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wolfjackle-creates · 7 months

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Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 17

Damn, how did this get to a part 17????

Here's the promised WIP Wednesday (on a Thursday)!

I had a lot of fun writing this part. The words just flowed so easily.

If you didn't notice, I now have the first arc posted on AO3. It covers the first three parts I've shared here along with some extras that I never did.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.9k

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By the time morning had rolled around, Tim had also signed them up for a 7:30 AM and a 6 PM TV interview. Hopefully they could do enough damage control to mitigate the worst of Walker’s bad PR, whatever that turned out to be.

Tim nudged everyone awake at 5 AM. Conner and Cassie got up the easiest.

“Morning, Rob,” Conner said through a yawn. “Time to prepare for our interview?”

“Yep. We’ll be going in uniform since this is an interview for the Young Justice.”

“Great,” said Cassie. “We’ll be ready.”

Tim went to Danny next. “Hey, Danny.” The boy didn’t move, so Tim shook his shoulder slightly.

“Wha…?” Danny blinked his eyes open. “Wha’s goin on?”

“Me and the others are going to our interviews. We’ll be back in a few hours, kay?”

Danny just blinked at him and Tim laughed fondly.

“I’ll leave a note.”

Tim skipped breakfast on their way out, though Bart offered him some breakfast bars.

“It’s too late to be up,” Tim yawned.

Conner laughed as he hugged Tim and wrapped him in his TTK. They rose several feet into the air. “You should not have pulled that all-nighter.”

“How else was I supposed to be awake in time?”

Tim could feel the way Conner shook his head. “Just tell me where to go. I’ll get us there.”

Tim pointed to an area in town. “It’s over that way.”

Bart grinned. “I’ll meet you three there!”

“We won’t be long,” said Cassie.

With the benefit of flying, they were at the radio station within fifteen minutes. Sometimes being friends with metas made life so much easier.

As soon as they entered, a team of people greeted them.

“You were actually serious!” exclaimed a tall, white man. “Thought for sure it was a joke when I got your email last night. I’m Steve and I’ll be your interviewer this morning.”

Tim shook his hand. “Good morning, Steve. Robin at your service, and these are Superboy, Wonder Girl, and Impulse.”

Then they had to be introduced to all the producers, sound engineers, and assistants. If it hadn’t been for his parents’ gala training, Tim was certain he would’ve forgotten all the names instantly.

The employees knew how to do their jobs, however, and despite everyone wanting to meet the heroes, in less than twenty minutes, they were set up in the recording studio.

“So,” said Steve. “I just want to make sure I get this right. You, Robin, have been friends with Phantom for a while now and wanted to tell our listeners the truth about him. That he’s actually a hero and not a menace.”

“That’s right, Steve. I knew him before… Well, he’s a ghost. You know what before implies. He was there for me when I first became Robin. Now I want to be there for him when he’s dealing with similar struggles.”

“That’s not what any of the experts believe.”

Conner snorted. “The so-called experts in this town want to completely destroy any and all ghosts. Don’t think they’re unbiased.”

Bart nodded. “Yeah. We may not have known Phantom as long as Robin, here. But he’s a good guy. Helped us out when we got stranded here.”

“Stranded, eh? Mind if I ask you more about that on air?”

Tim laughed. “You can ask whatever you like. But I can’t guarantee we’ll answer everything. Secret missions and all that, you understand.”

Steve sighed theatrically. “It was worth a shot. Now, we’ll be going live in about five minutes and we’ll have three segments of eight minutes separated by two minute ad breaks. For a total of thirty minutes in the studio. Anything in particular you want me to ask?”

Tim pulled a sheet of paper out of his utility belt. “I wrote some down, if you don’t mind. They should be engaging and broad enough to please your audience and personal curiosity.”

“I won’t ask only from this list, you understand,” said Steve as he took it.

“Of course not. The first three are ones I do request that you ask, however. Beyond those, they’re just suggestions.”

Steve skimmed the list and nodded. “I can work with this.”

Beyond the window, the sound technician made a signal.

“All right, everyone. That’s the one minute mark. Let me introduce you before you say anything, capiche?”

Tim gave a thumbs up and the others added their assent.

The “on air” light turned on and Steve spoke in a voice much more performative than the one he’d been using. “Good Morning, Amity Park! This is Steve Boyce here to help you bring in the day. How are you early birds doing? Have I got a treat for you today! So last night I got absolutely no sleep because at nine thirty, shortly after our newly implemented curfew, I got a surprise email. From no other than the heroes who helped us out the other night when we were attacked! That’s right! The one and only Robin from Gotham emailed my and asked to come on my small, local show. So he and the Teen Titans are here with me. Let’s give them a warm Amity welcome, what do you say?”

Cassie laughed. “Thanks for that introduction, Steve. I’m Wonder Girl and I’d like to clarify one point. The former Teen Titans have kept the name Titans even if they’re no longer Teens. So we’ve decided to go by a new name.”

Bart nodded. “Yep. We’re the Young Justice now.”

Steve laughed. “Looks like I’ve already put my foot in it. Let me correct myself, let’s give the Young Justice a warm Amity welcome.”

Tim put on the happy gala voice his parents had drilled into him. “Not at all! It’s a new change and we’ve never really operated out here before. Even back home in San Francisco or Gotham we get called the Teen Titans more often than not. We’re just on a crusade to get the name change to stick.”

“Well I’m sure all of my listeners will be sure to get it right going forward. Now, let’s get down to business. We’re all thrilled that you were around to help us out the other night, but what brought you to Amity to begin with? Mayor Montez has publicly stated he never even had a chance to reach out for help before you were on the scene.”

“That was all Robin’s doing,” said Conner. “He’s friends with Phantom, you know.”

“Yep,” agreed Tim. “We were in the area when our transport broke down. Impulse figured out where we were and I knew of Amity due to my friendship with Phantom. Since we weren’t on a time limit, we decided to pop into town for a visit. Imagine our surprise when our very first evening here, we experienced a ghost invasion!”

Cassie laughed. “Oh, come on, Rob. With our lives, it really wasn’t that surprising.”

“Yeah,” said Bart. “We’ve totally had weirder things happen to us.”

Steve leaned forward and pitched his tone lower as if conspiring with them. “Well, I’ll definitely be asking for some of the details on what those might’ve been later. But first, I have to ask. Robin, how did you meet Phantom? He’s that ghost in the black-and-white jumpsuit, right? As far as I know, he’s only ever been seen in Amity. And you’ve certainly never been here before.”

Tim took a breath, this was the moment. “Yep, that’s him. And, well, it may be strange, but I knew him before he was ever Phantom.”

“Before he was Phantom? Do you mean…” Steve let his voice trail off.

Tim let out a low sigh and closed his eyes. He really had to sell this. “Yeah.” He made sure his voice was rough. “Yeah. I knew him before he died. He was one of my best friends growing up and we’ve known each other for years.”

Conner put a hand on his shoulder. “Rob…”

When even Steve needed a second to figure out how to reply, Tim figured he did a good enough job. “So you know him when he was alive,” Steve said. “Who was he? Where did he live?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” said Tim. “He was young when he died and his family don’t need people harassing them. They’ve been through a lot. And I know Phantom’s reputation isn’t the best.”

Steve let out another put-upon sigh. “And there you go being reasonable when all I want is the hot gossip. Fine, no questions about who Phantom was. I’m sure you were thrilled when you found out he came back as a ghost, though.”

Tim laughed and was glad Steve was able to change the mood of the interview so quickly without him doing anything. “Oh absolutely. I near about had a heart attack when he called me up out of the blue to say he was a ghost now! This was my first opportunity to visit him since, you know.”

Conner nudged him. “So he brought us along for the ride.”

Steve hummed. “So for the rest of you, this is your first time meeting Phantom?”

“Yep,” said Bart. “I like him. He’s cool.”

“So, Impulse, you think he’s trying to help us. Because it seems like whenever he shows up, things get broken and we have to spend days or weeks and tens of thousands on repairs.”

“Robin knows more about it than I do,” said Bart, “but I guess what let Phantom cross back over to Earth is allowing other ghosts to cross back over. Phantom just wants to spend more time with his living family and friends. The others ghosts…”

“They want more than that,” finished Tim. “Phantom’s explained it to me a bit. They all have something driving them that can only be fulfilled on Earth. And they don’t care what they have to do to satisfy that drive. So Phantom steps in to try and prevent them from causing too much damage or hurting anyone. Then he forces them back to the dimension they come from.”

“In fact,” added Cassie. “We spent all night talking with Phantom and we got his side of the story on several of his fights since he first came to Amity. We’ve written it all up and submitted them to the local paper, so look in the OpEds over the next few days if you want to know the truth.”

“Oh, well now you’ve definitely got me intrigued! I think I will. Anything you'd be willing to share with us now?”

“Do you remember how a month or two ago, a giant robot was seen in Amity?” asked Tim.

“Not something I’m likely to forget!”

Tim laughed. “I’m sure! Well, what you don’t know is that he crossed over to Earth from the Ghost Zone about three or four days before you ever saw him. Phantom kept him from gaining a physical body for days before Technus was able to get past him.”

“Really? So you’re saying that without Phantom, we would’ve been dealing with that robot for a lot longer?”

“Yep.”

Steve asked several more questions about Phantom. Some serious: How does he plan to decrease property damage going forward? We’re coaching him on how to move a fight and deescalate conflict. And some light hearted: So I heard he’s a dog person? Oh, absolutely. A ghost dog adopted him a few weeks ago.

Then the questions turned more personal as he moved on from Phantom and asked about their lives and exploits. And before they knew it, the interview was over.

“Thanks for reaching out,” Steve said as soon as they left the recording studio. “You are by far the biggest guests I’ve ever had on.”

“Thanks for agreeing to have us on so last minute,” said Tim.

“How could I possibly say no?”

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Hope you enjoyed the interview! I probably won't go into detail for the TV one since it'd just be rehashing the same information.

I no longer do tag lists, but I do have a Subscription Post if you want to be notified of updates.

#dpxdc #tim excels at interviews #his parents trained him for it from the cradle #and the rest have done them before #and they actually care about making danny look good #so theyre gonna behave #steve didnt sleep a wink before this interview #he got the email and was half convinced it was a prank #had a backup show planned and everything #the staff totally made copies of this show #and everyone took home a tape #(management turned a blind eye though thats usually discouraged)

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faeriekit · 10 months

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Health and Hybrids (V)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and this is part five💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Batman had a meeting! Danny acquired age appropriate enrichment toys. All is well. You know. Except for the everything else. But it’s fine and MM is on his way so it’ll all be great soon for sure! :)

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

One…Morning? Evening?

Well. One day, Danny rediscovers his tongue.

Most of the muscle is there. Things taste better after he remembers how to taste.

(If everything tastes like iron, well…Danny tries to ignore that.)

Its main function is social. When Danny needs the quiet humans he can’t see to Shut Up or Go Away!, it is now within his power to blow a raspberry.

A slightly bloody raspberry. But still! A success! And when the fuzzy red human buzzes and whines about scaring them off, Danny blows it one too.

If all it does is make the human cry more, hey. That’s not Danny’s business.

The buzzy human comes back with its friends, with fresh sheets, spilling nervousembaras!sednervous all over the room.

Blech. Danny saves himself the trouble and phases through his bed and through the floor below. He does not need to be grabbed again.

He has more energy than he used to. It gets him farther than he’s used to; by the time he finds and works his way through an apple, a pear, and a whole plate of chicken wings, he’s still not sleepy.

…Huh. He rolls over underneath his usual haunt: a conference table. He isn’t feeling the urge to drop into his core. He’s achy, sure, and his limbs hurt and his mouth hurts from eating and he can’t see, but also…

Is Danny bored? Is he finally well enough to be bored of being sick and injured?? That’s. Is that progress? Is it…regression??

Danny sulks under his conference table (his now) with a pile of chicken bones and a few stems and doesn’t know what to do.

If he goes back to his bed…will the sheets already be done? Will people be waiting to get him? Did he lose his…ugh, he doesn’t want to think of them as toys. His…enrichment? Educational tools?

…Okay they might be toys. Whatever. When Danny feels better, he’ll grab something more age appropriate. Maybe he’ll get them from his—

Danny flinches.

…From his house.

If he can get there.

Whatever. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He wants to figure out how to get rid of his trash without revealing his location. Or leave his conference table shelter.

Danny drums his claws against the low-pile carpet that stretches below him. Should he stay? Rest up? Wait for the threats to his admittedly-kinda-pathetic territory to leave? Should he…go get more food? Should he explore more? He feels all kinds of sore and tired but his head mostly feels clear. Maybe if he—

There’s a hissing noise. Danny bristles. He hisses in like, but—oh. It’s a door.

…Oh. It’s the door.

Uh oh. That’s um. That’s.

Uh oh.

Danny quickly pretends that he hadn’t hissed. He invisibly pushes the top of his head through the thick wood of the conference table. They shouldn’t be able to see anything if he peeks.

Well. Unless they can? But if they can, that’s. Uh. That’s a whole new problem.

Several tall, colorful, adult humans walk into the room. He can’t quite tell how many. Just a bunch. And they’re tall. But hey, they’re color coordinated for easier determination, at least.

Danny lowers himself back down through the table. Should he leave? Will they see him if he tries to leave? Can they spot him?

He sits and worries and he dithers as the humans slowly surround the table and the hidden ghost underneath. Should he…should he go through the floor? Will they know he’s there? Is it even safe to get back to his cot yet?

Feet start appearing underneath the table. Danny shies away from them. He pulls his chicken bones away from them too; if they step on one, they might notice him.

Then everything gets quiet. There’s only one quiet, droning voice.

So maybe Danny peeks again.

There’s a giant shadow at the front. It’s probably human. It has black arms and black legs and a patch of what is probably skin in his very fuzzy vision. It stands beside a lit screen.

Danny squints.

…Oh. He can’t quite tell what it’s about, or what’s exactly is being shown on the screen, but he knows what a powerpoint presentation is supposed to look like: a person, a lot of talking, a screen, and a lot of people listening. They’re just…talking. They’re not even talking about Danny.

Okay. He’ll rest under the table. It seems…safe enough for now.

It’s better to listen to human heartbeats and breathing in a room than it is to sit in his silent one, waiting for some new horror to break the everpresent quiet. Danny lays on his belly, nose to the carpet, and counts how many feet are under the table. (There are sixteen feet.) Some humans are wearing real shoes, with inch-thick soles of hard rubber at the bottom. Some are wearing things that look like shoes, but are too flexible, with soft soles that bend and curl as they flex under the table. Very few of them have laces or fixtures. Huh.

A wrapper falls. Danny watches the ball of foil flutter to the floor, at peace with his position, tired of inspecting shoes. And then a face pops down.

Danny freezes. (It’s not the smartest move.)

The face that popped down probably sees him back, considering how still it goes. And then, very slowly, so slowly, a hand reaches down. Danny flinches back, and—

…It grabs the wrapper. The adult carefully gets back up. The face disappears.

Danny doesn’t move. Danny doesn’t leave. Danny doesn’t breathe.

He waits. The human slowly goes back to tapping its toes, wiggling in its seat—and vibrating, in a way that says bored/bored/bored the way the younger human sometimes does.

…No one says anything. No one does anything. No one jumps under the table to get him, there isn’t a break in the speaker that indicates identifying Danny as Present, or as A Problem. Danny is simply…hidden.

He should leave. It would be smart to leave. Danny would be safer if he left.

But also.

Maybe.

This might be the first time he’s been so close to humans in so long.

They don’t know he’s here. It should be…safe. If he just. Listens to the indistinct sound of human voices. Let them wash over him, like a radio left on in the other room.

Danny’s sated. He’s achy. He’s bored. He’s sad. He’s lonely.

…He stays.

He doesn’t notice his humming or the quiet purr in his chest before the hand comes back down again. Danny flinches away from it, the hum guttering to a stop where it had laid.

There’s something about its hand. The hand came down, before, but now there’s something more to it. Another color—a darker color. It’s hard to tell in the shadow underneath the desk. Maybe a—green? A blue? Maybe?

The hand shifts, just a little. And then the thing comes flying at him. Danny jolts backwards, digging his claws into the mere millimeters of carpeting underneath him, and—

Oh. The thing isn’t moving. It hasn’t even exploded.

Danny reaches out a hand. Taps it, gently. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t attack him. It doesn’t excrete anything acidic or bite him. He sniffs it, just to be doubly sure, and nope. It smells like plastic. The wrapper crunches under his hands, even when everything sounds mute and muffled. The noise is borderline imaginary, so Danny can’t exactly tell what it sounds like when he plays with the little plastic flaps.

He can tell what it is now, though. The food bar goes down whole, wrapper and all, into his gullet.

Nice. The outside tastes bad, of course, but it’s nice.

The hand goes away, and no one bothers Danny. It’s nice. There are voices, but they aren’t yelling. They aren’t mean to him. They aren’t talking about what his insides look like or how bad he is or how to take more pieces off of him.

…Danny’s core thrums evenly. Peacefully. Maybe he will want that nap after all. His body gets kind of grouchy when it comes to plastic. He can pretend that it isn’t grumpy with his improvised diet with a nap.

Danny curls up on the floor, core beating along with the quick and even taptaptaptaptap fluttering of a too-quick human heart, and settles in for a quiet one.

(When he wakes up again, no one is around to see him throw out his chicken bones in the tiny trash receptacle by the doorway.)

(His toys and new sheets are all there when Danny gets back to his cot.)

(He’s too relieved to do anything but take a second nap.)

“So,” Wally tries, leaning against the wall. “The… Alien? Extraterrestrial?”

Barry shrugs. Fishes a cheeto out of his bag. “Bart’s been calling it a ghoul. They crashed half a mile off the Kent farm a little after you popped out of the Speedforce; there’s a huge chance something happened to them as part of the temporal anomaly.”

“Happened as in…?”

“Yeah.” Barry takes another cheeto. “Bad.”

And theeeere is the visible guilt. There isn’t exactly any great way for Wally to feel after his unintentional resurrection led to an unintentional…something else.

“…Ah.”

Barry shrugs. There isn’t anything they can do about it; short of rewinding time and shoving Wally back into the Speedforce, which has been shoved off the table with a great deal of force by all of the man’s former teammates, there’s no way to undo the accident that landed the poor alien smacking straight into good-old-fashioned American dirt.

“Don’t worry about the way it happened. It wasn’t your fault, and it sure wasn’t intentional on your part,” Barry points out, and offers the bag of Cheetos towards Wally. The snack is gone in microseconds. The curse of speedsters is really footing the bill of all their emotional eating.

“So, they’re…do we know what they are? Because they definitely shapeshifted fangs as soon as I found their little—whatever that is. Container? Unit? Under the table.” Wally traces the vague shape of the thing’s cerulean heart in the air. “One second I was holding a glass paperweight, and the next I was on the opposite end of a very angry shadow-snake. I think they would have done worse than bit me if it hadn’t had a clear escape route out of there.”

Barry balls the empty bag and shoves it into a pocket. If he litters in the Watchtower, it’s going to be water cooler gossip for years. Bats would never let anyone defile his super cool, super-secret base with garbage without his own form of petty revenge. “Medical says it likely serves as an organ for him,” he says instead, since monologue about how inconvenient it is to be held responsible for his own actions wouldn’t be professional. “So. Think of it less as a container; think of it more as a turtle shell. Medical is pretty sure it’s a part of their body. Messing with it would really hurt them.”

“Yeowch.”

“Mmhmm. One micro-sec.” Barry darts out and away from his nephew; he just remembered he has bottled smoothies in his room. In the time it takes him to fetch two from his mini-fridge—one of his favorite flavor and one of Wally’s—and circle back, the dust motes in the air have hardly even realized he’s gone. They hardly drift even upon his return. “Here.”

Wally catches it easily. To anyone else, Barry would barely have blinked away. To any other Speedster…Barry knows intimately how lethargic and thick time feels against his skull. Slowing down to a mortal, human speed can feel maddening. Sore. Viscerally and bone-shatteringly wrong in his skin, maybe.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Barry would do that and more for his family.

They drink their smoothies.

“You know,” Barry breaks back in, the thoughts of their previous conversation looming lightly in his mind, “Medical says that the fact that we sometimes see their—let’s call it a core—is really, really bad. It’s not a shock that they’re hiding. It would be like climbing in a closet when you’re so vulnerable that you don’t feel like you can defend yourself.”

The rim of Wally’s smoothie bottle drops from his lips. The man frowns. “Oh?”

Barry shrugs. “Imagine losing your skull so that your brain is exposed all the time. Imagine being a cell and having your cell wall break so your nucleus is exposed?”

They both wince at the image.

“Oh boy. And Bart is…playing? With that entity?”

His uncle snorts. “You tell me. I think you’ve seen more of them than I have at the moment. All I did was catch them hanging out in a conference room. I have to admit, the purring can get a little loud in the…” he makes a vague gesture that could mean anything from room to atmosphere to Speedforce.

Wally’s been mostly of the same mind—the physics of the entity, whatever they are, aren’t specifically third-dimensional. It might be related to how they only sometimes manifest, or how they manifest with only partial corporeality.

“It’s been at least some play and some games for him, I’m sure,” Wally admits, a smile pulling at his mouth nevertheless. “I spotted him going through a stim toy website before he suddenly and mysteriously had a mission on the other side of the planet. But I think most of his concern is the…”

Wally winces at the thought of the myriad of medical issues the entity’s faced since his arrival to Earth. Barry’s wince stretches to match. They both saw the report.

“…So it’s been a lot of food on Bart’s part. A lot of managing his care of them too; Superboy and Rob aren’t the most straightforward team in the world, but I think they’re largely keeping Bart in check on this one— not that they’re on base as much as Bart is.”

Wally smiles. It’s not a very happy smile, or very relieved of his earlier guilt, but it’s a smile nevertheless. That’s fine. Barry’ll work on the rest on Sunday; they’re due for a good luncheon out somewhere nice. Their JLA-approved food budget can foot the bill. Maybe…Indian? There’s got to be good food in Delhi they haven’t tried yet.

“At least J’onn’s back on base next week.” Wally sighs, crooked and a little weary. “Maybe this will finally get them to stop running every time someone gets within forty feet of them. Like, they realize they’re losing vital fluids, right? Wait, is Bart even giving them any water?”

“…I’m going to hold off on that worrying thought. I have a different one I’m sweating over. Do we even know if Bart will let our resident telepath get within forty feet of his new playmate?”

Wally groans, face in his hands. Barry can’t help but laugh a little—perhaps tinged with desperation.

Sidekicks. Always with the new problems. At least last time they had this problem, Kon could talk.

#The speedster clan is all here baby #and they are all Deeply Concerned #how they show their concern varies. But hey! They Care #and Caring is what matters :)#Bart Wally and Barry: hey can we get this one before Bats can? Yeah. Yeah! Let's try it #health and hybrids #Danny Phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dcu crossover #faer fic #tw body horror #tw gore #tw medical #cryptid!au #spooky lad

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youmakemyhearthowl · 1 year

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Punk Princess

(this one got a little angsty but it’s not super bad I promise)

“This was such a bad idea.” Eddie groans, his eyes flicking over to Gareth sprawled across his bed. Gareth snorts, scrambling to grab a pillow and chucking it at Eddie's head.

“Dude you’ve been half in love with this guy for years, and basically cream your pants every time you see him now. You should be excited.”

“That's the problem Gareth, what if I say something embarrassing in front of him again?” Because apparently Eddie's brain has no idea how to be a normal person and say normal things when it comes to Steve. Case in point, he told the guy they weren’t even friends and Steve had looked like he’d slapped him. Which, Jesus they weren’t really friends, they were people that spoke sometimes in the halls or when they needed to bum a smoke, but apparently when Steve latched on, he latched on.

Not that Eddie was complaining, the opposite really.

But if jock Steve had Eddie flustered, punk Steve just completely turned off his brain. And the pastels Steve had been adding to his wardrobe were basically melting Eddie into a puddle cause the fucker looked so soft, he just wanted to smother him in a hug and kiss all over his face and Eddie focus.

“He seems to like that you say embarrassing stuff, he’s been flirting with you for weeks now.” Jeff pipes up from where he’s hanging upside down off the bed next to Gareth. “And you said that princess line and said he seemed to react really well to it.”

“What if this is like some elaborate prank, pretend to be punk to make fun of the only openly queer kid in the school.” Eddie grumbles, and he knows that’s not the case. Steve was a mean girl sure, he always had been, but he’d only ever really dished it out to people who deserved it and let Tommy do whatever he wanted to everyone else. Which isn't great, but Steve was quickly showing that he was trying to be a better person here and Eddie should give him more credit than that.

“I don’t think Steve got his face quite literally smashed in by Billy Hargrove for a prank to embarrass you Eddie.” Macks voice trails into the room as he makes his way back from the bathroom.

“I’m sorry what?” All three boys sit straight up, eyes locking on Mack. He looks surprised.

“You guys haven’t heard? Fuck man I saw him at the gas station earlier today with Hopper and some kids, and the dudes sporting an entire face of bruising. It looked pretty bad to be completely honest, and I heard Billy’s kid sister talking to that Dustin Henderson kid about how they needed to make sure Steve went to the hospital because they were pretty sure Billy broke a cheek bone or something like that.”

“Jesus Christ.” The words come out a whisper just as the phone starts ringing causing all of them to jump. Eddie scurries over to the landline, plucking it off the receiver.

“Harry's Barbeque and Crematorium, you kill em’ we grill em’ what can I do for you?” Eddie snickers.

“Eddie?” The voice that comes through the phone is soft.

“That’s whos talkin’.”

“Uh, hey, it's Will, Will Byers, I got your number from Steve. I hope that's okay.” Eddie racks his brain a bit, trying to put a face to the name, when he is suddenly struck with who in fact is on his phone. Of course Steve was protective of his kids, if the boy who went missing last year was one of them. Jesus.

“What’s up baby Byers, how can I assist thee?”

“Steve… uh Steve isn’t allowed to drive right now, and I can’t bike to his house for the campaign tonight and was wondering if… well if you could maybe drive me?” This kid is adorable, Eddie decides.

“I got you kiddo.” Will mumbles off the address and Eddie hangs up before scampering back to his bedroom, “I’ve gotta kick you guys out early, Lil Byers needs a ride.” Three groans echo through the room, but the guys get up without much complaint and scamper off to do whatever it is they do without Eddie around.

Will doesn’t talk much on the drive over, which is fine by Eddie really, so they listen to his music with Will occasionally offering him directions to get to Steves. What he isn’t expecting is when they pull up to an old cabin in the middle of bum fuck no where and Will tells him this is it.

“I thought Steve lived in Loch Nora?” The surprise must be palpable in his voice because Will kinda freezes up.

“He used to yea. But he’s lived here since the summer.” And that is a slap in the face if Eddies ever had one, because that means, that means that a 17 year old Steve Harrington is living in a cabin in the middle of the fucking woods alone, because everybody knows the Harrington's wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. Eddie tries to keep the realization off his face as he hurries out of the car to follow Will into the house, whisper yells echoing around the walls as they walk in.

“Dustin, would you stop talking so damn loud man.” Steve's voice rings out as they make their way into the living room where the kids and Steve have apparently set up their very own Dungeon, with a throne at the head of a table completely decked out in DnD minis. Eddie stops in his tracks when he gets a glimpse of Steve because Jesus fuck, Mack wasn’t kidding. Steve's entire face was splattered with purples and yellows, his left eye red around the iris. And by the looks of it his eyebrow piercing was ripped out.

“Hey!” Dustin exclaims running over to Eddie at full speed before barrelling into him. “I’m Dustin man, it’s so cool to meet you! Steve told us you’re practically a god at DMing.” Eddie can see a soft pink pushing through the bruising on Steve's face and he shoots him a smile.

“Steve, when is your boyfriend getting here?” Robin Buckley's voice dances around the tall ceilings in the cabin as she stumbles into the living room with everyone else. Eddie tries to stifle his laugh at Steve's groan as Robin gently cards her arms around his waist and squeaks, hiding her face in his neck once she notices Eddie standing right there. Steves dressed softer than Eddies seen him at school and it’s pulling a little too much at his heart strings as he takes in the pair of them. Robin and him sporting matching black and pink plaid pajama pants and Steve in a massive oversized band sweater that Eddie can’t make out the faded name on. From where it rides up as Robin hugs him, Eddie can make out a shoe print bruise just below his belly button and a few dark bruises as well as…

Wait holy shit is that a tattoo peeking out of the top of his pants?

Nope, no focus Eddie, now is not the time to pop a boner.

He’s acutely aware that he knew Billy probably didn’t fight fair, but seeing the evidence all over Steve, and knowing there's probably more hidden under his clothing, makes Eddie's throat close up. What the fuck happened? It’s all that's playing on loop in his mind as Steve pats Robin's head.

“Alright shit birds, there's food and drinks on the counter so help yourselves, but me and Robin are going to be in the basement watching some weird French film with the volume low for my headache. Please behave and don’t be rude to Eddie. Also please don’t yell if you need anything, just come down the stairs and ask for it at a normal volume. I am begging you.” The kids are all nodding their heads along to Steve's words, and that's when Eddie realizes that Billy Hargrove's kid sister is sitting on the couch in the corner with another girl he’s never seen before. Curiosity eats away at his brain as he watches her smile softly at Steve and tell him that her and the other girl, El, will be fine and if the boys get to be too much they’ll come down stairs.

Steve Harrington is an enigma wrapped in an enigma because what in the fuck man?

Steve shoots Eddie a soft smile as he makes his way down stairs with his arm thrown over Robin's shoulder to help support him.

“Um…” Eddie starts looking at the 6 faces staring at him now. “Hi, I’m Eddie?” He does a bit of a half wave as he makes his way over to the throne sitting in front of the table and the boys scramble to take their seats as well.

“Yea we know.” Dustin speaks up.

“I’m Lucas and this is Max, El and Mike.” Eddie nods as he points out each person sitting in the living room with him.

“Please do not mind Steve not introducing you to us. He is not feeling well.” El’s soft voice travels over to where he’s sitting.

“Yea I can… uh I can see that. Is he okay?” Eddie's question is met with the children around the room sharing a few looks, communicating without words and it's more than a little freaky to experience.

“He’s alive.” Is what Will settles on saying, and if that doesn’t just break Eddie's heart. Because had there been a point where he might not have been that made them feel the need to land on that answer? Mike shoots Will a small glare and Will just shrugs in response.

“Was he… like… not?” Eddie can’t help the question from slipping out, his curiosity too strong, and his heart aching too much.

He’s met with an eerie silence before Max is suddenly jumping up and exclaiming that she’s decided she wants to join the game and they need to teach her. But Eddie’s not an idiot and he knows a deflection when he sees one, so he bites his tongue, sliding into his DM roll smoothly, and the campaign begins.

Here's the thing.

Steve’s head is killing him and he should have rescheduled the little DnD night he’d planned for the kids, but after the Upside Down had come back again, and the kids had had to deal with thinking Steve was dead for a solid 20 minutes until he’d woken up in the back of Billy's Camaro with Max driving, he figured they deserved this. Aches be damned.

He’d been hoping he could fall asleep wrapped up in Robin as they watched her weird film, but once it had ended she was out cold drooling on his shoulder and he was still wide awake and in need of more pain medication. So he sighed and stumbled his way back up the stairs only to realize that the kids and Eddie seemed to be taking a snack break.

“Steve.” Eddie spots him instantly, making his way over to where Steve had stopped at the top of the stairs to admire the way Eddie's skinny jeans and Hellfire shirt hugged him.

“What’s up stud?” Steve smiled crookedly at Eddie, his lip ring pulling at the split in his lip. Eddie's hand comes up to gently cup Steve's cheek, barely touching it as he takes in the bruising and discoloration.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Steve just smiles at him, his head and mouth aching too much to really offer any words as Eddie gently places his pain medication into his hand, Dustin coming up next to him with a water bottle.

“We figured you were due for some more, so we took a break in case you came up so we weren’t being all loud.” Dustin smiles, watching as El comes up to Steve and gently cards her arms around his middle, squishing in between him and Eddie and burying her face in his stomach.

“Thanks Dustin,” Steve knows his voice sounds a little wrecked, the tug on his heart these kids give him has him holding back tears as he wraps his free hand around El to hold her close.He’s trying to think of something to say, but his brains still foggy from the concussion and the thoughts keep sliding away as soon as he has them, when suddenly Eddies hand still cradling his face pulls his attention softly back to him.

“We should maybe get you to bed, Princess. Rest is good for healing.” and that definitely doesn't help any coherent thought stick with Steve so he just nods, as El grabs his hand and leads him slowly towards his room , standing on her tiptoes so he doesn’t have to bend down too far for her to put a barely felt kiss on his cheek.

“Hopper says you can always kiss it better.” She mutters shyly as Steve ruffles her hair and disappears behind his bedroom door, his heart full and warm. He’s vaguely aware of Eddie’s strangled noise that comes at the display of affection he and El just had.

#punk steve #Punk!Steve #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steddie fic #This is so funnnn ugh I hope you guys enjoy it #Eddie is so thirsty #Gareth is DONE with eddie haha #Punk Princess fic

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lotrificationer · 1 year

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Meet Me at the Cantina

Summary: After the events on Malachor, Jedi Exile, Caoimhe Orunde, has been tasked with finding Revan by her former mentor. Alone. But what will that mean for the budding connection she's formed with her snarky pilot?

Atton Rand/F!Exile

Rating: M (mild spicy scene)

@aylaaescar 👀💖

Read on Ao3

It had been a little over a month since the events on Malachor. In that time, the crew of the Ebon Hawk had been ferrying themselves around the galaxy, slowly losing members as they were dropped off at their destinations. All but Mandalore had insisted on accompanying Caoimhe to find her former leader in the outer reaches of space, but she had refused, telling them they each had a task she needed them to perform.

“Mira please,” Caoimhe pleaded, “I need you to help them form this new Order.”

Mical and Visas stood by, hesitant to leave the Exile’s side, but dedicated to aiding her.

“No, if I’m not allowed to go with you, then I’m going back to Nar Shaddaa,” Mira stated, hand on her hip, strong in her resolve. “I can’t leave those people to live like that when I know better. When I know I can help them,” she paused, “I need to be the help that I never got.”

Caoimhe examined her and sighed, the hint of a smile pricking the corners of her mouth.

“Okay,” she breathed, nodding her head. “But please keep in contact with Mical and Visas as best you can.”

“Thank you, and I will,” Mira responded, “and save that smug smile of yours for someone else- just because you made me like this, doesn’t mean you get to gloat in it!”

Mira stalked down a passageway to start collecting her things.

“You are certain this is the path you wish to take?” Visas stepped forward, her calm tone resonating in the main hold.

“It is,” Caoimhe responded, mirroring her composure.

Visas smiled and gave a quick nod of her head, “Then Mical and I shall see it through.”

“And if you should ever have need of us,” Mical drew closer, placing a hand on Caoimhe’s shoulder, “you know where to find us.”

Final goodbyes still proved to be difficult as the crew members arrived on their appointed planets. A grand, galaxy-changing adventure can be quite the bonding experience for a ragtag group of misfits. Telos was the last stop for the Hawk before its departure to the Outer Rim. After a long goodbye to Bao-Dur in the Restoration Zone, Atton and Caoimhe headed to Citadel Station to refuel and rest before their last journey.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Atton turned to look at her, lazily swirling his cup of juma as they watched the latest swoop race.

“Talk about what?” Caoimhe countered, keeping her gaze fixed on the speeding bikes. He stared at her, silently, until she finally relented and turned to look at him.

“You appointed a task to everyone else on the Hawk. Everyone but me. So here I am,” he gestured to himself, “unappointed and little confused.”

Casting her gaze downward, Caoimhe sighed and picked at an invisible crumb on the table. Atton sat patiently, leaning an elbow on the edge of the table. When she failed to respond, he prompted her.

“Well, fearless leader, what’ll it be?” his smirk was placed indolently on his mouth, even as an air of strain hinted at the corner.

“I don’t know,” she whispered to the table.

“What?” he responded, unsure if he had misheard her.

“I don’t know,” she responded more firmly, meeting his gaze.

“Oh,” he sat up a little straighter. “Well, hey, I said it before, but I mean it. I’m with you, whatever you need.”

“I know,” she murmured, a smile ghosting over her lips.

“Okay,” he nodded, “well, what do say I get us both another drink? Try not to miss me too much.”

Caoimhe was pulling away from Atton and he could feel it. In those few days after Malachor, she had felt so close to him, desperate for his presence, in particular, after the suffering. He didn’t see it then, but she had begun to lay the bricks in an ever-rising wall and now he had to beat his fits against it to get anything out of her. With the last of their companions finally off, Atton had tried to pull her back to him, to return to where they left off. But the wall seemed higher and stronger. Every so often, if he played his cards right, he would see a crack in that wall. When he would conspiratorially whisper something ridiculous in her ear, creating the most splendid smile on her face; the kind of smile that made creases at the corners of her eyes. But she seemed to be able to mend the fractures faster than he could create them.

As he leaned against the bar, waiting for their drinks, he could feel her eyes on him. He turned, catching her gaze, and gave her a soft smile. Knowing she’d been caught, she didn’t try to turn away or avert her gaze. Instead, something in her eyes hardened, but she returned the smile, albeit, smaller than his. The droid slid the drinks in front of him and the moment was broken.

Here he was, three days later, sitting at the bar in the same cantina, shifting uncomfortably in his seat while trying to take it easy on his drink. She was 27 minutes late, not that he was constantly checking the chronometer or anything. Caoimhe had asked him to meet her here for one last drink on Telos before they departed later that day. He glanced back down at the drink he ordered for her, condensation pooling around the sad cloth that lay underneath it. He alternated between rapping his fingers across the durasteel counter of the bar and clenching his fist. The droid behind the counter had tried to remove the untouched drink twice, and both times Atton impatiently waved him off. He craned his neck to look at the chrono; it had been 31 minutes now. He stood, shoving his chair back when—

She’s here.

He felt her before he saw her. The door slid open and Caoimhe stepped into the cantina; the hazy florescent lights bathed her skin in unnatural neon colors and painted her soft fiery hair in iridescent shapes. It danced and shimmered in her searching eyes. He stood there, holding his breath, as she found him in the crowded bar. She was out of breath and her eyes shone in the bleary lights, and he was certain he had never seen a more beautiful person. It had to be the Force giving her that glowing halo around her hair and he was sure the Force had it out for him.

His mouth hung open and tweaked into something resembling a smile. She readily returned it, the full force of her affection hitting him squarely in the chest. As she joined him at the bar, Atton waved the droid over.

“Yeah, can we get a fresh one of these over here,” he ordered, not taking his eyes off of Caoimhe.

“But, sir, I already tried to-” the droid started.

“I don’t care,” Atton interrupted, turning to look at it, “A fresh one.”

The droid bustled off to refix the drink.

They talked, Caoimhe laughed, and Atton coveted every moment. Her eyes lingered on him longer and she was generous with her casual touches. Every touch was like a fire burning straight through his clothing and down to his skin. This sudden shift had Atton off-balance, grasping for anything to keep him steady. The wall she had been so careful to build was gone and he was basking in this closeness.

They finished their drinks and Atton threw some credits on the bar before they walked back to the Hawk. Neither of them spoke much on the way. Atton found himself getting pulled into her orbit, walking closer and closer until they stood outside of the Ebon Hawk.

Atton stole unsubtle glances in her direction as his restless mouth kept trying to find something to say. Just as he opened his mouth, T3 greeted them from the top of the ramp and Atton scowled in its direction before watching Caoimhe traipse up the ramp and turn out of sight. Atton sighed and shuffled his feet to follow her.

An hour into hyperspace and he still hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to say. Caoimhe had gone to meditate in the port dormitory 30 minutes ago and left him to his own thoughts. He counted cards, listed off engine sequencers, and tried to count the ticking in the fixed power couplings. But it always came back to her. He tried to lean into the basest of his impulses, but the curve of her body turned into the curve of her smile. The feeling of her hands on his body became the gentle brush of her hand against his as they walked side by side. He took a deep breath and stood from the pilot’s seat.

Striding down the hall, he narrowly missed that tin can of a droid on its way to the communications room.

“Watch it, will ya!” he scoffed under his breath as he turned the corner- straight into Caoimhe.

“Atton!” she startled.

“Oh, Keevie!” The nickname flew from his lips before he could catch it.

Her eyebrow quirked as she stared at him in amusement.

“What was that?” she teased and he knew full well that she had heard him.

“Oh, uh, I just, I don’t,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t know why I said that, it just kind of uh-”

“I like it,” she hummed, saving him from his own embarrassment.

He swiftly hid his surprise behind a self-satisfied smirk.

“I’ll uh, I’ll have to keep that in mind,” his pitch lowered as he inched closer, “Keevie.”

She leaned closer, her lips brushing against his ear.

“Don’t wear it out, flyboy,” she whispered mischievously and turned on her heel.

Atton stood slack-jawed as he stared at the now empty space she had just been. Recovering quickly, he whipped his head around to find her strolling down the port dormitory hallway. He lingered a moment longer before stumbling back to the cockpit.

Caoimhe’s traitorous heart thundered in her ears as she paced around the dormitory.

Space, why did I say that? She condemned. What is he going to think of me? It’s not my fault he was projecting those images so loudly… but it felt different. He felt different.

She sunk down to the floor, leaning her back against the bed and cradling her head in her hands.

What if it’s me? There’s only the two of us now. No one else around as a distraction. What if I’m the one imposing my thoughts on him? Should I have listened to Kreia…

Footsteps rang down the hallway and she lifted her head. His grey eyes studied her, folded on the floor, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?” his voice was low as he edged past the doorway.

“Why are you here?” she couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped into her voice.

“Hell, okay, sorry,” he scoffed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Guess I won’t care about making sure you’re fine with all those emotions rolling off of you.”

He took a step back into the hallway before Caoimhe found her voice.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” she reached out a hand as the words rushed out of her. “It’s not- that’s not what I meant. I mean, why are you here with me? On this ship? Barreling out into unknown space looking for a former Sith lord?”

He hesitated before reentering the room. He sighed and shuffled closer to her.

“May I?” he requested, gesturing to the spot next to her on the floor.

She nodded her assent, and he gracelessly slumped next to her, sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Where is this coming from?” he turned the question back on her.

“What do you mean?” she evaded, absentmindedly worrying a nick in her nail.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he softly knocked into her shoulder. “I think you got scared. I think you saw where this might go, and it spooked you. Either that or there’s something that that old witch said bouncing around in that pretty head of yours.”

He caught her fleeting gaze before her eyes returned to her hands.

“I just,” she sighed and started again, turning to face him. “How do I know that I’m not putting my own thoughts into your head?”

“Sweetheart, trust me,” he boasted with a smirk, “no one puts anything into my head without me knowing.”

She smiled softly at him, still unsure even in the face of his own certainty.

“Look, believe me,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “If I had any indication that you were putting things in my head, I wouldn’t be here. Okay?”

She searched those stormy grey eyes of his and decided to take him at his word. Her eyes danced over his face, and he could feel her anxiety prickling over his skin. He let his hand skim up her arm, brushing her fiery hair over her shoulder and she dropped her gaze. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he gently cupped her jaw, moving his thumb along her cheekbone. Leaning into the touch, she breathed and met his gaze. Her eyes dipped to his lips before hastily returning. He smirked and opened his mouth to say something, but she wasn’t about to let him ruin the moment.

She captured his lips with her own and he made a humming noise as he gently returned the kiss. Her hands trailed up to cradle his face as his hand slid down firmly to her waist, encouraging her closer. She sighed and broke the kiss, not daring to move away any further than necessary.

He raised an eyebrow as he studied her face.

“Keevie,” he breathed.

He unabashedly stared at her lips, admiring how the dim cabin lights caught the peak of her pronounced cupid’s bow. His own mouth hung slightly parted as his breath became heavy. Everything else around him was a hazy fog as he focused back on her eyes.

His desirous energy swept over her in waves, encouraging her own longings. She sat there, on the edge of a precipice, gazing over the cusp and aching to dive in. His hand was still on her waist, fiddling with the linen ties of her wrap tunic. She placed her hand over his and he stilled.

“Do you want to…” her unfinished question hung thick in the air.

“Yes,” he whispered resolutely. “Would you like to…”

Her breath stuttered, the words catching in her throat. She nodded.

“You’re sure?” he returned, his hand tightening over the ties.

She guided his hand, pulling at the tie until the bow fell free. Atton’s eyes vacillated between her face and the slowly opening outer layer and back again. He brushed the olive-green covering off her shoulders and watched as the sleeves slid down her freckled arms. She pulled the tunic off fully and let it pool around her on the floor. Her hands undid the closures of his shirt and she felt a sudden gratitude for the lack of his usual jacket and gloves. Once free of his shirt, he pulled her into him, grasping the back of her thighs and hauling her onto his lap. With her legs around his hips, she felt a new sense of urgency, and their lips became reacquainted with one another. Caoimhe moaned into the kiss as his hands wandered up her thighs. Smiling against her mouth, he leaned back, dragging his tongue along his lower lip.

“Think we should move this little tryst about seven inches to left?” he nodded at the bed.

“I think I could be persuaded to consider that,” she replied with a conspiratorial smile, leaning into him further.

“As much as I would love to hoist you up there from our current position, my knees are not what they used to be,” he chuckled and Caoimhe slid off his lap. He immediately missed her newly familiar warmth.

“You could always use the Force to help a little in a that department, you know?” she offered genuinely.

“Believe me, sweetheart, there are not many departments I need help in,” his eyes raked up and down her body and he liked the blush that tinted her pale cheeks. “Still almost fully clothed and already blushing?” he teased, pulling her to him by her waist.

“Shut up, Rand,” she said, her voice throaty. She kissed him and he happily obliged.

Atton threw his hand behind him, blindly groping at the frame of the doorway until he found what he was looking for. The door glided shut and Caoimhe broke the kiss to throw him a puzzled stare.

“Expecting company?” she asked, mildly befuddled.

“Listen, the last thing I want is that stupid tin can barreling in here with our asses out,” he grumbled, his lips at her neck. Her laugh turned throaty.

“Right,” she drew the single word out, sarcasm dripping off of it. “I’m sure that would be a scarring experience for him… Or at least distracting,” she quirked an eyebrow, “I mean, for a droid.”

He pulled back, a devilish gleam to his eye. “You’re laughing at me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” her eyelashes fluttered in mock innocence. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, his lips meeting hers as their conversation lay quickly forgotten.

Atton’s hands began to wander, dipping under the hem of her undershirt and caressing the soft skin of her stomach. His calloused hands moved higher and higher until he pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground. His lips found the delicate skin of her neck and she shivered. Caoimhe pressed him backwards until the back of his legs hit the bed and he relented. No sooner had he sat than he felt her legs on either side of him. Her lips returned to his and his hands pressed against her back, urging her closer.

The friction of his undershirt against her nearly bare torso irrationally infuriated her. She clawed at the bottom of it, breaking the kiss to peel it off of his skin. She ran her hands down his chest, admiring the hard and soft planes of his body and the smattering of hair that dusted across him. Her fingers instinctually found a few scars that painted his body and traced along them. The hands at her back crawled upward, finding the last closure of her undergarments. His fingers fumbled briefly before releasing it.

“You sure you don’t need help in that department?” she teased, her eyes still heavy with want.

“Clothing was not the department I was talking about, Keevie,” his lips tickled the shell of her ear and she moaned as he kissed the soft spot below her jaw.

In a blur, the remaining clothing toppled onto the floor, completing their new abstract floor art. She lay under him as he trailed hot kisses down her mouth, her neck, her shoulder. He pressed his mouth against her collarbone and continued the descent. Her breathing became quick, and Caoimhe buried her hands in Atton’s hair. He moaned in satisfaction. And to her own satisfaction, he was right about that department. Not that she would ever tell that smug son of a scoundrel that. Although she got the distinct feeling that he could already tell. He brought her close, then stopped, leaving her to squirm in his absence. His lips moved back up her body and her fingers drug across his shoulders. He looked into her eyes.

“You’re sure?” he struggled to get the words out.

“Please,” she breathed.

His hands were on either side of her head and she wrapped her legs around him. He pressed into her, their collective moans mingled together at the connection. He stilled, breathing heavily and gazing at her face. Burying her hands back in his hair, she pulled him down for another kiss. It was messy, but he relished the feeling of her mouth against his. He pulled away and started to move, unable to take his eyes off of the way her mouth fell open. Her sounds coaxed him on, not that he needed much encouragement. They moved as one and he could feel her pleasure flowing off of her in waves. He wasn’t overly fond of force bonds in their entirety, but he quickly came to appreciate this new aspect. His name was a whisper on her lips that he wanted to stay there forever.

“Keevie,” he rasped, the rise and fall of their chests moving in harmony.

She tumbled off of the precipice, breaths stuttering and limbs trembling, and he immediately followed. He collapsed beside her, somehow drained and invigorated all at once. Caoimhe’s hand found his and he intertwined their fingers as they lay beside each other, content to rest in the calm silence that followed.

Caoimhe shifted to face him, resting her head on his shoulder and her leg across his hips. His hand snuck down to her thigh, hiking it up to his waist with a gentle grasp. They lay there, breaths shallow and eyes heavy.

“I tried to leave you, you know,” Caoimhe breathed. “Back on Telos.”

Atton’s head tilted to look at her while she kept her gaze fixed on the wall.

“When I asked you to get me those parts for T3 and then meet me-”

“Meet you at the cantina,” he exhaled in realization, and she fell silent. He could feel her heartbeat against his own, soft but steady.

She took a quick deep breath and sighed, “But I couldn’t do it. I sat in this ship, engines primed, hands on the controls,” she wet her lips, “and I couldn’t do it.”

“That’s why you were late,” he said, not in questioning, but understanding. “You said the turbolift malfunctioned, but you were here. In the Hawk.”

“I’m sorry,” she kissed at a spot under his collarbone as her apology skittered across his skin.

He could feel the swell of emotions in her that she tried so hard to smother down.

“Ya know, I think a part of me knew. When you sent me to get a part that even I knew didn’t need to be changed for another standard month. When I was sitting at the bar, ordering your drink, saving you a seat, because I didn’t want to believe it. But you came. You walked into the cantina and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Your smile was different though.” He huffed, “Probably because you hadn’t just been drugged and I wasn’t ogling you in your underwear.”

He could feel the shift in her cheek against his shoulder and knew she was smiling.

“I’m just glad you decided I was worth having around for a little while longer,” he kissed the top of her head and rested his chin there.

A restful silence fell over the cabin as they lay there, her confession and apology swallowed up by his desire to be by her side. His thumb made lazy circles on her thigh and her own fingers couldn’t seem to stay in one place.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling the words hanging on her tongue.

“It’s just something Kreia told--”

“Now there’s mood killer,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes.

Her hand stilled as she tensed. He felt her withdrawing.

“Hey,” he placed a hand on her cheek, his tone serious, “I’m sorry. Please continue.”

She relented, meeting his gaze through her eyelashes as his hand returned to its ministrations on her leg.

“At the end- at Malachor,” she clarified, a bitterness creeping into her voice, “as we stood at the center of that shrine- that sanctimonious tomb of war- she told me that I had to follow Revan. To find her in the outmost reaches of the galaxy.”

He blinked in acknowledgment, already aware of that nominal command. She pressed her cheek back against his shoulder.

“Kreia said,” her voice was swallowed by the hitch in her breathe and she tried again.

“She said that I could not take anyone that I loved.”

His hand came to a rest, and he felt her eyelashes flutter against his skin as he played the words over again in his mind.

That she loved. Loved. Loved.

He tossed the word around in his head and decided that he liked how it felt there. He let it wash over him, seeping into his deepest parts and soaking him to his core. The briefest hint of a joke fluttered at the edge of his mind (“So that’s why Mical isn’t here, then?”), but he let it pass. A smile, unbidden but not unwelcome, danced on his lips. He felt her breath become unsteady and realized he had yet to respond.

Flexing his hand on her thigh, he shifted back to look at her face. She was reluctant to give up the shelter of his shoulder. He studied her face- her brows gently pinched together, creating that small crease in between- her murky blue eyes searching his own, shifting from left to right and back again- her mouth small and tense, keeping her words from tumbling everywhere in her uneasiness. He came back to her eyes and smiled.

“I never thought I’d say this,” he began, a wry smile further picking up the corner of his mouth. “But I finally have that old witch to thank for something. It only took her cryptic Jedi talk for you to figure out you loved me.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled, nonetheless.

“And if I couldn’t make it any more obvious,” he inched back down to her until they were nose to nose. “I love you too, Caoimhe Orunde.”

Her hand skimmed its way up to his cheek as she guided his lips to meet hers. Though her body was already pressed against his skin, the feeling of her warm mouth prickled through his body as he melted into her. His hand glided from her thigh to the back of her calf, pulling her even closer to him. She gasped and his mouth drifted along the side of her face to that area below her jaw. It was a new favorite spot of his. He groaned against her throat and she sighed. Then he huffed and her eyes fluttered open, that crease returning to the middle of her brows. He continued to kiss her, pointedly ignoring her gaze.

“Everything alright there, flyboy?” she asked, a tinge of unsubtle amusement playing in the lilt of her voice.

He breathed against her neck and lifted his head.

“I cannot, for the life of me, feel my arm that you’ve been laying on for the past ten minutes.”

Her hair flowed freely as she tossed her head back in laughter and he felt a sort of pride at being the source of her joy. His pride shifted when she swiftly slid on top of him, placing her hands on his chest. His eyes widened as his breath stuttered.

“Is this better, Rand?” she challenged, her lids heavy with suggestion.

He wet his lips.

“Listen, hey, while I would love nothing more than for you to continue on whatever path the Force leads you down,” he smiled sheepishly up at her, “I would really like to have the use of my arm for that.”

“So I should stop?” she leaned back, adding pressure where it counted. He sucked in a breath.

“Postpone,” he hissed, moving his feeling hand to her hip. “Just until further notice.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t hurry things along a bit, shall we?” she smiled sweetly.

#knights of the old republic 2 #atton rand #kotor 2 #atton x exile #atton rand/jedi exile #f!exile #my writing

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jgvfhl · 1 year

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The Number Lads Go Snooping

Here we are folks... Sevenset is tasked with keeping Fives entertained while Tup is examined after the tragic and mysterious execution of General Tiplar on Ringo Vinda. Unfortunately for them, and Echo's blood pressure, Sevenset and Fives have strange ideas of what constitutes entertainment. BEHOLD, THE ORDERS ARC BEGINS!!

Words: not quite 8K (longest chapter to date oop) Warnings: Canon typical suspense with canon atypical swearing :) Link to Master List of Chapters on Tumblr Link to the full story on Ao3 Happy reading!

CrispyDomino: hey sevenset, need a favor

RedBoiiiii: o7 reporting for orders

CrispyDomino: Fives is bringing one of our boys to Kamino for a med eval

RedBoiiiii: yikes that’s not fun

CrispyDomino: Yeah, you mind making sure he’s not worrying himself sick over the kid?

RedBoiiiii: I will do my best! When are they arriving?

CrispyDomino: Should get there in a few hours

RedBoiiiii: You got it, buddy! I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid

DEATH: That’s not particularly promising

RedBoiiiii: oh COME ON

d0nut man: lkdjafkd

Double Trouble: oh my gods XD

CrispyDomino: Don’t worry, Sevens, I have faith in you

RedBoiiiii: THANK you echo

Leafs: We really can’t go ten seconds without something huh?

RedBoiiiii: THE COMMANDER STARTED IT

CrispyDomino: Anyway, thanks Sevens, means a lot

CrispyDomino: I’m on campaign, but feel free to send updates if you want

-scene break-

Sevenset had gotten a message from Fives as soon as he’d touched down, it had appeared. He’d grumbled a little at his batchmate’s mothering, but he’d conceded it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get out of his own head while his friend was in medical. But, first Fives had to be assessed as well, so Sevenset had been left to his own devices for a bit, waiting for Fives to comm him after he was cleared.

He had chosen to use this time to be, as most people called it, a menace. He called it practicing his environmental awareness and stealth skills, although no one else seemed too keen to agree with him. After successfully pranking Colt on the Venator after their last mission, he’d doubled-down on finding some way to get at Alpha-17. A death sentence? Possibly.

But he would be legendary if he pulled it off.

It did leave him with the slight problem of finding where the grumpy captain spent most of his time. He was a very private man, and most of the time he wasn’t in his rooms anyway (which would be great news once Sevenset found them). His search had brought him almost back around to the main medical wing of Kamino. No, not the medical wing for the tubies, or the medical wing for the scientists, or the other medical wing for surgery and … whatever else they did over there. This was mainly for soldiers who came in with injuries too mysterious or serious to treat on the field, so it was undoubtedly where Fives and his friend were now.

His plan so far was based solely on lying, and hoping someone was fooled into giving him Alpha’s room number, or at least which wing he lived in. So far, however, he’d only encountered clone officers who knew better than to talk to him outside of necessity, Kaminoans who really didn’t know what to do with him half the time he approached them, and some of the nattie trainers. He didn’t feel like talking to many of them. They were fine, for the most part, but… eh. Not his thing.

An alarm went off, harsh against his ears without his bucket. He flinched, looking around and waiting for an announcement.

“Security breach. All nonessential personnel report to a safe room for lockdown.”

The round door at the end of the hallway slid open suddenly, making him pivot in that direction. The hall flooded with red emergency lighting. A pantoran woman strode out, followed by the sounds of hustle and bustle a bit too bustling for normal medical procedure.

“This place is about to be locked down,” she told him. “Better get a move on, ARC.”

He fell into step beside her as she walked, seeing no point in sticking around if that was indeed the case. He glanced over her person, trying to remember if he’d seen her around for long. He definitely recognized parts of her armor. She was one of the few Mandos left on Kamino, her armor mostly a deep blue, with pink and yellow clouds rolling along the bottom of her chestplate. Her pink hair was cropped close to her head on the sides and flopped over loosely on top. She was only about as tall as his shoulder, probably approaching forty years old, but this woman had two gold jaig eyes tattooed on her forehead.

There was no messing with her.

“Why?” he asked.

“Undisclosed. Someone’s up to no good in the medical wing.”

The alarm continued to blare.

Sevenset glanced behind him at the closed door. Fives hadn’t contacted him yet… did that mean he was in lockdown without his armor? They had to remove their kit for med evals, so maybe with the security, he hadn’t been able to get his comm back yet. That had to be it. Fives was ARC. He hadn’t survived this long by doing rash things like… whatever this trooper was doing.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked, choosing to collect whatever information he could about this Mando.

She glanced over at him. “Maral Tumun.”

He nodded. “I’m Sevenset. I’ve seen you around once or twice.”

“I would hope so. I’ve been training you lot for ages. I trained some of the command batches up from tykes.”

Oh, had she now? That was worth poking into a little bit. “Which batches?”

Before she had an opportunity to answer, his comm went off. He glanced at the frequency and frowned. He didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t anyone in his squadron, or any of the Numbers. Weird.

“Sorry, I gotta take this,” he mumbled, answering the voice transmission. “This is ARC seven seven seven seven.”

“Hey, Sevens, it’s Fives. Listen–I uh… I might’ve done something.”

Oh no.

He hastily muted the comm, but didn't disconnect it, staring at Trainer Tumun, whose gold eyes had locked on him as soon as she'd heard Fives' name. "Wrong number?" he tried.

Her brow rose. "You often get wrong numbers who know your name?"

"Uh, yeah, all the time. Pretty common name among the newer batches, actually," he rambled on.

"Let me hear him," she said.

"Why? No. Ma'am."

“If you don’t, I am still under obligation to report any incidents related to what that trooper has done in medical to my superiors,” she said. “And I believe you would prefer this knowledge remain out of the Kaminoans’ hands for as long as possible, yes?”

He blinked at her. She was… helping? Was she helping? Obviously, whatever Fives had done, he wanted to know as much as he could before making decisions on how to help. She did have reasonable authority to march him down to one of the commanders or one of the doctors and make him sing, and he did not want to do that.

“You won’t get him in trouble?”

She crossed her arms, her beskar clinking. “Any more trouble, you mean?”

“Yeah…”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I know well enough to hear him out.”

Okay. It was as good as he was gonna get. He unmuted the comm.

“Heyyy…. Fives, sorry about that–”

“What the hell was that?” his friend demanded. “What happened?”

“I ran into a trainer, okay?” he shot back, trying to keep his voice down. “I–she heard you, I had to explain some things–”

“Who? What? I thought you were gonna help, Sevens!”

That hurt. He put a hand on his hip even though Fives couldn’t see him. “I’m trying, okay? This is the first time someone’s commed me after putting a whole wing of medical into lockdown, Fives! That was you, right?”

Trainer Tumun stepped closer. “What happened, trooper?”

“It’s–-there’s—something’s wrong with Tup. Yeah, Nala se was gonna cover up all the data, she switched the cases and everything.”

Sevenset exchanged a quizzical glance with the trainer. “This is the guy you were escorting here?”

“Yeah, yeah, he—kark, I dunno, mate, he got all kinds of messed up on Ringo Vinda.” Fives didn’t sound like himself. Far too agitated to be the collected, quick-witted soldier Sevenset knew. “He… he killed a Jedi, Sevens. And the Kaminoans aren’t doing enough to figure out why. All they want to do is kill him and take him apart afterwards.”

Sevenset sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively glancing up and around for witnesses. Without warning, Trainer Tumun grabbed his arm and pulled them both into a storage room toward the end of the corridor. It was dark, except for the white light from his comm, giving both their faces an eerie glow.

“Explain,” she ordered once they were both inside. At least the alarm was quieter here.

“He lost it! He was—he was—agitated, he was violent, he wasn’t responding to his name at all. He tried takin’ a swipe at General Skywalker too! Tied down to a gurney.”

“So what are you doing, Fives?” Sevenset wanted to know. “Why don’t you have your armor?”

“Armor? Armor—no, no, no, no, armor was too recognizable. Grabbed a plain set. He’ll be fine, barely a concussion—”

“You stole armor?”

“Well, no one’s giving it away, are they?” Fives replied sharply. “I may have… I kind of convinced a droid to perform a medical procedure on Tup, and when Nala Se found out, she freaked out. Said they had to do more extensive testing, still says it might be a virus, or a–a parasite—”

“Extensive testing?” Sevenset asked, his brows furrowing. Initial testing was usually pretty thorough. Why the need to go extensive? “Not the hyper testing, I hope. That will kill him.”

“But I found something!” Fives said. “I found something in his brain with the scan I did, right? But Nala Se said it was nothing, said the machine was calibrated wrong.”

Trainer Tumun tilted her head. “Those machines are never calibrated wrong.”

“Exactly! There was something in his head—maybe not just him, maybe there’s more—”

Sevenset held up a hand. “Okay, hold up, where are you?”

There was a heavy pause. Then, quietly, “Storage room, near the genetics wing.”

Another pause landed. “How? Why?” Sevenset demanded.

“I’m in disguise, aren’t I? They were gonna kriffin’ wipe me, Sevens! Now are you gonna help make sure Tup’s okay, or not?”

Sevenset sucked in a sharp breath almost without thinking. Reconditioning was more of a rumor than anything concrete on Kamino. Hearing his friend say it out loud like that…. Kark. This was worse than he’d thought.

“Yeah, and how am I supposed to keep Tup safe and you out of harm’s way at the same time, huh?”

“I’ll look after Tup,” Trainer Tumun said, cutting into their conversation suddenly.

“What?”

“I am Trainer Maral Tumun,” she said for Fives’ sake. “I don’t trust these Kaminoans when they’re this excited to dispose of a soldier. If they are so keen to find you, then they are keen to cover up what’s happening to Tup. I will find out, and I will make sure he gets to a doctor who knows the value of sentient life.”

There was another long pause as they both took in the information. Finally, Fives said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Sevenset asked. So he was a little skeptical. He had reason to be.

She smiled. “I am of Clan Ves. We do not disappoint.”

“Yeah, that’s great, I was talking more logistics?” he said. “Where are there doctors to treat him? How is he getting off Kamino? How are you even getting him off the medical table?”

Trainer Tumun sniffed, lifting her chin. “I know a guy.”

“It’s not Commander Nero, is it?” Fives asked with much sarcasm.

She looked down at the comm, shifting her stance slightly. “I do not have to answer that.”

“Nero?” Sevenset repeated. “Wait, he’s Commander Sixes’ batcher, right?” He recalled her remark about training command batches. “Holy kark, you trained those grumpy bastards, didn’t you?”

Once again, she lifted her chin and shuffled her feet slightly. “They were my best.”

“They’re kriffing sociopaths, ma’am,” Fives blurted.

“No, they are not, I had them tested.”

Comforting. But not important right now. “Okay, okay, fine,” he said. “You’ll find Tup and use Commander Nero’s infinite source of strings to pull to get him off-world. Fives, I’m gonna find you and make sure you don’t do anything stupid by yourself.”

Trainer Tumun gave him a look. “Not the usual phrasing of that expression.”

“Story of my life, ma’am,” he told her.

“Sounds good. My locator should still be on, Sevenset should be able to track me with that. I’m heading to the Genetic Records Hall.”

He sighed, rubbing his head. “Copy that, I’ll find you.”

“Stay outside until I come out. And thanks… again…”

The comm disconnected, leaving them in almost total darkness. Almost, because of the tiny dots of light on their vambrace controls.

“Okay.”

She nodded. Probably. “Let’s go.”

He followed her out into the hall, selecting the frequency Fives had used to comm him and tracking the corresponding locator signal. He turned this way and that a couple times, never the best at directionality.

“Okay, Genetic Records Hall,” he said. “No clue where that is.”

“I know it,” Tumun nodded. “I’ll need access to a different part of the medical wing, so I’ll send you the coordinates while we walk.” Without leaving room for debate, she turned and began walking, leaving him to catch up at a slight jog.

This was a bad situation, obviously. Sevenset wasn’t that tone-deaf not to realize that. But he also knew the value in taking the opportunities presented to him, and right now, he had direct access to a woman who had known Commander Sixes since he had been able to walk. There was no way in any of the nine hells he was letting this chance pass by without using it to find out something.

“So… Chaos Batch, huh?” he said by way of introduction. “You uh… you made ‘em like that?”

“I trained them,” she replied. “They were already like that.”

He gave a low whistle. “Okay, so Commander Nero has always been two degrees away from being a serial killer?”

“Well, he did try to kill a Kaminoan when he was five standard.”

He gaped at her. “He did what? And he’s alive?”

“That’s when he was transferred to the Chaos Batch,” she answered easily. “And also when he was tested for sociopathy. He just has a very rigid view of right and wrong, and a penchant for finding the simplest solution to his problems. But his emotional depth is perfectly normal.”

Sevenset could only nod. So the weird vibes he’d gotten from Commander Nero were well deserved. Granted, he’d never felt actively threatened by the man. He just had understood that if Nero had wanted it, Sevenset would have been dead faster than he could say his own name.

“Uh…huh,” he answered. “And Commander Sixes… has he always been that prickly? Grumpy, as some would say.”

She shook her head. “No, Bacara’s the one they call Grumpy. Sixes was… well. Geonosis One changed a lot of your older brothers. He’s a sweetheart to his core.”

A what? A sweetheart? The guy in all-black armor whose callsign was Death was a sweetheart? Sevenset’s mind reeled.

“Not that he’d ever admit it,” Tumun continued as they turned the corner to the neighboring corridor. “They’re all stubborn as hell, but they had determination and ingenuity like I’d never seen in a squad of cadets before. Bacara once stayed up all night putting together what he called a ‘flawless battle strategy’ for the four of them, and it was. He took into account each of their strengths and weaknesses, and they absolutely demolished the squad they were facing the next day.”

“No kidding,” he said. Small wonder the Marines were some of the most efficient soldiers in the GAR. With a commander like that… well.

“But they also invented Knife Monopoly while drunk for the first time,” she mused, a fond smile on her face. “And Sixes and Nero once shot each other during a concocted ‘duel,’ and they both have scars from it.” She shook her head. “Even genetic manipulation can’t stop teenagers from being teenagers.”

Sevenset was honestly approaching speechlessness. All that came out in reply to those world-shattering revelations was, “Oh.” His mind felt like a speeder without altitude stabilizers.

“We’re here,” Tumun said, stopping near an arched door back into the medical wing. She raised her vambrace, tapping a message. “These are the coordinates to the Genetics Hall. It’s near the incubation wings. I’ll go find Tup.”

“Got it,” he nodded, his brain struggling a little to recover from the previous conversation.

“What is Tup’s designation?” she asked.

“Uh…” He commed Fives.

“Are you here?”

“Starting there now. What’s Tup’s designation?”

“CT fifty-three eighty-five.”

Tumun nodded. “I’ll go find him. I promise,” she added, pressing a closed fist across her chest. A Mandalorian salute.

He nodded back, then took off at a jog toward where he knew the incubators were. He didn’t know what kind of time frame Fives was on, but he had to assume it wasn’t a long one. He offered passing excuses and thank yous as he dodged around doctors and troopers in the hallways, but honestly, Colt had made him run enough laps through the city that even if someone asked him what he was doing, he’d just say tell them that. No one would even blink.

Ten minutes. It took him almost ten minutes to get there. Something closer to seven, probably, but still. It felt too long. When the door was in sight, he opened his comm again.

“Fives, I’m near the main doors, what’s your status?”

“This shit just gets worse and worse, I’m telling you–” he replied angrily.

The door opened, making Sevenset look up hopefully. But no. Kaminoans were filing out of the room. Quietly, seemingly unbothered, but… no. Too quickly. Too orderly.

“Buddy, they know you’re in there,” he said, keeping his voice down.

“Yeah, I see it.”

Well. Sevenset was nothing if not recklessly impulsive at his core. “I’m coming with you,” he said, disconnecting the comm before Fives could argue, then darting towards the door.

The Kaminoans didn’t stop him. They moved out of his way, if anything. As he passed the threshold, he heard more hurried footsteps approaching from the opposite corridor from which he’d come.

“Time go, pal!” he called, now out-right sprinting to Fives. Force, he looked weird in shiny armor.

“You’re a kriffing moron, Sevens!” he shouted, following an AZ medical droid towards… oh, an emergency hatch in the ceiling. Smart.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” he shot back.

“There!” someone shouted behind them. Then stun rings began blazing past them as they ran.

Maker’s sake, they really wanted this guy! Sevenset would have been impressed, if he weren’t running away from them too. He practically flung himself up the yellow rungs of the ladder behind Fives, pulling himself into the emergency hatch after him and stepping back so the AZ could weld it shut.

Then he turned to Fives.

“Okay, so you’re in a stupendous amount of shit.”

“You didn’t have to follow me!” he shot back.

“Too bad! You’re my friend, and I have reckless tendencies,” he replied, tossing his hands in the air.

“I do not meant to interrupt,” said the droid, holding up one of its metal fingers, “but we have research to finish.”

“Finish?” Fives repeated, looking at it. “You didn’t get everything you needed?”

“Hey, I’ve an idea,” Sevenset cut in. “How about we walk and talk, yeah? Where the hell are you going?”

“What information do you still need, AZ?” Fives asked the droid.

“Well,” the droid began, sounding, as many droids did, way too calm for the amount of pressure riding on the current situation, “we know it is an organic chip, created and implanted into clone Tup’s brain.”

Sevenset put his hands on his hips and looked at Fives.

“We found a thing in Tup’s brain, it’s not from the original genetic material from Prime, so someone had to put it there,” he supplied.

“What I am not sure of,” AZ went on, turning his body around and rummaging in his storage compartment, “is at what stage of development the chip is implanted, and its purpose.”

“And we don’t know if it’s in my brain too,” Fives added, which made Sevenset’s gaze snap back to him.

“Excuse me?” Fives had reason to believe that whatever made Tup execute a Jedi General was also in his head?

The droid spoke up, now holding a glass slide containing something suspiciously flesh-colored. “Your scans did not indicate—”

“Neither did Tup’s, until we looked deeper,” Fives insisted. “If they missed it in Tup, they can miss it in me. We have to check.”

A horrible thought came unbidden to Sevenset’s mind. If this thing was in Fives and Tup… then it could be in his head too, right?

“And if it is?” he heard himself ask.

His friend looked at him.

“If it is in your head too?”

“Then he takes it out,” Fives said firmly, tilting his bucket towards AZ.

The droid rose in the air slightly, his visual receptors shining a bit brighter in shock. “That is a dangerous surgery. When I removed clone Tup’s chip, his overall health greatly worsened.”

“I’ll risk it.”

“Hey–wait, what?” Sevenset held up his hands. “‘Greatly worsened?’ What does that mean?”

“He’s still alive,” Fives said, then turned back to AZ. “Are you gonna help, or not?”

“We will need to return to a medical facility,” the droid said, drifting slightly towards Sevenset, intending to pass him.

“Fives, mate,” he said, stepping in front of the droid. “This is a lot. Are you sure you’re—”

Fives stepped over the round hole in the floor where the hatch was. “Tup is one of my best friends. He’s hurting because someone put this thing in his head. Maybe they put this thing into all of our heads. Now, the Kaminoans know something they’re not willing to let me find out.”

“And that might be a good thing,” Sevenset argued. “Listen, I’m not one to trust the long-necks, but we’re not scientists, Fives.”

“This thing made Tup kill a Jedi!” his friend exclaimed. “You want that? You wanna wake up one day a prisoner in your own head, watching your body hunt down General Ti and shoot her?”

“Don’t do that,” he told him, his voice dropping to a dark pitch.

“It’s the truth,” Fives told him. “I need to know how far this goes. You should too.”

Truthfully, Sevenset was curious. Inherently so, some would say. But he wasn’t an idiot, like the others would also say. What Fives was doing was dangerous. A medical procedure like brain surgery wasn’t without risk, even when performed by a droid designed like AZ. But something nagged at the back of his mind, like a child very softly tugging at a parent’s clothing for attention. He couldn’t ignore it forever.

The truth was, Fives wasn’t an idiot either. Hell, he was one of the most caring brothers he’d met, and that included himself.

He sighed, rubbing his face roughly. “Gods, Echo’s gonna kill me for helping you.”

“Yeah.” His friend’s voice sounded hollow at the mention of his batchmate. Probably not the kindest thing Sevenset could have brought up. “AZ, lead the way,” he said.

The droid whirred as he rose higher up the ladder, and Sevenset let Fives follow him before bringing up the rear. They climbed about three levels before the droid cut left. They followed doggedly, turning a few times before dropping back down two more levels. Finally, AZ paused, hovering over a hatch.

“Is this it?” Fives asked, squatting down.

The droid appeared to nod. “Yes. This is a hatch to the D-wing of the medical building. As of now, I can detect no noise on the other side of this hatch.”

Fives hesitated briefly, then took a breath, handing off his stolen blaster to Sevenset so he could hop down to open the hatch. He twisted the yellow wheel slowly, trying to minimize the noise. When it was finally open, he let it down as slowly as he could, and Sevenset reached out to grab the back of his utility belt to steady him as he leaned down.

“All clear,” he reported. He sat back up, then lowered himself down.

AZ followed him, and Sevenset tossed down the blaster so he could have his hands free to follow them. AZ let them into one of the medical examination rooms. It all went so smoothly, Sevenset found himself momentarily baffled. Wouldn’t the Kamino Guard have troopers posted at every emergency tunnel entrance in the whole medical wing? Weird.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Fives said, removing his helmet and setting both it and his blaster on a tray beside the bed. Bed was a generous term. Table was better. He lifted himself onto it.

“And you’re sure this is the thing to do?” he asked again. He already knew the answer, he just couldn’t help it.

“It’s just gonna be a scan and maybe some surgery.”

“Yeah, it’s the maybe I’m worried about, Fives,” he said, watching AZ pull up the scanning machine and begin to program it.

“Knowing what I know now about these chips,” the droid said, poking buttons on the touchscreen, “I do not need to scan at the atomic level. Due to the inorganic compounds present in these chips, a molecular examination should suffice.”

“Is that good?” Sevenset asked as Fives lay down.

“A molecular scan does not put as much strain on the subject.”

He nodded vaguely. So it was good.

AZ brought the ring-shaped scanner around to position it around Fives’ head. “Please remain still and do not speak during the examination,” he said, sounding routine. “Close your eyes and keep them closed until told to open them.”

Fives did as instructed, and Sevenset stood at the foot of the table to watch. AZ tapped a button to begin the examination, and the ring-shaped machine whirred into action, a slow green-ish blue light beginning to travel around the inner circumference.

The exam was probably pretty short, considering the number of actions AZ completed during the time, but the seconds felt like they were moving like drying mud to Sevenset. The droid hovered next to a screen on the side of the room, where a diagram or image of Fives’ brain was slowly developing. After what was probably a minute or so, a red dot appeared on the screen.

AZ hummed a short note of… what, surprise? Acknowledgement? Droids… so hard to parse. Then he flew back over to the scanning device and tapped a few buttons to power it down. When the interior light had fully faded out, he moved the device away.

“You may open your eyes,” he said cheerfully.

Fives blinked his eyes open slowly, looking groggy all of a sudden. Sevenset moved to his side.

“You alright, mate?” he asked, holding out a hand.

“Bit of a headache,” Fives admitted. “But it’s fading.” He took his hand and hauled himself up into a sitting position. Sevenset eyed him carefully. “What’s the word, AZ?”

“By ‘the word,’ I assume you mean the results of the scan?”

“Yes.”

“They are identical to clone Tup,” the droid chirped, moving to the side so Fives and Sevenset could see the screen. “The same tumor appears in the same location in your brain.”

“Sithspit,” Fives hissed, rubbing his head. “Can you take it out?”

“Of course.”

“Then do it,” he said, resuming his previous position on the table.

As AZ began preparing, Sevenset’s comm went off, so he stepped away to answer it. It was Trainer Tumun.

“I have Tup secure,” she reported. “Someone is in transit to collect him and get him to safety.”

He looked up to Fives, who had turned his head to listen. “Hear that?”

Fives nodded, a brief wave of relief washing over his features before he settled back to let AZ begin.

Sevenset turned away. He was fine with blood, but he had no desire to see the inside of Fives’ skull. “Thank you, ma’am. We know the one-eighteenth can be trusted with this.”

There was a pause, since Tumun hadn’t known of their affiliations with Nero’s battalion. But, time was waning, and she must have thought better than to waste any by starting down that winding path. “If I can, I’ll let you know when they have him secure.”

“Much appreciated, ma’am.”

“Hopefully, the ruckus I caused can help you and Fives get the information you need.”

He nodded. “Absolutely. We’re working on it.”

“I wish you the best. Good hunting, ARCs.”

The comm disconnected. He could still hear AZ working, so he kept his attention firmly on the set of window controls below the oval window separating this room from the next. Currently, it was opaque, but the buttons underneath could turn it transparent or translucent if so desired. He was impressed by his own ability to not mess with them.

Mainly because his mind was too busy reeling over the information he’d learned in such a short time.

Somehow, both Fives and Tup had little semi-organic chips in their brains that had been implanted by… someone, who knew whom that had been, and that was uncomfortable enough. But Tup’s had looked… sick. He’d lost his mind, almost as literally as a sentient being could, and that alone sent chills down his spine. If more clones had these chips… then way more of them than just Tup were capable of outright murdering Jedi.

Or anyone.

“The operation is complete.”

He jolted. How much time had passed? He hadn’t checked the time before. Shit. How long had they stayed in one place? That was dangerous. Fives was waking up. AZ held a second glass compartment, examining the contents.

“Well?” he asked, walking over to put hands on Fives to remind himself he was okay.

“This is new,” AZ said. “The chip removed from clone trooper Tup was severely degraded in function and structure, but this one is entirely healthy.”

Fives groaned quietly, his hand rising to his head, only to bump into the metal device still implanted there. His hair had been shorn around it, making for a rather unsightly haircut. Maybe he could pass it off as a fade if he shaved the other side to match?

“Okay, so… Tup was an accident?” he said. “He didn’t mean it. He was sick.”

“That is the most likely scenario,” AZ replied, his body rotating around so he could place Fives’ chip in his storage compartment with Tup’s.

“What are the chances this thing’s in my head too?” Sevenset dared to ask.

“Given you are from the same generation of clones,” the droid said, tapping his fingers together with something resembling nervousness, “the chances are not exactly… low.”

He’d already suspected as much. Judging by the look on Fives’ face, he felt the same. Nice of him to not share it until Sevenset was ready. Alright, well, if he was ever going to have brain surgery, having it on his own terms seemed like a great time for it.

Holding out a hand to Fives again, he helped him off the table, giving a look that asked if he was alright, and receiving a nod in return. “Might as well mark brain surgery off my bucket list,” he said, hoisting himself onto the table.

“You haven’t been scanned,” Fives said, gesturing to the machine. “You don’t know if you even have this thing.”

Sevenset rolled his eyes, desperate to cover up the anxiety rising in his system. “Yeah, I think we all kinda know it’s gonna be there. Better to just save myself the headache, right? We’ve been here too long as it is.”

Fives couldn’t argue with the last point. The longer they stayed in one place, the more likely it was someone would find them. They needed to move, and if this got it done faster, then so be it. His friend looked a little helpless for a split second before nodding and stepping back.

“Are you sure?” AZ asked. “Without a scan, I will have to estimate where the cells are located—”

“And you’re a smart droid,” Sevenset cut in, lying back on the table. “You’ll do fine. It’s probably exactly where Fives’ was. We are clones, after all, right?”

After a second or two of processing, the droid nodded. “Very well.” He flew over to a barely visible cabinet underneath the display screens at the back wall, and retrieved what supplies he would need. Normally, they would have been laid out, but he’d used them on Fives already. He held up a large syringe which Sevenset was not thrilled about. “This will not hurt—”

“Yes, it will,” Fives cut him off.

“It will only hurt a bit,” the droid corrected, and Sevenset braced himself.

It did hurt. Quite a bit, actually, like injecting fire under the skin of his neck. But, after only a few seconds, the pain had faded, and the rest of the world faded out as well.

-scene break-

He woke up to his comm blinking at him, telling him a new message had arrived. As he had suspected, AZ held a sample identical to the one that had come out of Fives' head. Holy Force. Once AZ gave him the all-clear, he opened his comm, scanning it quickly as he and Fives readied themselves for whatever came next. There wasn't time to process what had just happened.

“Where are we going next?” he asked,his eyes fixed on the thing AZ had taken out of his head. Gross. It made his skin crawl like an itchy sweater he couldn’t take off.

“The incubation rooms,” AZ answered, flying over to the door. “We must find out how many clones have these implanted chips, and when they are implanted into your cell structure.”

Sevenset nodded. “Alright. Let’s visit some tubies.” He paused to open his comm. “Uh… I take it we’re keeping our activities unknown to your batcher?” he asked.

“Please,” Fives said, looking terribly guilty.

He started typing a reply as they hurried out of the room.

CrispyDomino: Rex says he’s on his way back, how’s Fives?

RedBoiiiii: peachy!

CrispyDomino: oh good

CrispyDomino: do you know how Tup’s doing?

RedBoiiiii: uhh more tests?

d0nut man: aw that’s too bad :(

d0nut man: might it have anything to do with the 118th’s unplanned visit to Kamino right now?

CrispyDomino: What.

RedBoiiii: I’m sure it’s nothing Zero

Double Trouble: guys he just used capitalization correctly…

RedBoiiii: dosido i do no t need this right now

DEATH: And where is Fives in this conversation?

RedBoiiiii: he doesnt have his comm

RedBoiiiii: they had to clear him had to get his kit off

CrispyDomino: Do you know he’s okay?

RedBoiiiii: like i said, peachy

d0nut man: uh yeah, i wasn’t joking about an unplanned stop in the Kamino system.

d0nut man: what are we doing here

DEATH: I have a terrible feeling about this

DressedtotheNines: Please don’t say that, every time Kenobi says that, bad stuff happens

Leafs: Wait, Echo left Sevenset in charge of Fives?

CrispyDomino: Yes

Loopy: wait why

CrispyDomino: Bc I assume he got to ARC trooper SOMEHOW

RedBoiiiii: look hes’ fine!!! I’m still with him!!

DEATH: Nero’s hiding something. The 118th is definitely going to Kamino for crimes.

CrispyDomino: CRIMES???

d0nut man: oooohh yay I hope it’s kidnapping :)

d0nut man: that’s my favorite crime

d0nut man: been in a high crimes and misdemeanors kinda mood lately

Leafs: I have so many questions I do not want answers for.

CrispyDomino: Okay okay, since I’m about to go into another firefight

CrispyDomino: I am choosing to believe the crimes and my batcher are unrelated.

RedBoiiiii: good choice

Double Trouble: they are so related

Loopy: yeah, definitely

Submarine: Hey… probably a bad time to ask, but is anyone else going on leave soon?

d0nut man: well we were suPPOSED TO

Loopy: not official leave, just stopping by 000 for a restock n stuff, but yeah

Leafs: I do have leave soon, yes

DressedtotheNines: Yeah, we’re here already, set for a couple weeks

DEATH: Get some noodles. I’m sure Mira and Saleha will be overjoyed to see you.

RedBoiiiii: aw that’s actually sweet!

DEATH: They haven’t met you yet, don’t get your hopes up.

RedBoiiiii: :/

RedBoiiiii: Hey sir

RedBoiiiii: Is it true you and cmdr bacara invented Knife Monopoly when drunk the first time?

Double Trouble: THEY DID WHAT NOW???

Submarine: Oh is that why so many Novas play that game?

Leafs: Wait it’s an actual game?? With knives??

Loopy: it better have knives, i’ll be disappointed if it doesn’t

CrispyDomino: Sevenset you are supposed to be watching my brother

CrispyDomino: not tempting Death himself

DressedtotheNines: I … I’m not sure what to think

d0nut man: I think Seven’s about to vanish under mysterious circumstances

Submarine: Yes, it does involve knives. I’ve never played though.

DEATH: Echo, I have it on good authority that the kid you sent to Kamino is in good hands

CrispyDomino: WHOSE AUTHORITY

DEATH: My old trainer

RedBoiiiii: she didn’t mention anything else…?

DEATH: She told me everything.

DEATH: But for now, all these laser brains need to know is it is being handled.

CrispyDomino: There’s an EVERYTHING???

RedBoiiiii: an Everything that is fine, yes!

-scene break-

All of them.

Every single clone.

Sevenset looked from the glowing green lights on the display screen to the tower of growth tubes before them.

All of them had these things in their heads, waiting for activation. Activation for what? AZ hadn’t been able to figure out what these bioengineered things could be used for. The only data point they had was Tup, and he had been whisked off somewhere by Trainer Tumun. Hopefully.

“So that means…” Fives said, pulling off his helmet, “we’re all part of this. Whatever reason these things exist, it… it affects all of us.”

“It would appear so, yes.” Even AZ looked as surprised as he could.

The sudden sound of a door hissing as it slid open made them all spin around, Fives automatically raising his blaster.

Kark.

It was Nala Se, one of the head doctors on Kamino, and a distinctly unpleasant person. She approached with raised hands.

“Stay where you are,” Fives told her sharply. Sevenset wanted to edge closer to him, just in case he did something really stupid, but he didn’t move.

“Why are you doing this?” the doctor asked.

“Take a guess,” he shot back before Fives could. “You thought you could cover up putting bioengineered hardware into our brains, and no one would notice? No one would get curious?”

The doctor ignored or otherwise dismissed the blatant threat Fives posed, and continued to approach them with her hands visible. “Curious about what?” she asked peaceably.

Sevenset moved to the side, revealing the display screen and gesturing at it. “This?” he demanded. Fives flanked the doctor and corralled her towards the screen. “What is it?”

“That is a structural inhibitor chip,” she explained, her voice never changing. It always freaked him out that Kaminoans had little to no inflection. Like somehow, their scientific findings had placed them above emotions. “It is supposed to prevent you from being aggressive,” she went on, looking over her shoulder at Fives, who still had a blaster on her. “Like your source, Jango Fett.”

Sevenset laughed. Dry and cynical. “Less aggressive?” he said. “I’m sorry, have you met some of the Alphas? And who thinks of putting an inhibitor on aggression in soldiers, eh?”

“Jedi Master Sypho Dias instructed us to introduce these structures during the growth cycle,” Nala Se replied evenly.

Fives blinked, casting a glance at Sevenset. “The Jedi did this?”

“No way.” Sevenset shook his head. “If the Jedi wanted this done—if they were the ones to blueprint this thing—then why did General Ti have no idea about it? She’s been here for ages.”

Nala Se’s enormous eyes narrowed. “I do not pretend to know the workings of the Jedi.”

“The Jedi wouldn’t do this,” he repeated, pointing to the tower of tubies next to them.

“It is not uncommon to put inhibitors in clones.”

AZ had spun his body around and dug out Tup’s chip. “I have analyzed clone Tup’s inhibitor chip. Apparently, it has failed.”

“Until this point,” Nala Se said, glaring at Fives, “there has never been a problem.”

“Well, I specialize in making my own problems,” Sevenset told her, taking a step toward her.

“And you’ve got a big one right now,” Fives growled, nudging the nose of his blaster into the small of the doctor’s back for emphasis.

Sevenset saw the door open this time, allowing General Ti and a few Kamino Guards into the room. Fives darted around Nala Se, keeping her between them and the new threats.

“Don’t move!” one of the guards ordered as they ran.

They came to a stop upon realizing the doctor was between them and their targets. General Ti ignited her lightsaber. “Drop your weapon,” she demanded.

“Did you know about this?” Fives replied, jerking his head to indicate the display screen. “The inhibitor chips the Jedi ordered them to put in our brains?”

She surveyed them, calculating. “I have no recollection of any one of my Order informing me of such things. Do you have evidence?”

AZ whirred forward, still holding Tup’s chip. “Right here,” he said. “This is the chip taken from clone trooper Tup. As you can see, it appears blackened and rotten. This sickness caused the malfunction.”

“But what caused the sickness?” the Jedi wanted to know.

“We don’t know,” Sevenset admitted.

“It doesn’t matter!” Fives argued. “What matters is it happened. And it could happen again. More clones could turn against their Jedi, or their brothers. The entire Republic Army could be compromised if someone figured out a way to activate these chips on purpose!”

That was something Sevenset had not considered yet. It hadn’t occurred to him that these chips might have a purpose outside of… well, they didn’t know yet. What if there was a manual activation? Or a secret code?

“There is no proof of any of this!” Nala Se interjected, finally showing some of the frustration she must have been feeling for a while. “This is an isolated incident. Besides, when you removed Tup’s chip, his health deteriorated immensely.”

Rude.

“We’re fine, aren’t we?” Fives said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“What does that matter?”

“We removed our chips as well,” Sevenset said, pointing to the bandage over the incision on his skull.

AZ held up the chips. “Here they are, very healthy.”

“Then you are both threats and should be considered dangerous,” Nala Se said sharply. “Master Jedi, they should be terminated immediately.”

“I am not a piece of kriffing hardware!” Fives exclaimed, and Sevenset had to agree with him on his anger.

“We’re ARC troopers,” he added. “We’ve laid our lives on the line for the Republic countless times, and you want to terminate us because we found out about your chips?”

“Because you have removed your chips,” Nala Se hissed at him. “And technically, you are both property of the Kaminoan government.”

Sevenset blinked, honestly shocked. He knew the Kaminoans weren’t to be trusted, nor did they place any real value in a trooper’s life, but to hear it like that? To actually be labeled property? He’d have gotten no better on Nal Hutta. Or Zyggeria! Were these chips… they couldn’t be slave chips, could they?

“Correction.” General Ti’s strong voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. She extinguished her blade and lowered the hilt to her side. “Technically, they are ‘property’ of the Republic.”

“They are a danger to themselves and to others,” Nala Se argued, her small head swaying on her long neck as she struggled to remain civilized. “They must be terminated.”

“Oh, for Maker’s sake,” Sevenset spat. “Just say killed. It’s what you mean, right? You wanna kill us? Don’t hide behind words as long as your neck.”

“I believe,” said General Ti, cutting off the doctor’s reply, “their fates are for me to decide.” She lifted her chin. “Fives, you are coming with me to Coruscant. Sevenset will accompany him. You will tell your story to the Chancellor.”

The Chancellor? He was going to see the Chancellor himself? Not an aide, not Mas Amedda, but the actual, real-live Chancellor, who got his robe unravelled by Commander Thire that one time?

Nala Se finally moved, harshly pushing away the blaster Fives had been holding half-heartedly at her chest. “Master Jedi—”

“Sounds great, when do we leave?” Sevenset interrupted, hurrying to get ahead of her.

He could feel Nala Se’s enormous grey eyes boring into the back of his head.

“The chancellor wanted all the data on Tup, correct?” General Ti continued, a confident light in her eyes as she typed something into her comm unit. “We’re sending the data, Tup’s tumor, and the two other samples, and Fives and Sevenset will go with them.”

The Kaminoan doctor drew herself up to her full, impressive height. “Then I am going with them.”

Oh, please no. Sevenset had exactly zero desire to spend several hours in hyperspace with her anywhere near him. He saw Fives felt similarly, and he turned his gaze to the general, hoping to communicate just how much he didn’t want this to happen.

But her hands must have been tied. She narrowed her eyes slightly, but agreed. “As you wish, Doctor.”

The door opened yet again, admitting a small team of Kamino Guards bearing two stretchers between them. Sevenset watched Fives sit down on one before doing the same on the other.

“Thank you, General,” Fives said as the Jedi began to turn away. “For believing us.”

“It’s not a matter of belief, Fives,” she told him, her face impassible. “It is simply the right thing to do.”

…Jedi.

In watching her leave, Sevenset was caught off guard by one of the guards approaching him with a syringe in his hand. He instantly shied away from it, holding a hand up. “Whoa, hold on. What is that?” He looked over to Fives, seeing him rub his neck as another guard walked away from him.

“A weak sedative.”

“I don’t want a sedative,” he said. “I don’t care if it’s weaker than a day-old porg.”

“It’s preventative.”

“Against?” he asked, a little flummoxed. “What, you think I’m gonna jump up and escape? Escape where?”

“It’s not my call,” the guard replied, sounding a little apologetic.

He glanced up at Nala Se, whose back was to him as she followed the general out of the room. Probably standard procedure. Probably. He still didn’t want it.

“Don’t give it to me, or I will jump up and do something about it,” he said, then lay back on the stretcher. “Now get going.”

The guard looked confused, standing there without purpose. But eventually, the guard manning the stretcher just shook his head and turned him toward the doors. Good. His method of wasting people’s time until they gave him what he wanted was still effective. Now… on to Coruscant.

What will happen on Coruscant?? What will the chancellor do?? Will Nala Se finally hit her head on a doorframe?? All that and MORE next month ;) Unless I can't help myself and I post it for the Number Lads 1 year anniversary this month In addition: Maral Tumun is another OC by my friend 23-bears and me. I drew her during OC-tober last year, here.

@23-bears @theultimatesandwich @mercurydancer @persimminwrites @beskarmermaid @darth-void @rndmpeep

#i write things sometimes #star wars fanfic #the clone wars #tcw fanfic #clone trooper ocs #star wars ocs #pantoran oc #mandalorian oc #arc trooper sevenset #arc trooper fives #clone trooper tup #nala se #shaak ti #kaminoans #number lads #numbers gang

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griffin-black · 1 year

Text

‘My Ordinary Life’ (Chap. VI Part Two)

Author’s Note: I recommend reading this on Ao3 or Quotev.

Chapter Six Part Two

End-World Normopathy

'I can't understand the way you seem to pray, but reality's contorting at your say. . . . You recreated on your face those eyes designed and carried by your fate.'

There was a crash downstairs. The kind of crash that your mind instantly registers as a threat, waking you up in a shaking, cold sweat like a clammy dog. Lo had only gone to bed an hour prior and now found herself shivering uncontrollably in her hot, damp room. Her door must have closed while she was sleeping, or maybe her parents closed it since she had a tendency to snore. Whatever the reason, the block of wood still didn’t mute the deafening crash. Any possible innocent explanation hadn’t even crossed her mind. In some instinctive way, Lola knew it was a threat.

She fell out of bed, pulling her robe from the bedpost she always hung it from and tip-toed across the rugged floor, only stopping in front of the door to press her ear against it. At first she heard nothing. Then, “Hellooo!” A man’s voice chimed.. Lola backed away with a gasp. It was not her Dad’s voice, it was a voice she had never heard before, but somehow she knew whose voice it was. The man from the park. Who else could it be? As frightened as she was, Lo knew she needed to act, and fast. She ran to the wall beside her bed’s right side and knocked on it urgently, but just quiet enough so only those on the other side could hear it. The wall was connected to her parents' room. Lo rapped again and again but her parents didn’t even stir. Now, in a panic, Lo made one final loud BANG! against the wall. This time it worked. Lo heard her Dad start awake and then her Mother shortly after. “Hon?” Her Dad whispered groggily. Her Mother responded with a groan. Lola banged against the wall again four times in rapid succession. “That’s Sylvia. We should check on her.” Lo heard her parents shuffle out of bed then heard her own door creak ominously. She whirled around. On the floor where a beam of light from the hallway always gleamed were two shadows. Someone was blocking her door. Lola ran across her room and slammed the weight of her whole body against the door. And just as she suspected, the door without a lock refused to budge as someone’s weight was pushed against it. “Let me out!” She shouted, slamming her palms against the door. “Sylvia!” Her Mother gasped. “Sylvia!” Then, the blood curdling sound of her parent’s bedroom door being kicked open cracked against Lo’s skull. “Mom! Dad!” She screamed, still smacking, pushing, and jostling the door and its handle with all her might. Now she knew there had to be multiple people breaking in. “Who the hell are you? Get out of my house!” Her Dad suddenly shouted. “Hey Mom and Dad! Sorry about all this.” The same man��s gravelly voice said. “On such a great night too . . . Listen, if it’s any consultation, any consolation at all—” Lola suddenly heard her parents shout and her Mother made an awful gagging noise. “Sylvia will be just fine.” The man had to be threatening her Father with her Mother, she was choking. Lola went into a frenzy, pounding and kicking at the door with a speed and strength she had never had before. “Let me out! Let— Me— Out!” She cried, tears turning her face into a fountain. She kicked until her toes cracked and became numb, she screamed until her throat was raw and punched and scratched until her nail polish was chipped on every finger and blood leaked from her knuckles and cuticles. Her skull buzzed in fear. “Please . . .” She begged. “I’ll do anything . . . just please don’t hurt Mom and Dad, please.” “. . . I-I’m sorry.” A low voice rasped from the other side, almost like he didn’t want to be heard. “I’m sorry.” He repeated. “Let me go if you’re sorry! Tell them not to hurt my parents!” Her Father was shouting from the other room as her Mother wheezed and gagged. “You’re killing them!” Lo continued to push at the door. Though nothing had changed, she felt like she was making a difference. With every slam of her body into the door, more light filled the room. Her jailer was growing weak. Furniture clattered in her parent’s bedroom and it was clear a full fight had broken out, though who was winning . . . the thought was killing her. She needed to help them “Mom . . . Dad . . .” Lo sobbed. “You’re killing them! Please, sir! If– If you need money, I can show it to you! I can take you to it! My Dad keeps a safe in his office, there’s gotta be thousands in there! I, please let me take you to it! Or– or jewels? Would you prefer jewels? Jewelry? My Mother has a ton of it in her room! Maybe your friends missed it!” Lo pleaded. “We don’t own any guns, all we have are knives, and I don’t have anything. I’m not lying! Please I have nothing, I’m no threat to you! Just let me take you to the money! Just—” Her parents had gone silent, she was suddenly blue in the face. “ . . . let me say goodbye.” Her jailer was silent, taking no empathy in her pleas . . . or so she thought. “It’s better this way . . .” The voice cracked, almost like he was crying. “You don’t want to c-come-muh out.” He spoke oddly, but Lola had no time to notice. “You’re wrong!” She shrieked. “Please let me out, stop them! You’re making me an orphan! Is that what you want? To make an orphan out of me!” She cried, still pounding away at the door so much it’s hinged rattled. “Is that what you want? I have no one, you hear me? NO ONE! If you’re so sorry, then let me go! Let me help them!” Still silence from her parents . . . but they weren’t dead, just knocked out. “I’ll do anything! Anything, anything, anything!” Lo wailed. “Money! Jewels! I’ll give it all to you! Myself? Is that what you want, cause I’ll give myself to you, all of me! Just don’t kill them . . . don’t hurt them anymore, please . . . You’re my only hope.” Suddenly, Rocky began to bark. Instantly she turned on her jailer. “Rocky, boy! Come here, Rocky! Oh, please, boy, Rocky! Rocky!” “They’ve got a fucking dog?” The man in her parents room said. “Yeah!” Lola shouted. “And he’s big and mean and—” She didn’t need to get the rest out, the man shouted as Rocky growled, attacking him. “Good boy, Rocky! Good boy!” Lola suddenly felt hopeful as an obvious struggle was taking place with the man and her dog. Then— “He’s not dead!” Footsteps echoed down the hall and down the stairs. “Dad!” Lo shouted. “Sylvia? Are you alright baby? Where are you?” “Dad, I’m fine just GET OUT!” Lo prayed her Father would listen to her, but as she was listening intently to his footsteps getting further and further away, the shadow disappeared. Right away Lola left her room and threw herself into the railing of the balcony, eyes darting frantically across the living room. Through the broken screen door leading to the backyard, Lo saw her Dad still in his pajamas running through the grass as a hooded figure followed close behind. . . He was holding a hatchet. A man suddenly appeared in the hall and Lo ducked back into her room just in time to not be noticed. She didn’t dare be seen nor lay eyes on him. He must have seen the other outside with the hatchet and sprinted after him, jumping down from the balcony. Lola went to check on her Mother when her own door slammed in her face, again. “No!” She screamed. Three. There were three of them. “Oh, God. Dad!” She cried hopelessly. She tried slamming against the door again, but this time it wasn’t budging at all. Someone much stronger was now keeping it shut.

Lola eventually strayed from the door, her breathing so shallow she thought she was going to faint. She sat beside the wall connected to her parent’s room and leaned her head against it. “Mom?” She whispered, too tired and defeated to continue screaming. “You’re still alive, right? You’re not dead . . . you can’t be . . . you can’t leave me alone.” The third man beyond her door groaned in pain. Lo scowled. “I hope Rocky gave you a hard time.” She spat.

******

Toby ran after Mr. Frazier without thinking. The rottweiler was preventing Tim or Brian from stopping him, so in a split second, disregarding Tim’s orders to ‘stay put’ against the girl’s door, he chased after him.

They had made it all the way into the backyard when headlights beamed in the distance, likely from somewhere in the park. “Hey!” Mr. Frazier screamed. “Hey! Hel—” He fell face first into the dirt. Toby caught up to him, pulling his hatchet from the Father’s spine with a splintering crackle. In a panic, the rookie had thrown one of his hatchets at him, never in a million years thinking it would land, but something had to be looking out for him, as it landed squarely between Mr. Frazier’s shoulder blades. Mr. Frazier, with a terrible sputter, began to crawl towards the headlights that in that moment, turned and disappeared into the night. “No . . .” Toby flipped Mr. Frazier over and onto his back. The man raised a hand as blood spurted from his mouth and drooled down the side of his face, pooling around his neck. “Please.” He gurgled, likely choking on his own blood. “Don’t do this.” Unfortunately, Toby wasn’t interested in hearing whatever he had to say. It was quiet. So, so quiet. And that was all that mattered. He heard nothing but his own breathing and Mr. Frazier’s gagging. Toby’s head tilted quizzically at the man, as though he was trying to figure him out, as his shoulders rose and fell with every heavy breath. He shook his hatchet up and down, flicking blood everywhere and ridding the blade of the disgusting substance. “Kid!” Tim called from behind. In one fluid movement, as quick as lightning flashes, Toby dropped the hatchet and turned around, snatching the knife Tim threw from mid air. He fell to his knees on top of the man and drove the blade into Mr. Frazier’s chest, over and over and over again. Once, twice, three, four, five, six, seven, eight . . . thirty times the blade plunged into his torso.

Mr. Frazier was long deceased when Toby finally stood back up, wiping the blood from his face. Tim was next to him, completely silent. Adrenaline coursing through him, Toby looked at Tim, who had an unreadable expression on his face, he simply stared at the messied body. “. . . He stopped screaming at fourteen.” Toby lamented madly. Tim met his eyes at that. “Kid . . .” He began. Toby shot him a look, daring, begging him to insult him. “That was great!” Tim laughed. Toby blinked. Tim laughed so hard he appeared on the verge of tears. “You landed that hatched and grabbed the knife. You may technically be a rookie, kid, but man . . . you sure don’t kill like one.” Brian watched silently from behind the other two, like a seething shadow they would never notice.

#creepypasta #horror #slenderman #slenderverse #masky #hoody #marble hornets #ticci toby #toby rogers #the proxies #the operator #proxy #fanficiton #fanfic #my ordinary life

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writerattheart-blog · 2 years

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Writing Update + Asking For Advice

Hey everyone!

A break from my depressed post 😃

I’ve been doing some writing here and there throughout the rollercoaster of mental health shit, and I have a few books that are done and need to be edited. I am working on a posting schedule and struggling a bit. I have three Sevasey One-Shot stories, and the first book of a duology/trilogy completed and am currently working on the second book of the series. I’m struggling because I can’t get enough inspiration to write Larry Stylinson’s stories. I can’t tell from my AO3 account, but on my Wattpad account, most of my followers are Larries and part of me doesn’t want to lose them because I will be posting Sevasey content for a while. I have a Larry book completed and am working on another one, but it’s hard because I started the book a while back and then abandoned it and picking it back up again is hard. I don’t want to disappoint them with bad content and not posting any Larry content, but my brain is all Larry-out. I still love them and ship them, but something is blocking ideas related to the pair, and I don’t know what to do.

I never really planned on posting my stories. I always wanted to write for myself because I didn’t think anyone would read or even like them. When I published my first book on Wattpad—Turn Of Events - Larry Stylinson AU—I didn’t expect anyone to read it and was surprised when it hit 1k. Then I posted Soulmates - Larry Stylinson AU, which was my first story to hit 10k, and I was so happy. Posting became less scary, and I was delighted watching the numbers grow beside the stories and my following number increase. I don’t have a big following, but it’s something. I love reading people’s comments or when they would reach out to me through DMs. I was surprised when I had a few people contact me to translate my stories, I didn’t know they were good enough to want to put it in another language, and I was so happy. I still love writing and posting my work, but now I’m a bit more aware of what people like and don’t.

My friend came up to me a few days ago and told me I could find a way to monetize my work, but I don’t want to do that. Even if I have a bigger following, I won’t want to do it because I feel I’ll get in my head more if money is involved. I always wanted writing to be a hobby, a place where I can escape my life and just go to my happy place, which is the setting of my stories. If I make it my job, I feel like I would lose that happy place, which would turn into another stressor in my life.

I know I should post what I like and write what I want, and maybe other people would enjoy it, but because my numbers are so low, I notice when someone unfollows me, and I get sad. I know it’s stupid and small, but I feel bad for not writing content they enjoy. It’s weird, but whatever.

I’m also scared of stepping outside the fanfiction world. I have the first book I’ve ever written sitting in my drafts for almost two years now, and I don’t know if I should post it. I have to write the sequel, and I love the story, but I don’t know, I’m scared. I don’t want it to flop because it’s not part of a fandom where I know at least a handful of people would see and read it, so I’m a bit scared of that.

There’s also the fear of stepping outside what is already written in the fanfiction world. For example, sevasey, there aren’t many AU’s where it’s an entirely different story. Like they neither are firefighters, not in school or whatever. Just wholly changed and only using the characters instead of being a spin on the existing world of Chicago Fire. Does that make sense? I don’t know if I’m making sense.

AHHHHH, I’m getting in my head. I hate this.

Any fanfiction writers or authors in general, if you have advice for me, please tell me. I don’t want to write something I don’t have an interest in just to maintain a following, but I also don’t want to disappoint my small group of people.

Oh, and something else, I posted something on my community tab on Wattpad and as a “story” on my ao3. AO3 seriously doesn’t have a place where I can post an announcement or something to interact with my readers there, but that’s not the point of why I brought this up. For a while, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to write an interactive story like the games, episodes, choices, romance fate, or others, but I don’t know how to do that as a book. The idea first came as an interactive BDSM-style story, but I am interested in writing others (fanfiction or not). If you have ideas about how to go about this, let me know in the comments. I would love to write a book where I lay out the general plot, give out a few choices, the readers’ choice, and then continue the story with the chosen option. But I don’t know how to do it because I can’t do like a poll or something like that. I don’t know. If you have ideas, please let me know because I would love to try them out.

Thanks for reading my little rant!

A.B. 💜

#writing #writers #fanfiction #fanfic writers #asking for advice #larry stylinson #sevasey #ao3 #wattpad #writing help #getting in my head #my writing #writing advice #creative writing

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whoneedsapublisher · 2 years

Text

"Hey, Do You Guys Wanna Go On A Picnic?"

Last challenge fic for now. Challenge 1: Write a fic with only dialogue (and also the weather one again).

Words: ~600

Summary: "'Hey, let's all go to my stupid private mountain for a picnic instead of just going to the park! What could possibly go wrong?' thanks MAKI." "The picnic was YOUR idea!"

Also on Ao3

*****************************

“Ugh. I can’t believe this.”

“Really? I can. Seems pretty plausible, nya.”

“Aww, you believed in Niccochi after all. That’s so touching.”

“Excuse me? Are you implying this is my fault?”

“I don’t see how it could possibly be anyone else’s!”

“Uh, how about yours? I said we should have a picnic. I meant in the park, Maki! You’re the one who decided that we should go to your stupid fancy private mounatin-”

“It’s not a private mountain! We don’t own the mountain, I already explained that-”

“Whatever! All I’m saying is if we followed my plan, we’d be at a family restaurant waiting for the rain to end and I’d be complaining about how my wonderful food went to waste.”

“Whereas now, it’s not going to waste at all. It’s lovely, as it happens.”

“Yeah, thanks for the grub!”

“How can you two worry about food at a time like this?!”

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen. I’m sure your father will send out a fleet of helicopters to pick us up once the storm passes.”

“Except that he doesn’t know that we’re here!”

“What?! You didn’t even tell your parents we were coming here? I told my mom!”

“Well, I didn’t tell my parents…”

“That’s different and you know it.”

“Is it? It’s not like I saw my parents today any more than Nozomi did.”

“What about you, Rin?”

“Eh? What’s it matter if my parents know? I don’t have any helicopters.”

“It’s the principle of the thing!”

“What principle?!”

“The principle of Maki is wrong and I’m right!”

“Ah yes, your favourite principle to base your behaviour on.”

“I guess I told my mom.”

“See, Maki?!”

“Great. They can write “Nico was right all along” on your tombstone. And they can write “died because Nico wanted to have a picnic” on mine.”

“It’s just some rain, Maki. Aren’t you overreacting just a tad?”

“The river is overflowing, which means the only bridge will be submerged, and all the paths are going to be so muddy that we can’t take them without slipping and falling down a cliff. We’re stuck here until everything dries out and the river goes down.”

“So what you’re saying is we get to stay in your rich person cabin for a day or two? Nice! Nico, you’re in charge of cooking.”

“Well, if you insist.”

“See? Just look on the bright side.”

“If we all die up here I still say it’s Nico’s fault.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that. Although if we’re all going to be dead, you might want to write it down.”

“Not if I write down that it’s Maki’s fault first.”

“You don’t even know where the pens are!”

“It can’t be that hard to find a pen in this stupid cabin.”

“Now, now, don’t fight. You can both write down that it’s the other person’s fault and why, and let future historians argue over it.”

“I don’t think that’s how Nico planned to go down in history, nya.”

“Well, plans change, right?”

“I really can’t believe this. Of all the people to be stuck in a cabin in the middle of a rainstorm…”

“Well, personally, I’m happy to spend more time with the three of you.”

“Me too.”

“I’m happy to spend time with two of you. And the other one is the one who got us killed.”

“I’m hiding the pens.”

“I’ll find them eventually!”

#love live

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terryanddaisy · 8 months

Text

Meredith - Prologue

Hey, guys! I've been scraping together a fanfic idea set in Bullet Train with a female OC I've quickly gotten attached to who's a very, very angry civilian seeking justice for a past wrong. I plan to follow the events of the film fairly closely with a few major changes. There won't be any romantic relationships or smut. I will warn that she's in heavy grief and is struggling with depression, self-loathing, and suicidal thoughts. This is an emotionally rocky one. Additionally, while I've had an account on AO3 and Tumblr for a bit, I have written very little and forced myself to just get the prologue over with, so it's not beta read. I would love some comments and feedback! Crossposting Meredith from AO3! I hope you enjoy! *end notes*

Waking.

Brushing.

Dressing.

Working.

Home.

Brushing.

Bathing.

Sleeping.

Waking.

Brushing.

Everything is fine. Just change your clothes. Like a functional person.

Working.

Home.

Cry at the graveyard.

It’s past midnight. Wanna get mugged?

Almost driving on the wrong side of the road.

Home.

Bathing.

Brushing.

Sleeping.

Waking.

Come to school late. Now you really have failed your kids.

So sorry, sir. It won't again.

No, sir. I'm fine.

Please don't. Please don't pity me. Please hate me as much as I hate myself.

Home.

Takes forever to sleep tonight. But when do I not?

Stop that. What was that Lily told you? Try making up a story in your head. Have fun making your story…writing it…dreaming it…

You failed her. You can’t even remember what she told you. Even though she made you feel so good. Selfish bitch.

Don’t swear, Jess would say. But you failed her too, didn’t you?

Waking kicking and screaming.

You idiot, it’s Saturday. And you failed your therapist too.

Therapy. Barry. Barry’s sweet. Too sweet for his own good.

How does he do that? Smile and always see the good in people, no matter what?

You were able to do that too, weren’t you?

But that’s what made you betray the people you trusted.

You bump into Nanao. Nanao, another one of Barry's patients. He's sweet too. Certainly jittery. And a bit on the older side. One of the few friends you made these days.

You have so much respect for the aging, the experienced, who were able to still look both behind and forward with joy.

You wish you were able to have that.

Home.

Sleeping.

Waking.

You try those breathing exercises Barry told you about. You hear heartbeats that aren’t your own.

You faint and you remember screaming.

Waking. 3 AM. Guess you got sleep after all.

Old records. You kept every tape, every news report, every article.

Everything was so perfect. Where did it go so wrong?

You cry yourself to sleep on the floor.

Waking. 11 AM. Well, hello there, Sleeping Beauty. Damn near let yourself get raped by the prince.

Lily and Jess wouldn’t want you speaking like that either. And everyone else. Minnesota nice indeed.

You pull yourself back up. You have pathetic form.

You go to church. You weren’t exactly devout, but you know God will come for you. You want Him to. You wanted to come for Him, too. Give you what you deserved. You pray to everyone you loved. At least they’re in Heaven.

Home.

Cooking. You are barely awake and spill and burn yourself to your heart’s discontent. You realize you made Timmy’sfavorite food.

You slam your face into your plate. Cleanup. Clean up, clean up, everybody clean up…

Stop that. You don’t deserve to sing that song. You don’t deserve to sing ever again.

Brushing.

Wait…brushing, bathing, three meals…whatever. You can’t keep track of those things anymore. Just do whatever and sleep.

Whatever.

Sleep.

Whatever.

Sleep.

Whatever.

Sleep.

On and on and on and on…That’s it.

That’s what should be it.

Move on. You cannot remember how many times you were told that, how many times you tried, by the people who were also hurt by what happened.

You hated yourself even more, when you saw how much better they were at coping than you.

Why don’t you try that? Your kids would want you to.

Yes. That’s it. The power of love. Use that.

Love that you—

Oh, at least pretend you are who you used to be, you hollow shell!

You try to tell Barry a joke. He laughs. You smile. It’s not fake but it feels like it. It hurts.

You drive past the police station. You feel like dying. But you go in.

Hey, guys. It’s you-know-who again.

What did I say about pity—?!

Sorry, guys, I’m fine.

Awkward jokes. Awkward laughing. Awkward silence.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

So…

Don’t.

…anything about…

Ruin.

…Meredith?

Why didn’t you literally fuck yourself in front of them for all you care?

They sigh. They do pity you. So, so much.

They pull out the usual spiel about how it was a tragic accident, about options for treatment, how they're so fucking sorry.

You drive home in tears, in rage. Why would they close it…how dare they close it?!

You watch every news report, read everything you’ve collected again.

You remember how the police did nothing.

You remember how hard everyone cried, how hard you cried.

You remember how you visited their graves every night until you couldn’t take it.

You remember how it was attributed to a political assassination attempt.

You remember how you reacted when you saw the person they caught.

How…wrong it seemed.

Like they were telling the truth, but not the full truth.

You get an idea.

A very, very long idea.

And yet…

You go to Bernie. Cool, sweet Bernie. Bernie, the teenage drug dealer and budding gang member that you helped become a happily married successful teacher.

Back when you thought you could solve every problem with just kind words and a smile.

You ask Bernie for access to the black market.

Bernie tries to get through to you.

You’re too angry. You beg. You play tough…then you break down and plead.

You explain.

Bernie understands.

You wait.

Bernie works.

In days, you get access to the dark web. To darker networks.

What you find turns everything you thought about the world upside down.

An entire John Wick-level network - system - world of criminals, all within reach.

You get your own account on a literal website with an agency of professional criminals.

You feel like ripping your heart out every time you see something new.

One contact catches your eye.

The Twins. Lemon and Tangerine.

One of them is…that fucking…

British-born, apparently brothers, notorious in the business for two jobs.

The most recent is a job in Bolivia where they wiped out an entire camp of guerrillas leaving behind a Saving Private Ryan zone.

Absolute psychopaths.

The second is far more alarming. Shockingly minimal details compared to the outright trophies that some of the other assassins displayed in their attempts to promote themselves - and professional criminals wouldn’t exactly be known for asking questions and talking much, would they? But it paid 10 million, more than any other job you’ve seen on the site, and by this time, you’ve looked through dozens of criminals, and it involved a Minnesotan politician.

Holy shit.

I’m gonna get you like I should’ve a long time—

Everything afterwards is a blur.

You place a job offer for a snatch-and-grab in St. Paul, where you live. It’s meant to be a distraction, you don’t care about whatever’s in the politician’s suitcase, you want to follow whatever asshole picks up on you.

Within hours, it gets answered. By an incredibly smug looking mercenary called Carver who’s a dick. But he is clearly an experienced assassin.

You managed to sneak up and witness how he does things. How he leaves no trace. How he covers his bases. You weren’t worried about witnesses or innocents, you drilled it into his head that she wanted no lethal force, or no payment. You couldn’t help but smirk when you were able to annoy him instead of the other way around for once.

You pay him, and you browse your account for jobs. You see a recently taken hit job in New York City.

You announce that you are taking a long hiatus, a retreat for your mental health.

You are greeted with the expected joy and relief that you are finally going to get better.

You find yourself smiling too, as you’ll both bring and be brought to justice.

You gather all the money left to you in the wills, in your bank account, everything. Money never quite mattered to you beyond sustenance, and nowadays it mattered much less. You pack up things that will help you survive, but never live.

You don’t expect to come back home. You are completely fine with that.

You book the nearest flight to NYC, and remember the vacation you took with your kids. You can’t help but remember all the photos you took and the sights you saw and the sounds of excitement and wonder you heard.

You cry yourself to sleep on the plane and wake up when you land.

When you do, you log onto the website.

You were related to and worked with computer science professionals. Over the last few years you learned all you could.

Now that Bernie and everyone else is truly safe, you take a deep breath and hack away.

You find the address of a meeting point.

You go.

It’s absolute chaos.

A shootout. Blood. The coldest, most inhumane expressions you’ve ever seen on the human face.

You keep yourself from breaking, from lashing out, from yelling at them to take you too.

You force yourself to study everything, pay attention to everything.

At the end, there are 23 dead bodies.

You follow the survivors.

You find yourself in the midst of an ongoing gang war and criminals off the agency are actively being hired.

You keep track of it all, add to your notes, your research.

You follow every job you can, learn what you can, budget your money so you can remain efficient. Eventually you get good at some things too. You start to rob and pickpocket, doing so only on the most decadent and unassuming. You notice which points of the body are most sensitive. You learn how to chamber a round. You work out how to be the right balance between threatening and restrained. You teach yourself some moves, which you practice on any creepy stalker.

But you never take a job. You never take a life. You don’t even get a gun.

Despite everything you see…you just can’t.

Because when you see all these people, you see the ones you hurt.

You see how much they loved you, how much they trusted you.

You remember how Kit-Kat thought you were her Wonder Woman.

How they saw you as a hero.

They may be gone…but this is the best you can do to keep them alive.

Months pass. Then years. You've learned enough to be a knowledge broker if you wanted.

You come home when you can, concocting an elaborate lie of how you're traveling the world for writing inspiration, making a fair fortune out of freelance and fiction under pen names. Like a super spy, you enthuse.

That was what Isabelle's dream was.

You’re walking in London. You come across the Twins’ flat, in a neighborhood far too nice for the likes of them.

Scouting them for years, you found yourself feeling jealous of how close they are. You were loved and you did have a wonderful family, but as an only child, you were always curious what having a sibling would be like.

Of course, they were assassins. They would never know what actual love was like, and whatever dynamic they had going on, it was in no way healthy or something to look up to. That was clear from the very start, and you barely refrained from scoffing every time they showed "affection" for each other.

There was absolutely no way whatsoever that anything positive could come out of these people.

Spending years researching bullshit in the name of a sweet, sweet level of justice no motherfucker in this excuse of a line of work could even begin to comprehend left you with a very low tolerance for it.

You listen through the hidden recording devices you have set up.

You learn they are soon on a job involving the son of the White Death, the most powerful crime boss on the planet, and a briefcase with 10 million dollars. You pause.

You remember research you did on a recent transaction between a group of Russian operatives and a Yakuza member.

And that a job offer you hacked into involving a similar briefcase and said Son was in fact not taken by the Twins, but the Hornet, an American who specialized in poisons and almost always did kill jobs.

There were multiple assassins hired for jobs on this train.

You chuckle mirthlessly. Unlucky bastards.

It was going to go wrong. So, so wrong.

And that was what made it perfect. You had spent years waiting for the opportune moment to strike. To dish out karma. To let your pain out and end on a high.

You had found your moment.

You find the exact Nippon Speed Line they’re all booked for, and get yourself a ticket. To your surprise, the train is almost fully booked.

Oh, well. You can be surprising, too.

I’m coming for you, my loves…

#fanfic #bullet train #tangerine bullet train #lemon #ladybug #the wolf #oc #female oc #the son bullet train #the prince bullet train #the hornet

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sailor-toni · 2 years

Text

An interview with Chat Noir

You can also read this on AO3, FF.net, and Wattpad

The internet was full of fake news, misunderstood topics, and the ego of every wannabe influencer. Usually people would dismiss what they saw as another false story, and that’s what he would hoping would happen. They would dismiss the video as some sort of deep fake, because why would a famous model, moonlight as a superhero? That’s such a silly idea, nobody would believe it. But they did, and now six hours later, Adrien Agreste was hiding under his bed.

“You can’t stay there forever,” said Plagg.

“You don’t know that. Maybe this is my life now, sleeping under beds, darting through shadows, living on the edge,” Adrien replied.

“Really? Is that were going with?”

“What else am I supposed to do? Everyone knows now! My father probably knows now, and he’ll freak out! I’ll be locked in my room again, all privileges gone, and…” Adrien awkwardly turned around, staring at his ceiling. “What will Ladybug think?”

“Ladybug? I don’t know, maybe she’ll like that you’re a famous model? Maybe she’ll be so enamored that she won’t notice how dorky you are?”

“Thank you Plagg.”

“Your welcome, now get out and let’s go! I’m hungry, and you’re out of cheese.”

“I just bought some cheese yesterday!”

“It’s not the kind I like.”

“You know you’re a real slave driver Plagg.”

“Yeah whatever,” Plagg flew around the room opening and closing the cabinets like a human staring at a full fridge, dissatisfied by what's in it.

Adrien groaned into his hands. Sometimes he wished he lived in Plagg’s world, where everything was so simple and easy. He didn’t have to deal with responsibilities or controlling parents, or rejections from very beautiful girls. Would she still like him? Or would she make the same assumptions as everyone around him? He didn’t think so, but what if? The thought stressed Adrien out, making crawl further under the bed. Hand wringing themselves to death as he thought about it all.

When he his bedroom door open. Oh no was that his father? He thought, but no. It was Alya? She was tiptoeing through his space, camera in hand.

“Adrien? Adrien, that girl is in your room,” Plagg whispered, no Plagg couldn’t whisper to save his lunch. Plagg almost yelled at him, in his scraggly voice.

“Yes, I see that,” Adrien whispered back.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but let’s ask her.” Alya was rummaging through his desk, taking pictures of some of his files. “Hey Alya?” She jumped. “What are you doing in my room?”

“What am I doing? Well, I- ugh, I’m here for an interview with the great Cat Noir!” She said.

“An interview? Alya I don’t think this is the-”

“You know ladybug, right?”

“Yeah bu-”

“I run the Ladyblog, I know almost everything on Ladybug, but you’ve actually talked to her, and fought with her. So, tell me Cat Noir what is it like working with Ladybug? Is she amazing? I mean of course she is-”

“Woah Alya, I don’t think this is really the best time-”

“Why not? Oh, what's her favorite color? Does she have a favorite weapon? What is like to work with her? Does she like anybody? Do you know her secret identity?”

“Uh um I don't know, her staff? She's really great and uh, does she like anybody?! Uh well I don’t know-”

‘You don’t know if she likes anyone or you don’t know her secret identity?”

“Both? I ugh-”

“I thought you guys were partners?”

“We are!”

“But don’t know a lot about her?”

“Well I -” Adrien didn’t know a lot about Ladybug, but he knew, “ladybug is one of the nicest braves people I know, I don’t need to know her favorite color to know she's an incredibly good person with a heart of gold.”

Alya paused, her lips paused into a thin line. “Interesting.”

“Yeah anyways you should get going-”

“Adrien!” The two of them froze at the new voice. It was his father.

“Alya you need to go, my father doesn't want me to have friends around without his permission,” Adrien pushed her towards the door.

“But your Cat Noir? Just tell him what's going on-”

“Alya my Father isn’t the most understanding person.”

He should explain more, but his doorknob was jiggling. His father only giving a moment’s notice before storming into the room. His fist red from how hard he was clutching them. He called out Adrien's name several times, pushing various items out of the way. His permanent ambiguous face now a deep scowl as images of ladybug slid past on his son’s screensaver. The sound of the computer crashing rattled through the mansion as Adrien guided Alya down the pristine stairs. Her bright person being the only splash of color in the Agreste's cold ice mansion.

“Adrien? Where are we going?” She asked. “Away from here. Come on, before someone finds us.”

Running from the mansion, Adrien pushed his friend up a nearby fire escape, pushing her to follow him across Paris rooftops.

“He didn’t look too happy.” Alya commented, more to herself than to Adrien. “I don’t think he ever felt happiness.” Plagg joked, his petite black body flying around Adrien’s head.

Adrien jumped over a large alleyway, his feet mimicking his Cat Noir sense of style.

“Wait!” Alya called out. “I can’t make it that far!”

“Yes, you can, the roofs are deceitful about their heights, it's actually a small jump when you time it right.” She didn’t believe him. “Here you jump, I’ll catch you.”

“Promise?”

“A cat would never back on his promise!” Adrien smiled for the first time that day, throwing his hands out to her.

She ran, stopped, backed up, and repeated this process a few more times. Each time the oncoming gab twisting her stomach and stalling her feet.

“Alya! I know you can do it! If Ladybug was here, she would believe in you to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, now come on, if you stop, you’re gonna fall. You have to do it in one big motion. Like cat.”

“Or a ladybug” Alya muttered. Lightly smacking her face before running at full speed, leaping over the gap and crashing into Adrien’s arms. The sunlight catching his hair just so that she could see why her friend had such big feelings for him.

“See! You did it! Now let’s go.” Adrien let her go, running towards the next rooftop.

“Go where? Where are we going?” She followed him.

Adrien didn’t know where they were going, “To find Ladybug!” he called out, his voice more confident than he was. Eventually the two stopped, Alya short of breath, at the rooftop near the Eiffel tower. It was where him and Ladybug usually met up, the building also looked over on of Paris oldest streets. A rose vine grew a few buildings over, he knew it by heart as that’s where he stole all of those roses for Ladybug.

“So, uh Adrien, Chat Noir, where is she?” Alya asked, taking her water bottle from her bright orange and green backpack.

“Well ugh, we usually meet up here after all the attacks, so maybe she’ll show up?” he wasn’t sounding confident anymore.

“You really don't know who she really is?”

“No.” “Does she know who you are?”

“Maybe? It’s all over TV right now. It would be hard not to,” Adrien collapsed into his usual spot.

“So, you guys worked together but didn’t know your secret identities?”

“Yes, Alya we didn’t know. We don’t need to know to fight crime.”

“Yeah, but are you not curious?”

“I am,”

“Then why not ask her?” Alya was asking the real questions, like a perfect reporter for her blog. But each one felt like an arrow to Adrien’s heart.

“Because it’s a sensitive topic? If her identity got out it would have consequences, for the both of us. Hawkmoth wants her power for something and he knew who she was, he would attack anyone she knew in order to get her power. Plus, any enemies we made would go after her.” Alya sat next to him, listening to every word. “And what about you? Couldn’t the same be said about you?” “Yeah,” Adrien didn’t know if he could go back home. Maybe he could live with Nino or Marinette. Or he could live as a street cat, ladybug would find that amusing. “It’ll be fine, I can take care of myself.”

Alya wasn’t convinced. “Wouldn’t ladybug be able to help you?”

“Maybe this is all the fault of an Akuma and everything can go back to normal tomorrow.” he joked.

“Hopefully, But Adrien I have some other questions, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sure, now that you asked, I be more than welcomed to answer them.”

Hours later Alya descended the Paris rooftops waving Adrien goodbye. Her phone full of answers for her ladyblog. Adrien walked her home wishing her a goodnight. Walking down the Paris streets alone. Plagg was there to comfort him. If moaning about a lack of cheese was comforting

“Plagg you might have to get used to lower quality cheese now that we can't go back,” He joked. Plagg gasped, the mere suggestion causing him to whine and complain. The noise filling the foggy night. Adrien laugh, his feet taking them somewhere.

In the distance he saw Marinette’s bakery. The smell of bread uplifting his spirits. And a flash of white dashing them. Down a dark alleyway was an Akuma, flying towards its next victim. He followed it, leaping over the trash and bikes that stood in his path. Until his heels froze to the ground, the fog thicker than guilt, but as solid as broken promise. In the darkness stood his father, surrounded by white butterflies. Adrien wished this could all be fake, like a scary story online. The Twist so obvious only a moron couldn’t see it coming.

#Fanfic #OLD writing #writing #miraculous fanfic #chat noir

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 2 years

Text

The Sculptor

Chapter 7 - Strictly Professional

[Masterpost] [AO3]

-/-

“I want to lick him,” Wei Wuxian whines into the protective shield of his hands cupped over his face. He’s met with shockingly little sympathy from his companions, but then again they’ve had to hear about every passing crush he’s gotten for the last ten plus years so he supposes that’s only fair. They don’t know yet that Lan Wangji is different, they don’t understand that he’s a fucking god!

“A-Ying,” Xiao Xingchen tuts softly, amused at his expense though he’d never say so, and Wei Wuxian parts his fingers enough to glare at the man who’s basically become his Uncle over the years. Everyone in their social circle’s Uncle, really.

“Haven’t you or Uncle Zichen seen him coming into the studio?? You should know what I mean!”

“He’s very handsome, yes,” Xiao Xingchen comforts and pats him on the head. “He is also, as you’ve told us, married and seemingly happy enough about that fact. You’re not a homewrecker, A-Ying.”

“I know,” he wails, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t still want to see what he’s capable of!”

“Hey, you never know - they might be swingers,” Nie Huaisang pipes up from the kitchen where he’s making some sort of alcoholic concoction that’ll probably knock even Wei Wuxian flat on his ass. “Apparently plenty of people are trying it now, not just the usual crew.” The ‘usual crew’ being roughly a quarter of the queer community between their town and the neighboring one, from what Wei Wuxian has heard. He’s never gotten a straight answer on whether or not Nie Huaisang is included in that group, but he certainly knows a lot about them either way.

“I think for swinging to work two sets of partners must be willing to trade for the evening, A-Sang,” Xiao Xingchen reminds him kindly. “And poor A-Ying is all alone-”

“Okay enough, give me a drink,” Wei Wuxian says around an aggrieved laugh, launching himself off the sofa between his ‘uncles’ to join Nie Huaisang in the kitchen and slam back whatever’s in the glass his friend holds out to him. He doesn’t want to think about Lan Wangji swinging, he doesn’t want to think of him being married, he doesn’t want to think about his own tragically small dating pool or trying to fly under the radar in a town that’s still mostly ‘normal’ couples who, for all their claimed open-mindedness, still apparently struggle with having a queer network fucking around somewhat visibly right under their noses.

He’s spent the week watching Lan Wangji gradually become more and more comfortable with getting half-naked for him as he works on a mixture of compositions for the commission and portraits of Lan Wangji in various useful poses when he just can’t bear not to draw him, and it’s been driving him up the wall.

He’s seen plenty of nude models - men, women, it doesn’t matter. It’s always business, it’s always professional. It’s hard to get turned on by a naked body when in a room full of other students all drawing the same figure, or when the model is someone who’s barely dragged themself out of an alcohol- or drug-induced coma to come pose for him for whatever bit of cash he can spare.

But Lan Wangji is different. Wei Wuxian likes him, genuinely, truly, as a person first and a business partner (of sorts) second. It’s charming to watch him face his own deeply-held modesty and reticence and slowly, carefully shed it for Wei Wuxian’s sake. Of course it’s for his own sake as well - he’d said on day one that he needs the money - but if it wasn’t something he wanted to do then Wei Wuxian knows that he’s more than qualified to go into town and find something else to do for some spare cash. Lan Wangji doesn’t have to pose for him, and yet he does. He does, and Wei Wuxian is going to die before the end of this commission.

“Hmm I don’t know about that, love,” Xiao Xingchen hums and Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder to watch Song Zichen signing to his partner.

“Absolutely not!” Wei Wuxian yelps when he sees the direction this is going. “No way, I’m not inviting him over! He’s a really nice man and all but I don’t know if he’s okay with..”

“Us,” Nie Huaisang mutters in a way that encompasses far more people than just the four of them in Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen’s tiny apartment.

“Yeah. That,” Wei Wuxian sighs, deflating a little.

“Do what you feel is best, A-Ying,” Song Zichen tells him, his expression as grave as it typically is, hands moving steadily - he’s always good like that, calm and matter-of-fact. The perfect balance to Xiao Xingchen’s teasing nature. “I think we’re all curious to meet him and help you figure this out, but keep yourself safe above anything else.”

“Thanks Uncle Zichen,” Wei Ying sighs. They move on to lighter topics then, but Wei Wuxian’s heart isn’t really in it tonight. He’s too distracted with thoughts of his extremely unavailable, completely wonderful Lan Zhan, and he heads home early instead of staying the night like he usually would.

Wei Wuxian isn’t a man of many vices. He likes sweets more than is strictly healthy, and alcohol is always a ‘yes’. He smokes weed with Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen in their side of the studio every so often when he really needs to relax. He likes attractive men and he’s picked up a decent few of them from the gay bar on the edge of town over the years with ah..mixed results.

The next morning, he picks up smoking again - his most accessible vice by far. It’s something he’s done off and on since he was still a young teenager bumming off the Jiangs, though the habits became a much more casual flirtation after his disowning. The casual flirtations when he has the money for it - and annoying withdrawals for a while when the money runs out, though he’s always fine again eventually. He doesn’t really bother worrying about the whys and wherefores of it, most of the time. If he finds his fingers itching for a cigarette and he’s got the cash he’ll buy as many packs as he feels like and work his way through them at whatever pace is comfortable, no emotional reflection necessary.

The point being - something about all this Lan Wangji business makes him want something more to do with his hands than fiddle around in the studio, so he picks up a few packs on Saturday morning and he’s got one of them sticking out of the chest pocket of his overalls when Lan Wangji gets to the studio on Monday morning. Wei Wuxian is half wondering if he’ll say something about it when he spots it, but if he notices he doesn’t say anything at all. Instead he just greets Wei Wuxian the same as ever and, as has now become routine over the past week, starts stripping.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but watch. It’s torture - it’s unprofessional, probably slightly creepy torture - but Lan Wangji practically turns it into a striptease without even seeming to realize it. He follows the same procedure he had that first day: Shoes off. Socks, neatly folded. Belt open. Trousers open. Shirt. Undershirt. Friday had been the first day Lan Wangji had left his trousers open even after hanging everything up, and apparently that’s the next step of this process because he does it again now, the button and the placket for it on the other side hanging open just a bit as Lan Wangji turns back to face him. He doesn’t unzip, but he doesn’t have to. Wei Wuxian is still fantasizing about doing it for him with his teeth.

“Progress,” Wei Wuxian grins when he can say something that isn’t some form of ‘dear god please bite me on the ass’. Lan Wangji seems shyly pleased by that, ducking his head a bit in a nod with his trusty, “Mn.” Wei Wuxian wonders if he’s going to survive the day Lan Wangji works up to getting naked, but that’s a worry for future Wei Wuxian. For now, he has work to do.

He’s settled on a composition over the weekend, finally, and he heads over to sit next to Lan Wangji on the couch to show it to him and explain what he thinks they’ll need for the pose. He’s sketched it out a few times from a couple of different angles with notes scribbled around the margins of the pages, and he can’t help but laugh when Lan Wangji does his best not to frown at it as he attempts to decode it.

“It’s a jumbled disaster, I know,” he soothes. “You don’t have to say it, I can see it on your face. Don’t worry, I’ll help you get into position and I’ll tell you if I need you to do something different. Are your trousers going to have enough give for this?”

“Likely not,” Lan Wangji says with genuine regret in his voice and a definite frown on his face now - frustration at himself? That won’t do.

“Ah that’s fine! We’ll just see how far we can get like this for now. You’ll have to work up to holding this anyway, I don’t expect perfection now. Or ever, really, no one can be perfect.”

“Mn.” Wei Wuxian glances at his friend again to find him looking mollified, and that’s better than nothing. Of course now comes Wei Wuxian’s second major test of self-control of the day - and it’s not even 10am yet, for god’s sake! He stands up off the couch again to return the sketches to the easel. He snags the bucket he’d sat on that first day and turns it over again, the bottom of it a few inches lower than the cushions on the divan, and he sets it down in front of one side of the sofa. A pillow from his stash is tossed on top, and then Wei Wuxian makes a little ‘ta-da’ gesture at it that Lan Wangji looks thoroughly unimpressed by.

“For your shoulders,” Wei Wuxian explains. “Did you think I was going to make you hang your whole torso off the couch and hold yourself up by your abs alone?”

“It crossed my mind,” Lan Wangji says, because Wei Wuxian knows that he doesn’t ever lie. He snorts at that and very pointedly doesn’t think about how nicely that would make Lan Wangji’s already well-defined abs stand out even further.

“Nah, that’s never going to be sustainable, and I’d prefer to do this with as little damage to you as possible. Wen Qing probably won’t thank me if you go home with a sore back every day for the rest of the summer.”

“Mn.” As always, Wei Wuxian can’t get a solid read on Lan Wangji’s thoughts when he mentions his wife, but on the bright side they’ve both mentioned her in passing so much that casual conversation about her doesn’t make him despair for his sanity. Just his heart, which, honestly, has been broken so many times in his life that he hardly feels it anymore no matter how much he whines to his very understanding little found family.

“Mhm. Ready to use a sofa in a way that would give your uncle a heart attack?” Wei Wuxian snickers and pointedly ignores the intensity of Lan Wangji’s glare at the side of his head in favor of crossing behind the sofa to tap the top of with both palms. “Come on, give me your feet. Time to get started!”

Lan Wangji sighs but does as he asks, turning around as primly as he can while bare-chested with his trousers unbuttoned, and then he’s slinging his legs up over the back of the couch into Wei Wuxian’s waiting hands.

It’s the first time he’s touched Lan Wangji directly, he realizes the moment his hands wrap firmly around the knobby bones of his ankles. It almost makes him jump, the warmth of skin on skin and the soft rasp of Lan Wangji’s sparse leg hair against his fingertips, but if Lan Wangji is similarly startled it’s hidden by the way he’s shifting to try to redistribute his weight evenly while unable to fully relax his legs. Wei Wuxian holds him steady and waits for him to find the makeshift prop with his shoulders, and then it’s just waiting through the slow process of him readjusting in small increments until he’s settled.

Wei Wuxian waits again for his hum before he lets go, and then he crosses back around to the front of the sofa to lean down at the waist and tip his head a bit to the side, mischievous smile already pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Comfy?” he teases a semi-upside-down Lan Wangji, who still somehow manages to give him a decent glare with no real heat behind it.

“Not particularly. I will manage.”

“You’ll get there, don’t worry. We’ll work on the legs some other day, but for now can I reposition your arms where I need them?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian is suddenly distinctly glad that he’d touched Lan Wangji’s ankles first and got that initial shock out of the way, since he’s pretty sure if he’d gotten to touch his hands first he might have actually died. As it is, he settles on his knees behind Lan Wangji’s head - careful not to kneel on his hair - and reaches down the length of him to take his wrists in his hands, coaxing them carefully away from where he’s holding them loosely crossed over his stomach.

“Relax your shoulders,” he encourages, his voice quieter than usual as he gently, reverently manipulates Lan Wangji’s arms where he wants. Lan Wangji takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, his entire body shifting with it the way he’s spread out like this, stomach and chest rising smoothly and then back down again when he exhales. “Good,” Wei Wuxian praises without thinking, and he feels it under his fingertips on the inside of his wrist when Lan Wangji’s heartbeat skitters, sees his fingers twitch before he relaxes again.

Lan Wangji stays relaxed for him though, and so Wei Wuxian makes relatively short work of getting him where he needs him, his right arm straight up and then bent at the elbow to frame the top of his head, left arm flung out to the side helplessly. By the time he’s finished Lan Wangji looks utterly debauched, his hair splayed out on the floor beneath him and arms akimbo, as if he’d fallen over the sofa and simply stayed where he landed, boneless and exhausted. Wei Wuxian can’t quite resist pressing his palm against Lan Wangji’s stomach when he’s finished, his fingers splayed over the soft give of his diaphragm just beneath his sternum. Lan Wangji doesn’t even twitch.

“How do you feel?”

Lan Wangji is quiet for long enough that Wei Wuxian takes his hand off him and leans back, putting more weight on where he’s sitting on his heels to better meet Lan Wangji’s eyes despite the fact that he’s upside down.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I feel fine,” he says, quite a few beats too late for Wei Wuxian’s peace of mind. “You are correct that I will not be able to hold it for too long, but it is not offensively uncomfortable.”

“That’s alright, just so long as you can hold it for long enough today for me to block out where you are,” Wei Wuxian soothes, and then he forces himself to stand up and take a few steps back to double check his positioning. He walks a slow circle around the set-up to make sure he likes it from every angle (unfortunately it’s much harder to be unbiased when he’s looking at Lan Wangji from every angle, but he perseveres, he’s very brave), and when he’s satisfied he crosses over to his cabinet of supplies to rummage around for a large stick of white chalk.

When he finds it and returns to Lan Wangji it’s to find the man’s eyes shut and his breathing deep as if in meditation, or maybe just sleeping. Wei Wuxian moves carefully around him, quietly tracing out the artificially clumsy fall of his arms and drawing a circle around the rim of the bucket beneath him so he’ll know precisely where to place it again should he need to move it. He carefully gathers up Lan Wangji’s hair in his free hand and holds it up out of the way so he can finish lining his shoulders, and when he glances at his face his eyes are open again, silently watching.

Wei Wuxian blushes a little and goes back to what he’s doing, but now that he knows Lan Wangji is watching, his gaze is like a physical weight on his shoulders, the warm heavy press of hands, thumbs massaging circles into the perpetually-tight muscles at the back of his neck. He wonders if Lan Wangji does that for Wen Qing after hours spent at her desk - she’s a professor too, after all, he has to imagine they both get all knotted up from sitting all day long. He knows he does if he spends too long at the easel, and he’s frequently wished over the years that he had someone around just to rub his shoulders if absolutely nothing else.

Lan Wangji seems like the kind of husband who would do that.

“All done,” Wei Wuxian announces when he’s released Lan Wangji’s hair and finished carefully outlining the knuckles of his outstretched hand, his fingers curled loosely towards his palm. “Do you need to get up and stretch for a moment before I get to work?”

“No, I am fine.”

“Alright. Just speak up the moment you want to take a break, okay?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian stands and takes a deep breath in. He gives himself one more moment to ‘check’ Lan Wangji’s positioning (read: blatantly ogle) and then he retreats safely behind his easel to get to work.

#the untamed fanfic #wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #I wanted to pay homage to the original painting as much as Ceru's fanart of it #hence the fic being set in the 70's and now LWJ's pose #(Yes I know the original painting is from 1964 but I do what I want)#but anyway so wangxian together are making the statue from the original and the next major reference is of course #going to be ceru's painting #soon!

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honeycombstrawberry · 2 years

Text

help me down

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: gen

word count: 1,151

one-sentence synopsis: adrian can tell how exhausted you are when you get home, so he's going to make everything better.

author's note: this is just a soft little drabble based on only one request!! i hope you all have a lovely soft night just like this one!!

read on ao3!

You’re exhausted before you even step through your front door.

It’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, a long month— Sometimes, it feels like it’s been a long life, but you’re just— just so, so tired. You know it’s not really that bad.

But, right now…

You sigh, pushing your key into your lock. You miss on the first go, but get it on the second, fumbling and scraping at the metal. It’s frustrating, but you still make yourself take a breath. You’re so close to sleeping, and you saw Adrian’s car outside, so he’s probably already inside and asleep, too. You can’t wait to join him.

Pushing into the apartment you and Adrian share, you’re mostly leaning on the door for support. You’re expecting to find the place dark; you got off your shift late, and it’s way past midnight. He was definitely out as Vigilante tonight, so he should be asleep, by all rights.

Instead, the lamp is on by the sofa. You blink in the warm light for only a moment before you register Adrian jumping up to his feet, already jogging to meet you.

“Hey,” he greets, wrapping his arms around you. He nuzzles into your throat, hands threading up under your shirt to skim over your back. “How was your day? I love you.” He pulls back, examines you, then says, “You look exhausted. How’re you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” you echo in answer. He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth, then draws back. “What’re you doing up?”

“Waiting for you,” he tells you. He’s already unbuttoning your jacket for you, pushing it back off your shoulders.

“How’d your night go?” you ask.

Adrian’s smiling as he starts walking you through his day and night beat-for-beat. You’re tired enough that you just let his words wash over and through you, absorbing them into your body, letting them warm you from the inside out. He tells you about the most absurd and minor details, things nobody else would notice. He talks about the fish he stopped to look at in the pet store window tonight since nobody was out committing crimes, and the Wikipedia hole he ended up in while it was slow at work, and the list of movies he’s come up with in his head for you both to watch this weekend.

You love him, and you let him take care of you. While he talks, he pushes your clothes off you, one article at a time, and guides you towards the bedroom you share.

“You know,” Adrian says, when he’s pulling one of his t-shirts over your head for you to use as pajamas, “you have two whole days off now. You can sleep as much as you want.”

“Mm?” you ask. He tugs you towards the bed; you think, and you realize he’s right. “Oh, shit. That’s awesome.”

“Isn’t it just?” Adrian tells you. “Two whole days where we don’t have to do anything except hug each other all the time and— and I can order us takeout and we can do— I don’t know, I’ll look it up, I’ll go on Reddit and see what people think we should do.”

You collapse into the mattress, head on the edge of your pillow. Adrian reaches down and shifts you for you, centering you on the pillow, tugging the covers up and over you. You stretch out, your limbs all pulling as you yawn, wriggling to get comfortable.

“Or,” you suggest sleepily, “we can do anything we want.”

Adrian pauses in tugging his own clothes off, then says, “Oh, dip. You’re right, we should just— sleep and hang and do whatever we want.” He grins when he pulls himself up into bed with you, cupping your chin in his hand so he can pull you in for a smushing kiss. “You look so sleepy. Look at you.” His fingertip traces under one of your eyes. “You poor thing, what a nightmare, c’mere.”

You huff a laugh, letting him guide you into laying against him. He wraps his arms tightly around you, squeezing you to his chest.

“Should I, like— I don’t know,” Adrian asks, “Do more? Do you want me to, like, make you a snack, or—”

You snuggle closer into him, tilting up so you can kiss the soft underneath of his jaw. He twists so he can wrap the two of you up together, slotting your arms with his, your legs with his, tangling the two of you up together.

“In the morning. I’m too tired now,” you tell him.

“What if—”

“If you move me,” you say, “I’ll scream. I swear.”

Adrian laughs, bringing your face up for another kiss to one of the bruises under your eyes, then to your cheek, and down again, parting your lips. He’s all warm when he kisses you, slow and firm, his fingertips trailing to thread up through your hair.

It’s soft everywhere, his soft t-shirt and soft sheets and soft hold and soft kiss enveloping you. For how long and exhausting your life has been lately, it doesn’t feel so difficult here with him. It feels like you could sleep forever, like you could draw energy from him, like he’s actually, literally sustaining you.

You’re sure your mind is melting from how tired you are. That’s the only explanation for your overly-sappy thoughts. Still, though— That doesn’t mean you don’t feel it all.

The drowsiness is overwhelming you, even though you’re happy to be here with him. Being comfortable and horizontal is pushing you closer and closer to sleep; Adrian has guided you into relaxation so quickly, so easily, so seamlessly, that you’re already drifting away. Before him— without him— it takes you so long to sleep. Your mind is always working, spinning, churning inside your head; it keeps you awake even at the best of times.

With Adrian, he just has this amazing ability to make everything completely shut off. Your mind slows to a soft, warm hum; your body buzzes comfortably, coasting into sleep. Your eyes feel heavy, and your mind is a pulsing, grabbing darkness, sinking its fingers into you and tugging.

“Get some sleep,” Adrian tells you, stroking through your hair, down your back. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You smile, even though you’re mostly asleep, his words seeping into your dream-mind and making you feel so safe as you coasted into sleep.

“Love you,” you mumble blearily, making sure he knows it. You always try to say it before the two of you go to sleep.

Adrian kisses your temple, the top of your head, your forehead. “I love you, too.” He kisses your temple again, a little firmer this time, and mumbles, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” against your skin, voice low and a little muffled, and that’s the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

request used:

"Hi love! how's it going? Hey, lately I've been, you know, exhausted as shit from college and work and literally only come home to sleep. So I was wondering, what do you think Adrian would do to make his s/o feel better when they're tired? You can just reply or if you feel like writing something it's fine either way! And can I be this symbol? 🍉 thank you!!<3" (anonymous)

adrian chase taglist:

@deputyrook @bb-skyrunner @himboelover @pieriinova @gcldtom @violetrainbow412-blog @amysuemc @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @qjuiq-odakyu @xothatnerdykid @awkwardfangirl2014 @thevalkyrior @mattsmanpain @sunflowerfive @deirdre-belle @anthonyedwinstark @sexysquatch @jelliebeanss @zofps @crimscnrains @trans-librarian @nellethiel-aranel @probablyasatanworshipper @phoenixhalliwell @perseajohnson @eeveeangelcakes @freyafriggafrey @psychadelictoadie @middimidoris @gaygonegirl @herbsschmerbs @satansrighthandmanchild @seeking-a-great--perhaps

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

A-Yuan wasn’t the only child among the Wen Remnants, just the youngest.

Children's Day - ao3

Lan Wangji carefully scooped up the boy out of his hiding place, tucked beneath a pile of stones, sick with fever and fast asleep.

It was a good hiding place. If Lan Wangji hadn’t played Inquiry and demanded to know if there were any living beings around in this cursed place of death, he would never have found the small child.

He remembered him – this was little A-Yuan, who Wei Wuxian had taken down into town to play, the one Lan Wangji had bought all those toys for in his confusion, the one who called him rich-gege. Barely more than two years old, having never known anything but war.

He was all that was left, now. There was nothing else left in the battlefield.

No one else left.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes in pain.

I’ll care for him for you, he promised Wei Wuxian’s ghost, wherever it might be now. Now that you cannot.

I’ll take him back to Gusu to raise as my own – wishing you were by my side.

-Earlier-

“Sect Leader!” one of his aides cried out when he staggered back into camp. “What – who’s that?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at the girl in his arms. She was – four, maybe? Five? He had no idea.

She looked a bit like Wen Qing.

“I found her hiding in the corner of the battlefield when she made a noise,” he said hoarsely. “The Wen sect remnants…by the time I got there, they were almost all dead already, all her family. She’s – she’s young. It didn’t seem right.”

Wei Wuxian always liked children, he thought vaguely to himself as he looked down at her. It wasn’t so much of a surprise that he would keep one there…in fact, if he thought back to that horrible meeting they’d had that one time he’d come to the Burial Mounds to try to talk to Wei Wuxian, he thought he remembered there being a small child there. This must be her.

She was bigger than he remembered, but that was what happened with small children, wasn’t it?

“Her surname is Wen?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng snapped automatically, and his aide took a step back from his vehemence. “The Wen sect is dead, you understand? All of them. The cultivation world refused to allow them to live, that much is obvious enough. Her surname…”

He looked down at her.

I failed Wei Wuxian, he thought grimly. I won’t fail his legacy.

“Her surname will be Jiang.”

-Earlier-

“We found this child hiding in the Demon Subduing Cave,” one of the guards reported, looking nervous. “Lianfeng-zun – what do we do with them?”

Jin Guangyao frowned down at the child, judging the child’s age to be about five or six – maybe seven, considering the likelihood of malnutrition at the Burial Mounds. If they were any younger, he would’ve said that the child ought to just execute them as useless; any older, and he would’ve had no choice but to declare them an enemy combatant, and thereby order them executed.

At this age, though…they were still young enough to be taught to forget their current surname, and to learn new loyalties, and yet old enough to perhaps remember a little of what they had learned, living as they had for a few years with the inventor of demonic cultivation.

Jin Guangyao glanced at the papers in his hands, full of barely legible scribbles, laying out powerful new spells and interesting ideas. They would help Xue Yang with his work – but not as much as a helper would, and naturally they’d just brutally executed all the other ‘helpers’ that might have been available.

Not exactly Jin Guangyao’s personal preference, but he wasn’t the one leading the Jin sect army.

Still, his father, who had been the one leading, had retired to his tent, and now Jin Guangyao was the one with the power, left to be in charge of mopping up. That, in turn, gave him a little more leeway, which meant he could implement his own thoughts, rather than badly thought out instructions.

“Put the child in my tent,” he said, and smiled. “The poor thing must have gotten lost and entered the battlefield – after we arrived. You understand?”

The guard saluted deeply. “Lianfeng-zun is kind and beneficent,” he said, and his expression was worshipful. “I will tell the others that the child is from some distant Jin branch.”

Jin Guangyao hadn’t intended for him to do that, but – well, he couldn’t exactly refute it now, could he, and anyway there were worse things to happen. Everyone would know that he had kindly taken in some orphaned child of war, which would be good for his reputation.

He smiled and nodded, and thought of the future.

-Earlier-

“Well, shit,” Nie Mingjue said, staring at the trio of children: nine or ten years old, he thought, maybe a little older, two girls and a boy. They stared back at him, wide-eyed and terrified – they were very clearly trying to sneak off the Burial Mounds down the back way.

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face, glad that he’d insisted on doing the forward scout work before the attack tomorrow morning himself rather than let it go to someone else. He hadn’t wanted to come to this blasted place in the first place, being that he still wasn’t sure exactly what had gone down with Wei Wuxian, who’d been a good man once. But good Nie cultivators had died at Lanling City at Wen Ning’s hands, the Jin sect claiming that that brutal attack was at Wei Wuxian’s instigation, and at the Nightless City at Wei Wuxian’s hands directly, and he didn’t have any evidence to exculpate the man, either; he had no grounds to look the families of those Nie cultivators in the eye and tell them not to pursue vengeance against the man who had slaughtered their brothers and fathers and sons, sisters and mothers and daughters, like they meant nothing.

They deserved vengeance.

Just as he had, for his father.

But at the same time…

“You’re all surnamed Wen, I take it?” he asked, and they slowly nodded. “Dafan Wen?”

Another nod.

“Wrong answer,” he said, making a snap decision. This wasn’t like his father at all, not really; he had wanted to kill Wen Ruohan, who had done the deed himself, while these children clearly hadn’t done anything. “Swear to me here and now that you won’t seek revenge for your sect or family, and you can be surnamed Nie instead.”

They looked at each other.

“Your family didn’t send you to run away because they wanted you to take revenge,” he said. It was a guess, but he could tell from the way their shoulders sagged that he was right. “They wanted you to live. Well?”

They swore.

He took them home.

-Earlier-

She tripped and fell flat on her face.

“Hey, girl!”

She looked up, eyes wide with terror – she hadn’t expected to be caught so soon – but the cultivator in front of her didn’t strike her down. He was a young man, just a few years older than her, and he looked nice, kneeling to help her up.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did you get lost?”

Lost? From where would she get lost, exactly?

Despite that, she nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Here isn’t a good place, though – we’re going to have a battle tomorrow…can you tell me where you’re from?” He frowned. “Or – can’t you speak?”

An idea suddenly came to mind, and she shook her head, lifting up her hands to mime signs like the ones she’d seen Lady Wen and her brother use sometimes when they needed to talk without disturbing others.

“Doesn’t talk,” he murmured to himself. “Clothing of white, ripped all to ribbons –”

She’d torn out any trace of the red sun. White was a common color, but she was old enough to know that she couldn’t let anyone know she was surnamed Wen.

“Oh, I’ve read about this before! Are you a bird yao that’s cultivated to humanity?”

What?

She’d been thinking of trying to pass as a traumatized war veteran, but she was only fourteen, after all; it wasn’t very believable. Of course, it was a lot more believable that bird yao – who would leap to that conclusion?

“My surname is Ouyang,” the man said, smiling brightly at her. “You should come back with me – I can teach you to speak, and we can give you a name…how about ‘Luo’ as a surname? That has to do with birds. Or we could surname you Bai, instead, since your clothing is white! Or maybe -”

She smiled helplessly at his nonsense. What a silly, cheerful man! Maybe she’d overestimated his age, he couldn’t be more than two or three years older, at most, and his brain was clearly not in the right place, filled up to the brim with romantic stories and adventure tales instead of facts.

It was a nice change, actually.

She accepted his hand as she stood.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-Earlier-

Lan Wangji had returned home and submitted to a dreadful punishment. The elders he had injured on Wei Wuxian’s behalf were either in treatment or recovering.

As for the rest that had been at the Nightless City…

Many were dead.

Lan Qiren landed in the Burial Mounds, lips pressed tightly together.

He knew he was taking a risk in coming here to Wei Wuxian’s lair – no matter what Lan Wangji thought, whatever good points he’d had in the past, the man was now little better than a mad dog. He’d caused the death of three thousand people just the day before, three thousand innocents that hadn’t had anything to do with anything; why would he hesitate to attack his old teacher?

There was already talk of a siege – Jiang Cheng himself had promised to lead it, to wipe off the stain on the Jiang sect’s record, and the Jin sect had been right behind him. Even Nie Mingjue had been dragged in against his will, suborned by his sect members’ need for vengeance. As for the Lan Sect…Lan Xichen had looked so stricken by the thought that Lan Qiren had volunteered for the grim duty, despite Lan Qiren having never been much of a fighter and even less of a general. He intended to take only the smallest possible contingent, and to limit their work as much as possible to cleansing the dead rather than killing those who remained there – that much, at least, he could do for his nephew.

Either way, though, no matter his powers, Wei Wuxian would not live out the week.

If Lan Qiren desired vengeance, he need only wait.

And yet, here he was.

Alone, practically unarmed – and here nonetheless.

An old woman came out from the cave and squinted at him.

“It’s over,” she said sadly. “Isn’t it?”

Lan Qiren looked at her. One of the Wen remnants that Wei Wuxian had surrounded himself with, he assumed; the ones he’d given up his comfortable life for, claiming he was only acting as a righteous man ought. Perhaps he even had thought he was, back then.

Perhaps he really had been, back then.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, and cleared his throat. “After what he did at the Nightless City – the verdict is unquestionably death. But the rest of you…there are armies coming, and armies are not known for their leniency, especially not on passerby with the wrong surname. But they’re not here yet. There’s still time to flee – if you go now, you could take on a new surname and find some quiet place to live on.”

Lan Wangji had said they were civilians. Civilian life was to be prioritized above all else.

Lan Qiren was only doing what he must.

Despite his well-meant warnings, however, the old lady shook her head.

“There’s nowhere to go, and we won’t give up our surname,” she said, polite but stubborn to the last. “But thank you for taking the time to come here to tell us.”

“Wangji said that there were children here,” Lan Qiren insisted, ignoring her refusal. “If you won’t flee with them, at least send those that are old enough out on their own, and hide the younger ones. Tell them to forget their surnames – most people won’t rampantly murder children, so there’s a chance they’ll make it through, and live. Can you deny them that, just for pride?”

That gave the old woman pause.

“We’ll do what we can,” she said, and then eyed him. “How good are you at medicine?”

Lan Qiren frowned. “I can’t provide care –”

“She’s already dead. Come help anyway.”

The woman in question was not already dead, but dying – she was in her late teens, seventeen or eighteen at most, and she was in labor. From the glassiness of her eyes, the redness of her cheeks, and the threadiness of her pulse, it was clear that infection had long ago set in. It was not an exaggeration to say she was dead, little better than a corpse.

She was little more than a child.

“I don’t want her to die alone,” the old woman said. “But if you stay with her, I can use the time to try to take care of the rest. You’re not wrong, I suppose – the children, at least, deserve a chance to live on, even if it means leaving our surname behind.”

Lan Qiren looked down at the woman, unconscious already and unlikely to ever wake, and yet still whimpering. “And her child?”

The old woman looked surprised. “Can a child born like this still live?”

Lan Qiren had almost no medical training beyond the most superficial basics that were the necessity for any battlefield or night-hunt, with one sole exception: he had supervised the births of both his nephews by himself with little aid – his brother’s wife hadn’t wanted anyone else to be present, possibly in an attempt to prematurely enter her grave, possibly just out of spite. He had studied very hard in the days leading up to those births, and knew far more on the subject than most men did.

“It’s possible,” he said. “Unlikely, but – possible.”

He hesitated for a long moment.

“I can take the baby,” he finally said. “Pass him off as some war-orphan child of distant Lan cousins, sent to me on account of their deaths. I could raise him, or else give him to my cousin to raise; he’s got a large enough family that no one would question it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Lan Qiren looked at the woman who was dying, little more than a child herself. “Because of the children I can’t help.”

The old woman was quiet for a little while.

“Very well,” she said, and leaned forward to whisper the name the young woman had thought about for her child into his ear. “That works with Lan as a surname, wouldn’t it? That’s not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Lan Qiren agreed, and rolled up his sleeves, settling down beside the girl. “Not bad at all.”

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan qiren #original characters #my fic #my fics #children's day #some untamed elements

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lemonlushff-iy · 4 years

Photo

Do you want to play a game?

You do? Good.

You know how these games work if you’ve ever seen one of Clearwillow’s...but game rules are HERE since it’s slightly different! I hope this is fun for people...that was my goal! And I hope you catch the “Easter Eggs” in it. I’m curious how many people will find them all.

I’ll post everything once it’s done on FFN and AO3, and you can catch what I’m doing for @clearwillow‘s game early on my Patreon HERE! (It might be more smut...It might be fluff. WHO KNOWS! It will be OLR related...and it will go up as soon as it’s finished!)

Special thanks to @underwater0phelia for kink help and @clearwillow for additional edits...and the IYFF BC for brainstorming! Art by @clearwillow for @eringobroke - used and edited with permission.

And now without further ado... The first treat (aka, the “freebie”).

Starting Fires

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the Inuyasha universe.

"Inuyasha, stop," Kagome giggled, trying to wriggle out of his hold as he pressed wet kisses up her neck. "I don't want to burn your bacon…"

"It's just bacon," he reasoned, his hands sliding up under her shirt. Or should he say his shirt? Fuck...there wasn't a better sight in the world than his best friend...his best girl...Kagome...Wearing his shirt in their kitchen in their house. Now that he had her again, he weren't never letting go of her. "I don't mind eating something else for breakfast."

"You will when your stomach is rumbling later," she blushed, grabbing his hands and pulling them down, his fingers grazing over the lace fabric of her panties. "Behave yourself and go grab a cup of coffee."

"I'd rather grab your—"

"—Coffee!"

She reprimanded, flipping the bacon in the pan. He placed a gentle nip to the side of her neck before moving away from her, a disappointed pout on his lips.

"Fine. But let it be known that I'm doing it under protest," he grumbled, moving to his cabinet to pull out a mug.

"Your protest has been duly noted, Sir," she teased, turning away from the stove to pick up her own cup of coffee. She brought it to her lips, sipping from it as she watched Inuyasha pour himself some. Their life together felt so surreal still. It felt strange to wake up in their house and cook them breakfast.

But it was a good kind of surreal.

The kind where she found herself pinching her arm to make sure it wasn't all some crazy dream. This was their life. And...she loved it.

"Mmm," he moaned, taking a sip from his cup. "As good as ever, Kags," he grinned toothily, and she risked entering his personal space to press another kiss to his lips.

"Glad you like it," she replied, running away from him again when he moved to squeeze her ass. She removed their bacon and eggs from the pan as a text message chimed on both of their phones, and Inuyasha raised a brow in curiosity. She watched him slide his thumb across the screen, before muttering out a low "Huh" as he read the text.

"What is it?" she asked, picking up their plates and placing them onto the island.

"See for yourself," he shrugged, placing the phone down next to her plate. "It's from Sango."

That already piqued her curiosity. Kagome picked up the phone, leaning over the countertop as she read it.

"Hey Guys!" She began aloud. "Miroku and I decided to throw a Halloween party this year. We know it's a bit last minute, but we were hoping you guys could come since you aren't heading back out to California like you thought. Let us know if you can make it! Trying to plan in terms of food. Love you!"

"Love you too," he grinned, and she couldn't stop the shy smile even if she wanted to. She didn't think she would ever get tired of hearing that again from him. The words were like a balm to her soul.

"What do you think?" Kagome asked, handing him his phone back as he began digging his fork into his eggs.

"Up to you," he shrugged. He really didn't care either way. He was just glad he didn't have to go out to California with her. Though, to tell the truth, he wouldn't have minded. They could have had a night in...just the two of them...And he was always a fan of nights in with her. But..."We can go. I know you wanna…"

It was true too. He had seen the way her eyes lit up when she was reading that message. The way she was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Kagome didn't want to spend the night in. She wanted to spend her first Halloween back in Montana at a party with old friends.

"But...You...Don't?"

He shrugged.

"Don't matter either way. I'm fine going. I'm fine staying home and fucking ya seven ways from Sunday."

"Yash!"

"What! It's tha truth," he replied with a smirk. "And you can't tell me ya don't like the sound of it," he continued, running his tongue over his fangs. The cute little blush he pulled from her was worth it.

"Well...How about a compromise?"

He paused, lifting his brow in curiosity.

"Go on…"

"What if we went to the party...Just for an hour or two...and then afterward we can come home and have sex? Oh! We can even wear couple's costumes again!"

The phrase couples costume made his butt clench so tight he could probably twist off a beer cap with his cheeks.

"I'll agree to go to the party...but not the couple's costume."

"But Yash," she whined, coming around the island to take his hands. "That's part of the fun…"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll wear something slutty?"

"N—" He began, ready to tell her no again when his brain processed her offer. "Keep talking."

"I'll wear something slutty and sexy?"

"...Uh-huh...And what else?"

"...And you get to take it off of me?"

He almost said yes...but he was a greedy fucker. He was probably gonna take it off of her even if she hadn't offered that.

"Do I get to do more than that?"

"You mean other than wear a matching outfit?"

"I do."

"Well," she began, tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips in thought. "I'm assuming that sex is a given…"

"But you can say it anyway, and make it interesting," he shrugged. If he was going to get roped into this...because he was going to say yes, because he loved her...then he wanted to squeeze as much as he could out of this.

"Ok...If you do it, sex is on the table...and I'll also add you picking the place and position," she decided, causing his eyes to light up.

Place and position huh?

"Well...In that case Darling, you've got yourself a deal!"

Her childlike squeal and the way she giddily clapped her hands, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, made him feel like he made the right decision.

"Now let's talk costumes…"

He groaned, shaking his head and digging his fork into the eggs on his plate.

Then again...Maybe not…

He let her prattle on for a while, running different ideas past him...But he knew that it ultimately wouldn't matter. He was going to give in to whatever she wanted. If she wanted him to go as a hot dog, and she was going to be a bottle of mustard? That was what was going to happen. Wasn't sure how she could make it sexy...but sure. Her call. Prince and Princess? No fighting it. Batman and Catwoman…

It had piqued his interest, but she almost instantly changed her mind. The cowl would be uncomfortable for his ears.

So, she decided on a fireman and a dalmatian. He looked over at her phone when she held up a picture of the costume she had found for him and sighed.

"That's what you want?"

It didn't look too bad. And it looked like he could maybe get away with just wearing the pants. He was going to have to be sneaky about it though...He could do just a t-shirt and those pants.

"Please?" she beseeched, batting her long lashes at him. "It will be so cute! And you'll look so good!"

He tilted his head to the side, and she chewed the inside of his lip as she watched him roll her suggestion around in his head. She really liked the fireman outfit. She thought it would be fun! And he would look good in it too...She could already picture him slowly taking off the jacket to reveal his bare torso...the suspenders holding up his pants hanging limply at the sides as he slowly peeled himself out of—

"—What are you thinking about Kagome?"

She looked up at his face and saw him looking at her, a smirk stretching his lips as he limply held the phone, leaning down across the island.

"N-nothing," she blushed, swiping out to grab the phone from him, but he pulled it away from her at the last second.

"Nu-uh. I can smell it when you're lying…and I can smell it when you're—"

"—NOTHING!"

She insisted, grabbing the phone from him this time, and his grin turned predatory.

"Ain't nothing, or you wouldn't be smelling like that," he countered cheekily before his gaze began to darken. "Ya know...You don't have to keep that bottled up…"

"Inuyasha," she warned as he straightened, running his carefully filed and declawed fingers along the island countertop as he slowly came around to her side.

He was ignoring her, however.

"Kagome," he replied, closing in on her in just a few short strides. "Were you thinking about me in that fireman outfit?"

Sometimes she swore he could read her mind.

"N-no…"

"Liar," he purred, placing his hands onto the granite top on either side of her hips. He had effectively trapped her...and he was looking at her like prey.

It made her swallow because her mouth was suddenly dry. And made her lower abdomen heat. The intensity and desire in his gaze...the slight glint of fang in the morning light…

Fucking hell...She wanted to be his prey. Wanted to be captured and eaten and...eaten…

He inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lowly moaned, "Fuck Kags…"

"W-what," she swallowed, and his smirk widened into a fangy grin before his lips crashed into hers.

AN:

I WILL ONLY DO THIS WALL OF TAGS ONCE! All future treats will be completely hidden under cuts so I don’t spam everyone’s timeline with in your face kink!

@clearwillow, @keichanz, @dangerouspompadour, @nartista, @kaze-ranna, @superpixie42, @sticky-llama-perfection, @pinkpigeonstudio, @mcornilliac, @itzatakahashi, @zelink-inukag, @juliatheanimelover7, @i-dream-of-soup, @smmahamazing, @the-lucky-ones311, @cyncyn981, @animemomma96, @ayari17, @underwater0phelia, @sailorbabydoll92, @l-taisho29, @animelove1313, @littlemissinukag, @gofoulpuppycollector, @umacaking, @chanin29, @willowandfog, @lebiishoujo, @theinuyashareader, @bluejay785, @irrationalandimpossible, @cstorm86, @ruddcatha, @desiree239, @littledaisy91, @liz8080, @cannibalsforbreakfast, @horriblehowl, @arcprz, @daisy-st-pati3nce, @senneth-pendra, @nsr0716, @eringobroke, @kagometaishostory, @thisshipisbananahs, @sunsetskys, @ajoy3fanfics, @sangoslays, @v0dka-cat, @cloudsz04, @lavendertwilight89, @yurawiththegoodhair, @saturnsilence, @lavaffair, @blairex, @fawn-eyed-girl, @fandomobsessions016, @neutronstarchild, @preciouslyours, @kalsies, @shnuggletea, @ladyphoenix0711, @littlestuffstohide

See you at 500 notes!!

#olr halloween game #lemon's reblog smut game #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inuyasha #inukag #DAMNIT CARRA #Ode to Carra #Clearwillow #rancher #cattle rancher #western #romance #angst #one last ride #lemonlushff

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years

Text

Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!

for @theamazingbard (:

Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.

He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.

Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.

He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.

As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.

No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.

Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.

Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.

“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

Geralt squints. “I...guess?”

“Oh, thank you!”

Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.

“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.

There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.

Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”

Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.

Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”

“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.

“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”

“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.

Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”

“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.

Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.

He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.

Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”

Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.

Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.

In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.

Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.

Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!

Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.

She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.

Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.

Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.

When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?

It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D

Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?

He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.

Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.

There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.

His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.

He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.

Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.

They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.

Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.

Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.

Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.

His phone pings with a text. Outside!

Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.

Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.

Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”

Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.

Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.

Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”

“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”

Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”

Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.

Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?

As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.

Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.

He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.

When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.

He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.

Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.

“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.

A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.

Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.

When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.

Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.

Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.

Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.

“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.

Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”

Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.

Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.

Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.

Maybe Geralt’s just shy.

Well. Jaskier can work with that

Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.

Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.

Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.

The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.

Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.

But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.

Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.

Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.

He lets himself focus on that a while.

Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.

He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”

Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.

The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.

“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.

When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.

He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.

Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.

The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says.

Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”

Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.

“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.

“You love us,” Lambert says.

“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.

Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.

“What?” Geralt demands.

“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”

Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.

“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.

Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”

Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”

“What?”

“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”

Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”

“Fuck off.”

It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.

A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.

As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.

Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.

His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.

Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.

Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.

Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.

Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.

Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.

Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.

He walks up the door and knocks.

He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”

Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”

“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”

Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”

“That I’m a vampire!”

“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.

Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.

“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”

Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”

Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”

Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #contemplative writing #vampire! geralt

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