loki’s eyebrows rose mockingly, even if his words took a little more effort right now. “Oh? Making a habit of watching her…even without me then? That’s a bit perverse.”

But the gatekeeper’s expression hardly changed at the insult, still so difficult to goad. “I saw you coming, and your questions to her whereabouts are becoming predictable.”

It was true. Loki had already come here several nights, yes. Mostly to check whether the mortals had finished that structure or not. And it’d finally been a pleasant reward just the other night when Heimdall had confirmed it already done and you there waiting.

“I don’t care where she is.” Loki retorted though. “I’m going to Midgard. Open the gate.”

“You are inebriated.” Heimdall warned.

“And you have a severely itritating penchant for stating the obvious…open the gate.” He commanded more forcefully.

“Anywhere in Midgard particular?” Heimdall answered.

Loki paused though, hearing that slightest change in the guardian’s normal stoic tone with those last words. “Are you…attempting to make a joke?”

“I did not wish to assume or state the obvious again as you said. And you also say you do not care where she is. So do you not care where you should land tonight then?”

He was! He was mocking him. Loki growled, pointing his finger for emphasis. “Now listen here…it has been a god awful, long day. Quit trying to dissuade me. Send me to the village, gatekeeper!”

“Any village?”

Gods. “My village, her village, whatever you want to call it. But do it or I’ll use the damned sword myself!”

With one last cheerless look down at Loki, Heimdall turned the sword then, opening the gate even as he warned a final time. “Do not fall from the bifrost, Prince. The universe is vast and does not suffer the careless well. Do remember as well that all things done have consequences in the end.”

But Loki had no time to search for deeper meaning in the words, just ruffling more as he walked towards the light. “Is that a threat?”

“Only a truth and a caution.” Heimdall again answered, just before the other disappeared back across the bridge.

———————————

And as the light left him again, Loki was once more in that dark forest. Yet, the ground far lighter colored than normal as to a little of his surprise, his boots now found fresh snow. Winter had finally arrived to this part of Midgard apparently.

He cursed, realizing it would have been far smarter to have told Heimdall to deposit him directly onto the beach this time as he’d now had to navigate back down the hillside and to the trail that led between the cliff face.

It had started snowing again as well as he walked, the large flakes sticking in his black hair by the time he reached the ocean’s edge. He should have told you just to stay at the cabin this morning. But he didn’t expect to be standing here again so soon either.

Loki didn’t care about the water at this point though, the waves rushing up around his feet and over the top of his boots as he trudged forward to call out. “Hear me, sea beasts! Hear me and bring your mistress to me!”

And it didn’t take long of course before he saw two feminine looking torsos rise just where the waves were breaking in the distance. Not quite human, but expressive enough that he could see the skepticism in their body language.

“She’s asleep!” One called back over the waves.

“Then go and wake her!” He only hissed back as if scolding an insubordinate child. Why did everyone feel the need to test him tonight?

But the two nymphs just looked at one another. The other then speaking. “What is so important? Are you claiming injury again?”

He scoffed at the jab, voice easily sliding into its darker range then, even in his continued drunken state. He did not have time for this. “Do not forget your place, water sprite.”

And as he made a move as if to step further into the water, he was pleased to see them both shrink back at that. When they disappeared not long after, he knew all he now had to do was wait.

—————————

You didn’t fully know what to expect. Why was he back so soon? Not that you should complain, but he’d made such a point about having to return to Asgard this morning, and he’d never come back so quickly before. Even though it was now dead of night.

The nymphs also said he’d been acting strangely, even a bit ruder than normal. They insisted you bring your spear, and so you had as you broke the surface only to find him sitting at the water’s edge. Though not even far enough onto the beach to stay dry as the water now ran around him and then pulled back with each successive wave. His pants and cloak were clearly soaked, snow also dotting all over him to your surprise.

“Loki?” You asked, concerned but cautious. Normally the rare sight of snow would have distracted you in its own right had you not been so focused on him. The north was still unique to you for all its differences.

“The cold doesn’t bother me either.” He said abruptly, seeing that worry in your eyes. But he didn’t stand out of the water. “You really should reprimand your servants…”

“It’s not quite that kind of a relationship.” You replied, though not defensively as you still tried to realize what was wrong with him. “Are you alright?”

“No.” He said simply.

If it was just another trick, it was a good one. But you felt you had no real choice but to behave as if he was sincere. You only laid your spear down in the water as you then moved to sit down beside him.

He looked over at you as you did, and you could see how tired he looked even in the darkness. So close to him then, that was finally when you smelled the scent of alcohol, impressively strong even over the salt smell of the ocean.

He was drunk.

“Loki…” You said again, unsure at all what would have driven him to this kind of excess. “Do you want me to help you to the cabin?”

He leaned closer though, as if to either kiss you or lay his head against yours. He did nuzzle your face slightly though as he whispered in your ear. “I want him to get closer first.” Before you could react though, he’d then grabbed your chin to keep you from looking away from him. “He can’t hear us over the noise of the sea…but don’t look away.”

And he did kiss you then, that heady taste of the alcohol almost as distracting as the nonsensical words. His hand was moving up your thigh as well as his other moved around to your back. It all seemed like only the beginnings of foreplay before just as suddenly, he then pushed you down beneath him. His hand that had been on your thigh pulled back simultaneously to throw a dagger violently out into the darkness.

You heard a distinct sound of a hit, a creature screech, and then chaotic flapping in the sand and snow somewhere near the cliff’s base.

Loki was now laying on top of you, your back still pressed into the wet sand as the water rushed back up around you both. He glanced back down at you then, ignoring the confusion in your eyes as he kissed you roughly several times more before finally pulling back again. “We’ll have to get back to that tomorrow…” He all but purred, mood shifting suddenly to satisfaction as he stood once more and offered you his hand.

Utterly baffled, you still took it, letting him help you up before he let go of you to walk off towards the distressed sounds you still heard near the cliff. You only hung back long enough to grab your spear before hurrying to follow him.

You didn’t know what kind of beast to expect from all the noise, and only found yourself more surprised as a pitiable looking black bird finally came into view. It flapped even harder upon seeing Loki, but with one wing clearly mangled and blood spattering the snow and sand around it.

“Oh, you over dramatic twat.” Loki fussed, snatching the hapless creature up with little fanfare as his other hand reclaimed his now bloody dagger, disappearing it again with his magic. “And which one are you?” He asked, holding it roughly near his face as it now continually tried to bite him in defiance.

You didn’t know what he was looking for, and you were about to say something about how harshly he was holding the poor animal before Loki smirked in recognition.

“Well…Muninn, you little vermin. You saw me leave the palace didn’t you? Did you really think I was your other half? Couldn’t leave well enough alone could you?”

What? So this was one of Odin’s ravens? But, Loki had just stabbed it! Was this not treason? Treason that you were now a party to? You had so many questions as your inner panic began to grow.

But Loki only kept smiling, talking with condescension to the injured bird. “Yet, for you to be here so quickly, then you’ve found my door for me. There’s a rift between Asgard and Midgard somewhere nearby…and for that you get to keep your other wing tonight, you little spy.”

—————————

As you passed back up the trail to the cabin together, you saw Loki had indeed kept his word about signaling to the mortals when you were here. A green flame floated, ethereal in midair at the edge of the tree-line.

It had a haunting look to it, but you said nothing, still so focused on Loki’s rough handling of the injured raven. And by the time you’d entered the woods, you could no longer contain yourself.

“Please don’t hold him by the chest like that. It makes it too hard for them to breathe. You’re going to suffocate him!”

At your outburst, Loki seemed to have a genuine moment of surprise, looking over at you before his normal superior expression returned. “Just because you can become a bird….doesn’t mean you should give a damn about this one. Don’t waste your time on kindness. Despite your bleeding heart, his loyalty lies only with the Allfather. He’ll snitch you out regardless.”

“But, he has lost a lot of blood. We can’t let him die, Loki…” You still kept on, worried the alcohol had truly made him lose all sense of judgement.

Again he just gave you the oddest look before outright laughing though. He shook the bird a little, making it squawk again, before continuing. “This rat and his brother are imbued with Odin’s magic. They cannot perish so easily as long as Odin still lives.”

Yet, that was still not comforting to you in the slightest. In what possible way could torturing a favored pet of the Allfather end positively for the two of you?

But Loki didn’t miss the way you still stared with disapproval, just rolling his eyes as you finally made it to the cabin. “Do you know how long we’ve dealt with these little pests? When Thor got his first slingshot as a boy, what do you think he practiced it on? When I learned my first spells, what did I test them on? There is nothing new to this…”

“That’s awful.” You grumbled, though watching as Loki did this odd movement with his shoulders, his magic shifting over him so that he was suddenly dry again.

As he walked inside, you had to shake the snow off yourself the old fashioned way. Your dress and hair still damp from that and the ocean combined as you followed him inside, leaning your spear against the wall before closing the door. “So you could do that the whole time,” You commented as to his drying trick, though not really surprised by anything else right now.

He smirked a little, knowing what you were thinking. With a wave of his hand a couple of the candles also lit. “Oh, I didn’t do it that night in the cave. You were supposed to take pity and ask me to take off some of my wet clothes…of course they ended up off anyway didn’t they?”

You crossed your arms, just frowning as he unceremoniously opened the chest on the floor next, tossing the injured Muninn into it before slamming it back closed.

“I’ll deal with you in the morning,” Loki threatened in response to the resulting angry squawk, giving the chest a light kick before the noise inside silenced.

When he turned to look at you again, he only offered a dark smile. Though still looking tired as he started to remove his clothes.

You tried to keep your disapproving look strong even as you realized he was using no magic at all, removing his vestments piece by piece as if to taunt you into further watching.

But looking away would have just goaded him too wouldn’t it? Letting him know the sight of his body still did things to you. You couldn’t win either way as all of his clothes finally laid piled on the floor, no neatness this time as he went lay nude in the bed.

You stood there a further moment, really not knowing what to do. He didn’t deserve to be rewarded right now in your mind. But were you just supposed to walk right back out the door? You didn’t have the willpower for that either, not anymore.

He watched you lazily too, waiting. His voice was quieter now though as he did speak again. “If I’d wanted to sleep alone…I would have just stayed in Asgard.”

Your shoulders lowered a little at the softer words, but you didn’t know how much you really believed him. You finally did approach the bed however, removing your wet dress, and not missing the way his eyes moved across your body before you climbed in under the blanket beside him.

But you could also tell he was in no condition for love making, even as you felt his hand encircle one of your wrists, himself then pulling your hand up so your fingers fell into his hair.

He gave you an imploring look, making his intention clear even if unexpected. It was so strange, but you complied, starting to rub your fingers through his hair and along his scalp gently.

The way he clearly relaxed into the touch reminded you so much of a placated animal truly. And he even closed his eyes as you just continued stroking, letting the black hair work repeatedly between your fingers.

To drunkenly cross the vast breadth of space just for this minor affection, also risking exposure by his Father’s informants, was it telling you that he really was so reckless after all? Or…was this becoming a real need for him?

Were you becoming a need in his life?

You felt him line up his body with yours, flesh to flesh as he got further comfortable.

“Thank you.” You heard him say at last. Surprising you enough that you could find nothing to say in return.

You just kept on with your soft touches though, comforting the troublesome prince all the way until he finally fell asleep in your arms.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter six: are we fixed or free?

a/n: Sorry for the extended wait, that road trip really did me in. Here’s the next bit. Getting deeper into Aaron & Cole’s dynamic. Again, I’m so sorry? Warning for substances & abuse, as ever. ~4.5k

The summer arrived quickly for Aaron who now had a new secret he didn’t understand. He was uncertain what to make of the events of that afternoon. There was no blueprint for him to follow here. The only intimacy he’d observed with was in the context of his parents’ relationship and that didn’t seem like the best example. The only mentions he’d ever heard of two men being together were lessons about eternal damnation. It made sense that he would belong to such a path. He was already lost in so many ways, he doubted this, or anything, could make it worse. But it still puzzled him, unsure what his feelings were, what they should be.

He reviewed his memories of that afternoon repeatedly, examining the dimensions of the place where his life had taken this unexpected turn. He’d had no way to anticipate any of it but still he tried to gather clues, combing the moments surrounding that first kiss for signs of what would come next. He remembered the way their desperate collision had only broken apart when Cole pressed too hard on his ribs and he had involuntarily cried out in pain. The way Cole had scrambled back, standing up and watching Aaron from a safe distance while the color drained from their flushed cheeks, a mindless passion replaced by apprehension. The way Cole had run his hands through his hair repeatedly, the nervous habit making the blond strands stand on end. Aaron couldn’t remember another time he’d looked so uneasy, before or since.

Aaron had considered him through his dazed high, the drugs mixing with the unexpected surge of hormones to overtake any coherent thought. He had been confused but it was a warm sort of confusion, still feeling the echo of Cole’s hands, his lips, racing across his skin. He’d tried to understand the emotion he was seeing on Cole’s face. He was always trying to understand the minute changes there, searching for a hint at the other boy’s motivations that he kept locked away.

“You’re not stupid are you?”

Aaron frowned, not able to follow this thought. He’d become distracted by the pain in his side, his ribs reminding him of the insult they had endured. He’d lifted his shirt to poke at them gingerly, as if this would make any difference at all.

“Hey!” Cole was impatient.

Aaron’s attention snapped back, wary of the irritation but not sure how to fix it. He wanted to ask what was wrong but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate, his thoughts barely a trickle. He was only live nerve endings and a creeping nausea as the painkillers left his system.

Cole stared at him hard, trying to make him understand without spelling it out. When he didn’t see any sign of recognition he sighed in disgust. “This,” he waved his hand. “All of this. You’re not going to say anything, right?”

Surprised, Aaron shook his head slightly. He didn’t have anyone to tell even if he was foolish enough to want to. He used the tree trunk to help pull himself up so he was standing, doing his best to meet Cole’s gaze. “I—“ he began but his thoughts wouldn’t move in a straight line. It had felt so much like a dream. He could hardly believe it was real if it wasn’t for the blood and grit in his mouth.

Cole watched him, not offering to help as he swayed, finding his balance. He kept one hand on the tree, its solidness soothing. This point of connection to the world was the only thing keeping him in place. Overwhelmed by the whiplash of attentions, anger and affection and desire melting into an unrecognizable mess, he felt like one wrong move could send his cells spiraling out, forming new constellations he’d never return from.

“I won’t tell,” he managed.

Cole nodded, satisfied for now. “You should go home, you look like shit.”

Aaron was having a hard time keeping up. “Home?”

“Damn, are you really that high?”

Aaron wanted to laugh but his throat was too dry. He coughed instead. He still felt Cole’s fingers wrapped behind his neck, was still captivated by the smell his skin, smoke and something sweet, like decay.

“I’ll walk with you but you’ve gotta stand on your own. It’s way too early for me to be carrying you around.”

Aaron followed, a few steps behind, annoyed at the suggestion he’d ever needed to be carried. He watched Cole’s back, following the pattern of his footsteps, retracing their way to his backyard.

Cole looked at him doubtfully. “You better take a shower and clean up. Your parents are going to know something’s up.”

Aaron shrugged pulling a twig from his hair. “I doubt it.” What he meant was that he doubted they would care enough to notice.

“It’s your life I guess.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, stiff and deliberately distant. Aaron opened his mouth to say something he would want to take back later.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Cole cut him off, turning away before he’d finished speaking. Aaron started up the back steps, his hand reaching the doorknob before he remembered something. He turned and called, “Hey Cole!”

The other boy paused, looking back with a blank expression, closed off and wary.

“Where’d my…”he stumbled on the words, embarrassed to have to ask. “Do you have my medication?”

Cole smiled, patronizing. “Oh I’ve got that, don’t worry. I don’t think it’s smart for you to have that around, do you? We don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret.”

Aaron blushed, mumbling a response about how it was his, how it was none of his business what he did with them but Cole was already walking away.

*

He had never consciously considered his affections before that day. Passing moments had caught his attention but he’d never stopped to think about who or how that would play out in the real world. He couldn’t help feeling like he had committed some offense. If the sermons or the sentiment of the town were to be believed he was making a terrible mistake, an evil choice. And yet it didn’t feel wrong. It felt like the most logical thing in the world.

He battled with himself about it. Telling himself to stop thinking about how good it had felt to be close to someone. That it would be better to forget and move on, pretend the moment hadn’t happened. It was only weakness, he argued against his softer self. A weakness to need validation that he was a creature worthy of that kind of attention. He knew plenty about weakness, knew better than to let it show.

So, despite his excitement, despite the fire that raced through his veins at the memory of that afternoon, he didn’t push for anything more to happen. He simply waited, hoping that time would resolve his uncertainties.

The next time he saw Cole, the older boy ignored him at first. Aaron hung back, watching, trying to get an idea of what he was expected to do. He sat on a tree stump, off to the side of the group, playing with the fraying cuffs of his shirt. It was getting too warm for the long sleeved shirts that he wore most of the year. He shifted uncomfortably as a bead of sweat slipped down between his shoulder blades. He wasn’t sure yet what he was going to do about that problem. He’d always been on his own in the summers, no one to notice the changing landscape of his skin, the dark blue-greys that faded into algae green, traveling up and down his arms, his legs, as the stars moved across the night sky, dependent upon the balance of forces beyond his control. Yet here he was, surrounded by people. They might not notice him, not pay attention to the quietly angry boy who had been absorbed into their group over the past year but he wasn’t sure he could stay so invisible with those kinds of secrets on display.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Cole appeared beside him, offering him a cigarette. He accepted, catching the flame of the lighter, gratefully pulling the smoke into his lungs. He let the sensation distract him from his nerves prickling at the nearness of the other boy. He darted his eyes to Cole, to see if he could read instructions in his expression. Cole’s eyes were fixed on the side of his face, the deep purple bruises he’d left there. No one had asked about these new bruises on his face, but when had anyone ever asked about such things before?

Aaron became uncomfortable with the attention, his knee bouncing rapidly. Cole reached over, touching the swelling on his jaw. Aaron did his best not to flinch, keeping his eyes steady on Cole’s face. He stayed still even as Cole pressed his fingertips harder against the darkened skin, his touch quickly becoming painful. He held his breath, willing himself not to react. The expression in Cole’s eyes was distant, seeing something other than Aaron’s fearful acceptance. The pain became too much and Aaron shifted away slightly, unable to tolerate it any longer. Cole dropped his hand, seeming to snap out of the trance he’d fallen into. Aaron avoided his eyes, looking away and taking a drag on his cigarette.

They didn’t discuss it.

Nothing seemed to change after that, neither of them daring to vocalize their thoughts, so the moment passed and faded. Instead, they fell back into their routine. Somehow Aaron’s pills had become “their” pills and they disappeared quickly. He found that he didn’t care, he was too focused on understanding his newly complicated feelings. He hovered close to Cole, hoping that the nearness might act as a magnet, drawing them back together again. He was afraid to ask for it, afraid of what it meant to want something like that. But maybe if he could just manufacture the right conditions, he thought, maybe then. He still wasn’t sure if he really wanted Cole or if he just wanted to be touched but he was certain the only way to find out would be to try it again.

A couple weeks later they were drunk, stumbling home, laughing at something neither one would remember. As the entered the garage, Cole decided abruptly that he was making too much noise. He pressed his hand over Aaron’s mouth, hissing at him, half playful, half tense. They listened for the sound of footsteps, any indication that they had disturbed his grandmother. Aaron had only seen her once and she seemed nice enough but he could understand the instinct to stay hidden, to move through the world unnoticed. He fell silent and focused on the heat of Cole’s hand, the slight nicotine scent of his fingers held firmly against his lips.

Satisfied no one was coming, he released his grip. When he looked at Aaron, saw the mix of anticipation and desire in his eyes, he stepped back. He wiped his hand roughly against his thigh, as if there were some particularly unpleasant residue imparted. As Aaron struggled to mask his disappointment, Cole’s expression darkened.

“Go home Aaron,” he said roughly.

“What? Why?” He was flustered, scrambling to understand what he had done wrong.

“Get out.” Cole turned away, stalking to his desk where he sat with his back to Aaron.

Aaron stared, wide-eyed, too tipsy to grasp what was going on. “But I thought—“

The words were out of his mouth before he thought better of it. He knew by now not to argue with Cole, knew that pushing against that finality in his voice never got him anywhere. Still, he had let himself hope and he wasn’t ready to let the moment pass.

In an instant Cole was back, standing right in front of him, so close that Aaron lost all his words.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he growled. Something clicked and Aaron placed the emotion he’d been seeing bursts of, slipping into Cole’s words, his actions. He was afraid. Aaron smiled at the realization, just the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Cole tried to push him away, both hands against his chest, but Aaron grabbed him, almost laughing now. Fear was simple, he knew fear. Fear could be overcome if they just kept moving. He couldn’t count all the times he’d been afraid but here he was, still breathing, still wanting something from the world. He pulled Cole closer until their foreheads touched.

“Don’t be stupid,” Cole breathed.

“Too late,” Aaron answered, alcohol obliterating any lingering reservations. Nothing else mattered here. His only thought was that he needed this, to see if it would feel the same as before. That feeling he was forever chasing, where every thought disappeared from his mind and he became only impulse and reaction.

He found what he was looking for.

*

It continued haltingly, never sober, never around other people. Half the time it was followed by icy silences, Cole avoiding Aaron for several days while he sorted out his emotions, searching for a way to rationalize their connection. It hurt his feelings but he could understand this reaction. What they were doing went against everything he’d ever been taught. Cole was caught up in a cycling belief that this behavior was a defect, at best a sign of mental illness, at worst an irrefutable testament to his inferiority. Aaron couldn’t blame him for these thoughts, it was what everyone else believed as well.

It was different for Aaron. His sexuality was not as much of an issue to him. He had thought about it obsessively, trying to decide what it meant that he could want the touch of another man, that he could so easily disregard the taboo placed on such an act. His conclusion was that it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter when there was so little that was good in his life. The idea that anyone would want to be close to him, would see him as anything other than worthless was too intoxicating to let go.

But he wasn’t completely ready to accept what they were doing either. Sometimes he even hated himself for it, but for different reasons. The thing that gave Aaron pause were the other parts of their relationship, the moments where Cole’s mood shifted, his anger flashed. Sometimes, if circumstances lined up against Aaron— if someone had made a comment to Cole that he didn’t like and he repeated to himself over and over, picking apart the ways they were not only wrong but intentionally stupid, to the point where Aaron rolled his eyes and told him to get over it already, they’d only been high after all; if they had run out of dope and the dealer wasn’t answering; if the wind was too cold or the sun was too bright, sometimes for no reason Aaron could see at all—Cole would snap and strike out at the nearest target. That target was more and more frequently Aaron.

That first time he’d been so shocked, so betrayed he thought it would be the end of him. But that hadn’t happened. Had instead lead to the breakdown of the barrier between them, a positive development in Aaron’s book. The second time he was just as surprised, although looking back maybe he shouldn’t have been. The apology was quick and profuse, Aaron accepted it through a stunned haze. After that, it became nothing more remarkable than any other pattern in his life. It made sense to him that care and pain would be so tied up. In fact, the idea that he could have the first without the second was unimaginable. But in the moments when it happened, the split second before the impact, when he knew it was coming and there was nowhere to run, the expression he saw on Cole’s face was too similar to the one he’d grown up fearing. In those moments he felt sick to his stomach, that he would put himself in this position, that he would seek out the company of a man just like his father. Shouldn’t he be smarter than that? He’d find himself knocked to the ground, his ears ringing as he curled himself into that familiar defensive shape, waiting out the storm so that he could have another chance at feeling the warmth of affection.

At the end of the day, what was one more bruise, really? At least these bruises were accompanied by concern. An awareness of his existence, the kind he’d never gotten at home. Cole noticed when he wasn’t around, noticed when he was slipping too far into his own head. He felt it could almost be considered a fair trade. The good moments at least balanced the bad, if not outweighing them outright. Plus, there were always the drugs to smooth over the rough patches if all else failed. He couldn’t feel a thing as he floated away on the high. Whatever mistakes he’d made over the week, however many times he’d been wrong or in the way, it all disappeared as he accepted the straw handed to him, kneeling over the smoke, as reverent as any penitent seeking absolution.

* In the summer they found themselves with unlimited time to spend together. No classes, no family to interrupt their search for the perfect high. There was no reason to be sober, so he never was, accepting anything that came his way without a second thought. It all melded together in a sleepy numbness, losing track of the days. Time only mattered if he was waiting on his next high, its irritating existence forgotten as soon as he sank back under. When he’d found himself locked out of his home, again (his mother’s new way of expressing her disapproval) he didn’t bother trying to beg her to let him in. He just walked away. He had other places to be now. Places where he could convince himself he was wanted.

Cole took the opportunity of the unstructured days to try something different. At first Aaron was confused when he saw him unwrap the new materials, light reflecting off solid metal rather than the now familiar bits and pieces they had been using to smoke. However, he quickly understood as Cole began to roll up his sleeves.

“You’re not serious.” As lost as he was, Aaron wasn’t sure this was a line he wanted to cross.

Cole barely lifted a shoulder to acknowledge he’d heard anything, too focused on examining his arm for a vein.

“Cole,” his voice tightened, eyes locked on the other boy’s movements. “I don’t know…”

“It’s going to work better,” Cole snapped, irritated that Aaron would question him. He’d thought it out, they were wasting money, his money, and worse, wasting their potential high. This was the obvious next step. “Here,” he tossed a belt at Aaron, “that should help you find one.”

Aaron didn’t move, frozen by conflicting impulses. He was having trouble understanding how he’d gotten here, still disbelieving he could sink so low despite the very real evidence in front of him. But beneath all the anxiety, there was a part of him whispering that Cole was right, that he absolutely wanted this. The prospect of a better high was enticing.

“Hurry up, or I’m doing this without you.”

Aaron chewed on his lip, watching the flame. Cole’s hands were steady, no trace of the tremor Aaron felt in his own. The soft hiss as the dark matter melted was all that he needed to push him to action. He was afraid but that had never mattered, he wasn’t going to miss this.

*

Occasionally, Aaron would surface from his fog, would wonder what Sean was doing, wonder if his mom was okay. He had no idea when he’d last seen them. As much as he resented her for how little she’d done to protect him, he couldn’t be completely unsympathetic when he knew too well what she was up against. If he ever had a passing thought about his father it was only to curse him and wish for his demise to come sooner than later.

Any semblance of a schedule had long since gone out the window. Every day that they could score was a good day to get high. Any day that they couldn’t was a bad day for Aaron. Cole had been right, the high was better with a direct application, but it also meant the lows were meaner. What before had been intermittent bouts of anger, flares of possessiveness when Aaron was out of sight for too long, became all consuming.

His world got smaller.

Aaron stopped going to the places where the rest of the group would hang out. He found it wasn’t worth it to find out what new infraction Cole would imagine, what the consequences might be for accepting a drink or a smoke from the wrong person. It was easier to just stay in the garage, or, if Cole’s mood was too volatile, too many days since their last score, he would wander by himself, back to his old hiding places. When he could think clearly enough he wondered if time was just a circle and he would always find himself back here, hiding from the hands of someone who was supposed to care for him.

Most of the time he didn’t think of anything at all.

* Cole’s birthday arrived in the height of summer, when the days were so long it was hard to believe night would ever fall and the heat so heavy that movement felt like treason. They’d had a stretch of good days, which Aaron tried not to think about too much. He believed that maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t look directly at it, they might continue in this peace. He wasn’t aware that it was Cole’s birthday, only that whatever good mood had settled over them was thankfully continuing.

As they made their slow way back from the liquor store, hauling their supplies of beer and cigarettes and a bag of chips that no one would touch, Cole muttered something under his breath. Aaron, fumbling with a cigarette, finding it annoyingly difficult to coordinate the movements of walking and lighting the end, stopped to manage that and missed the exact words.

“Hmm?” he hummed, unconcerned. He’d woken up to gentle fingers combing his hair that morning and managed to avoid saying the wrong thing. On days like this he could almost imagine he led a normal life.

“It’s my birthday,” he sounded sullen, like he regretted bringing it up in the first place.

Aaron stopped trying to light his cigarette and looked at Cole, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around him. That would not go over well in the middle of the sidewalk. Instead he smiled, unreasonably pleased with this information.

“I guess we have to celebrate then,” he said, starting to walk again, just barely brushing his shoulder against the other boy. It was a little reckless—he could never be sure what kind of reaction he would get when initiating contact. It was usually smarter to let Cole come to him, like a dog with an uncertain temper. Cole drew back a little, but relaxed when Aaron didn’t linger. Instead he stepped to the side and scrupulously put a respectable distance between them.

“What do you want to do?” Aaron asked once he was sure he hadn’t crossed any of the wrong lines.

Cole shrugged, “What do we ever do?”

This unenthusiastic response put a slight damper on Aaron’s good mood but no matter. He knew they still had some of their stash leftover, they wouldn’t have to spend the day chasing a dealer. And he would never be disappointed by the prospect of getting high. “Whatever you’d like,” he said simply.

They spent the afternoon lazily drinking beers and smoking in a couple of ancient lawn chairs. Cole’s grandmother had taken a bus to Atlantic City for several days of gambling and inhaling stale cigarette smoke. Aaron liked things best when she went out of town. It almost felt like he and Cole were living together, like adults in their own house. He let his mind run with the fantasy as they sat sweating in the shade. He’d never considered what he might be like as an adult, never thought he’d make it that far. But this, this could be nice. A quiet companionship. Someone to pass him another drink when his ran out. Sure, there were negatives—a persistent risk that he’d say or do the wrong thing and find himself on the shadowed side of a fist but, as far as Aaron could tell, that was just part of life. It couldn’t always be good, but if he could have moments like this, it would be worth it.

Finally, endlessly, the sun set, making only the slightest difference in the temperature. They didn’t move as the color drained from the world around them. Tiny sparks lit up the air, first in ones and twos, until they were surrounded by flashes of life. Aaron tried to spot them all, making wishes like they were shooting stars. Every time it was the same wish: please, let this last.

“I guess it’s time for me to light my candle,” Cole said softly, equally mesmerized by the way the newly visible stars seemed to extend down to them, flickering around their heads. Aaron didn’t reply, just nodded, afraid he might somehow break the spell with his voice. Cole stood and offered him a hand up. He didn’t let go as they walked inside.

An expert now, Cole made short work of setting up their hits. The needle slid seamlessly into a vein, the rush of relief, of tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding melted away. They lay back on the bed side by side, just like the first time, motionless as the world spun away from them. Unlike the first time there was no confusion, no concern for what came next, only a feeling that his heart was so full it hurt. He twitched his fingers, trying to find Cole’s hand beside him. He managed to hook his fingers through Cole’s, his skin cool and dry. Eyes closed, Aaron tried to catch his breath, to catch the words that were vibrating through his bones with every pulse of his heart.

“I love you.”

His voice was so thin and he was so high he wasn’t entirely sure he’d said it out loud. Cole didn’t move, didn’t react at all, already deeply lost to the drug. Aaron knew it was better that way. The words felt strange, so foreign. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said them, wasn’t sure he ever had. His consciousness filtered away, trailing the words behind him. He wouldn’t remember saying them in the morning.

chapter seven

what do you think an average day in the strawhat kitchen would be like?

Yay!! My first ask! Thank you so much, Anon! I decided to write about the morning part of the day, if that’s okay. I’m setting this scenario after Water 7 and before Thriller Bark because I forgot about Brook & Jinbe. I hope you enjoy!

Italics = dialogue (including rudimentary French)

Bold Italics = Japanese (spelled out, idk kanji)

Gif by 1997onepiece

An Average Day

The day begins early. There’s a thread of light leaking under the door even before dawn. Peeking in, a familiar lanky-noodle of a man can be seen in rumpled clothes, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. The soft clatter of dishes can be heard as his hands shuffle about on autopilot. One fist lifting a pan from a cabinet. Another fidgeting with the silk knot of his tie. A wisp of smoke trails from the corner of his lip and out the porthole window.

Every color of dawn passes through the windows. Dusky grey as the seas and shadows of night give way to light. He readjusts the buttons on his shirt that he missed. Faded indigo grows bright as flares of sunlight scatter across the wide open sky. He settles the loop of his tie under his collared shirt. The knot sits right beneath his throat. By then, the world out the window is nothing but blue.

Freshly pressed and clean as a chef can be, ‘Black Leg’ Sanji sets to work. The sizzling of ingredients over an open flame is enough to draw a few groaning bed-heads and rumbling stomachs into the room. Most are aware enough to mumble a greeting, which the chef appreciates. A small smile tugs at the edge of his cigarette as he registers each voice.

“Good morning, Chef-san,” a sweet voice croons into the room.

The click of recognition in Sanji’s brain is enough to send his heart a-flutter. “Robin-chwan!” Steam erupts from his ears like grease in a hot pan. “What a wonder it is to see you this lovely morning!” he crows. Spinning around on a perfectly-polished heel, he serves his beloved crewmate on the pristine porcelain plate she so admired back in Water 7. “A breakfast sandwich for our lovely nightingale. Bon appetit, mon amie.”

Robin hides a darling chuckle behind a delicate hand. Sanji can feel his knees wanting to crumble under the rush of hearing her laughter. Sparkling joy rushes down his spine. But he quickly shakes himself. There are more meals to be made, after all. And many more crewmates to feed.

Just as the willowy blonde cook turns back to the stove, he hears the crisp clop-clop of hooves on the hardwood floor. “Bon-bonjou--” A bright, squeaky little yawn follows the groaning of the kitchen door. “Bon morning, Sanji~”

The older cook chuckles to himself. “Très bonjour, Chopper,” He says, passing him a little wrapped package from the pantry. “This chocolate has some nuts in it, that okay?” The little reindeer gives a sleepy nod before wandering to sit next to the elegant Robin. Sanji smiles a little, gnawing on his cigarette.

All-too-soon, that chain-smoking cook hears the all-too familiar stomps of boots. The tinkling of scabbards like wind chimes rambles closer and closer until a bulky black shadow stands in the doorway. Sanji grits his teeth, nearly sawing his smoke in half. “Marimo.”

“Curly brow.”

“Go sit down.” The chef ground out. “Your food’s almost ready.”

“I think I’ll just stand here, actually.”

Sanji whirls around towards the swordsman. “You trying to piss me off, moss-hea—“

“Morning, Sanji-kun!”

Suddenly it was as if the clouds parted and the heavens opened up before him. But even the clouds of Skypiea could have hosted such a gorgeous angel. Sanji’s spinning feet nearly collapse underneath him. He pushes himself off the counter, eager to greet the darling of the Strawhat crew.

“Ah, Nami-swan!” He smiles, his heart singing at the sight of her. “What a blinding vision you are, a gift from the sea goddess herself!” He takes her hand in his, as if inviting her to dance. Her fiery sunset hair flares in the early morning light. Her warmth amber eyes dance with flattered mirth. The softness of her hand against his calloused palm has Sanji’s pulse fluttering in his ears. He leads her gracefully to the table, where she’s seated with fresh squeezed orange juice and a bowl of equally-Colorful fruit salad. “Profiter, belle mademoiselle.”

“Merci beaucoup, Sanji-kun!”

If it weren’t for the brooding Marimo glaring a variety of blades into his back, Sanji may have just fainted on the spot. However, determined to maintain his composure, he simply lifted a bento from the table and showed it to the man over his shoulder. “I told you to sit down, Moss-head. You forget where your spot was?”

Zoro grunted. Marching up to the table he swiped the bento from Sanji’s grip and dropped himself down on the dining room bench. The chef huffed. Ungrateful brute. And a messy one at that. Within a moment of sitting down, he has rice grains stuck to his cheeks and chin. Sanji rolled his eyes and returned to work. At least Zoro was enjoying the meal. That was all a good cook could ask for.

“urgh-guh-morning...” the rambling natter of a long-nosed sniper sounds almost gravely at such an early hour. Sanji can hear the soft scritch-scratch of the young man ruffling his mop of unruly curls.

“Mornin’ Long-nose,” he greets the younger man. He thinks he might hear a grumble of protest from the rumpled boy. Sanji chuffs to himself. Wordlessly, he passes Ussop a seafood omelette and a bottle of tabasco on his shuffle to the table. After a moment of hushed tapping, ceramic and silverware and murmurs of morning voices—Sanji blinks. He turns to the sniper once more. “Where’s Franky?”

“Bulled in all-Nighteye in da-shop again,” Ussop slurs. “He’s passed out. Da-sided to let’em sleep this time.”

The chef absorbs this information with a thoughtful nod. He knows there’s another bento box in the cabinet somewhere. He just needs to find one to fit Franky’s appetite. The shop is his anchoring place. Sanji will take the shipwright’s meal down there before washing up. Everybody gets messy in that place.

Speaking of appetite—“SANJI~!!”

Everybody looked up. The cook turned and braced for impact. Sure enough—THWAP! The rubbery captain smacked into him with all the force of a Marine cannonball. Sanji heaved, but managed to stand his ground. All the while, Luffy was chanting.

“Oi, Sanji! I smell food, you got food? I smell meat, do you have meat? I love meat, ‘specially meat on the bone. You got any of that, Sanji?!”

“You bet your ass I do,” Sanji retorted. Pulling open the SUPER deluxe oven Franky made last week, the chef reveals his culinary masterpiece. Three dinosaur-sized legs of meat, with a cleaned bone on one side, just like his captain liked it.

He’d had to let them marinade overnight just to make sure he didn’t make the rubber-twerp sick with undercooked meat. He wasn’t sure the impulsive freak could get sick. But he didn’t want to be the one to test that theory. Franky had to assure him many times over that the oven wouldn’t catch fire if left in attended. Just looking at the finished product, Sanji could feel his tired bones sag with relief.

Luffy had all three ‘meat sticks’ in hand in the blink of an eye. Sanji turned and growled at him. “Go sit and eat at the table, you rubber animal!”

“Course I will, Sanji. I’ll always eat what you cook!” Luffy replies with a beaming grin.

“That’s not what I—”

“Hey Ussop! I got more meat than you!”

“Of course you did, Luffy, you’re a freak of nature.”

“I think you mean force of nature—“ Nami-san commented dryly.

And so their chatter continued. Every voice overlapping and rising in a joyful noise unlike Sanji had ever heard before. Even when he sailed on the Orbit, or with the fighting cooks on the Baratie. The next time he blinked, that thrice-blasted swordsman was in front of him again. Empty bento in hand, mossy green hair mussed in all directions—the stoic fool eyed him with a level stare. Sanji was just about to bark an insult at him when...Zoro’s sash brushed past his arm. He walked just close enough so Sanji could hear:

“Itadaki—merci, Ero-cook. You did good.”

Where little embers of embarrassment were glowing on the swordsman’s ears, Sanji’s face caught fire. He stomped out his cigarette. Then quickly lit another. One deep breath. A plume of smoke follows his exhale like a sleeping dragon.

“De-rien—Dou itashimashite. Anytime, Baka.”

//If you go to read this, also consider reading Splatter’s original version here!

A lot of the events are very much the same as they are in that piece, and the dialogue parts are pretty much word for word since it’s from Splatterlewis’s perspective! I just added a bit from Arthur near the end and here and there, and just played around with describing things haha.

~

He thought that might be the end of it, or at least he thought he knew what to expect next, given his own history with his own Lewis.

So when the next flash didn’t involve trucks or fights with tree yokai, he felt confusion fuzz at the corners of his brain. No… it was somewhere deep and dark. He wandered in some kind of stupor, filled to the brim with a hundred thoughts and feelings, all of them cutting at his skin like knives and a rage that continued to burn in his chest. The rest was vague to leave an impression, but it still stabbed at him as he stumbled along.

But even in the haze he wandered in, he noticed when something began to stalk him from the shadows. The signs of their presence were clear: the area seemed to shift green and bleed it from the earth and sky. Smoke filled every nick and cranny, thick enough to choke on by any who might need to breathe.

He felt himself pulled from the daze with a snap. Something about the spirit set off alarm bells in his mind and left the hairs on his arms and neck standing on end. The smoke and the green consumed everything, the shade just right to remind him of somewhere else. His brain fired on all cylinders, trying to remember anything Vivi might have said that could help him. All that came to him was that this was something powerful. Something dangerous.

He still couldn’t see it in the smoke, but he could feel the weight of its presence. He called out for it, shouting into the green void an almost challenge. Seeing the cave’s greens made him wonder, and he asked if it came to finish what was left of him. The cry reverberated around him in the emptiness, seeming to ricochet off smoke.

The feeling of something dangerous grew stronger, rocking against him like a crescendo in a song mourning his end. But he didn’t want to end here, and his hands ignited with shimmering violet-pink flames. His eyes darted around the whole of the place, searching for movement.

A laugh alerted him, though the aura of power from the thing that found him might have done just the same if it hadn’t. A voice old as time and antique in accent spoke. The tone was something that itched at his skin..

       “Boy, I have never met you… Lewis, is it? Such a lovely name, for a lovely soul… So full of fire, of power, and rage. Why would I wish to drive you to hell, when you are the key to my freedom?”

He could feel himself heating up. The fires in his hand seemed to brighten until they blurred the air at the edges of each flame. His hair felt warmer, and shades of pink glistened and reflected off green smoke from where it was now glimmering, ready to ignite.

A clarity struck him, that this was not what he’d met before. It was something greater.

“Show yourself!” He called for the thing, teeth flashing in a grimace. Anger bubbled at the notion of being scared by this thing. By it trying to intimidate him. He was not about to lose, not after everything he had gone through.

But then they obliged.

The skeleton that moved into view was verdant, a hue of green that was deep and dark. Scant remains of decaying flesh still hung from putrid bones, and each piece that lingered had names endlessly scrawled, carved and etched into every inch of skin until they nearly lost meaning, but did not overlap. A cloth kilt and robes hung from its form and swayed with the steps it took, barely clinging to the emaciated remains of the creature and worn in places to threads.

On the head of the skull was a carving. One that recognition pricked at him distantly for. It was the one he’d seen on Lewis’s head for years. But this one, blackened as char and cracked, seemed to give off a shadowy aura, absorbing the light to nothing around it in way that made it seem to glow. It had never looked like that on Splatter. Or… not that he knew of. But what did he really know?

The memory seized him again. “Such a demanding tone, for someone about to lose their soul… You have a fire in you, a fire I need. And you will give it, aye?”

He felt a flash of pride, or protective fury, and he pointed to the creature with a fist wreathed in fire and a glare Mrs. Pepper would have been proud of (the thought hurt as it struck him).  “You can never have my soul, I refuse. No one can have it!”

The skeleton moved in a way that divulged something of its thought of what he had said, but he didn’t have the moment to process it. The corruption that hung in the air seemed to thicken and shift, forming blade-sharp arrows, tainted and green. He barely moved out of the way as they streaked by. A few sliced holes in his already damaged shirt, a testament to how close they managed to get to striking him.

With a growl that twisted his face in a snarl, he returned fire. But as the flames blasted over the creature, it stood there, taking the attack without flinching. It laughed, even at it stumbled back from the force, seeming wholly unfazed.

The shock after seeing what his fire could do held him still, and it was enough for a return blast from the skeleton to strike true. The bolt crashed against his chest, the pain hard and heavy and making him double over with a wheeze. He gasped for breath as if he needed it, clutching at his bruised chest and stomach.

The creature seemed amused and its tone held danger, a promise of a cruel fate. “You have no idea who you fight, boy…. In life, centuries and centuries ago, I was once known as Professor Hean Feramin. A genius of studies of names and their power and origins, as well as medical studies… But now, in death, I am known as ‘The Splatter Man’… Do you have any idea the number of people I have killed? The souls I have claimed and the power I wield…? The hordes of monsters that followed me, and respected me, their king?!”

It laughed again, something deeper, and with a flare of green smoke, a quill formed that he took between thumb and forefinger. It twirled with a flourish as it brought a skeletal hand up as if to write on a chalkboard, stroking the tip of the quill against the empty air.

Where it scratched, letters formed, Large and flamboyant in a way letters often were when they began a chapter of a book, like fanciful olden English. Each letter that adorned the air became red, droplets of it falling off and towards the ground.

L.

His head began to spin, and he stumbled.

E.

W.

He didn’t realize when he hit his knees, but he was on them now, the energy to return to one knee felt like it took all he had. His stomach lurched and a sense of exhaustion burned at his eyes.

The Splatter Man held the quill as if poised for the next letter, but instead he twisted the quill against his palm and crushed it to nothing, blood dripping from his hand where it had been before fading.

Hands laced behind his back, the Splatter Man approached. He could see even more names along the pallid skin, burned in or cut in jagged lines. The skin on his face was gone, and he could see fire-red embers aglow in the sockets, sizing him up. He felt something touch his feet. Something scaly and thick, and the sound of hissing told him what it was.

“Are you starting to understand? I can use your name against you, I can learn any name by staring… And everyone’s’ name holds their soul, their strength… And can be manipulated… Hold still now, and welcome the warm embrace of death. You will free me from this prison.”

He was down on his knee, fighting for that will to stand again, hissing through his teeth at The Splatter Man. He could feel blood soaking the tatters of his shirt, spilling red in thick rivers from what once had been the scars of his death. They were open now, weeping blood until he was slick with it. Weakness had sunk into his bones. His thoughts slipped to his name, but they quickly snapped back as a boney hand found the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric tight. He was sure of one thing.

The Splatter Man was preparing for the kill.

The thought ended nearly the moment the hand lifted, hoisting him easily into the air.  He gagged, choked on blood and agony, and looked down at The Splatter Man, panic seeping in and turning everything icy. He was aloft, feet not touching the ground.

Fear crept along his spine. A fear he’d only felt once before.

It made him sick.

He could hear the way a smugness threaded the chuckle of the Splatter Man. He watched, limp in his hold as his free hand twisted, and a dagger formed, hilt curled perfectly to his hand. The gemstones along the hilt glittered with the green light, and the runes also etched almost seemed to glow in their reflections.

He realized what the intention was, when the dagger raised back with the hand.

It came forward at an unnatural speed, piercing his chest over his heart so hard he felt sure he was about to cave inwards. He screamed, screamed as he felt like he was being torn asunder, screaming louder than he thought himself capable. Blood seeped around the blade and it ripped another cry from hi as the dagger twisted, cutting deeper, opening the wound ever further. His chest was on fire and his voice gave out as his scream reached a climax, even his own ears ringing with the sound. The tendrils of corruption magic began to ebb towards the new wound, and he felt slithering along his clothing, before seeing the snakes he’d only heard and felt. They also pressed against the bleeding wound in his chest, and a sound escaped as it seared, the curls of his shirt at the edge of the blade blackening from the heat.

“Ah, you have some fight in you. Good, I will need that… You will free me from this purgatory. This prison. And I shall reclaim my throne… The death left in my wake will be unlike anything this world has ever seen, and you will help me, boy. Your essence will be mine.”

The torture burning him turned to lava, melting through the wound and his veins and then melting down to the organs and viscera. The sounds he thought he would make were gone now, rendered to silent convulsions. He could hear something, and he swore it was his soul, creaking and shuddering as agony struck blows that threatened to crack it in pieces.

But he grit his teeth, jaw squaring, and a snarl crept along his face. He couldn’t end here. Not when…. Someone needed him. Someone….Vivi.

Vivi.

VIVI.

VIVI! HE HAD TO PROTECT HER!

HE HAD TO PROTECT ALL OF HIS FRIENDS!!

A second wind surged through him, his heart beating fast and wild as his eyes widened. Gold light reflected off the bone in front of him from them. The skeleton paused.

“NO! I SAID. THAT. I. REFUSE!!”

His fingers stiffened on one hand that he reared back with, and then he jammed it forward, letting them force their way through the bones of the Splatter Man. His fingers searched blind, until he felt something. It felt rotted, soft and dry like the withered husk of a jack-o-lantern left out far past Halloween, and his fingers squeezed it to his palm.

The Splatter Man flinched as he did, yelling himself, and then howling as his flames returned, glowing violet inside the skeleton’s chest and hungrily eating at the thing left in his hand.

The Splatter Man summoned things, things that snapped at his body and slashed at his skin. Magic that pounded against him with bruising, bone breaking force. But he didn’t let go. He didn’t falter. His eyes stayed focused on his task, and his hands stayed tight around that heart as the flames began to grow and eat. He held on, determined with every fiber of his being, fighting tooth and nail for every inch over what felt like eternity locked together.

But inch by inch he gained traction, pushed further. The Splatter man’s eyes widened, a grimace taking it and a trickle of fear seemed to stitch itself to the edges of his expression. He could hear it in his voice, the slightest way it quavered even with his anger.

“What the hell are you doing?! You will destroy us BOTH YOU FOOL! What is keeping you from giving up the ghost?!”

He ignored him, hissing in his fury like a skillet of oil. His fire crackled and popped within the other, and he grabbed the Splatter Man’s wrist with the hand not in his chest, holding tight. His voice was a battle cry.

“Because I have REASONS TO COME BACK! I will use YOU!”

His hand on that rest continued to move, shooting forwards at lightning speed. He dug his fingers into the bone of the skull in front of him, grip crushing and bones creaking at the sutures. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he held on, and pulled at the energy of the Splatter Man.

The Splatter Man seemed to realize what was trying to do nearly the moment he started, and he tried to pull back, retreat with fervor. The blade in Lewis’s chest came out, spraying them both with red so red it was black and bright red from the arteries and purple that glowed. It all saturated their clothing until they dripped with his blood. But he didn’t falter. Didn’t once blink.

Well. Lewis didn’t falter. He probably would have.

The Splatter Man screeched.

“Release me!”

“Never.”

The fire in the Splatter Man’s was glowing brighter, white hot as it lashing out in heated waves like solar flares. The skeleton screeched, something high pitched and bone grinding, and he just leaned closer feeling vitality running through him, strengthening him.

He screamed one last time, and then his skull gave way beneath Lewis’s other hand, crumpling inwards like dried paper beneath a vise grip.

Purple and green light flashed, and Lewis fell the short drop to his feet, and then his knees. He panted for breath, clutching his chest, but watched with a sense of satisfaction as the skeleton crumbled, falling to pieces on the earth in front of him, a hallowed husk.

But with that power came a price, and he could see it seeping into the tips of his fiery hair, that curved just over his eyes. What had been pale shades of embery pink was now shifted, flickering green. Thoughts were flicking through his head over what the Splatter Man had meant and triumph at defeating him, even if he was exhausted by the effort. He could feel the power now, pulsing through himself.

Clambering to his feet, he rubbed at his face, before looking up, and seeing the same emblem that had adorned the skull of The Splatter Man, hovering in the air. It still glowed as it seemed to hum, before it arced forward, making him jump. It slammed against his forehead and he screamed as it burned, melting, burning through his flesh and then further into the bone of his skull and just a little further still until the imprint was etched into him, unmistakable for what it was. It continued to burn and burn and tear at him and—

Arthur woke up screaming, hand going to his forehead and chest where blood had started streaming down the side of his face and torso, down along his side where he was still pressed into the grass. His fingers turned slick as he held them against his forehead and shirt and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking so hard he convulsed where he lay.

He couldn’t die. But at this point he almost wished he could.

So I had a thought for another ValdoxReader, if you want. Your repeat-Reader is a minor noble. You know who else comes from nobility? Jask. So maybe he and the reader are old friends (or even formerly arranged betrothed?) and she and Valdo run into him on the road. A jealous snark off ensues and/or Something happens and our beautiful bards have to set aside their differences for the reader's sake?

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Valdo Marx x Reader / Former lover!Jaskier x Reader Word Count: 2.5 k Rating: T Tag List: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @nevadawolfe @magic-multicolored-miracle @wayward-dream a/n: Sorry I’ve been away for a bit, been overwhelmed with some stuff and working on some original fiction.  :3  This takes place after ‘A Matter of Honor’ & I got a little carried away trying to push through this writer’s block, oops.  I hope you enjoy it though.  <3

Another day, another courtly party.

Upon arriving you were met with talk of another world renowned bard slated to perform that evening, much to your paramour’s chagrin and you wondered just who the mysterious performer might be.

Valdo’s sharp green eyes surreptitiously scanned each room you entered, no doubt searching for his competition, though he would never admit that he actually saw anyone as such, and you fought back a grin; squeezing his arm reassuringly.  He turned to you and smiled, his expression softening, and that was when you saw him across the room, recognition flashing across your visage before you could stop it.

Valdo noticed instantly, his gaze seeking out what had caused your reaction, his warm smile twisting to a disdainful sneer.

“Ah, Jaskier,” he hissed.  “So that is the other entertainment they invited.  I would have thought the Noble host had better taste than that talentless wastrel who spends his time pandering to the masses.”

Arching an eyebrow at the venom dripping from Valdo’s words you glanced past him at the other bard -- the man you once knew as Julian.

“So… you know him, do you?” you asked.

“Unfortunately,” Valdo answered coolly, raising his chin to peer haughtily across the room at his rival.  “From my days at Oxenfurt Academy,” he explained and you wondered how Jaskier hadn’t noticed the icy glare currently piercing his shoulder blades -- surely the hostility in your lover’s gaze would itch.

It was obvious Valdo despised Jaskier enough as it was, you could see no reason why you should disclose your own history with Julian Pankratz as well.  For that would surely only fan the flames and that was not a fire you wanted to fight this evening.  All you had to do was keep the two bards apart.  

Simple enough, in theory.

Jaskier performed first, which seemed to mollify Valdo slightly.  You heard him mutter something about him ‘getting the audience warmed up for him’ and you shook your head ruefully.  

Careful to keep your expression neutral during Jaskier’s performance, you slipped your hand in Valdo’s, twining your fingers with his and pulling him off to the side for a few stolen kisses, hoping the distraction might help lighten his sour mood -- all the while wondering if omission of the truth was the same as a lie or not.

When it came time for Valdo to take the floor he brushed shoulders with Jaskier, his icy sneer a match for the other bard’s fierce glower.

Wonderful, you thought with a sigh; obviously Valdo’s disdain for Jaskier was mutual and all the more reason to keep the two apart.

Settling in to watch, your eyes followed Jaskier as he left the room and a small sigh of relief passed through your lips.  Soon the large hall was filled with people dancing -- some gracefully and others rather drunkenly, for the host was far from stingy with the wine and you rose from your spot at the table to find more of said wine to refill your cup and possibly peruse the sumptuous spread of deserts.

Nearly being trampled by a spirited couple twirling across the floor, you stumbled backwards into a pair of waiting arms, catching you before you could fall.  Your savior set you upright and you straightened your skirts as you distractedly thanked him, finally raising your face, your voice failing as you found yourself met by a pair of clear blue eyes you hadn’t looked into in years.

“Julian!” you exclaimed once your voice had returned and he flashed you a grin, the cheeky one you remembered all too well, which was usually accompanied by trouble.   

“[Y/N], it really is you,” he replied, looking over you as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.  “I caught sight of you earlier, but thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.  How are you?” he asked.  “You look… stunning.”

Smiling politely you waved away his compliment.  “You look good yourself,” you replied, taking note of his thread of gold embroidered doublet, wondering who his tailor was and imagining Valdo in something similar.

“I’m well,” you continued, refocusing your attention on Jaskier, a genuine smile slipping through.  “I’ve been traveling lately, seeing the world.”

“Oh?” he asked, surprise flitting across his boyish features.  “On your own?”

“No, I have someone I’m traveling with,” you answered, somewhat enigmatically as you poured yourself a drink, your eyes searching for Valdo amidst the crowd.  Luckily he was still preoccupied and hadn’t seemed to notice you speaking with his rival.

“Well, where is he?  Or she?  I’d love to meet the lucky person who’s managed to pull you out into the world.”  Jaskier asked, glancing around as if expecting your beau to appear at your side any moment.

Choking on your wine only bought you a handful of seconds to think as you swallowed, a lame excuse springing to your lips.  “Ah, he’s… around here somewhere.  Perhaps I’ll introduce you later.”

Jaskier appeared a trifle disappointed, but he soon perked up again as he asked if you happened to catch any of his performance.  As you caught up, you found it rather ironic that you’d nearly married a man who had run off to become a bard, only to end up in love with another bard.  How different would your life have been, you wondered, if Julian hadn’t broken off your arranged betrothal to seek his adventure?

“Would you like to dance?” 

“What?”  Jaskier’s question pulled you out of your thoughts and you gaped at him, mouth moving soundlessly for a moment.  “Oh, I dunno, uh, maybe later,” you floundered, certain that Valdo would see if you took the floor with Jaskier, even for one song.

“What, are you worried your lover will get jealous?” Jaskier asked with a laugh, flashing that rakish grin as he spread his hands.

Before you could answer, you felt an arm wrap around your waist and you jerked, glancing over to find Valdo at your side.  “Jealous?  Of you Pankratz?  I think not.”

Jaskier’s surprised face might have been comical in any other situation but as he stared wide eyed and gaping between you and Valdo you chewed your lip.

  “Am I missing something?” he asked incredulously.  “[Y/N], this must be a joke, because you can’t seriously be with-with him.  With Valdo Marx,” he nearly spat the name, while Valdo glared back, equally disgusted.

“I assure you, it is most certainly not a joke,” Valdo shot back, bristling.  “The only joke I see here is you.”

Jaskier spluttered angrily as Valdo ignored him and turned back to you.  

“[Y/N], please tell me you don’t truly know this poor excuse of a bard?  ...Because it seems as if you two are already acquainted.”

“I, uh…” you hesitated, not quite meeting his eyes which flashed momentarily with betrayal.  “Yes, Valdo,” you admitted, though quick to assure him it wasn’t what it looked like -- as if you were going behind his back.  “I know Julian from a long time ago.  We were friends as children, but I haven’t seen him for years.  How was I to know that you two were… rivals?” you asked, a frustrated snap to your voice.

“Rivals?  More like bitter enemies,” Jaskier grumbled under his breath, though you ignored it, keeping your eyes trained on Valdo’s.

“You… may have a point.  I don’t recall ever mentioning him, nor my distaste for the drivel he peddles as music before tonight.”

“Hold on a moment,” Jaskier butted in, his eyes narrowing with mischief.  “We were more than just friends, I’ll have you know.  [Y/N] was my first kiss and we were very nearly married.”

“Julian!” you hissed warningly, no trace of amusement in your tone.

Valdo’s eyes hardened as his lips went taut; his arm around your waist tightening perceptively.  “Not exactly something to boast of, Pankratz, as I’m assuming you were the one who broke it off, no doubt to chase your dreams of fame,” he sneered.  “You are a greater fool than I thought, if you let [Y/N] go so easily.”

“Oh my Gods,” you groaned, completely fed up with the pair of them and their bickering.  “You two are acting like children.  Valdo,” you exclaimed, turning to the man at your side.  “I have no feeling for Julian other than friendship, and Julian,” you said, next directing your attention to the other bard.  “Stop antagonizing Valdo just to make him jealous!  It is cruel and beneath you.  I understand neither of you care much for each other and that’s fine, but in my presence at least all I ask is you be civil, like adults, for my sake.”

Giving both of them one last stern glare you slipped out of Valdo’s arm and stalked out of the hall, leaving them both quite speechless and thoroughly chastened.  Without a word Valdo took off after you.  Prideful as he oft was, he was loath to admit you had a point, though he knew it was true, and his pride was certainly not near as important as you were.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jaskier cried, scrambling to catch up to Valdo, falling into step with him with a frown.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find [Y/N] and apologize to her,” Valdo explained shortly, purposefully quickening his stride so Jaskier would have to as well if he wanted to keep up.

Jaskier’s frown deepened as he noticed, breathing beginning to labour as he worked to keep pace.  “Well, I’m coming too!” he announced.  “Don’t think I’m going to let you look like the mature one here,” he puffed, swinging his arms forcefully.  

Valdo glanced over at him and scoffed.  “Oh please, Pankratz, you will never be mature, no matter how much you age.”

“You take that back!” Jaskier gasped, blue eyes widening at the insult.

“I will not,” Valdo replied sharply.

“You--!  You… rapscallion!”  Jaskier cried, grasping for a suitable retort, thoroughly scandalized.

Valdo’s lip curled with amusement as he continued to look for [Y/N].  

Up ahead a commotion shook the small gathered crowd, pulling Jaskier and Valdo up short.  Glancing at each other curiously they proceeded to push to the front.

“What’s going on?” Jaskier asked at the same time Valdo demanded, “What’s happened?”

“Oh!  Valdo Marx…” The chief servant withered visibly when he turned to see who had arrived.  “I’m afraid there’s been a-an accident.”  The man blanched further under Valdo’s level gaze and Jaskier hovered next to him anxiously.

“What do you mean?  What sort of accident?” 

“A d-disgruntled member of the kitchen staff came out wielding a large knife, raving mad and-and abducted one of the guests.”

“Which guest?” Jaskier exclaimed sharply, though he and Valdo could already guess.

“Why… the young lady that accompanied you, Valdo Marx,” the man’s voice wavered as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.  “We’ve alerted the guards, but --”

“Which way did he take her?” Valdo demanded, cutting the steward off.

“Uhh, that way,” he answered, pointing down the hall.  “Deeper into the estate, but -- wait, it’s dangerous!” the man called as Valdo already turned in the direction indicated, hurrying down the hall, Jaskier right at his heels.

“Are we really doing this?” Jaskier panted, jogging now to keep up.

“I am, Pankratz,” Valdo replied, barely seeming to break a sweat.  “I could care less if you tag along or not.”

“Oh please!  Just admit you might need my help!”

Before Valdo could answer, the telltale sound of a struggle could be heard from the balcony up ahead and he shushed the other bard, pulling him off to the side.  The two crouched down, moving closer so they could get a clear view of the madman, brandishing a long dagger and pulling [Y/N] along behind him.

“Get your hands off me!” you cried, struggling in the servant’s grip.  “What do you think this is going to accomplish?”

“Shut up wench!” the man hissed, pressing the blade closer to your skin as you drew back.  “I just want what’s owed me.  And the ransom I’ll get for your pretty head will do just the trick.  If you cooperate I won’t have to hurt you.”

“So what’s the plan?” Jaskier whispered, blue eyes flicking back and forth between [Y/N] and Valdo.

“You really want to help, Pankratz?” Valdo asked, his sharp green eyes never straying from the knife at his beloved’s throat.

“I do!  I care about her too!”

Valdo thought for a moment, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.  “Good, then a distraction will do nicely, I think.”

Jaskier nodded, thinking quickly.  “That, I can do.  Now, watch a professional at work, Marx.”  

Standing and straightening his blue doublet Jaskier stepped out into the hall with a flourish, his hands spread, and an ingratiating smile on his face.  

“You there, don’t come any closer!”  The servant cried as soon as he spotted the bard, holding the dagger out toward Jaskier.

“Oh my, there you are,” he stalled, flashing a small smile for you.  “I’ve er, come at the bequest of the uh, host to find out what it is you are after and how we might get [Y/N] back safely.”

The dagger lowered slightly as the servant obviously believed him.  As Jaskier kept the man talking, you swallowed, catching movement off to your left and quickly averting your eyes, lest you alert your kidnapper.  Without warning you felt Valdo slip around behind you, the glint of steel visible in his hand before the arm around your waist went slack and the dagger clattered to the ground.

Pulling you away and into his arms, you buried your face against Valdo’s chest as several guards rushed in and hauled the servant to his feet as he clutched at his side, blood running through his fingers.

Taking a shaky breath you glanced over at Jaskier who slowly approached before tilting your face up to Valdo’s.  

“Are you alright, my darling?  You’re not hurt in any way?”

“I’m alright now, thanks to you two,” you murmured, tracing Valdo’s jaw before reaching out to take Jaskier’s hand and squeeze it.  “You know, I’m sure you’ll hate to hear this, but you two make a pretty good team.  Perhaps you might translate that to your music?”

Both men recoiled at your words, eyeing each other with disgust.  

“Songbird, are you quite certain you haven’t retained some sort of head injury?”  Valdo asked wryly and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, I’m serious.  You should think about it.”

“I think this may be the one and only time I agree with Valdo Marx, [Y/N].  I don’t see that happening any time soon,” Jaskier exclaimed, propping his hands on his hips, though he couldn’t quite keep the grin from his face.  “I think the only time we’ll put aside our differences will be the next time you get kidnapped.”

“There will be no next time!” Valdo cried, frowning disdainfully at Jaskier, his arms tightening protectively around you.

Voltron: Next Generation

Eventful Days: I

Word Count: 2895

Despite the reactions of the Arusians, the crew of the Coeus was allowed to stay on the planet for as long as needed. Kova wanted to fight it, but Shiro had already thanked the Arusian King for his offer. 

For days, the crew of the Coeus set themselves up for success by preparing the Coeus. This ranged from restocking food and medical supplies to repairing recognition software and everything in between. 

Cake and Liz carried on with life as normal while Allie was worried about Kova and Caleb drifting away from the group. Caleb still trained with Red every day, even if they fought each other for control, but at least he was in the lion. Kova wasn't. Allie heard language coming from the others that she had never heard before. She didn't understand a word they said unless it was a word she had heard before and only because it was Altean. 

Days had turned into weeks and Kova had piloted the Black Lion maybe three times besides the first escaping the cavern in the sea. They were well stocked in supplies, and the Coeus's seemingly endless list of repairs had shortened. Everything was on track. Everything was seemingly perfect. Even Allie knew it wouldn't last much longer as she stood in front of Kova's room door. With a deep breath and shaking her shoulders and arms, Allie knocked on the door. 

"Were you going to stab me for disturbing you?" Allie shrieked.

When it opened up, Kova was wearing a dark purple t-shirt with black pants and boots. Her hair was down her back in a long braid, long strands framing her face. Much to Allie's bewilderment, Kova had a knife in her hand, making the poor girl jump back. 

"What do you need, Allie?" Kova asked. At least she spoke. With a quick tuck, Kova had made the knife's blade disappear into her boot. 

"I, uh," Allie stammered. "It's a, um, it's complicated to explain." Kova had leaned into the doorway of her room. 

"Try your best, Allie."

"Uh, um, well," Allie began. Footsteps approached the girls, making both look down the hall. 

"Dad wants us on the bridge." Unsurprisingly, Caleb had Kova's attention.

"Did he manage communication?" 

"I think so." The pair walked off, leaving Allie alone in the middle of the hall. She stood there quietly, in front of the now-closed door. She was always so soft-spoken. Who did she think she was? She can't do this. How could she do this?

"Allie?" She looked up. Kova was poking her head around the corner to stare at her. "The meeting is for everyone." Approaching the girl, they went towards the bridge without another word. 

The screen came to life as communication between the Coeus and Earth became more secure. The teens had filed in, taking their designated seats. Shiro was standing just below Kova's podium and Kenny was becoming one with the shadows in the corner of the room. 

On Curtis's end, he hadn't told anyone else about these meetings. He was worried the media would be on top of the story, or worse, the case files would be leaked. He did, however, reassure the Holts. Kenny was alright. In space, but he was alright. They immediately demanded he is to be brought back, so Curtis hung up. There is no way the Holts were making demands when the situation with the Fire is getting worse and Voltron is back. 

On the Coeus, the teens could see the image of an empty conference room. Liz and Cake were playing a game of cards (where did they get those from?), while Allie fiddled with the hem of her white blouse. Kova was setting stuff up for the meeting and Caleb was staring at the screen. Soon enough, Curtis appeared on screen, causing all the teens to stop their tasks and look directly at him. 

"Hey, Pops," Kova said so calmly. 

"Where's Ken?" Curtis asked instead. They all turned to stare at the corner Kenny was holed up in, where he stared at the screen with big eyes. He was holding a book in his hands, curled up in a chair. "Your grandparents are worried about you." Kova's snort went unnoticed by Curtis, but Shiro gave her a stern look. 

"Can we begin this meeting?" Liz had asked, leaning back into her chair. "This is the first time we've been allowed in here."

"There is sensitive information that has been classified to cadets and low-rank officers," Curtis explained. "Kova and Caleb are aware of that information because they're—"

"The Colonel's kids." Liz, Cake, and Kenny said in a flat tone. Allie wanted to laugh at the others' expressions. 

"Unless the situation progresses more than what I've been told, I see no reason to worry you all." Shiro turned to Liz. She nodded her head, resting her head on her fist.  "Now, we can share some information about it but we have to tread carefully to avoid complete exposure."

"And this is?"

"The Fire you are fighting against is a resurgence of a former resistance group," Curtis said. 

"We already knew this." Liz turned her chair to stare at Kova. "What's new?"

"The mission," Curtis spoke instead. "Years ago, when the Fire of Purification first appeared, they wanted to cleanse the universe of all inferior species until only the strong and purebred Galra remained. The inferior species included but were not limited to humans, half-Galra, and existing Alteans." 

Liz couldn't tell if the pictures on the screen were Curtis's or Kova's doing, but it helped illustrate the facts. The pictures showed the destruction the Fire of Purification had left behind. It was almost apocalyptic. The pictures of the resistances against the Fire of Purification also showed up onscreen, as well as the fighters who led those resistance groups. A third picture showed three people with small Altean markings on their cheeks underneath their eyes. One had dark skin with white hair that had been piled into a high bun. She had pretty pink marks and blue eyes. Another had pale skin and blonde hair tied in twin ponytails and purple eyes with green markings. Allie’s eye’s had widened at the sight, but she said nothing. The third figure was, as Allie had pointed out, Emperor Coran. 

"The Fire of Purification had seemingly died with their leader, Sendak." A picture of the deceased general had appeared. "About ten years ago, we discovered how wrong we were." All the pictures onscreen had dropped away, disappearing as three pictures appeared. All three were insignias. One was a rough purple shape with the words 'Vrepit sa' underneath. The other had the insignias of the Fire of Purification, it's strange V with a tail with lightning bolts on either side of it in yellow. The picture in between the two was of the symbol on the armor of the mechas they had fought earlier. 

"The Fire now is interested in fanning the flames of hate among the planets who helped form the Coalition."

"That's still a thing?" Liz asked, to which she got a dramatic reaction from Cake. Cake's dad had helped start it, after all. 

"Have any of you noticed any prejudice against any members of your crew?" Without meaning to, all eyes went to Kova. Even with the King approving of her, the Arusians were reluctant to accept her help in any way, shape, or form. Kova knew it was because of the ransom and the Arusians didn't want to get involved.

"He's asking about Allie and Cake," Kova said, her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. "He already knows my status."

"Oh," Allie turned to the screen. "The Arusians have accepted us completely." 

"Good." Curtis had a screen in front of him, typing away the information the teens were telling him. "How's the training been going?" Once again, Kova had all eyes on her. 

"The King has allowed the training of the Lions on Arus, and we are currently in the process of making a plan." Curtis and Shiro both stared at Kova. 

"That is the lamest excuse I have ever heard." 

"Red is fighting for control, Blue has an inexperienced pilot, Yellow has been headbutting a wall in hopes of making a cave, and Green refuses to form a bond." The teens stared at Kova as she gave her blunt statement. "Not quite an invalid excuse."

"What about you and the Black Lion?"

"Don't ask me about practice when you've been scheduling these meetings."

Liz pretended to be eating popcorn as the exchange was happening. Caleb looked bored, leaning his head on a propped fist while Kova and Curtis stared the other down. Cake had been 'stealing' from Liz's popcorn bag. Allie resumed her fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

"The Lions chose their pilots," Curtis stood to full height. "Practice with them more often and the bonds will be formed."

"Dad, tell him it doesn't work like that."

"Takashi, remind her I worked with Voltron during the war."

"They didn't know your name!"

"You weren't born yet!"

"Enough," Shiro said, stopping the two. "Kova, I want the training plan finalized by tomorrow and in-motion by the end of the week." 

"Yes, sir."

"Curtis, continue with the briefing."

"Fine." Curtis collected himself, tugging his coat down. "Your task is to continue to monitor the Fire and its actions." 

If Liz did have a bag of popcorn, it would have fallen to the ground. There was no way Voltron was back and they wouldn't fight against the group who had attacked them. 

"This has to be a joke, right?" Liz sat up properly in her chair. 

"Griffin," Shiro said. 

"No, I'm serious," Liz glanced at Shiro and stared at Curtis. "They attacked us first, and we can't fight back?"

"Griffin," Shiro repeated.

"They've been doing this for ten years!" Liz stood up. "They have to be stopped!"

"It's classified information," Curtis repeated from earlier. "I can't tell you anything."

"It's not that you can't, you don't want to." Cake muttered. 

"Until next time, team." With that, Curtis signed off. The screen turned off, leaving the team in darkness before the lights turned on brighter than before. 

"Everyone except for Holt and the Colonel, report to the training room," Kova announced, turning on her heel. The other teens stood and followed Caleb to the training room, a level or two below the sleeping quarters. 

The training room was painted dark gray with large, two-story columns lining the walls. The white floor was painted in a hexagon shape in orange. Kova walked over to an alcove opposite the door while the other four stood in the center, one more awkward than the others. Kova returned with small sandwich bags. Inside each bag, there were two rolls of tape. Handing one to Caleb, Kova handed three to Liz while she hung on to one. Liz handed one to Cake and Allie. Allie stared at the tape in the baggie, not noticing the others put on their tape with ease. 

"Allie." The small girl's head shot up, watching Kova's every move. "Here, let me show you." Kova had crossed the floor towards Allie and showed the girl how to tape her hands. While Allie was being taught, Caleb looked around the room. A balcony covered by glass sat directly above the doorway they used to enter. Above their heads, the room was being lit by a bright blue light. Strangely enough, it gave a white glow. With Allie taped up, Caleb and Kova trained their teams until dinnertime. 

At least they had mats. 

"The Arusians have invited us to dinner," Caleb said to his sister. She was standing in the doorway to the bay, staring at the door. "If you wanna come."

"It's fine," Kova said. Curtis was right, and she knew that. She had to form a bond with the Black Lion. What're a few missed dinners with a species that doesn't accept you because of a ransom on your head?

"You need to relax."

"And eating dinner with the Arusians is relaxing?"

"It should be."

"Caleb." Kova turned to meet Caleb's eyes. "It's fine. I'll be fine. Go." With a huff, Caleb turned towards the elevator closest to the bridge. Kova turned to face the door, and could've sworn she heard roaring in the back of her head. With a swipe of her hand, the door opened. 

When it turned dark on Arus, the teens had been returning the Lions to the bay to mark off spots. The Black Lion had miraculously fit with its wings. Now, Kova had to take it out again. With her suit on, Kova sat in the chair inside the Black Lion's head. With a deep breath and a minute of silence, she led the Lion out of the bay. 

As fast as it could go, the Black Lion took off for the star-filled sky. Turning around, it stared at Arus. The blue and green planet was covered in swirly and fluffy white clouds. Kova had been training for this since day one. She was told she would never see the stars, and yet here she was. She was here for all the wrong reasons, but she was here. 

"Let's get some simulations underway," She said through a tight voice. The screens changed to a traditional training course and Kova moved her head until her neck popped. She would spend the next few hours training with the Black Lion while everyone else returned to the Coeus and slept. 

The next morning, Kova had a plan ready to go for the others. Red and Blue were paired up together, while Green and Yellow were paired up, while Kova would be training under Shiro's plan for the Black Lion. 

This happened for a week. A rinse and repeat every day. Red and Blue trained with each other on attacks, while Green and Yellow raced around Arus. The next week, Red and Green switched places. The third week, Green and Red worked together, and Blue and Yellow did the same. The Black Lion's training was becoming more intense, with the Coeus firing blasts and Kenny had managed to get the mecha from earlier to become semi operational. The last week was spent, not with the Lions, but in the training room again. The teens had their bayards and were learning how to use them. 

"Thank you for everything," Shiro said. The teens and Kenny were lined up behind him. Kova and Caleb stood on either side of him, with Cake and Allie on Kova's side and Liz and Kenny on Caleb's. "Truly, thank you."

Cake's bayard turned into the minigun. Allie's bayard had morphed into a bow. When she pulled back the string, an arrow made of blue quintessence formed. When she let it go, the arrow flew into the furthest wall and left a dent, but the arrow disappeared. Liz's bayard had turned into a long staff, and when she pressed a button, green blades appeared on both ends. Caleb's bayard had turned into a gun similar to the ones they boarded with more sniper characteristics. Kova's bayard had turned into a long, curved sword. When moved, the blade glinted dangerously. At least she knew how to use it.

Shiro, who had been watching from the balcony, had made up his mind. It was time to go. 

"Thank you for giving us hope again." The King clapped his hands together and bowed before the crew. The Arusians behind him followed his movements, many of them staring at Kova. "Please accept these gifts for all the help you've given us." Three large baskets were brought forward to the front of the crowd. Two of the baskets were filled and piled high with food. The third was filled with silver and copper coins. With a look at Shiro and getting a nod of approval, Kova moved forward to grab the third basket. The Arusians behind the King jumped back as Kova reached for the basket. 

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Kova said, bowing her head as she knelt before the King with the basket in her hands. Allie and Cake did the same, reaching their hands forward to grab the other two baskets. 

"Watch out for the Fire, my dear," the King whispered. "There are many who would take the ransom money." With a nod, Kova stood. Cake and Allie stood too, not having too much trouble with the baskets. With a final goodbye, the crew returned to the Coeus. They were in the air not much longer after that. 

Shiro was standing in the middle of the floor, staring out the window. When Kova spoke, he turned around to find all the teens making almost identical puppy eyes. Even Kenny was roped into this. With a sigh and a smile, Shiro stared at the team. 

"Can we go to the space mall, now?" Kova asked after five minutes of flight. All the teens had settled into their comfortable routine in their chairs. The covers were finally done. Caleb's cover was unfortunately covered in ladybug print. Allie's cover had pretty Altean designs in blue. Cake's yellow cover was decorated with green Balmeran designs. Liz's cover was completely green with a giant orange G on her headrest. If only she hadn't angered both Caleb and Cake, it could've been avoided. 

"Set a course for the space mall." He said. The teens cheered as Liz brought up the screen to set the coordinates.

Wicked Little Thing

A/U: CloudxReno 

Also on: A03 and Fanfiction.net

Reno wasn’t like the other boys. 

He solidified that when he showed up at Cloud’s window in the early morning hours on the first day of his 18th summer. He had something to show him. Of the utmost importance. Cloud, with half opened blue eyes stared at the boy smirking in the window. The heat of the sun already suffocating despite just breaking through the dark clouds of night. Cloud’s skin felt like rubber. Sticky wet. Like something was crawling through the little blonde hairs on his arms. 

But still, he dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and snuck out of the sleeping house to join the other boy. Reno didn’t say much, but it’s rare for him to use any words. Follow me. Died in the humid air right as it grazed Cloud’s ears. And Reno already walking towards the forest. Cloud thought about arguing. Or bitchin’, as Reno called it. But arguing with Reno was as useful as fist fighting a brick wall. The brick wall always wins. Cloud laments this fact, silently of course, as he steps through mud and sticks towards an undisclosed location. 

The trees like statues as they provide minimal relief from the ball of flame in the sky. 

The air smelled stale and wet.

Like the mold that grows in the boys home, where Reno lives. 

The stench that sticks to their clothes; a tell-tale sign of the abandoned.

But Cloud noted, the one time Reno allowed him close enough he could take in his smell, the other boy reminded him of flames. 

They come upon a clearing. And Cloud gagged when death crept into the air. 

Rotting eggs and sulfur.  Cloud pulled his shirt over his nose to filter the smell, though even his mother’s soap proved to be a pathetic barrier. Nothing really prepared Cloud for the stench of a floating dead body baking in the hot sun. At the edge of the swamp, half of the blue flesh bobbed in the water. It’s clothes tattered and torn; button down and no pants. Bloated beyond recognition. Veins like a road map twisting along milky skin. 

Cloud darts blue eyes towards Reno. The other boy stared at the body; his face like stone never acknowledging the pungent stench. 

“Gotta get used to dead bodies if ya gonna be in SOLDIER,” he said in a thick accent that Cloud could never place, but was one more thing that separated him from the other boys. Reno’s lips tugged into a smirk. 

Cloud tried breathing through his mouth; but it tasted like spoiled meat. And he knew if he threw up, Reno would never let him live it down. He swallowed the bile that burned in his throat. And didn’t say another word. 

The sounds of summer embraced the scene. The animals that lurk in the swamp send ripples of waves crashing to the surface as they feed. Birds squawk overhead. Breaking twigs in the distance. Mosquitoes and flies buzzed too close. The hum pierced Cloud’s ear drum as he tried to swat them away. 

The heat had them both sweating through white shirts. Reno pulled his over his head, revealing the lean muscles and faded bruises. Like dying fireworks in a peach skyline. And Cloud couldn’t help but gaze along his body. Taking inventory every line and freckle until tattooed to his brain. Reno cast his two pearls of lake colored eyes upon the other boy, curious like a fox.

“Comeon,” he drawled, “we’re pullin’ it out.”

“Uuh,” Cloud stuttered, dropping his shirt from his mouth, “What?”

Reno walked closer to the body- Cloud impressed that the other boy could handle the smell- and grabbed a swollen ankle. “I wanna burn it.”

“W-what?” Cloud repeated.

“Fuckin’ what,” Reno snaps, “I ain’t speakin’ a different language.”

Reno hated speaking at all. This was the most string of words he’s spoken in a while. Cloud liked the sound of his voice. Rough like coal. Bitter like whiskey he pretended he didn’t drink when the sun went down. Not like the other boys with their clean grammar and smooth inflections uttered through pearly white teeth. Not like Clouds, who flumbles through words like he’s running through boulders. Getting caught up. Tongue too big for his mouth. Swollen. 

Cloud huffed. And followed the order. The smell only grew impossible to handle. The smaller of the two boys coughing and hacking as he tried fruitlessly to shield his nose with his shirt again. Reno watched him the whole time with hooded eyes that darkened under the mess of red hair. Cloud tried to focus on the task. And not how Reno scanned his body. Resting on the bit of skin exposed from pulling up his shirt. 

Cloud hesitated. The flesh that held together the foot to ankle looked diseased. Black. Putrid. He didn’t want to touch it, not at all. The amount of bacteria eating away at the stinking flesh was enough to make Cloud sick. But he could still feel Reno’s burning gaze. And he doesn’t want to look like a coward in front of him. He wrapped his fingers around the skin- and it feels like wet, slimy, clay. He pulled and the flesh peeled away from worn bone. Slipped from his hands like thick water. 

He yelled and jumped back, tripping over a rock. 

Reno’s laugh sounded like razor blades. He’s pacing around the clearing, holding his stomach. And if Cloud had an ounce of courage, he might swing at him. 

“Fuck you!” He shouted instead. 

“Poor lil bird.” Reno regained his composure. His toothy smile revealed two sharp canines.

Cloud scrambled back to his feet. “You’re sick, man.”

The red-head shrugs, wiping his hands on dirty blue jeans. He pulls out his crumbled pack of smokes and places a cigarette between his thin lips. 

“Can I bum one?” Cloud asked. 

Reno ignited the match, the flame orange and yellow casts haunting shadows across his face. “No.”

“Why?” 

He took a drag, “Waste.”

Cloud knew what he meant. “I heard everyone smokes in SOLDIER. I got to learn right?”

“Who told ya that? Zack?” Reno scrunched his face like the name tasted like poison on his tongue. Cloud nodded and Reno just shook his head. “Zack has half a brain and it ain’t in his head.”

Cloud doesn’t respond. Eyes wilted to the dirt ground; a large centipede crawled over his shoe and he kicked it into the lake where it can be a gators snack. 

“You can’t burn the body, by the way,” he said. “It’s too wet. It won’t catch.”

Reno grimaced in response. Cloud admired the scowl on the other boy’s face. How it compliments the rest of his rough edges. He watched him take slow drags of his cigarette. How the black smoke slowly escaped his lips, obstructing his features except for those two eyes that glow against smoke. Like the stars in the midnight sky. 

Reno was a house fire. 

And maybe Cloud felt that way because the first time he saw him Mrs. Fost house was engulfed. Glowing orange embers fell from the sky like rain. Hissed and singed when they landed on the cobble stoned street. Everyone watched. Some helped. The good  ol’ boys, like Zack, rallied each other and grabbed water from the well to put out the fire. 

Cloud stood hypnotized by the dancing reds that ate at the flimsy wood, which scorched the air. And he thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen up to that point. He wanted to feel as powerful as a fire. Eat away at the things weaker than him. But Cloud wasn’t a house fire. Cloud was the wood structure collapsing like a dying star. 

He heard the striking of a match. Turned towards the sound. 

Saw a boy, with hair the color of blood, bringing fire to the cigarette between his lips. 

He looked like danger. Cut from metal. Sharp like the switchblade in his pocket. 

And then, like now under the muted morning light, in a swamp that reeks of death, Cloud can’t stop staring at the boy. Who appeared a year ago like a phantom under the flames of destruction. Cloud gravitated to him like he was the sun. And found only darkness. A red dwarf. Two minutes from midnight and ready for armageddon. And that’s all he knew.

Reno’s past a mystery but everyone tried predicting his future.

Boys like that end up in the gutter.

The mothers whispered. 

Filthy monsters. Wicked little things. All end up dead before eighteen.

Zack and the rest of the boys warned him much the same.

You hang out with trash you start to smell.

But Reno smelled like burning wood, nicotine, and pomegranates. 

Reno was fire and Cloud wanted to burn.

Thunder cracked. Cloud looked into the darkening sky. “It’s going to rain.”

“So?” Reno grabbed a long stick and stomped back towards the body. “Afraid of gettin’ wet?” He winks, “Little birds can’t fly in rain?” 

He plunged the stick into the bloated stomach of cadaver. Black ooze pushed out. Cloud swore he heard a wheeze before another boom of thunder. He flinched as Reno dug the wood deeper until it stood on its own. 

“Wh-why did you do that?”

Reno snapped his eyes at Cloud. And shrugged, again. Cloud pursed his lips looking for words. But found vacant expressions. Reno didn’t need to explain himself; he’s red hot anger. And everything he does is a result of that. 

“You gotta learn to stab shit if you wanna be a SOLDIER.” Reno said and revealed a switchblade from his back pocket. “Comeon.”

Cloud hesitated. “W..Why?”

“I just said why, fuck.” 

The sky opened and cold rain cooled the hot earth. The drops slammed against the bloated body; singing through the dense forest and murky swamp. Tap tap tap. Rapid like bullets. 

“I won’t be stabbing something that’s already dead, right?” Cloud shifted. 

Reno removed the dead cigarette from his mouth, flicking it into the swamp and approached Cloud. His feet sunk into the mud with every step; but as if blessed, he doesn’t stumble. And the blonde can’t seem to move, even though Reno’s giving him this look; like an alligator lurking below the surface of the swamp, ready to bite his head off. He stopped too close. Cloud could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The bones of his rib cage that peek through the skin. The small cuts. The large black and blues. From one too many fights with those good boys. 

To Cloud’s surprise, they’re the same height. Blue green meets slate blue eyes. Reno always gave off the impression of being impossibly larger than life. Cloud crushed under his gaze. But in the pouring rain, in the morning light, with the smell of rotting flesh and still water, they were equals. 

Reno grabbed Cloud’s wrist, with a sudden movement that it stole the blonde’s heartbeat, and placed the hilt of the blade in his wet palm. 

“Stab me.”

“What!?” Cloud didn’t stutter this time. He blurted the words from his mouth with a frantic tone. He tried to move back but Reno held him firm. Rooted to the ground. “No w-way!”

“Gotta learn.” Reno grinned something vile. He closed Cloud’s fingers around the worn wood, and pressed the sharpened knife against his own side. Guiding the other boy. His skin tickling the blade like a dar. “Right here.”

“Y-y-you’re fucki-in nuts, Re.”

“You think this my first time bein’ stabbed?”

“No, bu-t-” Cloud could only shake his head, “I ain’t stabbing you. No w-way.”

Reno frowned, bringing Cloud and his wrist and the blade to his neck. “How ‘bout here?”

“That’s w-worse!” Cloud panted. “You’ll die.”

“You can’t kill me, lil bird.” And Reno laughed. A devastated laugh that sounded more like the lightning that flashed overhead. Blinding Cloud for a moment. But only a moment. And he saw electricity in the redhead eyes. And felt his skin rise towards the cement sky. And he didn’t know if the shock was from the angry god above or the boy before him, yanking him closer. Stumbling over feet. His collision with Reno- skin to skin- proceeded the thunder. 

“Hm,” Reno purrs, and Cloud felt his breath against his lips. “Ya never gonna make SOLDIER.”

Cloud growled, “F-Fuck you, Reno.”

Reno squeezed Cloud’s wrist. Tight. Until he was forced to drop the knife. “Ya finally gettin mad, huh?” 

But Cloud stared into Reno’s eyes- too busy to get mad. Trying to focus on anything else besides Reno. Not his lips and how they were slightly opened and just slightly inviting. And that he smells of smoldering flame that eats at an entire forest. And his hand feels rough around his wrist. And Cloud’s aware of the lack of blood traveling to his fingers that they are going numb. 

Reno relaxed his grip. Moving his hand up Cloud’s, over the scars that littered his calloused fingers. Burns. “I like it when ya mad,” he whispered, “ya more interestin’.”

And he’s giving Cloud the same look he flashed him at Mrs. Fost’s house fire. When the smoke around his face cleared. And Cloud saw the dramatic curves of his face. His slanted auburn eyebrows that clashed against the red hues of his hair. Mesmerized by the way his eyes glowed- literally glowed- brighter than the fire that consumed the wood house over the old women’s feverish cries. And Cloud was, himself, engulfed by Reno’s gaze that he didn’t acknowledge how the strange boy traveled from Cloud’s face, down his chest, to his bandaged right hand that blistered underneath the cloth. 

Not until the red-head curled his lips into a wicked little smirk. 

Under the rain, the hot rain that stuck to his body like grime, Reno had the same look, Curiosity mixed with bloodlust. 

Or…

Just regular lust. 

And Cloud couldn’t stand another minute not knowing if Reno tasted like he smelled-

Pressed his lips against the red-heads, snaking his fingers into his wet hair to pull him closer. Impossibly close.

He expected a fist in his face, rocking him from this earth. Instead, Reno returns the kiss twice as forceful and with more practice. Wrapping his lean arms around Cloud’s small frame. Gliding his nails through the white fabric. 

Cloud opened his mouth so their tongues can meet,

And he tasted like tar. And electricity. And sulfur. 

They managed to get off the shirt that clung to Cloud’s body like suction cups. And they were back to skin and mess of limbs and lips. 

And teeth that bit on Cloud’s lip; and he moaned from his throat a sound that rushed through Reno’s body like a shockwave. Then fall to the floor. Cushioned by the mud. 

They tarnished their bodies in dirt and filth. Rough hands digging into flesh. And Cloud couldn’t keep track of how many times Reno’s name left his bruised lips through harsh breathes. 

And he didn’t stutter. 

He memorized that name. Branded it in his brain. 

The only word he knew. 

The red-head sat up, straddling Cloud’s hips under him. Pressing his hand firm on his chest to keep him on the ground. And blue-green eyes stare at Reno. Flushed with pleading desire. But he’s preoccupied with the scars on Cloud’s chest. 

And if Reno was faded fireworks during the sun set.

Cloud was the scorched woods during sun rise.  

Old burns splashed over his pale skin. Some still pink and angry. Other’s that blended into his flesh.  

And Reno smiled.

His first real smile. 

And Cloud thought he looked like the devil. 

He dropped down, their torsos meeting. Lips just barely touching. “I knew it,” he whispers. 

And he figured it out the night they first met. That Cloud was a match that needed a spark. 

Their lips met again. Clothes torn off.

The rain and mud made their bodies slick. And Cloud dug his nails into Reno’s back while he hissed into the blonde's neck. Nipping and biting skin, adding crimson to muted colors. 

It was the tangled limbs- how Cloud didn’t know where he ended and Reno began- that had raw breathless gasps clawing at his throat. 

And they were gripped in euphoria that they forgot about the body decaying next to them. 

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

The rain stopped. The heat rose from the soil and the earth felt like an oven. Reno stood over the body; his jeans stained with mud and shirt over his shoulder. Cloud walked next to him, still trying to adjust his shorts, with his own shirt balled in his pocket- his mom will have a word with him when he gets home, for sure. But that would have to wait. Right now, he relished the tingles that touched every part of his body, while he watched the red-head. New scars painted his canvas. Long streaks of red that matched the ones on Cloud’s body. And the blonde felt the throb of the bite on his shoulder; and it burned like the fire that decorated his flesh. 

He didn’t even care that Reno had marked him-

Like the house fire, Reno was the most beautiful thing he had even seen in eighteen years on this dying planet. And Cloud wanted every bite, and burn, the red head could offer him. 

Reno grabbed his pack. Placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with his last match. 

He turned to Cloud, removed the stick and gently placed it between Cloud’s partial opened lips. The other boy blinked several times in confusion, as Reno replaced it with another one, and leaned into Cloud’s ember to light it. 

The sound of searing fire touched his ears.

His whole body twitched. 

Cloud smiled, couldn’t help it, and took a sharp inhale. Blowing the smoke right at Reno, who smirked. 

“Thought you said it would be a waste?” Cloud sing-songed.

“Heh, ya ain’t gettin’ into SOLDIER anymore. Don’t matter.”

“W-why do you say that?” Cloud cocked his head, and in mid-morning light, he looked like an innocent boy filled with naivety. 

But Reno knew better. “They don’t care for wicked little things like us.”

They shared a look under the heat of the sun that burned their skin. A look they shared against the warming flames. Where Cloud saw him for the first time and knew he needed to understand as much as he could about the mysterious boy who appeared from thin air. Who was filthy. Abandoned. A discarded trash.

But stunning. Like a god. 

He was right.

Reno wasn’t like the other boys.

And neither was Cloud. 

No Acolytes in this little fanfiction, just two squads of some of my favorite Marvel mercs---Force of Nature and the Serpent Society! With some Mindmeld and the Shaws at the end!

When the wealthy eco-terrorists that called themselves “Project Earth” had needed some super-powered muscle, they had hired four individuals that they had deemed “Force of Nature” for their elemental powers. Though Project Earth had disbanded, Force of Nature had kept their name, since it was now a known one. Not widely known, but better than any of them had done as indivuduals, and that meant brand recognition, which meant being hired for more jobs. Environmentalists in particular tended to choose them due to their past with the aforementioned Project Earth, though most green freaks didn’t have that kind of cash so they ended up with a lot of less noble merc jobs. Today though, their target was indeed one that their original employers would have loved to see taken down---the Roxxon Energy Corporation. The task was simple---get inside, get deep into the most highly secure area, and wreck everything. They had succeeded in this---but, to their surprise, they were not the only ones. ”Who’re YOU?!” demanded a huge hulking blonde woman as the quartet burst in. She was part of a larger group of people, and judging by their costumes---not to mention two of the men appearing to be part snake---she and her gang weren’t Roxxon employees any more than Force of Nature was. ”I could ask YOU the same question,” retorted Skybreaker/Aireo, a miniature whirlwind forming around on of fists. The woman’s biceps were probably thicker than his entire body, but he was not at all deterred. ”Who cares who they are?!” said one of the men in the blonde woman’s group, a sturdy fellow with light brown skin, the only one of them bigger than she was, ”They’re witnesses or they’re competition---either way, let’s get rid of ‘em!” With that, the man began to increase dramatically in size, his already huge frame getting even bigger. ”Good idea, Puffy!” said the blonde woman, and came swinging at the elemental---swinging with arms that were suddenly twice the length they had been before. ”Now wait just a---” an Egyptian woman in a white dress began, before being knocked off her feet by a gust from Skybreaker, who was airborne now, while Terraformer had taken on his tree shape to grapple with the blonde and the giant man was being kept at bay by flame blasts from Firewall. ”Hang on, I think I know these mooks,” said Aqueduct, who had been in the supervillain business longer than any of his teammates, “The Serpent Society!” The Serpent Society was the kind of mercenary guild you wanted to get in on, big time. They had insurance, benefits, all that kind of stuff, just like a real job. Hell, their package was actually a lot BETTER than most “real” jobs! It was a level of legitimate-like professionalism that was unheard of in the underworld; even organized crime like the Maggia didn’t typically offer that kind of gig. Unfortunately, you had to have a snake name to join up...maybe he should start calling himself Water Moccasin? ”That’s us,” confirmed an attractive woman with long black hair as she snuck up behind him, “And if you know that---you know you’re finished!” Aqueduct turned to attack, only to find himself face to face not with Black Mamba, the succubus-like member of the Serpent Society, but one of her life-sapping love phantoms----which he currently saw, as anyone would who it was targeted at, as looking like the woman of his dreams, a perfect composite of his every sexual fantasy put together in one flawless and nude form. A form that fell upon in a full lip-lock, which he surrendered to helplessly. “Be glad I’m the one that got you, lover boy,” said the love phantom’s mistress as she looked down at where he lay, submitting to his fate, “You’re going to go out with the GOOD kind of bang.” “Release him from your shadows, harlot!” Skybreaker shrieked, using his winds to scoop Black Mamba up into the air, levitating her high above the floor. “Or what, you’ll drop me?” mocked Black Mamba, though in truth she didn’t like the idea. “No---I shall roast you!” Firewall threatened, flying up beside her, her entire body ablaze. “Fine!” Black Mamba said, and the love phantom vanished, leaving a very confused and rather disappointed Aqueduct looking around in a dazed manner. He sat up and blinked at the closest person to him, the Egyptian woman in the white dress. In her daily life, she was Cleo. As a supervillain, she was The Asp. But he knew her by another name,... “Hey, aren’t you The Temptress?” The second it left his lips, he was sorry he had let it out. Now he was hoping that she WASN’T, and would have no idea to what he was referring. Alas, she was, and she did, and she looked down her beautiful nose at him, “You remember me. But I do not recall you. Which means you must not have been a good tipper. So I shall feel no guilt in doing THIS!” And she hurled a venom blast at him, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him out once again. As for Black Mamba, Skybreaker had dropped her anyway, but she had been caught mid-fall by the extendable and strong arms of Anaconda, aka the huge blonde woman. One of her arms, anyway. The other had shot out even farther to grab Skybreaker by his lengthy ponytail, as she growl-shouted up at him, ”Cut yer hair, ya hippie!” He shrieked in hopes that Firewall would help him, but she was distracted by another Serpent, the silent and scale-covered assassin of the team, boasting a spike-studded casing for his tail and titanium talons on his gloves that were filled with snake venom. Her flames allowed her to keep him at a distances, but she couldn’t be too liberal with them lest she hit her teammates, especially Terraformer the living tree, and Death Adder’s enhanced speed and agility made it easy for him to keep dodging her fireballs. Her best bet was to keep her entire body ablaze to keep him from touching her, while keeping him distracted from her more vulnerable teammates, which was what she was doing. But she spared a jet of flame for Aireo’s sake, causing Anaconda to drop him. Then she turned her attention back to Death Adder, hoping to finish him once and for all, -”A pity. I like you far better than your comrades---for you do not speak.” With that, she sent a wave of flame to engulf him---only to have him be snagged away by the long arm of Anacondna. Roland had died before, she wasn’t letting that happen again. ”You’re a real chatterbox yourself, Mabel!” she quipped, using the default name she applied to any woman she didn’t know. “What did you call me, you swine?!” Not being American, Firewall thought that “Mabel” must be an insult. And likewise, Anaconda thought Firewall was insulting her looks, when in fact she tended to call ALL Americans some variant of swine or pig. She seemed to like them about as much as Aireo liked humans in general. The two women abandoned their former opponents and began trying to get at each other. Speaking of Aireo, he was back in the fray, attacking one of the Serpents who had been trying to slash through Terraformer with the two huge blades strapped to his forearms. Like Death Adder, he was one of the more inhuman looking ones (though Skybreaker would of course not use that term in such a way) as from the waist down he was an enormous green snake. And like a snake trying to get at a bird, he tried to strike at Skybreaker as he flitted around him, distracting him from hurting Terraformer further while the tree elemental continued tussling with the giant-size Puff Adder. ”Get away from him!” the Inhuman commanded, trying to blow the snake-man back, but his naga-like lower half proved too heavy, giving him the opportunity to dig his arm-blades into Terraformer’s....not flesh, but bark...and take hold there. ”Monster!” Skybreaker cried in outrage as his teammate did the same in pain. This seemed to phase his opponent considerably, as the man suddenly looked upset, ”Who are you to call me a monster?!” “Among my people, I was Aireo. In the human world, I am Skybreaker. But to you---I shall be MASTER!” ”There’s only one master here,” the snake-man retorted, “And it’s me---Bushmaster! And I’m as human as you!” This was the wrong thing to say to Skybreaker, who let loose a whole new torrent that sent Bushmaster flying--along with a few chunks of Terraformer---backwards into the nearest wall. ”Human?! HUMAN?! You dare call me HUMAN?! Did you not HEAR what I just said?! I am no human---I am INHUMAN! I come from ATTILAN! And while it is a regressive place in need of reform--which I was cast out for trying to give it---it is still a superior world to yours, human man!” Bushmaster actually hadn’t been able to hear half of what Aireo had said over his winds, but he looked surprised at this last bit, and even...touched? ”You...think I’m human?” Aireo descended to stand before him, his thin arms cross over his thin chest, scoffing, ”Most likely; they’re a common breed with many variants. But if you’re NOT? Take it as a source of pride. I do.” Meanwhile, Death Adder was silently slipping up to the prone Aqueduct, who was still down from The Asps’s blast. But then Terraformer, seeing this, defended his teammate by at last letting the gargantuan Puff Adder slam him to the side---right into Death Adder, who went hurling out of the way to avoid being crushed, causing him to crash into The Asp, who reflexively venom-blasted him by accident, taking her own teammate down. ”Enough!” she decreed, striking one bare foot with elegant force against the floor, “Does anyone here even know WHY we are at each other’s throats?!” ”She’s got a point,” said Black Mamba, “Guys, cool it. You four---I’m willing to stop fighting for a minute if you are. At least til we figure out if we SHOULD be.” Firewall and Skybreaker objected, but cooler heads prevailed---Aqueduct, getting back to his feet, agreed it was a good idea, and Terraformer corralled his more tempermental teammates with his branches. Firewall of course could have burned through them, through him, but she would not do that to him. He was the most gentle and inoffensive of them, even from her easily-angered perspective. “Okay the,” Black Mamba said, taking the lead from Asp, “The hell are YOU here for?” “You first,” said Aqueduct, figuring it’d be best if he did the talking for his respective team. For different reasons, none of them were what you’d call good negotiators---and really, neither was he, for the reason that he was none too bright, but at least he probably wouldn’t set things off again.

“Serpent Crown,” Black Mamba explained, “Roxxon’s been after it a long time. In fact, their Mutagenics Division gave all of us except Puff Adder and Asp here our powers, all in order to recover it. And they finally got their hands on it...but we’ve long moved on to new employers. One who’d like it for themselves. You?” “Roxxon Energy Company used to be Roxxon Oil, and really, they still are,” Skybreaker interrupted,  “And like all oil companies, they are ecological monsters. They have damaged countless---” “So there’s no conflict then,” Black Mamba cut him off, “We want the crown. You want to wreck the place, I’m guessing, maybe make an example of some people. We’ve got no beef with that. And I’m sure YOU don’t want these “ecological monsters” having an object of power like THAT.” Force of Nature looked at each other, and Aqueduct finally said, “Well...no. I mean, maybe OUR employers would like it too---but they didn’t say so, so their loss!” He’d added that last part quickly when he’d seen the Serpents tensing to fight again at the very idea he might be thinking of taking their prize. “I don’t think ANY human should have it,” said Aireo, “But since they’re all the same, it doesn’t matter to me if it changes hands from Roxxon to another.” “Any corporation shall use it for gain without a thought of what damage it causes,” said Firewall, the flames around her still crackling. “But Roxxon pollutes even more than most corporations,” Terraformer pointed out. “So uh, I guess what my crew is saying is, it comes down to who you’re giving it to,” said Aqueduct, a little uneasily, not actually caring himself and knowing already that this would not go over well. “That’s confidential. We’re professionals, come on now,” Black Mamba said, and continued to negotiate, “Look, I admire that you guys clearly have a sincere moral stake in this, but you’re still mercenaries, just like us, and like you said, Water Boy, you weren’t paid to take the Crown. We were. If your next customer tells you that your mission is to get the Crown from us, then we’re ready to make you work for it, but since that’s not the case, what’s the point?” Aqueduct agreed with her completely, actually. Like, he liked animals and rainforests and stuff and all that, but he wasn’t actually invested in it like his teammates. Skybreaker and Terraformer both had good reasons to want a cleaner Earth---Aireo being an Inhuman meant that pollution affected his health much more than a normal person, and Terraformer literally WAS a sentient plant---and Theary aka Firewall, well, she was just angry at the West and anyone in power, just angry IN GENERAL really, and Aqueduct didn’t really think he blamed her, given her background as a Cambodian child conceived during the Vietnam War. But him? Man, he just wanted a paycheck. And he’d prefer to get it without any extra complications, like getting clobbered by psycho-snake-people when he didn’t have to. “Guys, let’s let them have it,” he said, turning to his team, “Odds are, whoever they’re taking it too, won’t be WORSE than Roxxon. And if it turns out that our client DOES want it for themselves? They have to pay us for a second mission.” Firewall snorted and said something about his typical American greed, and while Terraformer and Aireo didn’t DISAGREE with that, they too wanted to get back to the task at hand of merely hurting Roxxon, not doing battle with other mercenaries over something that didn’t actually affect their mission at all. “Okay then,” Aqueduct turned back to the Serpent Society, smiling and feeling proud that he’d taken the reins of leadership and actually succeeded in making his team go with it, “Crown’s yours, guys! Carry on! Just be sure to get out of here before we bring the place down!” “Man, we didn’t NEED your permission,” Anaconda growled, “Mamba just didn’t think we should smash you without getting paid EXTRA for it upfront. But me--” She flexed her massive arms, and Aqueduct, even at a good distance, gulped. “---I would have done it for free.” With that, the Serpent Society walked away and left Force of Nature to continue destroying the room even more than the fight already had...but returned to attack them once again in suspicion when they realized that the Serpent Crown was ALREADY GONE. *** “Well boys, here’s your little tiara,” the statuesque and silver-skinned mercenary known as Mindmeld sauntered casually into the Shaw’s meeting room, the priceless weapon dangling off her perfectly manicured index finger like a mere trinket. “I’ll take my fee now.” After a quick counted, she quirked an eyebrow in irritation, “Hey---if you wanna stiff me, there are better ways to do it than this. This is NOT what we agreed on, you owe me---” “Exactly that, once we deducted the fee for those “Force of Nature” fellows that you called in on my tab rather than fight the Serpent Society yourself when you realized they were after the same target,” said the senior Shaw coolly over his steepled fingers, “A clever idea, Miss Mindmeld, but they don’t work for free---much like yourself. Since you procured the prize successfully, I’m willing to overlook it, but touch my bank account again without authorization...and we shall be testing the limits of Krakoa’s resurrection.” Mindmeld didn’t doubt it. She also didn’t doubt Shinobi’s old man knew a whole lot of ways to just make you WISH you were dead without ever delivering the final mercy. So without further complaint, she counted herself lucky and slid the crown over, albeit to Shinobi rather than Sebastian, just to get a tiny little dig in because she was petty like that. Whatever, it was still a LOT of money. More than she’d ever made on a job. More than she’d ever made on all her jobs put together. Which was why, despite it usually being very much outside her professional protocol, she had to ask, “So what IS this thing? Besides hideous and not going to match EITHER of your wardrobes.” “This,” said Shinobi, his gaze fixed on the diadem of intertwined snakes, his finger tips running delicately yet firmly over the textured surface of false scales with the enraptured eagerness of a lover in foreplay, “Is why Billie Eilish wrote that song.” And that was why Sebastian Shaw had long given up anything his son said sometimes. END

Impossibilities Interlude: Fel Vision

written by Matthew Rossi

By the time the felhunter died, she was past slicing and was just bludgeoning the thing.

It took the crackling crunch of the carapace failing and the seething, bilious vapor of its fel blood hitting the air to bring her back to where she actually was. There were dead demons along the beach, up into the rocks that led up the cliff to the rally point. Some were killed with deft strikes, eviscerated or decapitated. As the trail got closer to where she was now, she saw the carnage intensify--bodies blasted apart, or ripped in half, and finally the last few just brutalized. Crushed and mangled by sheer force.

She took several deep breaths and wallowed in the smell of them. Acrid, with traces of rot and sulfurous fumes and the blasted reek of flame that burned even the soil around them. Dead, they poisoned the ground around their remains. She lifted one of her glaives to her mouth and licked the blade, feeling it burn her. Fury in every twitch of strained muscle.

Up the hill, she saw Azri ripping the head off a Doomguard. The tall night elf woman spoke little, and Karanath knew her only from moments like these, when they each reveled in their bloodlust in their own way. The dusk sky nearly matched Azri's skin, the glowing green of her tattoos trailing from her chest up her neck to frame the veil over her eyes, twin pools of green flame hidden poorly behind cloth. Knowing her own were the same, she wondered what she looked like to Azri.

"Are you rutting?" Azri cackled as she dragged the head through the sand. "I'd love a roll with you, if you're hungry."

"I'd hurt you."

"I hope so." Azri laughed again. Karanath felt something in the air, a sensation familiar and unpleasant. Further along the beach there was still fighting going on. She shook her head, slowly.

"More of them. I'm going to go see."

"It's just some Kirin Tor. Let them clean up their own messes." Azri cocked her head to the side, her hand on her hip. She was grace and rage, her wings only emphasizing the lean beauty of her etched abdomen, each muscle lit by the glow of her markings. "It's time to play."

"Not yet." Karanath stepped closer and bit Azri on the cheek. "But I'll come find you."

"Tease." Another laugh, and the Doomguard's head flew up in the air. "Call if you need me. Either way."

Karanath stalked away, evading a swipe of the claws that was more playful than serious. They were family, Illidari, they'd lost or sacrificed everything together. Azri could be trusted...at least until she lost the fight, or Karanath did, and then one of them would put the other down.

It was what they were. It was how it had to be, what she'd chosen. She could feel the marks on her skin, once a sun-kissed bronze, now sickly with trails of green fire climbing up her torso. The world was edged in flames, the same color as the blood on her blades and the fire that seethed where her eyes had been. Everything around her was marked by what she could see now, the world the way the demons saw it.

She passed cooling bodies in the surf and came to a knot of demons ringing their would-be prey. Kirin Tor mages lacked subtlety, often going for the biggest, flashiest spells they could. Once, when she'd been someone else, she felt them a trifle awkward. The years of her training both in Silvermoon and Dalaran still lingered and she could recognize craft, could see that someone on the other side of the crush of bodies was an expert. Not subtle, but precise, weaving together callings as tongues of fire rained down from the sky and seared them to ashes. Even so, more and more demons came, rushing from a rift just out of the range of the casters. The press of bodies was overwhelming them.

They'll be dead soon. This wasn't Karanath's problem. The Illidari had offered their expertise and the Kirin Tor had told them they'd be fine without it. But her hatred of demons was so very much stronger than any bitterness she might have indulged in towards the Kirin Tor or the life she'd been forced to leave behind. The spellwork looked familiar, like a tracing of fingernails along her spine on a spring day underneath Dalaran's minarets, the sun shimmering around her.

She let the hate loose, let her body distort and her wings grow, felt impossibly huge and powerful and flung herself towards the rift. She covered the distance in one bound, crashed down in an explosion of flames and felt the fire behind her eyes. She shook with the giddy, bubbling eruption of it as it burst forth from her, twin jets of fel that blasted the demons apart all the way to the rift itself. They lanced into it, shattering the enchantments bound into the gateway and it fell apart in a howling sound while she danced and slashed and kicked, most of the fury spent but self-preservation taking over. She'd stopped their reinforcements, but there were still dozens of them around her.

Idiot. Now you'll die, and for what? A memory? A place that never wanted you, people who never cared what you did? The Kirin Tor are nothing to you now. She couldn't tell if it was her voice or the demon's, but she knew it was true regardless. More and more of them were swarming her, determined to kill her for interference in their attack. By the time Azri or any of the others noticed, she'd be a blasted corpse with her intestines feeding a felstalker. The thought brought a tight grin to her face. Dinner time.

She'd forgotten for a moment about whoever the weaver of fire was. So had the demons, so intent on taking her life, they slackened off their assault on the Kirin Tor encampment. Through her new eyes, she could see the magic move in ways she never had when she'd actually been a mage, could see it layer and build and fold and coil in the air. She was so caught up in the sight that she took a polearm to the shoulder, dropped down to her knees in the burning blood of the imps she'd just slaughtered, and looked up into the smirking face of the Wrathguard that had hit her. She raised her twinblades, crossing them in front of her face as the demon’s polearm, dripping with her blood, pushed them towards her with all his strength.

"Now..." He swung the weapon up above his head. "You die."

Then he exploded. All around her the very air was replaced with flames, a sheet of fire made up of twisting tongues erupting from below. Karanath hated to admit it, but some lingering part of her was impressed. She couldn't do magic like this anymore... If she were honest, she'd never been this good, but now the Fel in her blood, the demon at her heart made it impossible to touch the arcane. But she still knew spellcraft, and a conflagration like this took years to learn and master.

The few remaining demons tried to flee and were brought down by arcane missiles or a few frost spells. Karanath managed to salvage a little pride by slashing a Mo'arg's throat open as it tried to run by before pulling herself to her feet. She could feel a nick on one of her horns where the sheath had been slashed open, and her shoulder was a ruin, but she'd heal.

The mages were tending to their wounded, or their dead. Karanath deliberately didn't look. She didn't want to know if she recognized any of them. She'd only left Dalaran just before the Third War. Called home. "It's time to marry Darameth and take over the shop.” Her father's voice. That almost made her laugh. The shop. The shop had been in the part of Silvermoon that was gone now, the part torn in half by a legion of walking corpses. Darameth had been decent enough – she hadn't loved him, but he'd been understanding, hadn't pushed. It was her mother and father who'd pushed. "You have to think of the future.”

She sheathed her glaives. She'd go up, find Azri. They could distract each other. She turned to leave and the faint voice reached her.

"Wait!" Someone was riding towards her on a bird made of fire. Despite every reason to ignore it, the part of her that remembered nights spent looking over tomes recognized it as an elemental creature, something from the Firelands. The idea that someone could ride one... She found herself standing there as the creature drew closer, the wet sand sending jets of steam in its tread.

There was a tearing sensation as she finally saw the face of the woman on its back. A human. Of course it's you. She'd never known another mage as utterly bound to fire. The woman's eyes were open, her expression one of curiosity.

"What do you want?" Karanath hoped her voice sounded different enough, that the black cloth over her eyes obscured her features.

"I..." Even etched in the demonic flames that were her sight now, Karanath could see recognition as it dawned. The moment was dragged out between them, until she was sure she'd scream at the mage. Get it over with. "Karan?"

"Once."

"You died." Anthai was much like all humans. She had barely lived long enough to understand her own feelings, so it was ridiculous for Karanath to expect her to understand those of anyone else. They'd argued often about it, once. She remembered the day she'd told the woman in front of her she was leaving for Silvermoon. “But how can...you don't love him, why would you go back and marry him? Why would you give up everything?”

"Yes." She felt Ranath twist her features into a sneer and let the demon have rein for just a moment before reaching deep into herself and twisting the creature into a ball, bearing down on it. Try that again and I'll make you suffer for days. "I did. With them."

She stepped back when Anthai reached out a hand, the same way she had that last day. Had it only been thirteen years?

"Don't touch me."

"I..." That hateful hand dropped to her side. "I went, I looked for you, I..."

Karanath didn't say any of the things she was thinking. She didn't let herself remember that last day, the look on Anthai's face. She hated that she felt anything, that the look on her face now meant something to her. She didn't want it to. Karan is dead. Karan died in a pit with her sister and her mother and her father and her foolish fiancé and I'm what crawled out, I'm what followed the prince to Outland, I'm what Illidan gave me. Freedom from memory. Freedom from regret. Freedom from this, from you trying to make me that weak little thing crawling back to Silvermoon all over again. She tried very hard not to hate the woman standing in front of her.

She just waited, letting it stretch out between them.

"Well." Anthai mastered herself, that way she always had of just pushing everything aside. It was a lovely act. Karanath admired it, even now. "Thank you. I couldn't protect the others and get to that gate without losing them all."

"No." The demon hunter agreed, her horns feeling new and strange, memories of being a slim girl on a spring day making her feel alien again like she had the first time she felt the spasms start. After she'd eaten Ranath's heart. "You all would have died."

"I wouldn't have."

Karanath just stared at her. Anthai stared back, even faced with the green flames for eyes. Why would that cow her? She was a master of fire. There was nothing to say and everything to say and she hated that she couldn't make herself leave worst of all.

"If you like." She turned and stepped up, snapping her wings and gliding up into the air. She drifted away, feeling eyes on her the whole time until she managed to bound over a hill and arrive where the Illidari were camped, bodies already writhing against one another.

Azri was between two, a lithe Blood Elf named Kaecilian and another Night Elf woman, Saharel. She knew she could join them--peel the few garments from her body, let them worship her markings and find release in theirs for a while.

Instead she stared down the hill at the camp on the beach and watched a woman with a bird made of fire and hated that she couldn't stop.

TO BE CONTINUED...

i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi

@tatkresiwok

It was all very strange.

He was used to the Blue Spirit being unseen, unknown, a rumor. Just glimpsed of some dark entity in the middle of the night, gone as soon as it came. It was better if everyone thought it was an actual spirit, working for reasons of its own.

But, for Zuko, things never worked out the way he wanted.

He staked out a lone house just outside the edge of a village to the north of where the marauder’s hideout was located, intending to swipe some extra soap, if he could find it, and maybe, if he was very lucky, a handful of copper coins. Not enough to bankrupt a family, but enough for him to get by a little more easily. At least to start.

Zuko waited for cover of night, ignoring the hunger pains in his stomach, until he was sure the family was all asleep. He crept up to the wooden engawa and paused there, listening. No sounds came from within. The moon was close to half, and there were clouds in the sky; cover of darkness was not as good as it could have been, but it was decent enough. He wasn’t worried.

As he slipped along, he ran a hand along the door panels, searching for the best place to gain entry. There. His fingers found the barest crack where one of the panels hadn’t been shut quite all the way. Zuko gently worked his fingers in the opening and carefully, slowly, pushed open the panel just enough for him to slip in.

The interior was dark, but once his eyes began to adjust to the deeper shadows he felt sure enough to navigate through. It’d be easy enough for him to produce a small flame to see by, but that might alert someone. Instead, he moved cautiously, keeping one hand outstretched. He moved through the house like a shadow, picking up a few items here and there. Most people weren’t better off than him, so he long ago had taken to only stealing what he needed to get buy. Zuko didn’t have space for luxuries in his single pack, anyway.

The most important thing he found was in the small washroom: a bar of soap. It even looked unused. Zuko wasn’t sure what he’d done recently to grant him such luck (maybe his helping the waterbender was it, but he tried not to think about that much), but he wasn’t about to start questioning it. The soap went into his pack, along with a few handfuls of dried meat and fruit, and a couple of silver pieces. By the size of this house, it was clear the family was slightly better off than most others, so he didn’t feel guilty for taking more than he normally would have.

He crept back out of the washroom, pausing to make sure he didn’t hear a change in the steady breathing of the family sleeping down the corridor, then slowly made his way back toward the window he’d come in. He was nearly out when a growl cut through the quiet. Zuko froze, feeling his heart drop into his gut—which was what had made the noise.

Maybe he was far enough away from the bedrooms that no one would be alerted.

“Are you hungry?”

The voice of a little girl nearly made him drop his pack. He whirled, mind racing to try and come up with some sort of excuse that could keep her quiet and get him out as quickly as possible.

Disarmingly, she smiled up at him.

“We’ve got some extra food from dinner, if you want.” Without waiting for him to reply, she went over to the cooking pot still hanging by the embers of a fire, and spooned him out a bowl of what looked like juk with chopped vegetables in it. She came back over to him and offered it with one hand. “Here you go.”

Tentatively, guiltily, Zuko shook his head. “No, thank you,” he began. “I—”

Before he could finish, a crash came from behind him. Again, Zuko whirled to see another darkly clad person scramble to their feet, the shoji they’d just knocked down lying torn beneath them on the floor. Out of instinct, Zuko put his hand out to create a barrier between this new intruder and the little girl. The other’s face was halfway covered, with a cloth mask tied around their nose and mouth. Unlike with Zuko’s mask, it left their green eyes exposed.

“What, you some kinda house guardian?” the person snarled at him. They lifted their fists, preparing to attack. The glint of moonlight off a blade flashed like a firebug in the night.

Zuko said nothing, but surged into action. He didn’t let the new intruder get the first move, knowing that if he was fast enough he might be able to incapacitate them before they destroyed more of the house. Or, worse, hurt the little girl or someone else.

With his options limited and unwilling to resort to bending, he barreled toward them, then shot forward, knocking them back and grappling with them. The momentum sent both Zuko and the intruder back out the broken wall, tumbling down off the engawa and onto the hard earth. While he was quite a good combatant, Zuko wasn’t truly skilled at the art of grappling, and so simply did his best to try and keep the other’s limbs pinned. He didn’t want them to get up or be able to use that blade against him.

Distantly, the sound of footsteps on wood reached him, but it was unimportant next to subduing his opponent. He felt warmth rise in him, bolstering his will to win. But, while Zuko did not give in to the urge to firebend, he used its energy to gain a moment of overpowering the struggling intruder beneath him and knock them out.

Somewhere off to his left, a voice was calling to him, and growing nearer. Chest heaving from the fight, Zuko lifted his head from staring at the slowly groaning intruder on the ground to the voice. The familiar haze of a quick and unexpected fight slowly dissipated from his senses, and Zuko’s focus widened beyond that of his enemy.

The little girl was running up to him again, before an older kid caught up to her and grabbed hold of her—an older sibling by the look. Beyond them, two adults came into view, staring at Zuko with wide eyes. A quiet scrabbling just beneath him snapped his attention back down, thinking he was about to be stabbed, but the intruder was trying to scramble back away from Zuko.

“You—you fight like a demon!” they said, eyes wide and a bruise forming over one of them. They managed to get to their feet with a bit of stumbling, and Zuko let them run off into the night. It was a waste to try and stop them again.

“He saved me!” the little girl stated firmly, bringing his gaze back to the family. She tried to worm her way out of her sister’s grasp.

“Yeah, that was real lucky he was there,” her sister said, not taking her eyes off Zuko, plainly suspicious of him.

All at once, the younger girl stopped struggling, and looked up at her sister with a very serious expression. “He was just hungry. He probably smelled our tasty dinner from tonight. I heard his stomach.”

As if on cue, it growled again. Zuko was glad for the mask that hid his burning cheeks.

Their father came forward, standing just beside his children. “Listen, friend, times have been tough. We understand that, so we don’t judge you. But you saved Oriya, so…”

His wife stepped in. “We can heat up some food as thanks.”

Guilt clawed at his insides, and his cheeks burned hotter. Silently, he shook his head.

The father frowned, heavy eyebrows drawing together. “We can’t let you go without repaying your kindness. Just… we’ll make you a pack.”

Without waiting for him to reply—much like his youngest daughter had—he vanished back into the darkness of the house. Eyes cast down, Zuko slowly reached into his pack as their mother came over to join her two girls. His fingers closed around the bar of soap he’d stolen from them; his jaw tightened as he hesitated. After a moment and a sigh, he lifted it out of his pack and held it up to them. The mother’s eyes went a little wider with recognition. Then, to his surprise, her face softened.

“Keep it,” she said quietly. “It’s an easy price to pay for a life.”

The father came back out of the house with a small tied cloth. “There’s enough for a few small meals here,” he said. “Thank you again, stranger. Your mask is frightening, but it seems to have been in our favor tonight.”

Zuko left them with a series of conflicting emotions roiling in his chest. He’d stolen from them. They had to have known, or at least guessed, that he wouldn’t have taken just a bar of soap. Yet, still, they’d given him more. His pack, with the bundle of food, weighed heavily on his back as he traveled.

He didn’t stop until much later that night, when exhaustion overtook him and promised quick sleep.

_______

The involuntary good deed he committed seemed to set off a chain reaction of more.

As he traveled, he came across others he ended up helping. An old, nearly blind man’s cart was stuck in a ditch, with his ostrich horse’s leg hurt. Zuko dragged the cart out of the ditch while the man tended to his animal’s injury. As thanks, he got a small sack of rice. A young woman was shouldering far too heavy a pack for her—medical supplies, she told him breathlessly when she spotted him, for the next town. He offered to take it for her, since he was heading in that direction anyway. She nearly cried when she thanked him, and gave him a small bundle stuffed with medical herbs and a small pot of cooling salve. He also got a handful of coins upon delivering it, though he only took half. The rest he left for them to give to the young woman who would have gotten it originally.

On, and on, it went. Sometimes he helped out with the mask on, sometimes without. He started hearing rumors of a benevolent spirit helping strangers when he reached new towns, rumors of a Blue Spirit rising up from the countryside to help those ground down beneath the Fire Nation’s heel.

Of course, Zuko’s luck being what it was—namely, non-existent—those rumors came back to bite him in the ass.

He slipped out of the small town under the cover of dark one night a few weeks after the house intruder incident. There was a small gang in the area that was bullying some of the more vulnerable residents, so he’d donned his mask and given them a scare—and a beating—that would have them thinking twice about continuing. As he made his way out of town into the nearby woods, something prickled the back of his neck. He froze, listening and scanning the area immediately surrounding him. Zuko stood in a small grove of trees, their foliage now thick with summer leaves. It was probably just a passing animal, he told himself. Nothing to worry about. He started walking again when nothing presented itself as the source.

There was a single snap of a branch on the ground behind him. Before he had the chance to spin and face whatever was there, a sharp blow to the back of his head blurred his vision and sent him sprawling. He saw nothing but black after that.

________

The smell of brine and iron surrounded him, and regular undulations rocked his empty stomach into heaving. His arms ached, and his throat burned as if he’d swallowed mouthfuls of sand. This was a familiar place, the belly of a Fire Nation ship. The difference was that instead of commanding it, as he had years ago in the first few years of his exile, now he was captive.

When he tried to move, his limbs refused to respond. At first, he thought it was because he was weak, but then he realized that it was because he was restrained by shackles. The room he was in was bare, the metal walls undecorated and unforgiving. They didn’t even give him a strange sense of comfort, despite having spent nearly five years on a ship not too dissimilar to this one. Now, it just made his stomach turn.

Regularly, he heard voices around him. He was able to piecemeal together that he’d been a captive on a smaller vessel for about a week, in and out of consciousness, and was the primary talk of the ship. From that, he decided it must be a relatively low-ranked ship in the fleet. None of that explained why he was still wearing his Blue Spirit mask, however.

“I won’t be the one to do it,” one voice said, drawing Zuko out of his thoughts. “Are you crazy? I like my skin unburned and my life intact. The mask stays on until they dock. He’ll want to be the one to do the honors of unmasking before executing this peasant.”

Understanding slapped him like a bucket of icy water. There was only one Admiral he was aware of that took such personal pleasure in interrogating and disposing of people himself: Zhao. It sounded like they were anchored, waiting for Zhao to arrive and decide what to do with Zuko himself. If he waited until Zhao arrived and was discovered to be the Blue Spirit… Death would be the more welcome option, then.

He had to get out of here.

A plan began forming in his head as he scanned the room through the slits of his mask. Zuko shook his wrists a bit, gauging the weight of the metal shackles. They were the standard ones used for non-bending prisoners, which, he happened to know, were more easily softened by heat than the ones reserved for firebending prisoners. He allowed himself a small smile. Now, all he had to do was wait for the right moment. Living among Earth Kingdom citizens the past several years made him feel like he’d acquired the greater patience they could have for biding their time. A younger version of him wanted to strain against his bindings right away, but he knew that would do him no good but burn energy he wanted to reserve. So instead, he deepened his breathing and planned out what he would do once he cut through his chains.

It was probably about an hour after midnight when his chance came.

Zuko only was able to guess at the time from scraping the rust off his memory of ship guard rotations. He wasn’t heavily guarded at all. From what he’d learned from the quiet talk of the guards to one another, though the Blue Spirit was an irritating thorn in the sides of a few particularly ornery Fire Nation commanders, he wasn’t really seen as a threat now captured; they all assumed he was a non-bender. That gave him ample opportunity to take advantage of their underestimation of him.

Quietly, he focused and heated up his wrists and hands. Firebending comes from the breath. Zuko breathed flame and hot steam onto the taught chain binding his shackles together, pushing himself to make it hotter until the metal reddened and then began to soften. Not wasting any time, he tugged his arms sharply apart, snapping the chain in half. He repeated the process on the shackles binding his feet, and soon he was free.

The door wasn’t an obstacle, and he ignored it entirely, instead hauling himself up into the vent in the ceiling. Slipping off the ship and into the water was as easy as waiting for the patrol to pass and timing his movements to that. The ship itself was bigger than his old one had been, but still no fighting cruiser, so he was off it within a few minutes. After that, the tiring swim to shore was a welcome burn to his muscles. The moment he pulled himself up onto a wooden pier, he was free.

By the time the morning guard rotation would be around to give him the tasteless juk and egg bun for breakfast, he would be miles away from the port town the ship waited at. He would be out in the countryside again, and away from the ships under Zhao’s command and, with any kind of luck, any more chance of the Admiral catching him. This had been too close a call for Zuko’s liking.

________

Weeks passed, and turned into months.

He found himself across the narrow channel of water from where the marauder’s hideout had been, but, as always he made do with what he could. Once again, he began with nothing. The pack the waterbender had left behind was somewhere on the other side of the channel, and he mourned finding his uncle’s cup a second time. But, Zuko couldn’t dwell or dawdle. He had to keep moving. His flight across the channel was too close a call, even if he had eventually escaped. Zuko lifted his hand to trace the scar along his throat that a rope had left, hidden beneath the high collar of a plain tunic. In all his years of evading being caught, he never thought that particular demon of his past would come to haunt him again.

Zuko scowled and returned his focus to the task at hand.

The roughly woven dǒulì he wore shaded his face from the worst of the sun, but he still felt the heat of it against his back. Sweat rolled down his face and beneath his tunic, but he didn’t stop. A family had promised him a square meal if he helped them plough their fields, so here he was, pulling an unwilling and ornery ostrich horse row after row. He was nearly done, thankfully, though it had eaten up most of his afternoon and his energy.

When he finally went back to the farm after finishing and putting the animal back in its stall, he devoured the contents of the bowl set before him. Zuko’s stomach begged for him to ask for seconds—thirds, even—but he kept his mouth shut, instead only nodding thanks when handed a wrapped package of food to keep him going another few days.

The family offered a space in their barn for him, and he debated turning them down. But, as he stood to be on his way, exhaustion washed over him and made him waver on his feet. It wouldn’t hurt, he reasoned, to have a roof over his head and sweet hay to pillow him, for a night. It was better than the dusty ground, anyway.

Zuko thanked them again, and shouldered the pack he’d assembled over the last few months between honest work like this and stealing as the Blue Spirit. The barn wasn’t wholly dark, with plenty of holes in the rafters that birds or weather had made, letting the light of the stars and moon to trickle in. Not bothering to change out of his sweaty tunic, Zuko set his pack down on a thick pile of hay and lay down next to it.

He stared up at the gaps in the roof for a while, suddenly thinking about the waterbender. The moon was nearly full again. Zuko rested a hand over his heart. He wondered if she really was dead, or if she had somehow survived. It wasn’t impossible—he managed, despite the universe seemingly trying to do its best to end him. If anyone else he knew could survive as well, or better, than he, it would have to be her.

Wherever she was, he hoped she was doing better than he was.

Cutscene: Reinforcements

Taking place on the southern outskirts of Anima.

Wherever she was, it had definitely seen better days. Was it just her or did Mistral have more abandoned and ruined towns than advertised. Violet had never been to Anima before so she didn’t really know one way or the other. Then again, given that Mistral is known for having lots of large Grimm and bandits, that didn’t surprise her. She even read about a start-up kingdom being destroyed by a single massive one though the name escaped her.

These places never had a lot of huntsmen. That couldn’t have helped.

Whatever it was that happened here charred the place. There wasn’t a single log or stone that wasn’t blackened to some capacity. That was more than likely bandits who lit a fire under the city so the Grimm would go after the chaos and the flames rather than them.

Then she heard the snapping sounds. They came from a lot of different directions. Grimm were still here. She didn’t have a lot of business fighting them. She was the only one here, wasn’t she? Violet slid her back foot into a fighting stance and winced at the jolt of pain in her stomach. She had miraculously been found out in that desert and got her wound treated, but it wasn’t fully healed yet. That would take time and better medical care than a dusty outpost could provide.

She saw the beowulves appear in one of the biggest packs she’s ever seen. Individually they weren’t a problem and even small groups were only a minor threat to a trained huntress, but she wasn’t at 100% and counted their number at far too many.

She pulled out her pistols and flared out the whip halves. She needed to keep as many of them as far away as possible. She didn’t need to guess whether or not they saw her.

They charged; so did she.

She twirled into her first strike, creating a ring of spinning metal and cable around her. Several took the blows but looked more inconvenienced than seriously injured. Dodging incoming blows wasn’t impossible, but the jolts of pain in her midsection made it harder than usual. She felt a force slam into her back, sending her right to the ground. She only had enough time to roll out of the way of a second strike, fire at a third Grimm to drop it, and try to get back into position and play keep away again.

This went on for what felt like an hour though it was certainly a lot less. She didn’t have the aura to keep herself defended and light off her semblance. No one would see it below the treeline anyway.

Not below the tree line!

She wasn’t sure if she could even do this, but she had to try. Putting all her energy into dodging the mass of claws, fangs, and terror before leaping over the swing of a particularly large one and vaulting herself upward. She aimed a shot upward and the barrel glowed with light.

Come on...

Instead of her flash ringing out right in front of her, the combination of trying to force it forward and the gunfire shot it into the sky. A extremely loud flashbang cracked into the sky. She prayed someone would see it. She wasn’t going to be able to do that again.

She landed clumsily, but thankfully wasn't harmed. She was still in the middle of a pack of angry Grimm, though.

The wind picked up out of nowhere. The gusts felt almost razor sharp. Even the Grimm were howling in pain.

Then the footsteps and the gunfire came.

Atlas troops!? There were only a few of them but that was very clearly Atlas equipment. She couldn’t count them but there were less than a dozen- and was one of them flying!?

“You okay, kid!?” The flying soldier shouted down from above. He swooped through another group of the Grimm, sending them flying- some without all of their limbs. It looked like the air itself was slicing through them. The mechanical wings on his back collapse as he skids onto the ground next to her. He makes a waving motion and the small squad he was apparently commanding started taking out the flanks. There were still a lot left.

Then he took his wings off. They folded outward like a case that could be snapped shut. He pointed the opening toward the funneling crowd of Grimm and it started to radiate energy.

“You’re going to want to stand back!” He shouts, bracing what was now a rather hefty particle cannon. 

The blast was an enormous stream of light purple light that left a large streak of dirt where ground and structures used to be. Violet had to shut her eyes tightly being so close to it. The guy using that thing was probably lucky he was wearing those goggles. After that, what was left of the pack had begun dispersing. Once things started clearing up the other soldiers began rushing about the scene, apparently looking for any hidden survivors. she wondered if they planned where their commander was going to shoot to prevent any possible casualties. No major buildings were in the way of the blast after all.

“Who else is out here?” He turns to her. “Where’s your family? Are there any other survivors? Are you a huntress on the scene?”

Violet takes a moment to right herself. She stood up straighter and tried to see what she could about this guy. She managed to recognize a rank insignia and a patch on the armor’s shoulder she wouldn’t have recognized if she didn’t see the wings. “I’m fine, Lieutenant.” She says, “There’s no one else here. I was an Atlas cadet actually. As far as I know, this place was abandoned. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The hell’s an Atlas cadet doing all the way out here?” Morado muttered to himself but didn’t bother to disguise his volume. It wasn’t a problem if the kid heard him. “So you’re alright? Do you need medical attention? We have a medic with us.”

“I probably should get checked up.” She agreed, “What are you guys doing out here, anyway? Is the military trying to protect the other schools or something?”

“No reason not to explain it since you’ll hear it later anyway- We’re AWOL. The General demanded all Atlas forces pull back to the kingdom. Not even Mantle’s got its protection right now. We decided to compare the last ‘great idea’ the brass had to what happened and Beacon and refused orders. People out here need us,” He looks over at Violet as living proof of his point, “Obviously. Huntsmen have been disappearing, too. When one kingdom falls to terrorists, that’s a disaster. When a second one is suspiciously undermanned, there’s something else happening and I don’t think they want to admit it.”

Dad would have been proud of these guys. She prayed they weren’t a rarity in the army. She was lead to a place to sit where a medical trooper pulled out a first aid kid. Standard Atlas army suite, but it was still good. She lifted up her shirt to reveal the bandaged wound on her stomach. The winged commander looked away, shifting his focus to watching the search. After a few more moments she finally spoke up. “You’re with the Dustwing Project.”

The soldier buckled in a mild surprise and/or panic. “How do you know about that!?” He asks with more worry than anger in his voice.

“My uncle is a Major, sir.” She explains. The medical officer had undone the bandages and was inspecting the wound. She overheard the muttering of it healing well, but slowly, something about fresh bandages and mild painkillers, and wanting to meet whoever did this. There was also a question about her other scar she ignored. “By the way, I’m looking for someone, do you know if you’ve seen them? Blonde and green-eyed like me. He’d be in his early 30s, about five-ten, and has two weapons with him. A blade and a sickle. He’s-”

The soldier apparently heard enough. There was a sense of recognition on his face. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Goodfellow, Sir. Violet Goodfellow. I’m... looking for my brother.”

“Robin Goodfellow!?” Apparently they knew each other. “I graduated Atlas with that asshole!” He stopped before he said anything else. “Uh... no offense. We didn’t get along.”

Violet was more irritated by the fact that she wasn’t offended by this at all. Then again, Robin did try to kill her. Best leave that part out for now. “So... have you seen him?”

“Sorry, but we’ve been too busy playing damage control with all the missing huntsmen. I get you want to find your brother. It’s the principle of the matter, right? Still, you’re safer with us. We can’t slow down but we can keep an eye out while we’re trying to help out.”

Violet stands up now that the bandages are resecure and smooths out her shirt again. The medic gives a cue and the soldier turns around again. She manages to look him right in the... er... reflective visor. “Alright.” She had to admit this was probably going to be easier travelling with them- or at least safer. “Just be warned, I’m looking for a few people, actually. I’ve... uncovered something, something dangerous. I don’t have the full info anymore but I can give you a summary. I might know where your missing huntsmen have gone.”

The soldier smirks. “Fair enough. Give us a summary on the way out of here. I’ll introduce you to the squad soon; I’m Lieutenant Morado Amun. That over there is Medical Officer Ash Dickinson. You’ll hear a few of the guys call him ‘Doctor Dick’ so... ignore that.”

Violet chuckles. “Atlas Academy, remember? I’ve heard worse from the drill instructors.”

A soldier rushes toward them with his scroll. “Sir! S.O.S. from a nearby village. They say there’s armed bandits surrounding the area!”

“Fair enough. Anyway, welcome to the Dustwings, Cadet Goodfellow. I’d give you an introduction but we’d better get moving!”

::Out For Blood-Drabble::

TW: Violence, blood, drug mention, torture...

Honestly if you can’t handle even a little gore this isn’t the drabble for you

High key suggesting that you listen to Monster by Skillet on repeat while reading it cause it helps

“The secret side of me, I never let you see

I keep it caged but I can't control it

So stay away from me, the beast is ugly

I feel the rage and I just can't hold it.”

Leonis Aries Karisova had been far too nice for far too long.

He’d ignored every instinct, he’d fought every urge to just blow up, he’d bitten his tongue more times than he could count... He’d been playing the part of the doting, loving, caring, patient boyfriend...

But now? Now that he was on his own and he didn’t have anyone around to hold him back...?

Heh.

That little red monster of wrath started to bubble up in his chest.

He’d already effectively terrified Special K into submission, getting all the information he needed, and now he felt a humourless smile etch it’s way onto his lips. He was hunting, and his beast was thirsting for blood.

Bullet could feel himself melting away, that evil bastard that used to call himself Leonis taking his place and itching for a little fun. His fingers drummed silently on the steering wheel, not really even registering the song that was playing on his old cassette tape. He didn’t care. His eyes flicked briefly to the list of names Special K had given him, mouth twitching into another smirk.

Nineteen Killjoys. Two neutrals.

He’d already gone through every name on the list at this point, somehow remaining polite until he got the information he needed, and now he just had one name left on it...

Nuke Forward.

Bullet sighed at the name, rolling his eyes. Lord, and people told him Bulletproof Racer was stupid... At least he got his from Dr. D, plus it was a lot better than what he used to roll with... The raven haired monster put his beater into park, staring silently at the club in front of him, rage humming through his veins.

“Tiger’s Gentleman’s Club” the sign outside boasted, and Leonis scoffed with a note of obvious sarcasm to it. The men at this fucking place were anything but gentlemen... His jaw went taut for a moment, and he breathed.

That familiar sense of relaxation washed over him as he decided on what he was going to do, and he smiled quietly to himself. This was only the beginning, it was the calm before the storm.

Bullet finally willed himself out of the car, shutting it behind him before taking stock of the place, noting every window, every door, every alleyway, every car, and every patron in sight, nodding to himself as that side of him he tried so hard to repress kicked into full gear. The killjoy elected to leave his jacket in the car, deciding that he quite honestly didn’t want to spend the time it would take cleaning blood out of it. He took a glance to the night sky, sent a prayer to the Phoenix Witch, and that was the last time that Bullet showed himself that night.

Leonis took over from there.

Gloved hands pressed the door of the club open, blocking out the sound of bass as whatever shitty synth mix they were playing tried to pound it’s way into his head. He searched the inside with a piercing gaze, blue hues falling on a pretty thing all dolled up.

“Hey...”

“Heya, handsome~ Lookin’ for a date~?”

“Actually, I’m looking for a friend of mine, Nuke Forward... is he here...?” At the name, the pretty brunette’s face almost instantly fell, glancing off in a corner.

“... yes...”

“Mind leadin’ me to him, Sugar...?”

“Hey... ain’t you Quix’s—“

“There’s twenty carbons in it for you.”

“... carbons first, hot shot.”

Leon promptly complied, handing over the cash to the suddenly eager prostitute who pocketed the plastics and took him by the arm. They weaved through the room, Bullet’s shoulders tensing a little at the numerous tables of pills, pipes, rocks, needles, and lines that were in sight, causing his head to spin and his stomach to clench and that hungry little monster inside him to flare up and will him to reach out to take one pill just one pill just one pill just one and suddenly he was taking a deep breath and counting to six in his head particularly upon seeing the pills with those taunting smiles printed on them He didn’t need them he didn’t need them he didn’t need them he didn’t need them he didn’t—

“Over there with the orange jacket, Sugar. Good luck.” Leon was broken out of that mild panic that had so suddenly flooded him, and he nodded his head in reply, silently thankful that the kid had spoken. He watched as the brunette slipped away from him, and his eyes fell on a his target. Suddenly it was as if the room had faded away, melting into the background as the man locked eyes with him. Every ounce of anxiety in him disappeared at that second, and he found himself straightening up, a charming smile sliding to his lips. He felt naked without his jacket to surround him, but at this very moment, watching as those drug fogged brown eyes slid the length of his form, he was thankful that he’d left it in the car.

This was far too easy...

Then again...

It wasn’t like this was the first Killjoy he’d hunted...

The man in question had shoulder length, greasy hair, dyed green like toxic sludge. Quite honestly the whole dye job was wretched, then again if he’d had any dignity or class to him he wouldn’t be holed up in this joint feeding heroin to prostitutes for sex now would he? Combat boots moved forward of their own accord, and Bullet tilted his head just a tad, a trick he’d seen Quix use on himself to get what he wanted.

Usually it always worked, and it seemed to be working for this bastard as well...

“Well well well... aren’t you pretty~?” The man purred in such a way that Leonis had to keep himself from gritting his teeth in disgust, but still he smiled and even let out a fucking giggle.

Damn wasn’t he a good little actor?

He watched as Nuke stood up, taking note of how tall he was. He was shorter than Quix (then again, wasn’t everyone?) but he couldn’t be more than 6’2 or 6’3... the two pretty things that had been hanging off him on the couch looked particularly nonplussed, but at a sudden, wicked glare from Bulletproof they seemed to think better of opening their mouths and sunk into the couch.

“You Nuke Forward...?”

“Yeah, Sugar, I am~”

“A friend told me I could get a little fun outta you...”

“What friend...?”

“Quix...” The recognition in Nuke’s eyes at this made Leon seethe with anger, fingers suddenly itching with the urge to gouge his beady eyes out.

He hated this man he hated him with every beat of his heart with every breath he took with every—

“How’s about we go somewhere more quiet, Cutie...?”

Leon elected to just smile and nod, motioning for the man to follow him out a side door into the nearest alleyway. He was focused now that they were alone and out of the den of drugs and sex, taking in a calming breath of fresh air.

“So, What is it you were wanting...?”

“What Quix was gettin’, sounded fun~”

“H? I think I got some in my car—“ The Killjoy reached out as he spoke, putting one hand on Bullet’s slim waist, but he instantly regretted doing so.

He didn’t even have time to scream.

In a flash, his hand was pinned to the wooden wall beside them, a razor sharp switchblade driven straight through the middle of his wrist as the man- no, the demon in front of him suddenly stared into his eyes with a gaze that burned hotter and more wickedly than the flames of hell. Cold fear flooded his veins, and suddenly the searing pain in his wrist registered to his head, but he didn’t have a chance to shout as a shockingly strong hand forced its way over his mouth and slammed his head back against the wall.

“Shut. Up.”

It was an order, not a suggestion.

“If you make one fucking sound I swear to god I’ll tear your tongue out with my bare hands and make you eat it.”

Honestly...

Nuke believed every goddamned word.

When Bullet was sufficiently pleased with the fact that the man would stay quiet, he twisted the blade, looking him straight in the eyes. He watched as the man bit his tongue until it bled, and smirked dangerously at him. “Hm. Good. You’re not as stupid as I thought...” He promptly yanked the blade free, grinning as Nuke trembled with wide brown eyes that were suddenly incredibly clear.

“W... what do you want with me...” He whispered out hoarsely, caught and stuck like a deer in headlights.

“Blood.”

Nuke swallowed at this, and shrunk in on himself, suddenly not looking so tall.

“W-what...?”

“Quix almost died because of you.”

“W-wha—“

“Heroin overdose.”

“I... are you gonna kill me?”

“No.” At this point, Leonis calmly and deliberately wiped the bastard’s own blood off on that stupid orange jacket of his, giving a deadly smile before spinning the blade again in his hand in a wicked manner, driving it deep into his shoulder. Nuke bit his tongue again, willing himself not to scream, and suddenly, reflexively, he moved to lash out with his uninjured hand, trying to hit his attacker.

A second switch drove itself so deep into his hand it went through his fist and all the way through his palm.

“That was a bad idea on your part.” The words were said as, in a scarily practiced manner, the blade was withdrawn in a sharp sideways movement, slicing open his palm and effectively relieving him of two fingers and half of his thumb.

This time he screamed.

Leonis decided he was done playing nice and slammed the blade into his other shoulder, careful not to hit anything major as he swept his feet out from under him and Nuke hit the ground hard. The dealer’s head was positively spinning from shock, terror, and pain, breathing heavy and panicked as he spun right into a bout of hyperventilation. He watched, helpless, as the beast of a man stood over him with evil intent in his ice like eyes, teeth bared in rage and sick amusement.

He was enjoying this.

He was actually enjoying this.

“You think I’m the only thing that’s caused Quix to almost die? Not even close! Newsflash, hotshot, your boyfriend is a fucking wreck.” Nuke hissed through everything, suddenly in hysterics. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t fuckin’ killed himself.”

Those words rang in Bulletproof’s ears and his heart rate picked up almost instantly, anger swirling in his head as he remembered the words of a certain someone a week or so before.

‘—Is he still alive or has he offed himself yet?’

Issac’s words burned in his mind, and the raven haired killjoy locked eyes with the man beneath him.

“Lucky me I get to take it all out on you then...”

Nuke Forward’s blood ran cold.

— — — — — — —

It took five hours for someone to find him.

As a girl and her client stepped outside to make a transaction, she screamed in sheer terror at the bloodshed before her. Barely breathing Nuke was passed out cold on the ground, missing two fingers and a piece of his thumb on his right hand, and the index, middle, and ring finger of his left hand. Upon further inspection it was clear that both shoulders had deep stab wounds and his shirt had been torn open.

“P I G”

The word was carved deep into Nuke’s chest, covering the entirety of it with wide, horrific gashes.

Whoever had done this had been out for blood...

This had been personal...

PROTOCOL -- Android!AU (Ravus Nox Fleuret x Reader)

So after discussing it and asking her about it, @chocobro-hijinks allowed me to write for her Android!AU! :D Particular for Ravus’s part within it as the Aeternia Build combat android. It was super fun to write, and I’m super pleased with how it’s turning out! It got pretty lengthy though, so I actually was hoping to write more parts for this since most of this writing was exposition to introduce the relationship of RAV N0X and the reader character. So for now, I’m introducing their bond a bit more. Then in the future, I’ll probably write some more of those steamy bits. c; Because I have plans when working with this AU. *rubs hands evilly together*

Again, thank you for letting me write with this headcanon, Hijinks! Your headcanons are a blessing to the world...! QUQ

Also, tagging @di-fantastica and @itshaejinju. Because both heard that I was writing this up, and they wanted to read more of it. c:

“You know… I should probably do something about that.” You couldn’t help but sort of stand there in your place next to the blond-haired maintenance android. For only living in this house for about a year, you definitely had your own series of accidents within the house. You dropped a glass at one point on the hard-wood floor in the kitchen, resulting in some scuffs on the floor. The painting you had on the wall had fallen and took out a tiny chunk of plaster from your wall – easy to cover up with said fallen painting, now crooked. You broke the house curtain at one point when your Aurum model maintenance droid, Cindy, decided that her newfound revelation on how to make your car safer to drive was much more important than giving you the time to, you know, shower. Little accidents here and there.

But there were also some big accidents, particularly in the black stain that appeared as if it was the silhouette of a man. Just sort of sprawled over your light grey carpet and consuming it with remnants of oil and transmission fluids. At least, that’s what Cindy had told you it was. It smelt sort of odd, so you wouldn’t have been surprised if some old juice or something had gotten into the mix of it all. People had a knack for spilling things in this house, after all. You shifted your gaze aside. Yup… People sure did…

“I heard milk gets out a lot of stains. Do you think it’ll work for oil too, Cindy?”

Cindy shook her head in response. “My software tells me how to change oil in cars though. Maybe we can change the oil in the carpet.”

“No… That won’t do me much…” You let out a sigh, putting your hands on her hips as you hung your head to the right. “I’ll just have to save up and order new carpet or something… Or maybe I can put a rug over it. Order a fancy rug and stuff. A floor mat…” You glanced over at Cindy, who seemed to eye at you with her glowing green gaze. That kind of look only meant one thing. You let out a sigh and shrugged. “If it’s a rug I can put decals on, I will.”

You heard a happy chime come from her before you flicked your wrist at her and directed her on her way to the garage so she could resume her work. Her and her decals…

You hummed to yourself before you turned around and eyed the kitchen. Speaking of things that leave behind body-shaped oil prints, the one thing that you knew did such a thing was currently in the there. At least, you hoped he still was. The strange thing about adopting another droid like this one was that, unlike Cindy, you had a challenging time figuring out how to trigger his protocols properly. It seemed that all his commands were based upon how he reacted to things. Not so much of you telling him what to do. Highly-independent, which was great, since you often found yourself busy with a good majority of things in your own life than to take care of another android. Repairing the Aeternia build android was already hard enough as it was – especially since you lost days of sleep and a brutal amount of money that you could be making working on tech repairs and doing support like you have been… Well, actually, it was more of Cindy pushing you out of the way to do it and then you taking credit since you keep your Aurum model from overworking itself. Somehow…

But this RAV N0X model was intriguing, to say the least. You and Cindy did some research on the android model, and apparently there were two builds of it: the Fleuret build and the Aeternia build. Cindy told you that the Fleuret model is used as mostly a record-keeper. In the same like as the LUNA N0X Prototypes, the RAV N0X was supposed to be a mediator model that most political officials could use as a type of personal bodyguard and personal assistant. But it wasn’t until the Aeternia build that he was revamped into a type of war machine. He was skilled in combat tactics of all types – supposedly infused with a blade of his own with his arm. Too bad you weren’t able to see it in person, for the RAV’s system performed an automatic shut-up, nearly electrocuting you and nearly frying Cindy’s system after she tried to pull you away from him.

There was one person who managed to record footage of an Aeternia model during a combat demonstration of the build’s features. But the video end in was the model malfunctioning, beginning to lash out and nearly killing the CEO of Lucis Enterprises. It wasn’t until it began to find itself being threatened than it attempted to trigger its Ring command, ultimately resulting in its form combusting into flames due to malfunctions. It was scary, and apparently, most of the Aeternia models were discontinued and extremely rare after that.

Strange to know that you had one of these ‘aggressive’ models standing in your kitchen with a scowl directed at your toaster. You raised your eyebrow at him, stepping closer to him to look around the pillar of a being at the bright red toaster on the countertop.

“Uh… Is it toasting anything for you?”

You jolted when you noticed him suddenly snap his gaze onto you. His body didn’t move at all. Just his head, almost as if his entire head would have been thrown off his body with how fast he moved. If you weren’t alert from that gesture alone, the fact that your toaster, microwave, and fridge began to glitch out proved that the android certainly was. The toaster gave an awful buzzing noise that caused your ears to ring, the microwave beeped aggressively as if all of its buttons were being hit at once, and your fridge began to vomit out ice without you even touching it. It wasn’t until you held your hands up, showing the fact that you were disarmed that the android dropped his aggressive gaze, expression softening only for a moment before twisting into a frown before he looked forward again. At least he knew that hands up meant that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

“I am sorry.” You noticed his eyebrows furrowing, as if pained to apologize to begin with. “I am still not familiar with the sound of your voice.”

“Even after I kept shouting for you to shut down when we first met and you didn’t?” He grew quiet, a silence showing just how bothered the android was by your statement. For a military build, he sure was sensitive. “Sorry… If you want, we can definitely talk more and, you know, make you more used to hearing me?”

“Why?” He turned towards you once again. “Idle conversation is unnecessary in order to active my defensive grid.”

“It’s a bonding thing, you know? Like…” You had to pause for a moment as you thought, putting your hands on your sides as you rested against the countertops to think. “You know how you have a voice recognition software that triggers your command network, right?” He gives a small nod in response. “Well, usually it registers it as a command from someone with access to your interface. But I don’t really have access to it, so I’ll improvise.” You grinned up at the android, who merely furrowed his eyebrows at you in return. “The more you hear my voice, the more you’ll recognize that it’s me! That way, whenever I do need you for something, then you can just recognize my voice and come running if you need to.”

It started to make more sense to the RAV N0X model, and you knew that he was processing the information with the way his eyes glinted with a blue sheen and the fact that he was nodding at your words. He looked so focused on making sure the information stayed intact in his data bank that you couldn’t up but grin wider. Cute the way he pressed his lips tighter when he processed the newfound information given to him. The programmers did a lot to make him look so realistic – probably to better infiltrate areas as a military robot. He closes his eyes for a moment, sealing the information into his databank before he looked back down at you. The glow in his eyes were gone and replaced with a more relaxed expression. “I will accept your voice recognition technique. It seems as if it would be the most beneficial to aid in my efforts to protect you.

You hummed and crossed your arms over your chest as you pursed your lips together. “To be honest…? I don’t really need someone protecting me. Unless they’re making sure I eat… And that I don’t drop another box of parts on my foot. I could use someone to talk to though. Cindy’s no fun when she gets busy working. Likes to talk to herself more than she likes talking to me.”

“I can see why she does not enjoy talking with you.”

You felt your smile falter a bit as you stared at him. Did he just call you boring to talk to…? Rude. For a military-grade android, he sure had a lot of snark with him. Before you could open your mouth to scold him for the comment, he had turned on his heel and begun to walk away. You blinked in response and followed him. “Hey! Where are you going?” You stopped in the living room as you watched him move over towards the window. He sort of just… Stood there, causing you to stare at him for a good moment before you shuffled over to his side. “Uh… You okay?”

“Yes.”

“…Was there something outside that seemed interesting?”

“No. I am merely residing here for the best vantage point to survey the area.” He turned his head down to look at you, like a watchtower whose spotlight had just located a fugitive. “You claim that you wished to talk to someone. Thus, I shall listen as I make sure your home is secure.”

You stared at him for a good long moment, your eyes squinting at him before you pointed over your shoulder to the couch. “You could sit, you know. Like, there isn’t going to be anyone running through my window any time soon. Unless it’s you, that is.” You chuckled at your own joke, but it soon died out at the unamused gaze that fixated itself on you. Right… He didn’t really have a joke code in him. Or a laugh track either. You clicked your tongue and grit your teeth in a forced smile. “Or you could just stand there. Whatever you want to do.”

“Would you prefer it if I sat on the couch?”

“Would you prefer to sit?” He seemed taken aback, eyes flashing the slightest bit in reaction to your counter question. His lips began to press together, twisted a bit into a frown as he had to turn away from you. You tilted his head. Was he that bothered by the question? You snuck around the Aeternia prototype, trying to catch his gaze again. “Well? I said you could do whatever you want to, so you’re more than welcome to sit and make yourself comfortable.”

He still avoided your gaze, but you were persistent and kept moving yourself to wherever he had turned his head. “I will do as you command me.”

“I’m not going to command you. I don’t have the authorization to do that, so you can pick.”

“That is not in my programming-“

“But you can still make snarky comments about how boring I am to talk to without me telling you.” Again, his eyes widened before he looked down at you, hands on your hips as you smirked at him. Ha! You got him there. He frowned down at you, turning his head before he reluctantly pulled himself from his place by the window and flopped down onto the couch, posture erect – almost as if he was extremely uncomfortable about either sitting on the couch or having to command himself to do such. Probably both. But you gave a fist pump to yourself in victory before you walked over and sat down on the opposite end of the couch from him, legs pulled up and crossing over each other as you grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “See? Sitting on the couch isn’t so bad!”

“Am I sitting incorrectly…?” You glanced over to the android as you stared at your legs. You were wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, so having him stare at your legs so intensely was… Well, that was really uncomfortable. You looked down at your legs then back at Ravus. Before you could reach out and swat his gaze away, you noticed that he began to adjust himself. The worn-out couch squeaked a bit as he began to pull his heavy-plated legs up onto the couch, crossing them in the same manner you did and attempting to imitate the same slouched posture you had. It wasn’t successful since he looked stiff and rigid, but his glowing eyes still recorded the position for further reference. “Humans are quite flexible if they can retain this position for extended periods of time.”

“It’s easier when your legs aren’t plated with armor too.” You grinned over at the awkward android before you leaned back and turned towards the TV to relax.

Man… This was the first time in a while since you’ve actually had the chance to rest. You spent the past month or so trying to reassemble what had been missing from the RAV N0X prototype, and it was a month of tedious work and neglect of your freelance business’s activities. Cindy’s been enthusiastic about taking over some of the jobs and tasks while you had dedicated your time in repairing the android, but you felt as if you could be doing more right now. But once Cindy starts a job, she refuses to leave it unfinished. And with her having taken all the jobs for a while… Well, the most that you could do was sit on the couch with the prototype android as you stared at the G.Ladio advertisements that constantly flooded the television screen.

“Are they marketing humans in mass quantities?” The android’s curious tone got you to look over at him, watching and taking note of how fixated he was at the TV screen with how bright his eyes glowed. “This… Is another Android model?”

“Yeah. It’s the Sweet Line of the G.Ladio’s.”

“They do not appear combat ready. Why is that one not properly fitted with ballistic resistant armor?”

“That’s because they aren’t meant for combat. They’re companion bots.”

“As in rehabilitation?”

“Uh… Not exactly.” You had to squint a bit at the TV screen, imagines of the G.Ladio androids having blissful and intimate moments with the actresses on the commercial. How was the RAV N0X not comprehending the fact that holding hands doesn’t mean that they’re about ready to fight? Did he really not understand that there were other androids mean for companionship and to cure loneliness? You looked back at the android, who seemed more concentrated and befuddled than before. “You okay there…?”

“They… Are meant for recreational coitus?”

That... Was a weird way to phrase it, but you shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go with that. But they do more than just that, I guess. They help cure loneliness too, you know?”

“Databases suggest that loneliness is neither a sickness or a disease.”

You shook your head and chuckled. “No, it’s not. I mean... Like, if you don’t have someone who loves you and wants to be with you all the time, then you get a G.Ladio to keep you company and make you feel wanted and loved.” You shrugged a bit at the thought of it. You’ve spent a long time by yourself until you had the Aurum model – had Cindy – gifted to you after you started your business last year. But even then, Cindy was mostly just there to help you with your work, occasionally meandering from the garage and into the house to give you reports and stick a few decals to the fridge. Beyond that, it was just you.

“Would you wish for a companion such as the G.Ladio model…?”

A hum came from you as you tilted your head. You had thought once before about getting a G.Ladio, but the idea of having something programmed to like you was really strange to you. If anything, that would only make you feel lonelier, knowing you had to program something to show you how much someone cared about you. You’d rather feel lonely on your own than to feel lonely around other people. That, and after having serviced a good number of G.Ladio models sent to your shop, you would much rather not have to deal with anything with that intense of an activity level. Just five minutes of that until Cindy had to wrestle the beast from you was enough to make you wish that vibrating attachments would never be pushed anywhere they shouldn’t be ever again. You rubbed your cheek as your eye twitched a bit. That thing gave you a black-eye for a month that you’d never forget. Asshole android and his over-sized attachment…

You ended up letting out a sigh and as you shook your head. “No. It’s not my kind of thing. It’s kinda like having a prisoner, you know? I’d rather have someone stay because they want to stay. Not because they have to.”

“What about Aurum Model C1DN33? Does she stay because she wishes to?”

“I don’t know. If she doesn’t want to stay, I don’t blame her though, to be honest. She’s welcome to come and go if she wants. I don’t want to stop her. Or you either.” The two of you grew quiet, the TV more of a faint mumbling as you felt your mind wander a bit. Yeah… It’s nicer to be alone for now and just wait for someone who wanted to stay. Cindy was nice, but if she was going to develop the sentience to one day want to use her programs and skills elsewhere, she was free to make the choice. At least, you hoped Cindy knew that, despite her running on a Virtual Intelligence network. Just as you hoped that the RAV N0X did too. You did your part to help repair him, so he was more than welcome to go find his owner once again as his return command would dictate.

And yet, you found yourself with a cold hand gently brushing over the top of your knuckles. You looked down at your hand, the metal mechanical arm had reached out and gently begin to lock its digits between your fingers to lace them together. You found yourself blinking in surprise as you looked up. The android had moved closer to you, taking your hand into his own as his soft expression peered into your own confused one. And wow… He was really close to you. You could see the detailed texture in the silicon flesh allied to his exterior, as if he had tiny pore, freckles slashed over his skin, and the softest heterochromatic gaze that locked onto yours. Your cheeks reddened at the sight, but you were unable to look away from him. Wow…

It was as if he was unable to process his voice to communicate for a moment, words glitching slightly before he spoke quietly to you. “I will stay at your side, just as I have sworn to you. The recorded 1008 hours of repair is not forgotten, and I will attempt to keep it in my mind to reciprocate my gratitude.”

“But… Is that what you want to do?”

The prototype gave a small nod, adjusting your hands to where your fingers locked together, palm to metal palm. “I suppose it is. I will command myself to protect and serve you, my liege.”

You pursed your lips for a moment and shook your head. “No… Don’t call me ‘my liege.’ That sounds really weird. Just call me by my first name or something.” He gave a firm nod in response, eyes flashing blue to lock in the information. Though that did bring up an interesting question… You had given Cindy her name because of her model and functioning, but the RAV N0X Aeternia was such a complicated machine that having to call it that over and over again would really be a mouthful. “Is there something that I get to call you? Something that you like or are really responsive to?”

“Information and encrypted files stored in my databank suggest that there is a directive command that proves to be 99.342% effective in activating my reaction protocol and command list. A ‘name’ as you might refer to it as.” He was quiet for a good long moment, his grip growing a bit tighter as if bothered by the question again. But soon, his grip loosened before his head slowly moved up and down in a nod. You could have sworn his eyes flashed again. But unlike its usual blue flash, both eyes had glowed violet. A blink of an eye though before they reverted to their heterochromatic colors. Perhaps it was just an illusion or something... “This ‘name’ will only be affective to my commands if you are the one calling me by it.”

“Wait, so you’re overriding your system and giving me admin access?” Perhaps that wasn’t the words he’d use so simply, but he gave a nod. You sat up a bit, hand still laced with his as he adjusted yourself and faced him on the couch. “Okay then. Tell me: what’s your name?”

The surreal violet glow in the android’s eyes before was not as surreal as when he turned his gaze towards you again, leaning closer as he tucked a bit of your hair behind your ear and whispered quietly into your ear. You found your cheeks flaring up even more, body tensing a bit as you could hear the digitized voice whisper by your ear. A name simple and blissful, and one that made your heart skip a beat from just the way the android had said it.

“Ravus.” You looked at the android as he pulled his face away from yours to consider your eyes once again. “My name… Is Ravus.”

You slowly began to nod, your smile growing bigger as your mind repeated the name over and over again. “A pleasure to properly me you then, Ravus.”

Ravus’s eyes lit up with a soft blue glow, lips gently curling at the corner as he nodded back to you in return. “And a pleasure to serve you as well.”

An excuse to give a certain Jedi all the hugs

Ok, this is entirely @forcearama 's fault - her recaps not only got me into TCW, but gave me all sorts of Kenobi feels. I’m not completely happy with this, but It's been hanging around on my drive unfinished for long enough, so here, have a silly Mortis AU created purely to ensure Obi-Wan gets a well deserved hug. Outside the thunder roars, a cacophony of light and noise as the planet tears itself apart in an orgy of chaos and destruction. Inside the cave however it is quiet, the silence only broken by the  crackling of the fire and occasional rustle of clothing as Ahsoka shifts in her sleep. Obi-Wan should be sleeping too. Who knows what new impossibility Mortis will throw at them in the morning?  But rest eludes him. The visions have left him unsettled, his mind turning itself over and over in an attempt to make sense of it all. Ahsoka had refused to speak of what she had seen, but if it was anything like his own experience... ( "you must realise with his power this is a very dangerous place to be" says a ghost ) 

He wishes he could convince himself that it was just a dream - nothing more than his worry for Anakin and his subconscious desire see Qui-Gon again manifesting itself in an unusually vivid manner, but Obi-Wan is a realist. Their strange arrival. The disappearance of the shuttle and the constantly changing seasons. The way the Force permeates the very air... If there was anywhere in the universe that a ghost could make its presence felt it would be here, where reality itself seems to twist and bend ("this planet is both an amplifier and a magnet" but of what? )   His Master had urged caution and Obi-Wan is no fool. Experience taught him long ago that when Qui-Gon Jinn warns of danger it will surely follow (he suppresses the old ache inside his chest. now is not the time for grief). And there is good reason to be wary.  Regardless of their motivations, the focus of these unknown force users upon Anakin and his destiny as the Chosen One is disturbing. There is danger here, far beyond the physical and Obi-Wan is worried. Anakin is as brilliant as a thousand suns, and just as volatile. He is proud, oh so proud of the man his student has become, but the strain of attachment that Master Yoda warned him of so many years ago runs strong through them both. Perhaps Qui-Gon should never have entrusted the boy to him. He knows himself, he knows what he would do to keep his former Padawan (brother, partner, two halves of one whole) safe and well. With all his power and passion what lengths might Anakin go to to protect those he considers his own? (he buries the guilt, the knowledge of his own inadequacy. now is not the time for regret.) But they are a team. (the team, hope of the republic and why does the honour feel more like a chain?) Where one may falter the other will be there to catch them.  As soon as the tempest eases he will wake Ahsoka and they will set out to collect their missing member and get off this planet before disaster ensues.  (he eases away the certainty that it is already too late, that he has already begun to lose Anakin to forces outside his control. now is not the time for doubt.) The sharp noise of rock clattering across crystal interrupts his thoughts, and in a split second he is on his feet, lightsaber at the ready. A quick glance shows Ahsoka still asleep - somehow Obi-Wan doubts she will wake. Whatever knowledge the Force wishes to impart would seem to be private. His eyes scan across the cavern, alighting on the rear wall where a humanoid shape is slowly emerging from the shadows. Unlike his last visitor, the figure does not glow with ghostly light.  Indeed the stranger appears distinctly mundane. A dusty cloak shrouds a form that looks to be human standard, slighter and smaller perhaps than he is used to, but nothing out of the ordinary.  Their features are hidden in the deep folds of the hood, but Obi-Wan cannot sense any animosity.  In fact unless he is very much mistaken the figure appears to be radiating a distinct sense of confusion.  (he wouldn't be the only one…) It doesn't appear that he has been noticed yet. Given the apparently non-hostile nature of his visitor, Obi-Wan shifts his blade to a less threatening position and opens with a friendly greeting. "Hello there!" Confusion turns to shock as the figure spins to face him. The movement reveals dark clothing and a  gloved hand reaching for the lightsaber clipped to a well worn belt. For a moment there is silence as they assess one another. Neither party moves. Pulling out his best Negotiator voice, the one he uses to charm reluctant senators and skittish royals, Obi-Wan addresses the stranger again. "Come my friend, no need to be shy!" He smiles winningly, one eyebrow raised. He steps back, switching off his saber and  gesturing to the flames in front of him. "This is a strange and troubling place, but you are most welcome to share our fire." Obi-Wan has experienced a wide variety of reactions to his particular brand of diplomacy, over the years; friendly delight, irritated disdain, polite interest, occasionally breathless swooning - Anakin always looks so smug when that happens. But the sense of joy and recognition mixed with a faint hint of nauseated horror is completely unexpected. And somewhat startling. Whoever this is they are strong in the force. Obi-Wan had not been probing and yet he could feel their presence, bright and warm like the midday sun, reaching out as if to embrace him. As if that thought had made itself known the stranger's shields abruptly slam down with a faint air of apology. Having ascertained that his new friend seemed to mean him no harm Obi-Wan felt it time to begin the introductions - he could hardly keep calling him "Stranger" after all, it would be most rude. "I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, currently on assignment to investigate the source of a distress signal emanating from this planet. You appear to recognise me, but I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I am certain we have not met before." Another smile, a little more genuine this time. "Your force presence is rather distinctive." Gloved hands reach up to remove the heavy hood, revealing the face a young man with strangely familiar features. He is smiling broadly, blue eyes shining with sincerity as he opens his mouth to speak but nothing emerges. Blond brows furrow in confusion as he tries again, only to fall silent once more. With barely a whisper of effort Obi-Wan feels him call on the force for guidance (how easily it responds! powerful indeed, though his technique lacks somewhat in finesse, much like another young man he knows) before looking somewhat resigned. "My name is Luke. I'm sorry, but I can't seem to tell you more than that." He says with a sheepish grin. His accent is pure Rim, unusual for a Jedi - even Anakin had adopted something closer to the smooth tones of Coruscant. On the other hand he hardly knew every member of the order, and given the course of the war it was completely possible for a Jedi to have spent very little time at the temple. Still, Obi-Wan was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this. 

"I can say this is not at all what I was expecting though" the stranger, no, Luke, continues as he moves closer, eyes taking in his surroundings in a series of rapid glances but always returning to Obi-Wan's face. "Oh? What were you expecting, if you don't mind me asking." Obi-Wan asks, gesturing again for him to join him by the fire, hiding his growing unease beneath the veneer of politeness. The apparent interference from the force is alarming, just like everything else on this planet, but it would not do to let his worry show. ( the force tells him there is no danger but all his well honed instincts are screaming; whatever comes he will not leave this cavern the same as he entered) Luke's bright smile turns a little secretive as he nears, and his eyes twinkle with suppressed mirth as he looks up to meet Obi-Wan's eyes. "A conversation with someone a bit bluer more transparent than you seem to be." (more ghosts. oh that did not bode well.) "The sudden change in scenery and the fact that I can't feel my companions is also kind of a surprise." The young man adds somewhat wryly. "I don't know exactly where I am now, but I know it's nowhere near where I was a moment ago." There it is. More impossibilities. Obi-Wan hates being right. "I fear it seems to be something of a trend on this planet" he sighs. "Along with ghostly conversations. While I cannot give you answers as to why you are here, if you are still here in the morning I will see what we can do to get you back where you belong. Provided of course you are not a force apparition or some kind of Sith trickery" he mutters. "Which knowing my luck is a distinct possibility." Luke lets out a rather indelicate snort of laughter before reaching for his lightsaber, clearly telegraphing his every move. The blade lights up a bright emerald green, and the young man grins. "Not a Sith." For all their levity the words carry an unspoken weight, a sense of conviction that only comes in the wake of personal struggle and Obi-Wan shifts his assessment of the young knight, for that is what he must be, up several notches​. The war has exposed many Jedi to the effects of the dark side first hand, but few are willing to face their own potential for darkness and risk doubt eroding the foundations of their will.  (a flash of red, a cry of pain, rising anger and it would be so easy to let it consume him, so easy to give in to the rage and betray his master in the worst of ways. but he can never truly forsake those he loves, and the dark retreats). A warm hand around his wrist brings him back to the here and now. "Not an apparition either." Luke says and Obi-Wan can feel the solidity of his presence, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Luke cocks his head to the side and adds "At least not totally, the Force is rather insistent I be here though. Maybe I..." Again his mouth moves as if to continue the thought only to by stymied by the Force itself, and the younger man lets out a frustrated huff.

Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand through his beard. “And of course you can't tell me more. Wonderful. I suppose I should be grateful you don't speak only in cryptic statements that won't become clear until well after the advice would have been useful.”

Luke gives him an undecipherable look. (the fact that it is remarkably reminiscent of anakin’s “ i cannot believe the bantha shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes master” look is neither here nor there) “I could try if you want? I’ve never been particularly good at that sort of thing but my Master was an expert.” He pauses. “Actually, they both did their best to confuse me. One was just more blunt about it”

It startles a laugh out of Obi-Wan, despite the unwelcome reminder that the war orphaned more than a few Padawans nearing knighthood (could he have accepted another master had he not been knighted? or would he have taken anakin and left? he doesn't know and it scares him). “No, no I don't think that will be necessary. Though should you feel the need to live up to your legacy I warn you that I was taught by the best - Master Qui-Gon could turn a prediction about the weather into ominous portent of doom when he wanted to. It amused him far too much...”

He tries to keep his tone light hearted but something in his voice must give away his inner turmoil, as Luke watches him with sympathetic interest.

“It sounds like you still miss him.” There is a note of pain underlying the statement and Obi-Wan could kick himself - he hadn't meant to bring back the other man’s trauma on top of his own. As a councilor technically he should give the standard response about there being no death, only the Force ( and it appears that his master has gone out of his way to demonstrate as much...if only it had been a happier meeting), but given his own experiences as young knight he feels more practical tone will not go astray.

“I do. And I always will.  There is no shame in mourning those who are gone, but we must remember that the best way to honour their memory is to continue on in a way the would make them proud.” He places a hand on the other man's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "I may not know your full story, but from what I see I can only imagine that your Master would be very proud of what you have become.”

There is silence, and Obi-Wan courteously turns away to give Luke a chance to compose himself (he ignores his own emotions, still raw from recollection. his new friend deserves support, not further grief). He hears Luke take a deep breath, and when he next speaks his voice is thoughtful, with only a slight waver betraying his prior emotions. 

"You know, I think I figured out why the force sent me here."

"Oh? Do tell." Obi-wan keeps his voice soft, a polite enquiry with just a hint of amusement. Perhaps he hasn't managed to entirely kriff up this situation after all.

"I... Be.. Master Kenobi, will you trust me?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, ready to make a flippant comment about the wisdom of trusting randomly appearing Jedi knights with mysterious force bindings but stops. There is something deeply serious about Luke's demeanor; an unwavering sense of importance to his question. Does he trust him? He has given him no reason not to, but can Obi-Wan trust anything in this uncanny place? The Force seems to think so, and a Jedi must follow the will of the Force.

He nods. Immediately he is engulfed. His shields are buffeted by overwhelming waves of joy and affection as strong arms wrap tightly around his torso. It is like being surrounded by an ocean, powerful  and deep. It is like lying in the middle of a sunlit field, bathed in warmth and light as clouds move lazily overhead. It is like standing beside his master in the wake of a successful mission,like laughing with his padawan as they show off their lightsaber skills in a friendly spar, like sitting in the mess watching his Grand-Padawan bicker with the men over the latest holonews. Luke embraces him, mind and body and for a moment there is no war, no doubt, only peace.

He doesn't know how long he basks in the feeling but eventually he notices the soft muttering coming from the vicinity of his neck. Gently he pulls away slightly - not enough to dislodge the other, but enough that he is no longer wedged tightly beneath his chin. “Pardon?”

Luke's head remains bowed, but his voice, though barely a whisper is sincere and accompanies  yet another outpouring of emotion.

“Thank you. Thank you, for everything you've done. For me. For everyone. Thank you.”

Somehow he knows he means every word. But it makes no sense.He does not know Luke,has never met him for all that he feels like an old friend. And yet the Force is clear. Luke cares for him, misses him, is undeniably attached to him and Obi-Wan honestly has no idea how to respond. “I… But...I haven't done anything?”

Luke looks up, cheeks glistening​ with​ tears, but his smile is gentle and his eyes are full of love. “Not yet. But you will... Master.”

Oh. Oh! The Force sings with the truth even as his brain struggles to deny it.  Time and space mean nothing here, and the final proof of this is slowly lowering them both to the ground as Obi-Wan grapples with the revelation. He would be mortified at his reaction but he is too busy dealing with the implications. Time travel. Not just visions but actual time travel. Why would the Force allow this? Does it have to do with him being dead in his (former? future? what is the correct tense for temporal displacement?) student’s time? Why bring him here?

The lightsaber should have been a giveaway, its lines clearly reminiscent of the one tucked into his own belt. Luke lacks Anakin's bulk, and Obi-Wan thinks it must have been pleasant not to have his Padawan towering over him all the time. It seems the dark clothing will remain a constant, though the lack of grease stains and burn marks on Luke's jacket is a nice change. Something about the young knight's face makes his brain itch, but he puts it aside. He’d often thought about taking another Padawan, but between the war and his own doubts he was content with overseeing Anakin and Ahsoka’s partnership. Now he marvels at a future where he is responsible for yet another powerful Jedi with attachment issues and a heart of gold. He can think of far worse legacies. And on that note...

He arches one eyebrow. “An expert at cryptic statements hmm?”

Luke does his best to look contrite. He fails. “From a certain point of view.”

“Oh I definitely taught you that one!” Obi-Wan admits with a rueful grin “I do hope you gave me an easier time of it than your predecessor, I have enough grey hairs as it is.”

Luke laughs helplessly. “I doubt it. You left me your diaries. I had no idea you knew about the incident with the water smugglers. Or the bar f-ghk...” He shakes his head to rethink his words. “But you somehow managed to keep me alive and out of captivity long enough for me to reach adulthood. There was so much you did, so much you gave, and you never said...”

And didn't that sound familiar. Well, at least he knows the future doesn't change him too much. He reaches out and pulls the younger man into his shoulder.

“And I’m sure my older self felt it never needed to be said. Are you happy?”

“What? I mean, I suppose? Things aren't perfect, but my a friends and I, we're working on it. There's a lot to be done, but we can do it.”

“Then whatever he did, I know I would have considered it well worth it.”

For a long moment they sit together in silent contentment. But the night will not last forever, and Obi-Wan needs to be prepared to face the morning.

“ I’m overjoyed to have met you, but I doubt the Force brought you here solely for the purpose of reassuring your old Master that his days of chasing after over-energetic Padawans are not yet done. ”

“No” Luke's expression is serene, without a hint of uncertainty. “ I think that's exactly what the Force intended. Sometimes a single light is all you need to hold back the dark, and without giving anything away, it’s likely things are going to be pretty dark for you in the near future.”

It’s an ominous thought, but between this planet and the war in general Obi-Wan can believe it. Still, it's a bit ridiculous - he could understand if it were Anakin, the Force does tend to favour its Chosen One, but him? He shakes his head in denial, only to be interrupted.

“No, listen Be- Obi-Wan. You are more important than you think. Without you…” Luke's voice stops and starts, the Force intervening as he speaks, but he is intent on passing on his message. “ Without you so many things will be so much worse. I…  Even without me, even right now you have people who need you, who love you, who would miss you. You… If you fall we all fall. Trust me. ”

Luke is earnest, and a horrible feeling settles in his gut as he thinks it through. Anakin, Anakin alone would be enough- hadn't he just thought as much? To lose him would be devastate his former Padawan, with his emotional nature it would not take much more to push him to breaking point. And given the power at his disposal…

His thoughts must show, because Luke nods.

“Attachments go both ways, and I’ve had them used against me. But there is strength there too. Don't underestimate the power in knowing you are loved.” He looks thoughtful. “Which is the point I think. You need to remember that.” A wave of strong affection reinforces his words.

Obi-Wan cannot find it in himself to argue any more. Luke, he muses, will fit right in with the rest of his line. He can already imagine the headaches he will cause among the more orthodox Jedi, it is after all very difficult to rebut a man whose entire debate style seems to be based on unabashed sincerity. (he thinks his master would be proud.he knows he is).  

“ I will. I promise.” He mock glares at Luke. “Even if it means another couple of decades of students past and present  making a nuisance of themselves fretting over my general well being.”

Said nuisance snickers, the expression so familiar. Unrepentant blue eyes look into his own.

“Sorry, I’m told it's genetic.”

The last few things click into place and of course. Of course. It seems his fate is to be forever entwined with that of ridiculous, overdramatic Skywalkers. He takes a deep breath.  He should be angry, outraged in the face of proof that Anakin will leave the Jedi, leave him and all his teachings behind (and now he looks he can see the hint of padmé in luke's cheekbones, the echo of her lips in his smile) but all Obi-Wan can feel is an overwhelming sense of joy. Here is Anakin's child, full grown and strong and so firmly planted in the light. Here stands a knight, tested and true and no doubt recklessly running of to save the galaxy now and then. Here is a future full of hope, in the middle of a present filled with darkness. How can he not rejoice in the gift he has been given?

He places a hand either side of Luke’s face (nephew, student, family. he will not be left alone again.) taking in his features, reaching out to memorise his signature in the Force. He will not waste this opportunity.

“I know you can't tell me anything, as much as I know you want to. But Luke? I am dearly looking forward to meeting you, and to watching you grow.” The part of him that struggles with expressing emotion would leave it there, but if this is his only chance… He clears his throat.  “I doubt you will ever lack for love, not knowing your parents, but just in case, you should know that you most certainly have mine.”

There is something infinitely sad about Luke’s smile.

“Somehow, I think I always knew.”

Obi-Wan doesn't stop to think, he simply pulls his Padawan (nephew, family, hope) back into his arms. Luke takes the opportunity to rearrange things so they are comfortably resting against one another. “Come on.” The young man says softly. “You need to sleep. I’ll bet anything there's a Skywalker in need of rescuing come morning.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “There’ll be more than one if you’re still here. I haven't a clue about the correct protocol in case of time travelling but I know Anakin will find a way to make thing worse.”

The body wrapped around his own shakes with silent laughter, and as he shuts his eyes Obi-Wan cannot help but wonder if he is the only getting a much needed glimpse of the future tonight. ************* In a tower surrounded by lightning Anakin Skywalker cannot sleep. It might be because of the Father's refusal to speak clearly, or the distressing use of his mother's visage by the Son, but most likely it is due to his latest acquaintance.

Anakin glares at the apparition. The apparition glares back. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but if you don't mind I've already had one unwelcome visitor tonight and I would like to get some sleep."

The dark haired woman continues to glare, opening her mouth as if to yell, only for the words to  again be strangled by some unknown force. She snarls, and Anakin is impressed by the sheer amount of outrage contained by that tiny frame.

“I don't know you lady, but whatever is making you angrier than a gundark with mange? Is not my fault.”

Her laughter is borders on the hysterical and her voice stops with sarcasm.

“Of course not! Why should it be? Just because everything else that’s ever gone wrong in my life is!”

Anakin groans. Somehow he doesn't think he’ll be getting much sleep tonight. *********

Obi-Wan is alone when he wakes. A quick prod with the Force tells him Ahsoka is just outside the mouth of the cave, most likely checking that they can safely leave.

 Of his visitor there is no sign, and he would dismiss it as dream but for the dusty cloak, slightly too short in the hem, that has been carefully tucked around his shoulders.

 He smiles, feeling more hopeful than he can remember being since before the war began. Time to go gather his family and get off this rock. Prophecy can go hang, they have a war to win future to forge. Together.

**************** Aaaand that's where the rest of the Mortis arc happens and they leave with no memories and only the vague feelings, except I have decided that the force fucked up and both our generals ended up with a ghostly spectator for the remainder of the clone wars, providing emotional support and advice. Well, Luke does anyway. Leia tends to spend a lot more time screaming at Anakin about his bad ideas, before they start to bond over Padmé's being awesome and their concerns over reckless self sacrificing idiots. Someday I'll get around to writing it.😊

To start this off: Yes. There will be character death. There will be mentions of depression, blood and angst. Viewer discretion is advised.

Second: I have multiple verses, and each of them could have their own potental death. Some are more dramatic than others. I picked the one that is most likely to happen!

V: Maker, Hear my Cry - The transfer had come months ago. Every day, more of his mind slipped away just as easily as his skin. He had become something entirely different, a combination of things to become one grotesque whole. The blood that wept from him ran slowly over the crystal that had already formed to become a new coating, the next layer of red shell. Most of his hair had fallen free, most of his skin had cracked, many of his bones had been replaced. He was nothing but the blood, song and crystal. Echos in his mind never ceased, and still he begged for more. Still he begged to be given more of the red. After all, when it was granted to him, he didn't feel quite so strange. He felt like it had a purpose, a point. He felt like that there was a reason for his suffering. For all the suffering he caused as well. The will of Corypheus was to be done, and he was the perfect tool to enact it. Sarnia below had already been harvested for more, and there was talk of attacking the Inquisition camp that had sprang up to the south of the town. They would be taken, and shown the way. Introduced to the real will. Aden heard this news with little more than joy. They would be brought to the ways of Corypheus. More would join their rapturous song. The pain would be shared, their blood brought to the fold and used to spread the old one's voices through the land. They would serve a higher purpose, as he was. As they all were. The Maker, with his false words, would be cast down.

Then the Inquisition attacked.

Aden knew it had to be coming. The stubborn will of the Inquisitor demanded it be so. Corypheus' rival would be as indomitable as he himself was, and would never back down unless killed. Aden was deployed with the others of his Order, sent out in order waylay the Inquisition's march. There was a chance after all, a chance to earn his place, earn the good will of the God that was to be. A chance to do something right.

He didn't need the others for this. They could throw themselves upon the Inquisition blades if they so chose. Aden would wait and conerve his strength. They would have to come to him after all, and they would have to try to make it past him in order to take the Keep. There was no other path around. He would face the Inquisitor face to face; finally they would see one another again. He would face the man whom had left him to his fate. Aden wondered if the other would even recognize him in this state. He had been changed so much after all. The red had altered him how it saw fit.

There. A flash of silver, a hint of yellow. Finally he had come. Clearly the months had not been kind to the younger. He seemed weak, pathetic, unable to bear the burden he had been forced to carry. And yet... Aden couldn't be more proud of the other. He couldn't be more proud of the man his brother had become. He did not shy away from the gaze that locked with his own, did not flinch away from what must be done. After all, why would he? It must be done. All this suffering had to have some sort of purpose after all. A lurching step forward, what little of his lips remaining pulling back into a twisted smile. "I hoped you'd come."      "No..." The anguish that dropped from the lips of his brother was immense. Yes, there was recognition. Aden hadn't needed to doubt Maxwell at all. No, there was no doubt. The time had finally come, and the moments he had to wait in his hell were finally drawing to a close. It was difficult to say if the cacophony would finally end, but there was no harm in trying. He was being urged forward, urged into doing the unthinkable. No. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it. "Imshael is close."

This was his little brother. The only one in the damned world that meant anything to him. With what will he had left, what little sanity was left to him, the part that had been patiently waiting surged to the fore. Arms too heavy to hold dropped to the ground, breath almost too difficult to breathe forced out words that needed to be said.

"Kill me, Max. Please." He hated asking the younger to do this. Aden was supposed to be ther to protect Max after all. But... he couldn't anymore. Trapped like this, he couldn't do anything. There was nothing left of him anymore, nothing left to him. He couldn't control himself, couldn't fight back. It was everything he had to stop himself. Truly, Aden had faith left in himself for one thing. That Max would be strong enough to do what was right. “I’m sorry.” It didn't even hurt when the blade plunged into him. No, there was simply relief. Because yes, in the end, the screaming did indeed stop. (Alternate History - Old drabble) "Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame." The rise and fall of her voice helped him focus through the roar of rage in his mind. Through the song of the forgotten ones, through the crying of the Unholy one. It helped him focus his will into a diamond sharp edge, sharper than any blade. This was the moment he had been saving for. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, despite the evidence to the contrary and the reports of the Herald’s death, Aden had waited. He had believed in one thing with all the certainty of a fanatic. They would have a chance. And it had been provided. “Andraste guide me.” There was little strength in his voice as it was pushed out of a chest already torn into by the blades and swords of the enemy. Blood weeped from wounds aplenty to run down the crystalline growth protruding from skin. It had been a long struggle, but they had their chance. He had seen his brother one last time. He was getting to see Narni one last time. Instead of losing the sliver he had left of his psyche, he had endured, and he was going to fall on his terms, fighting. Clenched fists unburdened by weapon save the unnatural strength granted to him smashed into the opposition, crumbling demon and man both. They had to buy time. As much time as they could. Yet he could see see they were overwhelmed. It would have always been so. Narni was already being pulled taunt, held by her arms by a terror demon. Swords penetrated her torso, and as the ex-templar watched, the light faded from her green eyes, leaving only a red glimmer granted by the Red Lyrium infection. Aden would be joining her soon. “Maker, guide us to your side. May we find peace in your arms.” A sword to his throat ended any chance of speech, leaving him with only thought. Thought that if he had faith in anyone, it was his brother. Max would make things right. If Aden had done his part right, then his little brother would never have to endure this hell. And that was enough.