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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

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Murtagh on the Ridge AU

An alternate universe in which Murtagh survived Culloden and joined the others at Fraser’s Ridge

*listed in chronological order: Claire’s return; first Christmas after Claire’s return; Company Part 1; Company Part 2; Bree’s arrival; Jem’s birth; a skunk on the ridge

For anyone having difficulties with how the formatting on the original post is showing up (replying to the prompt from @just-a-zombie-killing-ninja) here it is again. Fingers crossed this one doesn’t duplicate the text or throw the Keep Reading break in weird places, lol. ~ Mod Lenny

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The Rescue

Murtagh kept to the shadows, his joints screaming in pain from staying crouched so long. He was too terrified to move or risk making any noise that the men at their makeshift camp might hear. It had been more painful to watch Claire as she fought against them and made her ill-advised escape attempt, watch them strike her and tie her up, watch her as she got one of them alone enough to whisper the pleas he knew she told herself were at least worth trying.

But it had been too open, too exposed to be able to do anything rash – he was on his own, after all.

Still, he hoped that she could sense him nearby, that she would hold on to hope a little longer. Jamie would be after them all by now. He had to be. All Murtagh had to do was watch and wait for an opportunity, to do what he could to keep Claire alive for when reinforcements would arrive.

He had heard the explosion at the still but he hadn’t been close enough to the house to join the others in what must have been a mad rush to reach it and limit the damage. He’d been on one of the therapeutic walks Claire prescribed to help him since his injury during the damned Regulator skirmish. It had hurt to breathe for the longest time and he still grew winded easily. Damned lucky they’d brought him to Claire when they did – just as his lung collapsed. She’d saved his life that day. He owed it to her now to use the gift she’d given to return the favor.

It was getting darker and the men were gathered round the fire eating and drinking in celebration of their cunning and successful capture of Claire. Murtagh ground his teeth at their arrogance and shamelessness - to glory in attacking two women and an injured man, one of those women with child no less. He hoped Marsali was alright, had given Germain what instructions he could for when Jamie or anyone else returned. No, there was nothing to be proud about in what these men had done or planned to do.

They were moving Claire away from the circle, to a tree a little ways outside the light cast by their fire. The man talked to her, his hair long and unkempt. He didn’t appear to be threatening her - looked like he’d loosened the gag in her mouth so she could drink and reply. Still, Murtagh’s hand went to one of several blades he’d grabbed on his way out of the surgery - some of them were Claire’s scalpels.

If the man made a move against Claire, Murtagh would attack - quick and quiet if possible, hopefully leave the men thinking there was more than just one of him and buy himself and Jamie time for it to be true.

The man replaced the gag and returned to the fire with the others.

Claire was alone and considered sufficiently subdued. They’d stopped paying attention to her.

His moment had come.

Murtagh creeped closer, careful in how he distributed his weight, moving soundless until he was behind the tree and could take his blade to the ropes that bound Claire. She sensed him there and tensed, her breathing quickening with panic.

“It’s only me, lass. Keep still and quiet now,” he whispered, glad to feel the tension in the ropes sag as she relaxed. He moved quickly, freeing her hands so she could work on the knot binding her feet while he cut through the rope at her throat (would it leave a scar similar to the one Roger Mac bore?).

As soon as the gag was removed, Claire covered her mouth with her hands to muffle the sound of her sob of relief.

“Come lass. We must be quick and silent,” Murtagh warned, pulling her behind the tree before helping her into a low crouch. Claire winced and Murtagh’s chest tightened. She must be in a great deal of pain. “This way.”

He led them further into the dark trees before turning and circling around to the other side of the men’s camp, keeping that safe distance. It wouldn’t be long before Claire’s absence was noticed and Murtagh hoped they wouldn’t think to look on the far side of the camp from where they’d tied her up. He hoped the safest place for the two of them would be right under the noses of Claire’s captors. He hoped Jamie and whoever he had rounded up to help search for Claire weren’t too far behind.

Sure enough, a commotion soon broke out in the camp.

“Where’s the bitch gone?!” Lionel Brown shouted.

“The ropes’ve been cut,” another called after investigating the tree.

“He’s the last one was with her,” a finger pointed. “He must’ve let her loose.”

“I swear, I didn’t,” Wendigo protested.

Punches were thrown and scuffling broke out among the men before Lionel Brown fired a pistol in the air as a warning. Claire flinched under Murtagh’s arm where they hid behind a boulder.

“Find the bitch first!” Lionel ordered. “You, stay and keep watch. Everyone else, FIND HER.”

They only had a torch or two between them so it would be difficult if not impossible to follow any tracks Murtagh and Claire had left. The youngest of the group, Lionel Brown’s nephew, remained near the fire, kicking at the dirt and muttering about being left out.

When the noise of the searching men had died down, Murtagh squeezed Claire’s shoulder and nodded for them to continue on deeper into the woods away from where her abductors had vanished.

Progress was slow and awkward with nothing to light their way, but Murtagh was confident of the direction they needed to take to get back to the Ridge. Besides, it would be better for them to stay off the regular paths as those were certain to be the next place the men searched, especially believing Claire to be on her own.

“Thank you, Murtagh,” Claire whispered after they’d gone on for at least ten minutes. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“Hush lass,” he murmured. “Ye would have helped Jamie do the same for me or anyone else if we were taken.”

They left it at that for a while longer.

Then they heard the unmistakable sounds of men searching nearby and froze.

“Get down,” Murtagh instructed, pulling Claire to the ground behind a tree.

“They went this way!” a voice called in the darkness behind them but there was more noise ahead of them too.

Murtagh strained to see in the dark. He must’ve over corrected at some point, bent their path too much and circled back closer to the camp. Maybe the light of the torches had been enough to track them after all – they couldn’t move quickly with Claire’s injuries and both of them exhausted.

Just as he made out Lionel Brown’s face in the glow from an approaching torch (though he was sure that the party hadn’t yet spotted him and Claire), a loud, oscillating cry pierced the forest and confusion shot through Lionel Brown’s expression.

“Ian,” Claire murmured, her head rising to look behind them.

There was a flash from a pistol that struck the man bearing the second torch, causing him to drop it and then all hell broke loose around them. Murtagh pressed Claire to the ground again, shielding her with his body as he waited for the fighting to die down.

The clash of swords and flashes of gunfire were followed by the gasps of pain and cries of wounded men.

“Claire!” Jamie cried, barrelling through Lionel Brown’s men, his sword swinging from side to side like a thresher through wheat. “What have ye done wi’ my wife?!”

Several of the men quickly yielded, raising their hands in surrender, grateful to be spared. A few others had nothing to lose and went down fighting.

It was over in less than five minutes. The men of the Ridge rounded up their prisoners and bound them. Lionel Brown was kneeling at Jamie’s feet, clutching a gash on his arm. At least three of his men were dead though it looked like the men of the Ridge had only suffered minor injuries.

“WHERE is my wife?” Jamie asked, his sword at Lionel Brown’s throat.

“Jamie!” Claire called, as Murtagh helped her to her feet.

Ian stepped forward, tomahawk in hand to keep Lionel Brown down while Jamie turned and ran to Claire, wrapping her in his arms.

Murtagh emerged to satisfied smiles and nods from Fergus and the others.

“Did they hurt ye, Claire?” Jamie asked, his tone laced with fury looking to be unleashed. Several of Brown’s men trembled. “Did they… violate ye?”

Claire shook her head, leaning into Jamie’s chest. “Murtagh freed me and got me away before they could,” she told him.

“Thank ye, a ghosted,” Jamie said with tears in his eyes.

Murtagh just nodded.

“And the lot of you should thank him too,” Jamie said to the captured men. “Ye’ll be brought to Wilmington to be tried for yer crimes. If more harm had come to my wife… ye’d be makin’ yer final peace now.”

Several of the men blanched. Lionel Brown smirked and spat at Jamie’s feet.

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Lionel Brown and two others were hanged several weeks later, having been found guilty of murder (poor Geordie who’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time), attempted murder (Marsali and the child she carried were both fine and Claire’s injuries were healing nicely too), kidnapping and destruction of property. The others in Brown’s band were branded for the lesser crimes they’d pled guilty to and imprisoned or banished from North Carolina. Two of the men had been given more lenient sentences for providing testimony against the other conspirators.

One of them, Wendigo, was happy to be banished. Ian and Murtagh agreed to escort him from the colony. Claire had given him a piece of the broken opal and told him she hoped the stones left him trapped in that space between. They would never know whether he made it out the other side but Ian and Murtagh confirmed the man had vanished.

Richard Brown attended his brother’s trial, alternating his glares between Jamie and the brother who believed himself immune from consequence. He resented Jamie for not turning the men over to his unofficial policing force, but also knew that going to the governor’s men had ensured that force – and Richard Brown himself – wasn’t caught up in the legal mess. Lionel Brown had recruited and acted without his brother’s knowledge or authority.

It was a stalemate for the time being – one both sides were happy to take advantage of to rest and heal.

#;mod lenny #murtagh on the ridge au #featuring: murtagh #featuring: richard brown #featuring: lionel brown #CANON DIVERGENCE

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years

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Untamed Spring Fest - Day 12: Rebirth

3,625 Words

Post-Canon; Lan Xichen leaves seclusion, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji persuade him to talk to them. POV Lan Xichen; Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, established Wangxian, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi appear briefly; hurt/comfort, angst, happy/hopeful ending

His life before seemed like nothing but a distant dream. The hurt, the shame, the grief had faded, had left scars, but had faded.

A part of him wanted to stay, if only to avoid giving in to the other part of him that wanted to leave. Who was he to decide his repentance was done? That he had done enough to make up for his role - his central role - in letting such a dangerous person make so many critical and deadly decisions? He should have been the person best placed to notice when one sworn brother plotted to kill another. But instead, he’d been ignorant. What use could he be to his clan, his world if he couldn’t even identify a murderer sitting smiling across from him, sipping tea?

He knew it was leave now or leave never - now, or he would pass the point where he could avoid the temptation to stay here forever, to - like his father - abandon the world despite his remaining responsibilities to the clan.

But was he even someone to be trusted with such responsibilities? His brother had been right, had fought and suffered to protect the innocent, had challenged the assumptions and traditions that had left so many in danger. And Wangji’s punishment had been so much more severe than the peaceful if lonely existence Lan Xichen had lived for… he had no idea how long he had been in seclusion if he was quite honest. It could be months, years, decades… what was time when you had no previous life you wanted to revisit? No future to look forward to?

In the end, it was a new shame, an old memory of Wangji, emerging from the fog of his subconsciousness - which occupied more and more of his mind as his time in seclusion went on - which made him decide he would leave now, not never.

Why are we not visiting mother?

She has gone away.

For how long?

Forever.

What about father?

He has gone away too.

For how long?

I don’t know.

You are not going away?

No. I am not.

So I still have you?

Wangji, I will always be here for you. We are the Twin Jades, not to be parted.

But he had made that too, into a lie. Knowing how heavily their mother’s death, their father’s seclusion, Wei Wuxian’s death and Lan Wangji’s own seclusion weighed on his brother, Lan Xichen had still abandoned him, adding to his brother’s burdens to bear.

Even in his darkest moments, when Xichen had wondered whether he could be trusted to trust anyone, his body had reflexively rejected the idea of not trusting Wangji. Each time one of these thoughts had crossed his mind, he had clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood. Even now, he wasn’t sure whether this reaction was because the idea of not trusting Wangji was ridiculous or because if he began to doubt his brother, he would lose all tethers to himself and so rejected the thought out of some remaining sense of self preservation.

Wangji was his only anchor. And even now, looking at the depressions in his palm, marks that would never go away, he felt guilty for even having allowed the thought of distrusting his brother into his head.

He had broken his promise from so long ago, a promise that, as long as lived, he should have been able to keep. The least he could do now, after what he had put Wangji through, after what Wangji had gone through, after trusting his own faulty judgment over his brother’s, was to make sure he did no more harm, broke his own promise no further.

And so, Lan Xichen left seclusion.

He blinked at the world outside. If his life before seclusion seemed like a dream, emerging from seclusion felt like waking from a coma.

It was disorienting. He didn’t know when it was, where anyone was, what was happening, it occurred to him for the first time to wonder how the Cloud Recesses had fared in his absence. As he had learned all too well, the end of a war never meant the end of hardship.

At least the back hill had never really changed - even when his home had burned (and he had fled, hand in hand with a monster), this sacred place had thankfully remained untouched.

The first sign of any life beyond his own was the sound of quiet chatter somewhere up the path - where the rabbits lived, Lan Xichen assumed.

He reached the first rabbit far sooner than he expected. This was odd, as the shy creatures generally didn’t wander too far from their family. He picked the small furry ball up, and it snuggled into his arm. He smiled - this was the first touch he had felt since (an arm lying bloody on the ground, a frantic search for treatment, for something to stop the other man’s pain, the bleeding, things happened so fast, and he was shoved away), well, the first touch he had felt in a long time.

He thought it would be farther to the rest of the colony, but he soon realized the little one in his arms hadn’t been as far away as he’d thought. The colony had expanded. A lot. Still, he did not put the rabbit down. There was a comfort to its weight that grounded Lan Xichen here, now.

He did not have to go much further before he reached the source of the chatter. A group of white clad disciples. They all had their backs turned, facing the herd, but by their size and the way they carried themselves, even while hunched over, Lan Xichen reasoned that they must be Senior disciples. Xichen knew that none were his brother, who he would have been able to recognize even from behind. He wasn’t sure whether he was disappointed or relieved. He chanced another step, willing the disciples to turn and notice him. He did not want to be the first voice he heard after all this time. He noticed a dry twig not too far in front of him. He took another step forward, rolling his foot carefully from heel to toe over the stick, successfully making it snap noticeably, but not loudly enough to put him in breach of Lan Clan rules so soon.

The disciples jumped, and Lan Xichen almost did too as the familiar, but decidedly older faces of Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, as well as several other Juniors - no, these were Seniors now - turned to face him.

Sizhui was the first to react, since Xichen was generous enough not to count Jingyi’s “Ah!” as he fell out of his crouch and onto the ground as a true reaction to his presence. Sizhui rose, eyes wide as he bowed to Xichen, “Clan Leader Lan,” he greeted him, “It is good to see you.”

I was part of the reason your birth clan was wiped out. But Xichen smiled, his default expression coming back to him easily even after so long, “Is Wangji around?” he asked, keeping his tone casual, as if emerging from seclusion after an undefined but clearly, by the look of the disciples, lengthy amount of time was a common phenomenon.

Sizhui exchanged a glance with Jingyi, who was still on the ground, not even trying to close his wide-open mouth. At least some things never changed, Xichen mused, smiling at the thought.

“Yes. You are just in time actually. He should be in the Jingshi - he just got back from Yunmeng.” Sizhui had apparently decided if Lan Xichen was going to treat this as normal, he would too.

“Could you… take me to him?” Xichen asked. He knew the way, of course, but he thought he might be able to bear any inquisitive eyes more easily if he had someone by his side.

“Of course, Clan Leader.” Sizhui bowed again, “Would you… would you like to leave him here, or take him with us?” Sizhui asked, pointing at the rabbit. Xichen had almost forgotten was in his arms.

“I think I will take him with me.” Xichen said, not yet wanting to abandon his new companion.

Sizhui nodded, and with one last glance a Jingyi, who shrugged, the two left for the residence halls of the Cloud Recesses.

Xichen was stabbed with another pang of guilt as he heard the voice coming from the Jingshi. “Lan Zhan, what did you even eat in Yunmeng if even this soup is too spicy for you? I spent all day trying to make it as bland as possible.”

“You did not spend all day on this,” said the voice that had brought him out of seclusion, the voice of his brother. Xichen felt his heart clench at the sound, at the hint of a teasing tone in his voice. Wangji sounded so happy.

If he had not brought Sizhui with him, he might have lost his nerve right there, and tried to return the way he came. His brother was ok without him - happy, even. Who was he to interrupt that?

But Sizhui had already knocked on the door. Lan Xichen stroked the rabbit’s head nervously, shifting to the side so that the younger man would be the first one seen when the door opened.

“I’ll get it!” the louder of the two occupants shouted, never one to think twice about the Lan Clan rules before reacting. The other occupant seemed to take the interruption of their soup conversation as an invitation to begin playing the guqin.

“Thank you, Sizhui.” Xichen whispered.

“My fathers will be so happy to see you.” Came the reply, with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

My fathers. Xichen was glad to hear the words fall so naturally from the boy’s mouth. Things had changed while he was in seclusion. For the better in this case at least, it seemed.

The doors slid open.

“Sizhui! What a…!” Wei Wuxian’s energetic greeting was cut off as he saw the second person standing by the door. The black-robed man’s gaze flickered down to the rabbit, but quickly back to his guest’s face.

“Wei Wuxian. I am glad to see you are well.” At the sound of Lan Xichen’s gentle voice, the guqin cut out abruptly. While Xichen could not see the part of the Jingshi where the guqin was located, he heard the flutter of cloth that told him his brother had stood up.

Wei Wuxian pulled Lan Xichen into the room, the latter still hugging the small rabbit. Sizhui followed. “Lan Zhan, look who it is!” Wei Wuxian indicated, although Wangji already knew very well who it was. Wangji was already facing his brother, his blink, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the barely open mouth denoted his surprise better than any words might.

“Xichen.”

“Wangji.”

The silence that followed was finally broken by Sizhui, who offered to go get some tea for everyone.

“Good idea Sizhui.” Wei Wuxian was still smiling, but his voice had acquired the tone reserved for situations he felt were worthy of his full attention. Wei Wuxian sat at the table, indicating that Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji should join him. The Twin Jades complied, Xichen sitting gently so as not to disturb the rabbit, which had fallen asleep. Lan Xichen noted that Wei Wuxian seemed quite at home in the Jingshi.

What was Wei Wuxian to his brother now? His brother’s… boyfriend? Husband? Lan Xichen wasn’t sure how much had happened since the Guanyin Temple, but after seeing how long these two were able to draw out the process of finally acknowledging their attraction to each other, he didn’t know whether to expect that they’d moved quickly since then, or if they’d continued at their snail’s pace approach to acknowledging their deepening relationship. Looking at the openly worried look Wei Wuxian sent his brother’s way, and, even more meaningfully, the reassuring smile Lan Wangji returned, Xichen was reminded more of a loving, married couple rather than the nervous new couple he had feared they might still be.

It was quiet until Sizhui returned with the tea. After placing the tray down and pouring a cup for each of three men, Sizhui said, “I will excuse myself.” He bowed and backed out of the room, seeming to understand that whatever this first conversation was, it was not going to be the kind of family reunion that he should be involved in.

The Jingshi continued to live up to its name. Wei Wuxian watched Lan Wangji, who stared at his brother, who was focused on his tea.

“Wangji…” Xichen started, still not looking up, “I am sorry. I have been… irresponsible.” He didn’t dare to look up, since any reaction on his brother’s face would likely render him unable to keep talking, “You seem well. The Cloud Recesses seem well. I am sorry you had to do this alone.”

“I am not alone.” From anyone else, this would have been a rude interruption. But from Wangji, Xichen knew it was a gentle factual correction, and moreover, one intended to reassure.

Xichen looked up towards Wei Wuxian, an easier step than meeting his brother’s eyes. It took more effort than usual, but Xichen was able to form what he hoped looked like one of his gentler smiles, “Yes. I can see that.” Wei Wuxian returned the Clan Leader’s gaze, expression neutral, waiting to see how Lan Xichen would react. Xichen went on, “I am glad you seem to have found a way to be together, here.”

Wei Wuxian relaxed at these words, his characteristic smirk emerging on his face, “Old Qiren needed a bit of convincing, but our love won him over in the end.” He batted his eyes in an exaggerated way at Wangji. While still not able to look directly at him, Lan Xichen could just tell that Wangji would be rolling his eyes at this behaviour. Wei Wuxian turned back to Xichen, “He couldn’t really say no after we eloped, now could he?” Wei Wuxian reached for his… his husband’s hand. Lan Xichen laughed aloud. Of course those two would do something as dramatic as that.

“I’m happy to hear it.” Lan Xichen smiled.

“Xichen.” Wangji’s even tone re-centred the conversation on the real news that day, “You have returned.”

His husband and his brother, the only two men in the world who could have done so, detected the faint pleading note in Wangji’s plain statement. Lan Xichen couldn’t help but turn to his little brother, “I am,” he said, just as simply.

Wangji and his husband exchanged a look that told Xichen he would not be let off that easily.

“Zewu-Jun,” Wei Wuxian ventured gently, “You have been in seclusion for seven years. We should talk about that.”

“Has it been that long?” Xichen replied vaguely, “I suppose that seems right…” The number was jarring, to be sure, but nothing next to his father’s life long seclusion, or Wangji’s 16 years of recovery and searching for the man who now sat next to him. The Juniors’ aging certainly fit that timeline.

“Xichen.” His brother’s voice again. He had gotten lost in thought, unused to the ebb and flow of conversation, “How are you?”

An interesting question, to be sure. One Xichen didn’t quite know the answer to. He was happy everyone else was doing well, he was certainly glad to see sunlight, to sip tea with his brother again, but there was something about all this that felt off. This life he was trying to return to - to him it felt like returning to a dream, one that had ended as a nightmare, but had seemed to move along perfectly pleasantly without him.

Something dropped on the back of his hand, the one still petting the rabbit. He looked down. Had he somehow spilled some tea? But it was not hot…

“Xichen.” Wangji’s voice was even softer this time and Xichen looked up to him, surprised to find the image blurred. More drops on his hand. He was crying.

He set his cup of tea down and smoothly wiped the tears out from under his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, really.”

“Clearly.” Wei Wuxian said, sarcastically, but not unkindly.

Lan Xichen attempted a smile, but it was too watery to come across as stable as he wanted it to, “It will be… difficult… to adjust, I am sure. I am only sorry to not have come back sooner, to have avoided my responsibilities as Clan Leader for so long.”

“I missed you because you are my brother, not because you are my Clan Leader.” Wangji said bluntly.

Lan Xichen’s expression turned to a smile, unintentionally for the first time in seven years.

“Wangji… thank you,” was all Xichen could manage. Then, after a moment of collecting his thoughts, “I am sorry, even if you have coped very well, you have suffered so much because of me.”

At Wangji’s confused expression, Xichen went on, needing to air all of this out now, or he felt it would slowly destroy him from within. “You have been without me, without a Clan Leader. Even though you and Uncle are very capable, I should have been there. Especially,” he sighed, looking down to the rabbit, “especially since so much of what you must have had to deal with was because of me to begin with.”

“Zewu-“ Wei Wuxian tried to interrupt, but Lan Xichen raised a hand, asking for, and receiving, the space to explain.

“Wei Wuxian, you too deserve my deepest apologies. I trust my brother, trust his judgment, and yet, despite everything he told me about you, telling me that I should trust you, that A-“ he cut himself off from using a term that felt too affectionate, even if the alternative felt unnatural “that Jin… Guangyao was behind so much of this.”

Wei Wuxian was the first to answer, shaking his head and resting his cheek on one hand, “You couldn’t have known. You wanted to investigate before passing judgment on an ally. From my perspective, that’s a rare and valuable instinct to have.”

Lan Xichen swallowed, and nodded, still not looking up.

“You miss him.” Both Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji in surprise. “Wh-“ Wei Wuxian started, before a sharp look from his husband made him think better of whatever he had been about to say.

Lan Xichen picked the cup up again, tapping nervously at the edge, “I should not. He was a… a monster.”

“Should has nothing to do with it,” was his brother’s immediate response, “He was dear to you. You lost him. You miss him.”

“Perhaps, but…” his eyes welled up with tears again, “he is dead because of me. I killed him.”

“No, you didn’t,” Wei Wuxian said, sitting up and leaning forward across the table, “In that moment you were about as in control of your actions as a puppet.” Wei Wuxian’s harsh gaze dared Xichen to contradict him, to argue that a puppet, or that someone manipulated by another, should take the blame for the outcome.

“Besides,” Wei Wuxian went on, more casually, “I still think, even after everything that happened, I think he really did care about you. He was a…” he looked to Wangji, perhaps thinking back to other conversations the spouses had shared over the years, “complicated man.” Wei Wuxian finished simply.

“He was a monster.” Xichen repeated this fact, one that had echoed in his mind for the last seven years.

“He did monstrous things, for sure, but I don’t think he, or anyone else, is as simple as that, do you?”

Lan Xichen looked up in confusion. Was Wei Wuxian of all people trying to excuse A-Yao’s actions?

“Don’t get me wrong,” Wei Wuxian had understood Xichen’s expression, “I despise the man. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself if you feel more than that.”

Xichen nodded, “Thank you,” he said, then after considering what Wei Wuxian said for a moment, “Could he have been helped? Redeemed even, if I had not stabbed him then?”

A deep sigh from Wei Wuxian, “I told you not to blame yourself for that. That was not your fault. But anyway…”

“He is gone, Xichen. We will never know whether he could have been redeemed.” Wangji was firm, leaving no room for protest.

Xichen frowned, “I am just… sorry that it was my hand that made any hope of redemption impossible.”

“I doubt even he would blame you for that. He’d dug himself into a hole by that point. He might have preferred to die by the hand of someone he knew than by some anonymous executioner, or by wasting away in prison.” Wei Wuxian’s grim expression turned to a grin, “And if it makes you feel better, I’m sure he understood that it was an accident. And hell, I’m still on pretty good terms with people who have stabbed me on purpose.”

“Wei Ying!” his husband scolded.

Wei Wuxian laughed, and despite the uncouth nature of his joke, Lan Xichen couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Sorry, sorry!” Wei Wuxian shrugged, still laughing, “It’s still true though. And you’re not exactly someone hard to forgive.” Unlike me was the unspoken tail end of that. Wangji touched his husband’s shoulder gently.

“We forgive you. We care about you. You are not ok. That’s ok. But you will be.” Wangji summarized.

And he was right. Lan Xichen would be ok. With the help, love, and forgiveness of his family and his clan, the world went on, as it always had, and as it always would.

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #cql #lan xichen #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wow this ended up so much longer than I expected #I just want to see everyone recovered and happy :(#my writing

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mrwinterr · 4 years

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Death of Me (Chase Collins x Dark!Witch!Female Reader) - Part 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Chase Collins x Dark!Witch!Female Reader

Summary: The reader is addicted to the idea of love and Chase is addicted to the idea of ultimate power – both can help each other out.

Warnings: Movie spoilers for The Covenant (2006) and The Love Witch (2016). Supernatural elements [witchcraft], dark themes [mentions of death and really bad people] and smut [18+ only please].

Disclaimer: This story contains dialogue, characters and references taken from both films. It essentially follows the plot of The Covenant with a reader insert. The reader is loosely based on the main character of The Love Witch. I take no credit for any of those elements used. They belong to the creators of the films. I just wanted to try my hand at having these worlds crossover.

Title Inspiration: “Death of Me” by New Politics

A/N: I don’t know who still reads Chase Collins fanfics, but I wanted to get this one out. This will have multiple parts. Comments, likes and reblogs are all appreciated! Enjoy!

Now entering the town of Ipswich.

It’s a bit dreary, but that didn’t bother you. It always appeared as if a dark cloud followed you. Miles and miles away from the city you last called home, driven away by another failed attempt at a relationship – you were no stranger to those – was becoming somewhat of a routine for you.

The earliest unsuccessful relationship of yours recorded was with your parents. They were hardly a part of your life to begin. It wasn’t like you didn’t try at building one with them; they were the ones that didn’t. You might as well had been invisible to them. A parents’ love was the first kind of love one was supposed to encounter, and it was to be unconditional. They simply didn’t care for their own daughter and it hurt you. Maybe if they showed you any ounce of love or what it was really like perhaps you wouldn’t be so obsessed over trying to understand it. Ironically for two individuals who expressed no love at all, you had so much of it. It was just the matter of finding the right person to give it to.

For as long as you could remember, you’d been fending for your own. So, the first thing you did when you managed to save enough money, you packed up and left your parents. The next city was supposed to your second chance, but you were so young. You hadn’t even begun to plan your own future. Hell, you were living in the car you’d purchased on your own by accepting countless odd jobs and getting paid under the table. For a few months, you had waitressed at a small restaurant, where a group of interesting people, to say the least, caught your attention.

They were regulars to the eatery and had been watching you with a purpose. They could smell you were somewhat of a troubled youth that needed guidance. They welcomed you to their inner circle and soon into their coven. Yup, they were witches and surprisingly that didn’t bother you about them. They were good people to you. You owed it to whoever these people worshiped because they helped provide you an education, shelter, food and lessons in magic – practicing spells and concocting potions – and even more so in taking back control of your own life. This was now your family. You finally felt a sense of belonging with this group.

None of them had any actual internal powers, but they each individually excelled in different aspects of the craft. They taught you how to focus on concentrating energy, using your magic, to gain results; if you could achieve that you’d be the one in control, and essentially have power over the subject. You also learned that there were different types of witches – ones that were made into witches and ones born as witches. You had never known to encounter one that was born into a bloodline, but you had been warned that they would be much stronger than you, so that alone motivated you in perfecting the craft should one come to you as a threat.

You became enamored by witchcraft. You felt reborn through it. In a sense, it saved you. On top of that, you had nothing to lose, so why not sell your soul, right? While you certainly felt loved by the witches, you still yearned for a different type of love.

The first failed relationship in which you were intimately involved in was with a guy your age at the time. Looking back at it, you can’t help but to laugh. Oh boy, what a mistake that was.

With the help of your newfound family, you were able to enroll into the local high school. Unwanted attention came with the territory of being the new girl and you were no exception to one of the most sought-after guys in your class. The next thing you knew, you were losing your virginity to him then only for him to leave you the following day. At that tender age, you thought you loved him, and you wanted him to love you. This is why it was comical. What did you know about love at 16 anyway? So impressionable and so naive.

This was the first time you experimented with love spells and potions and he was your first victim. You had been warned about messing with love spells before, but what spell didn’t come without a warning? It seemed to work, but the more time you spent with him the less you wanted to. It turned out he wasn’t in any way what you wanted at all, an even bigger mess than you were portrayed...and maybe even loved you too much. At least that’s what was mentioned in his suicide note.

His death traumatized you for the first few months and the High Priestess decided it was best you continue elsewhere. Initially, that scared you because you thought they were kicking you out, but you were bonded to them and, with another warning about love spells, she assured you that there are plenty of their kind willing to take another in, you’d just have to be sworn in all over again.

As soon as you recovered a year later, with the immense support of your new coven, you were almost an adult and ready to find the one...the new one. And this one seemed to have it going for him. He was attractive, smart and respectable, but he just had too many feelings and it turned you off. He was a fucking pussy. You swore you could still hear his sobs ringing in your ears. You wanted to love a man, not care for a child. The mental institution he ended up being committed in would be able to give him that.

You moved on fairly quickly not wanting to be reminded of the previously failed conquest, however, you should’ve seen the next one coming, but, again, you were hopeful. Third time was not a charm, it was a tragedy. Two lost individuals, one with a broken past and the other battling with substance abuse, trying to find solace in each other was a recipe for disaster. His problems were soon becoming humdrum. As if you didn’t have any problems of your own to deal with, but who was ever there for you? He constantly ached and ached for you, begged for your help. Fucking clingy. You just couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse for him anymore. Long story short, he’s six feet under a makeshift grave. Metaphorically, he had dug it on his own a long time ago.

Determined to bounce back, you found yourself traveling to a quaint colonial town in Massachusetts. A member of your previous coven recommended Ipswich and believed you would find the one in your cards there. Not sure whether or not to believe them or if “the one” really existed and was waiting for you, the notion of having nothing to lose decided for you and made Ipswich your new destination.

You’re unloading box after box in your single dorm room, a special request you made so you could practice magic in peace, when someone pokes their head in the door you left opened. It was only open because you weren’t able to drag in some of the larger boxes inside yet and they must’ve spotted them.

“Need any help?” The deep voice causes you turn to the doorway, where a guy, who’s tall, no doubt athletic, a head full of dark hair, a hint of innocence surrounding him, greets you with a sweet smile.

“Um, yeah actually,” you reply with a smile to match the tone. You could carry your own, but why turn down the free labor and perhaps even a show. He was cute. That much you deduced from watching the way his body moved, the skin that peeked out from when his shirt would ride up as he bent down and lifted boxes of your belongings into your room.

“Oh! Please be careful with that one!” You warn seeing the box he was currently handling marked as fragile. It contained some of your bottles and they were practically sacred to you. He absorbs the warning and places the particular box gently aside.

“I’m Tyler by the way,” he says after setting the final box next to your feet and standing upright with a respectable amount of distance between you two. You introduce yourself and offer a now genuine smile. You didn’t want to fall victim to yet another nightmare of a relationship, but you kept thinking about what your fellow member told you – the one is in Ipswich and the one could be in front of you right now.

Tyler ends up staying a little longer as you expected that night and you let him. He had a presence you didn’t feel with towards the others. There was just a different kind of energy there.

The two of you were getting along just fine, but you decided to take it upon yourself for safe measures with him and sneak in a little something you made. You say to yourself maybe he’s worth a shot. And he was. You went on a couple of dates with Tyler, met his three closes friends Caleb, Pogue and Reid, but you wouldn’t consider yourself close with them; they just came with the territory. Yet that energy Tyler had around him kept haunting you.

You weren’t sure if you were losing your touch or had a typo in your spell book, but you began to notice the effects didn’t last long with him in particular. He was almost immune to it. The spells were designed to enhance qualities and features about the other person and if you noticed any trend in using love spells was that it showed one’s true self.

Tyler started to become dull to you, like there was no sense of excitement with him. Harsh, not even magic could help you. Afterall, you can’t work with what’s already there. He had his looks going for him, he was a nice boy, and he was certainly several steps above the others in bed, but he never challenged you and you began forgetting he was even in the same room as you. You could’ve sworn he was about to cry when you told him you wanted to just be friends, but he accepted it because he was whipped. No backbone whatsoever. Well, at least he was still alive.

His loss would’ve probably hit you a little different because he was still a sweet guy…and you didn’t need to be given a reason to leave Ipswich too soon. You were just getting started here. His friends didn’t even seem to hold anything against you, not that you really cared. You weren’t interested in going down the line of the Sons of Ipswich; a little history lesson you learned from Kate, Pogue’s girlfriend, whom you unwillingly also formed a friendship with by default. Apparently, these boys were a little prominent here descending from four of the five families that colonized the town. Besides, if Tyler was boring, you weren’t willing to get into the whole mama’s boy routine Caleb kept up with and Reid proved to be too obnoxious for your own taste.

A private school full of rich kids like Spencer Academy, there were bound to be more guys at your disposal. You internally praised the member of your coven for recommending Ipswich. Your conquest to find real love never wanders too far off, but why not have some fun along the way?

Lately, you kept to yourself in your dorm; biding by with your teenage life in regularly attending your classes, occasionally hanging out with Kate – shopping or listening to her rant about another one of Pogue’s jealousy episodes – show face at Nicky’s once in a while and of course practice magic. There was a party tonight near the woods and almost everyone who was anyone was going to be in attendance. You thought you could use a break after a long week.

You parked your car nearby a bunch of others and managed to spot Kate waving you down to join her. Next to her was someone you hadn’t seen before. Kate introduced her to you as Sarah, her new roommate this semester. She seemed nice. Being in her shoes not too long ago, you decided to try and make her feel welcomed.

“So, tell me. Who is who that’s here,” Sarah asks, loosening up and it’s nice to see a sense of normalcy in your life; making new friends and having a good time like a person your age should. There’s a sense of danger and risk being at this party with violating trespassing signs, a huge fire and lots and lots of drugs and alcohol with underaged teenagers.

“First things first. Him over there,” Kate starts pointing at a source of one of your disgust, “that’s Aaron Abbot. He’s a prick. He treats girls like shit; just ask y/n.” Sarah looks at you with a look of curiosity and hint of concern, but you just give her a mix between a shrug and nod letting her know you’re okay and that Kate is right.

Aaron was someone you messed with in private to test a new potion out after failing with Tyler. You’d seen guys like Aaron before. If you learned anything from the first one it was that guys like Aaron were your textbook high school jackass. Thinking about it made your blood boil. The humiliation you felt when you realized he had only pursued you because you were fresh meat and to become just a notch on his bedpost. How’d that saying go? Fool me once shame on me, fool me twice…

If there was one other thing you loved more than the idea of love, it was sweet revenge. You anticipated for it to be nasty with Aaron after you cut ties with him. No one even seemed to believe him when he tried to spread awful things about you. You had a decent reputation at Spencer. You mentally praised yourself at job well done with that one. Maybe you weren’t losing your touch after all.

You briefly excused yourself from the girls to look for a drink. You scan the perimeter trying to locate a cooler, but you become distracted when you see a hint of a flash between some trees in your peripheral. As it occurred something seemed to also blow right past you; something you only felt with when in proximity of other supernatural elements, but yet unlike any other. You look to the other attendees and realize no one noticed anything unusual. When you look back towards the direction where the light came from, you see a figure walking out from the woods.

You take a hard look at the person trying to recognize them, but you don’t. A new guy. He’s got a certain swagger in his steps, dark hair tousled and a little spiked at the ends, a sharp jawline and eyes that were too dark for you be able to tell what color they really were, and it being nighttime didn’t aid you in figuring it out.

He must’ve caught your gaze because he’s now staring right back at you. His stare is cold, and you feel frozen, even unable to turn away. And yet again, something feels different and it only gets even more prominent the longer you look at him. You try not to ponder too long about it and decide to avoid him. You concentrate enough energy on your body until you were finally able to get yourself to walk away. Not wanting to stick around long enough for anything to come out of that, you continue your quest to find a drink, not looking back.

Unsuccessful, you head back towards the girls that were clearly in a scuffle with mega bitch Kira Snider, who is actually dating Aaron and has a personal vendetta against you. How were you supposed to know he was already dating her when you were fucking with him? Poor girl doesn’t love herself enough to be with trash like that.

You notice the Sons of Ipswich have already arrived and are trying to defend Kate and Sarah. Right before a fight is about to ensue, someone intervenes and successfully calms both parties down...well sort of. Kira didn’t really take too kindly at his words and Aaron at the puke that was dripping off the back of his letterman all of a sudden.

It was him. He looked a lot nicer up close. The guys thank him for helping diffuse the situation and you hear him introduce himself as Chase Collins. You can feel his eyes on you, but before the line of introductions could get to you, the DJ is announcing the party is a bust and the cops are zoning in. Soon, you break away from the group and take off in the direction of your parked car.

You happen to notice that Sarah is struggling to get her car started. You think about helping her, but see Reid is already on it. The sons are always saving the day, aren’t they? Was your last stance on that before you drove away from the scene. The adrenaline didn’t subside until you were on a clear road back to the housing buildings.

You just about have the key inserted and are about to unlock your door when you hear a voice.

“Some party, huh?” It sounded like just a couple of steps away.

You look down towards the hallway and see Chase standing a few doors down.

“It was kind of boring,” you admit. The only thing that would’ve probably made it exciting was if someone almost died.

He laughs lightly at that and nods showing he agreed to some degree.

“You didn’t have the least bit fun at all?” He asks.

You cock your head to the side a bit for show and pretend to think, but your mind was already made up. The party was a total bust and waste of your time, so no, you didn’t have any fun at all, but you could have some fun now. Hot guy you barely knew in front of you, attempting conversation – you thought he just had to have wanted something.

“You want to have some real fun?” You challenge as you reach deep into your coat pocket and produce a custom flask. It sparkles slightly from the lights of the hallway reflecting it as you wave it around giving him a devious look.

Chase presses his lips together and brings a hand to the back of his neck to rub at it, showing some form of nervous or conflicting habit, before looking around to see if anyone was watching this happen. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, but you don’t give him much time to reply and proceed to push open your door and walk in. You don’t close it though.

You’re shrugging off your coat and kicking off your shoes when you hear the door shut behind you. You smile to yourself because he’s fallen right into your trap.

“You know, I never got your name,” he says while admiring your room. The only source of light comes from a dimly lit lamp and the strings of light surrounding the tapestry against the wall next to your bed. You always kept your secret hidden and out of plain sight in fear of someone breaking in, so as far as you were concerned, you weren't at him catching onto anything.

“It’s y/n.”

Chase nods and says he likes it. You try not to roll your eyes at that before you turn his way, throwing the flask you were flaunting earlier in his direction and then plopping down on your bed. He swiftly catches it and walks towards the bed.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” He teases taking a seat next to you.

“Why don’t you find out?” You sit up matching him.

He smirks while unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. You watch as his initial reaction is to cringe at its contents. His eyes wring shut, nose scrunched up, lips pressed tightly together and the rest of his expression showing his body’s response at an attempt to process the hard liquor.

“Shit! That’s fucking strong,” he comments staring at the flask as if he could see through the silver and inspect the liquid.

“Finish it,” you command, your voice was smooth but still assertive – a deadly combination. He’s almost hypnotized by your cold and striking stare, he only feels compelled to listen. You observe the way his lips shone from the liquid that coated it, the way his throat contracted when he swallowed it down and how he peeked through one of his eyes to get a look at you watching him ingest every last drop and when he’s done he lunges at you. Chase doesn’t miss a beat when his lips meld with yours.

You pull him down and closer by the lapels of his thick coat before you’re kicking at the ends of it with your bare feet trying to help you rid him of it. You momentarily feel all his weight press into you as he nimbly tries to remove the outerwear, his lips never leaving yours. You hear a click at your door and pull away from him to see if someone had entered.

You don’t see any sign of disturbance, but you could’ve sworn you heard something. Chase doesn’t let that distract you as he brings you in by grabbing the back of your neck to reconnect your lips with his. The moment he slips his tongue in to meet with yours you melt. You had to stress this one, but he was a really good kisser. You might’ve met your match as his tongue continued to show dominance against yours.

His drive only fuels you and you’re able to summon enough strength to roll over and get him underneath your body. You place a few kisses on his face and neck, running your hands down his clothed chest before you lift the end of his shirt up to reveal his toned torso and also begin planting kisses there as well.

Your fingers deftly unfasten his belt and pop open the front of his dark jeans. Chase lets out a small sigh in finding relief to the sudden tightness in his clothing. The sound of you slowly dragging down his zipper is loud. It’s only that excruciating because you’re taking your sweet time. You pull apart his pants to get a close look at what you’re going to be dealing with. The outline of his cock just with what you can make out through his boxers is rather impressive. It twitches from your hot breath due to the close proximity.

You shoot him a crooked smile before wrapping a hand around his length. He hisses at the action and tries his best to keep his hips grounded as you continue to stroke him and every now and then give a little squeeze to his heavy balls, the soft vibrations of your nails scratching through the fabric torturing him. Cute. He’s trying to hold back. So, you kick it up a notch by licking a fat strip along the base and ignoring the fabric that sticks to your tongue.

It works because suddenly Chase props himself with one hand behind him and using the other to grab yours, the one that is still gripping at the waistline of his jeans and he stares you down. This is the first time you’re getting a good look at him; at the eyes you couldn’t make out earlier and make a mental note of what color they were. He’s fucking gorgeous. Clouded with lust, you don’t even sense it but it’s almost like you’re under a spell until you feel the tight grip he has on you loosen up and he lies back down allowing you to carry on.

You sit up, between his spread legs and reach around to pull his footwear off. He instinctively lifts his hips up when your fingers sneak their way into the elastic of his boxers. You expertly pull them down along with his jeans before they’re joining the rest of his clothes on the floor.

You reclaim your position back on top, your dress draping over his exposed bottom half as you straddle him. Chase’s hands start bunching up the material to caress the soft skin of your thighs and hips before he’s tugging at it. You help him and cross your arms to pull the material over your head and leave you in your undergarments.

Chase runs his tongue along his lips and sucks in a harsh breath taking in your appearance. You love the way he’s biting his lip when you add pressure into grinding your clothed core onto his bare one; so much you want to see him draw blood. The material of your underwear is so thin, it slides off to the side with each passing grind of your hips that get sloppier and sloppier than the next, it’s now skin on skin contact. You feel the ridges and prominent under vein scrape across your growingly wet pussy along with the way the crown of his engorged cock nudges deliciously against your clit.

You’re gripping harshly at his shirt; it starts to stretch when you pull it in a downwards motion because the sensation you’ve both created from the constant gyrations causes a rise out of you. You feel Chase grab at the rolled-up material and pull it down your legs. When you’ve discarded of it, he takes over reigns this time and kicks your legs apart to make room for him.

The unseen and unspoken tension between you two was enough foreplay in itself. There’s no hesitation when he slips right into you. It’s a smooth entrance from how wet you from the grinding and the cum that managed to escape prematurely from him. There’s an abundance of euphoria that the each of you emote from the ragged breathing, provocative moans to the sting of your skin slapping.

You think this isn’t anything more than pure want, but with a snap of his hips, you feel another strange feeling blow right through you. It was like the one you felt at the party, only a little more intense, but you didn’t even have time to mull over it when he finds the right spot in you. He hits it repeatedly and he’s not missing at all.

Chase sees the spaced-out look on your face, so he starts kissing you again. Your limbs wrap themselves around his body as you tightly cling onto him. Your hands desperately rake themselves on his back, trying to hold on from the immense pleasure he’s brewing in you, but you have a hard time with his pesky shirt still on until you finally manage to pull it over his head and have him fully naked.

His grunts and moans increase in volume when your walls retaliate by clenching around him from the perfect aim of his thrusts. You bring his head up to yours and smoosh your lips together with his. Chase then hooks an arm under one of your legs and hikes that leg up higher for a better angle. It’s so good you let out a string of lewd moans that causes your lips to repeatedly pull away from his. You curse at the insane amount of pleasure that he’s giving you like none of the others have before. You even catch the stupid smug look on his face when your orgasm washes over you. You grip tightly a handful of his cheeks, your hips lifting off the bed as they press against his to leave absolutely no space in between and in the process effectively allowing him to completely bottom out. You wanted to feel every inch of him when it happened.

He places a hand next to your head to help his stance, it’s a shaky one because he’s just about ready to bust. The tempo Chase sets, so relentless, had caused your breasts to bounce out of the confines of your bra.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he warns shamelessly. The way your breasts swayed, the harsh intake of each breath evident from the sight of your stomach tightening and untightening, your legs quivering around him and the fact that you were still riding through the aftershocks of your release, your walls were helplessly fluttering around him – just watching you wrecked with the satisfaction he brought on should’ve done it for him right then and there.

“Then cum,” you dare at him, your lips brushing his with each word that comes out next, “inside me…do it.” And like a snap of your fingers, you feel Chase spill deep inside you. You open your eyes wide enough and see something unusual when you look at him. A ring of fire flashes in his eyes very briefly before he closes them from the exhilaration. Each pump of cum that shoots out of him is followed by the accompanied throb that causes the head of his cock to poke at your sweet spot again, and in doing so initiates a small tidal wave of pleasure to crash right through you again.

Once he regained some composure and control of his breathing, his eyes reopen and they’re back to normal. Guess you were just seeing stars, or fire, in him. You carefully cup at his face with both hands and absentmindedly trace along at his boyish features; from the brow line of his eyebrows to the tip of his nose. He’s a fucking work of art. A lethargic smile splays out across his mouth and you return the display of affection with a smile of your own and giving him a kiss, which he immediately reciprocates to; no tongue or fervor in it, just of sweet contentment.

While it was good, more than good, you’re too sensitive, you’re not sure if you have enough in you for a second go. Careful to not elicit another round, you wiggle your hips a bit with him still inside in hopes to get him to move off of you.

Chase slowly and cautiously pulls out, and you feel the trickle of his cum leaking out of you. He inwardly praises at the filthy sight of it all before settling next to you. As you’re about to drift off into sleep, your mind starts turning. Something about Chase made you feel strange. There was a different aura about him, and it was evoking a certain emotion from you.

A/N: This is me holding back on smut. This series is going to be quick because as mentioned, it’s The Covenant just with a reader and her own agenda caught in the crossfire...and an excuse for me to write Chase Collins smut, so if you're craving some of that then stick around!

#chase collins smut #chase collins x reader #chase collins x y/n #chase collins x you #chase collins imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x reader

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chipsandcoffee · 4 years

Text

Whouffaldi Fanfic

“You Sound Like a Song”

Post-Hell-Bent, fix-it of sorts, memory loss, confessions, angst, romance, eternal love, s10 spoilers, canon compliant (well technically at least), cameo appearance by Bill Potts

Also on AO3 at this link.

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He knew her name was Clara. He knew they’d travelled together. But that was all he knew.

The list of things the Doctor didn't know about Clara was so much longer and went so much deeper, prodding away at him from a restless corner of his mind. What was she like? What had they meant to each other? Why would he have wiped the memory of her from his mind? And the one question that troubled him most: what had happened to her?

He ruminated on these questions yet again as he slumped in a leather armchair in his office at St. Luke's University, absent-mindedly strumming his guitar. He often felt a sense of melancholy on these solitary nights. Nothing was sad until it was over, he thought. Then everything was.

He had spent a long time trying to look for Clara (being stuck on Earth for a number of years hadn’t stopped him, for he was based where she was most likely to be). Of course he didn't know who he was looking for (hadn't someone told him that once?), but he believed he would know her if he met her again, and she would surely know him. But it had never happened. And he’d never heard a word from her.

He'd eventually reached the most logical and painful conclusion: she was dead. She'd likely been dead all along, even before he’d erased her from his memory (he could tell he’d used a neural block, could feel the sensation of a hole in his mind where something ought to be). Maybe that was why he'd taken the drastic step of eliminating those memories in the first place: her death had simply been too painful for him to bear.

He obviously had no idea how Clara had died, but he had the painful feeling that it had somehow been his fault. Hers was probably another life cut tragically short because of him, just like too many other people he’d been close to.

Indeed, he’d experienced more than his fair share of loss over his long life, and the last few decades had certainly been no exception. River had gone to her inevitable death shortly before he’d arrived in Bristol (at least by his timeline). He’d also very nearly presided over the execution of Missy before rescuing his oldest friend and bringing her to St. Luke’s. But for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, the very idea of Clara being dead made his hearts ache in a way nothing else did. Perhaps more than anything else ever had.

It was strange grieving for someone he didn’t remember. His grief after losing River had made sense to him, and he’d been able to move on from it (even if Nardole, devoted to River as always, continued to assume that any sign of sorrow from the Doctor was connected to his late wife). But he had a vague, shapeless sense of loss deep in his bones that he knew, he just knew, was the grief he was still carrying for Clara. He obsessed over the unknown and unknowable details of her life, their life, and her presumed death.

His grief frequently bubbled up to the surface when he played his guitar. In fact, as he sat there in the shadows of his office, he realized that he'd once again started playing a variation of a song from long ago that he knew was called “Clara.” Bill was always curious about that tune, but he'd never told her its true title. How would he begin to explain the story behind it when he didn’t understand it himself?

The Doctor suddenly recalled with regret that he’d been rather curt with Bill earlier that day when she'd teased him that that particular song was the only one he knew how to play. He thought maybe he should say something to her by way of apology when he saw her again. He also knew he was rubbish at such conversations, so he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and fished out the stack of dog-eared index cards that he relied on for such occasions. He'd had them for many years, each card a neatly-written sentence that he could use in tricky social situations (which for him was most social situations). One of his companions had probably made them for him at some point, but he couldn't remember who. He liked to imagine they came from Clara, that he still had something tangible left of her that he carried with him. He wondered if she would have liked that.

The Doctor put his guitar aside, ran his hand down his face, and started pacing around his office. All this brooding wasn't doing him any good. He needed a distraction. He paused, fingers drumming on his desk, as his eyes fell on his TARDIS parked in the corner following his last outing with Bill. He'd been thinking recently that the timeship’s interface stabilizer could use an upgrade; that would keep him busy for a while. But he’d need to get his hands on a few parts first. He considered his options.

His favourite place to get spare parts for the TARDIS was at a marketplace on the planet Haligonia. Of course Nardole would give him grief if he found out that the Doctor had travelled off world, but Nardole was currently occupied with tinkering with the locks on the vault deep under St. Luke’s and likely would be for a while. The Doctor could be gone and back before Nardole knew he’d left. He rubbed his hands together, his decision made. He pushed open the TARDIS doors.

A few minutes later, the Doctor was strolling through the bustling marketplace on 48th-century Haligonia. The planet was a human colony, but the well-known market attracted shoppers of a variety of species from all over the galaxy. It was a warm, sunny day, and the breeze carried smells of local street foods as he made his way past vendors selling everything from the latest tech gadgets to exotic jewellery to flowers of every possible colour.

Soon enough he spotted the parts dealer’s stall. As he approached it he noticed there was a rather spirited conversation going on between the tall, burly dealer and a petite young woman. The customer was dark-haired and wore a black leather jacket with a well-worn satchel slung over her shoulder. Her clear voice stood out over the din of the market, and as the Doctor walked up behind her, he could hear her haggling over the price of something.

“Come on, this would've cost less when it was new than what you’re asking for it now.”

The dealer folded his arms. “Yeah, well life’s not fair, lady. And if you can find it new somewhere else, feel free to buy it there.”

“Fine,” she said nonchalantly, “I will then.” The woman spun around and began striding off, nearly walking into the Doctor.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing up at him. She did a double take and suddenly froze, staring at him, her strikingly large eyes becoming impossibly larger. She stood stock still for a long moment. “Doctor,” she breathed.

He peered down at her, knitting his eyebrows and squinting slightly. “Have we met?”

“Yeah, yeah we've met,” she said faintly, sounding dazed. She continued to stare at him, and now her eyes were starting to look distinctly watery.

The Doctor became increasingly concerned that this stranger might inexplicably burst into tears right in front of him, a prospect that he found rather frightening. He reached into his pocket for his social cue cards in a desperate attempt to find something to say that might diffuse whatever was happening.

He found one of his frequently-used cards, and recited, “I apologize for not recognizing you. I am a time traveller and I sometimes meet people out of order.”

The woman tore her eyes away from the Doctor's face to look at what he was holding. However, much to the Doctor's horror the card had only made things worse, as she had clasped her hand over her mouth and a tear trickled down her face.

“I, um,” he spluttered, his arms flailing.

The woman suddenly seemed to snap out of her emotional state and darted her eyes around the marketplace, as though searching for an escape route. “I'm um, I'm so sorry,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to smile. “Have a good day.” And with that she turned and strode away without a backwards glance.

The Doctor felt somewhat relieved that this problematic encounter appeared to have resolved itself. But he also felt responsible for upsetting this person, and he found himself chasing after her through the crowd of shoppers.

“You there,” he said, starting to catch up to her. “Are you okay?”

He thought she must not have heard him, because she kept on walking. But then she came to a sudden halt, and the Doctor had to stop himself from running into her from behind. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned around, her face somehow conveying trepidation and relief at the same time. The Doctor was baffled how she managed to do that.

The woman heaved a long sigh. “I am so sick of hiding from you.” The Doctor frowned as she stepped towards him, the crowd swirling around them. “The reason I recognize you but you don't recognize me isn't because of time travel. It's because you’ve forgotten me.” She paused for a second and wiped away a tear. “You, um, you chose to forget me.”

The Doctor felt as though his hearts had stopped and that all the blood had drained from his face. His mouth fell slightly open. Some distant part of his brain thought he must look like he'd seen a ghost. To him he had.

“Clara,” he whispered. It wasn't a question. He knew somehow, he was certain who she was.

“Yeah,” she whispered in return, gazing into his eyes.

“You're not dead,” he blurted out, immediately realizing how ridiculous that sounded.

“Yeah,” she frowned. “Why? Have you remembered--”

“I haven't remembered anything. I'd just… guessed. That-- that you were dead.”

Clara looked into the Doctor’s eyes and he immediately felt like she could see into his soul, into every lonely, hopeless night he’d spent grieving for her. Her face grew concerned.

“Oh, Doctor.” She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek, and the Doctor surprised himself by not flinching under her touch. “I think we should talk.”

______________

A few minutes later, the Doctor found himself incredibly, miraculously sitting with Clara at a small table in the corner of a quiet cafe on a back street near the marketplace, a steaming mug of herbal tea in front of each of them. They sat in silence at first as they stole glances at one another and tried to figure out how to navigate this strange situation.

“I like your coat,” Clara started, nodding at the blue-lined black velvet jacket he'd favoured of late.

“Oh, um, thanks.” He felt himself blushing. He wasn't used to people saying that sort of thing to him. Another moment passed and he asked, “How did you travel here?”

“In my TARDIS,” she answered easily, as though that were something that humans did all the time.

“What?” He was flabbergasted. “You have a TARDIS? How?”

Clara sighed. “Oh, this is going to be a very long story, Doctor.”

Several cups of tea later, Clara had told the Doctor the story of their final days together: the raven on Trap Street, the Doctor pulling Clara from her time stream on Gallifrey (which partly explained the vague memories he’d had of being trapped for a very long time in his confession dial), and her escape in a stolen TARDIS (oddly with the immortal woman Ashildr).

Once Clara had finished her story, the Doctor sat in stunned silence, attempting to make sense of it all, of the extreme lengths he'd gone to for Clara. He tried to wrap his mind around the idea that he’d actually plucked this woman from her time stream right before her death. And here she sat, still time-looped. Still, in essence, alive.

“You know how to fly a TARDIS?” It probably wasn’t the most important question, but it’s the one that popped out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she laughed, her eyes twinkling, and the Doctor thought her laugh was perhaps the loveliest thing he’d ever heard. “I picked up a thing or two in the years we travelled together.”

The Doctor was impressed. “So how long has it been for you since you last saw me?”

“Oh, um, I'm not sure anymore. A while back I stopped keeping track of how long it’d been. It was--” She paused, lowering her eyes, a hint of pain crossing her face. She cleared her throat, met his eye again and continued, “I figured that was for the best. But I guess it must be close to a hundred years now.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows slightly. "I think it's almost exactly the same for me."

The corners of Clara's mouth quirked up. "Yeah, that's just the way things seem to go with us. We've always been… connected, somehow.”

“What have you been doing all that time?”

“Oh you know, flying about a bit, watching the odd star being born, saving the odd planet.”

The Doctor couldn't help but laugh at Clara's jokingly casual tone, and he marvelled to himself at this amazing woman. But there was an important issue that Clara hadn’t yet explained.

“So why don’t I remember you, Clara? Based on the type of amnesia that I experienced, I’m guessing that I used a neural block of some sort?”

Clara’s face turned serious and she glanced down.

“Um, yeah, you did.” She gave a puzzled frown. “It's weird though, I saw you shortly after the neural block, and you seemed to remember a bit more than you do now. At least some of what had happened on Gallifrey.”

“Ah, well it's not uncommon in the early stages following a neural block to be left with some disjointed shards of memories. Over time, if the brain can't process those fragments, they're forgotten. It's sort of like forgetting a dream shortly after awakening.”

“Right, okay.”

The Doctor searched her face. “Clara, why did I use a neural block to forget you?”

Clara looked upwards as if searching for inspiration on how to respond to the Doctor’s question, tears threatening in her eyes again. She took a deep breath.

“It wasn't meant to be you, not at first.”

“What do you mean?”

“You, um, you were going to use the neural block on me. You thought I'd be safer from the Time Lords if I didn't remember you.”

The Doctor frowned in confusion. “So what happened?”

Clara lowered her eyes. “I used your sonic sunglasses to reverse the polarity on the neural blocker when you weren't looking.”

“You what?”

“I didn't want it to go off on you, I just didn't want you to use it on me.” She began to raise her voice while a tear spilled down her face. “I didn't want you to use it at all, I told you what I'd done!”

Her voice broke and she paused, catching her breath and wiping her face. The Doctor felt a rush of sympathy and heartache for her. He realized that as difficult as it had been for him to live with his missing memories, Clara had suffered too, in a different way: she'd had to carry around the weight of everything they'd been through, while he had been blissfully ignorant.

Clara continued, speaking more quickly as she got through the rest of her story. “So. You didn't know at that point what would happen when the button on the blocker was pressed. That's when you suggested that we both press the button together, knowing that one of us would forget the other, but not knowing which one. Better than flipping a coin, you said.” Clara dropped her gaze and her voice fell to nearly a whisper. “And I guess you kind of lost the coin toss.”

The Doctor watched Clara for a moment, her head bowed. Then he found himself leaning forward and placing his hand on hers. Clara looked up at him, surprised at the contact.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For everything, I guess. For forgetting you. For trying to make you forget me. I'm sorry that you feel bad about what happened with my memories, because it wasn't your fault, Clara. We knew the risks and we pressed that button together.”

She squeezed his hand, a hint of relief on her face.

“You didn't say why I thought one of us needed to forget the other,” the Doctor continued. “But I think I'm starting to understand. Everything I did, the confession dial, the extraction chamber, my plan to hide you away and make you forget me.” The Doctor felt his hearts stirring as he now wrapped Clara's hand in both of his. “I think I would have torn the sky apart for you, Clara Oswald. And I think I knew that.”

A sad smile crossed Clara's face. “And I would have done the same for you.”

The Doctor and Clara gazed silently at each other, her small hand wrapped in his two, lost in the universe that was each other's eyes.

After a while Clara swallowed, leaned forward, and spoke in a quiet voice. “Doctor, there's one more thing I still haven't told you. When you and I were on Gallifrey, we sat together in the Cloisters, and I told you something important, something I'd never told you before.” Clara took her free hand and laid it on top of his, her eyes round and sparkling. “I told you that I loved you. That I'd always loved you and I always would, and that I wished I'd told you a long time ago. That maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently.”

The Doctor had been surprised by many things Clara had told him that day, but somehow her declaration of love wasn't one of them. He’d known it, felt it, from the moment he'd met her in the market outside.

“And how did I respond?” he whispered, scarcely breathing.

Clara gave another sad smile and shook her head. “You didn't. That was the moment you got the service hatch open and, well, we had to keep running.”

“Ah,” was all he could think of to say.

“Yeah. We’ve had a lot of bad timing, you and me.”

As if to emphasize the point, the cafe owner at that moment walked by their table and turned off the “open” sign in the window, pointedly clearing his throat as he did so.The Doctor glanced around and realized that he and Clara had been alone in the cafe for quite some time.

“I think we’re being kicked out,” Clara whispered loudly, her eyes twinkling.

“Looks like it,” the Doctor replied with a crooked grin.

Outside, the Haligonian night had fallen, and the streets were nearly empty. The planet's two champagne-coloured moons shone overhead, and the air felt damp and cool after the warmth of the day. The Doctor and Clara wandered together through the town for a while, swapping tales of adventures and wild escapes, their bursts of laughter ringing through the stillness of the evening. The streets and laneways they walked eventually gave way to a green, park-like area on the edge of town where the scent of blossoming trees drifted through the night air. The Doctor wished they could keep walking forever, but as his TARDIS came into view in the moonlight, he was reminded that their magical day had to come to an end.

They walked together across the dewy grass and stopped near his blue box, standing in an uncertain silence, the only sound a nocturnal bird calling in the distance. Clara finally spoke. “So what happens now? Me and you, what do we do now?” The hint of tears glistening in her eyes told the Doctor that she probably already knew the answer.

“Oh, Clara. I don't even need my memories to know that there’s nothing in this universe I’d like more than to travel with you again. But I said today that I would have torn the sky apart for you all those years ago, and I know in my hearts I still would. And that you’d still do the same for me.”

He took a step closer to her. “Everything you’ve told me, everything I can see and feel now tells me that we were amazing together. But also that we were dangerous. And I don't think there’s any way to stop that from happening again, because of who we are, and because of--” He paused and took a deep breath. “And because of how we feel about each other.”

Clara looked down and nodded, a tear falling to the ground. “Yeah,” she whispered.

The Doctor tenderly placed his hand on Clara’s cheek, and she looked up at him. Clara had told him so much that day. Now there was something he felt he had to tell her, something that was burning within him. He wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by again, not this time.

“Clara, I never got the chance to respond to you in the Cloisters, and I know a lot of time has passed since then and I’ve forgotten so much. But I know, I’m certain of one thing. I loved you, Clara Oswald. I loved you-- I love you with both my hearts. And I always will.”

Clara smiled up at him, even as another tear rolled down her cheek. The Doctor wiped away the tear with his thumb, feeling dizzy with the emotions swirling inside him. He found himself slowly leaning towards her, feeling a pull as irresistible and inevitable as gravity, as Clara ran her hand up his arm. Their lips met in a soft, heartfelt kiss. To the Doctor it felt surprisingly natural, right, perfect. It felt like the long-awaited conclusion to a conversation begun 100 years ago.

The Doctor stepped back and took Clara's hand as he stood there smiling softly at her, warmth and contentment infusing his body. She smiled back at him, all dimples and shiny eyes.

“I’m really glad I got to see you, Doctor.”

“I’m really glad I got to see you too, Clara Oswald.”

But his smile faltered as the reality of his situation sunk in. Clara frowned.

“What’s wrong, Doctor?”

He released her hand and sighed. “My neural block, Clara. I don’t know what'll happen when I leave tonight. Seeing you today, talking to you, learning all about you, about us. I don’t want to forget any of it, not again. But my brain has blocked my memories of you for a very long time, and I'm afraid it'll do it again.”

Clara’s face was filled with concern. “There must be something we can do.”

He shook his head and half-shrugged his shoulders.

Clara’s eyes lit up. “Hang on, I have an idea.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and opened her satchel. After some rummaging around, she pulled out a small cardboard box and opened it. “I carry these around with me. They still come in handy for all kinds of things.”

______________

Bill started packing up her things as the day’s tutorial with the Doctor wrapped up.

The Doctor was sitting behind his massive desk, continuing to flip through the book they'd been discussing. “And don’t forget that your research paper on laser-cooled ions is due tomorrow.”

Bill rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good.” The Doctor tried to look stern, but he had a feeling he wasn’t quite pulling it off. Tossing aside the book, he stood and picked up his guitar from the chair where he'd left it, wandering around his office as he played the song that he now knew was named for the woman he loved.

Bill paused as she walked towards the door. “Don't think I've heard that version before. It's, I dunno, cheerier.”

The Doctor smiled to himself. “Good night, Bill.”

“‘Night, Doctor. See ya tomorrow.”

Now alone, the Doctor played for a while longer before setting his guitar down. He relaxed into his favourite armchair and reflected on how different things were for him since his trip to Haligonia a few weeks earlier. He could still remember much of his wondrous encounter with Clara, though some of the details were growing hazy, almost as though the whole thing had been a dream. Sometimes he thought maybe it had been a dream. But whenever that unsettling feeling arose, he would do as he did now. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small stack of index cards. Some were old and dog-eared, but some were new. All of them had the same neat handwriting, and now he knew whose handwriting it was.

He picked out the new cards. The one on top read, “Clara is alive and doing well. She wants you to be happy.” He gave a contented sigh. The next two were his favourites.

“Clara loves you. She always has and always will.”

“You told Clara that you love her, and she will always cherish that.”

He smiled even as his eyes felt wet with tears (perhaps he was malfunctioning). He gazed at the cards for a long time, his fingers running lightly over the words.

He knew her name was Clara. He knew they’d travelled together. He knew she was still out there, exploring the universe. He knew they'd loved each other deeply and truly, and they always would.

He also knew that nothing was sad until it was over. And he and Clara would never be over. Not in his hearts, not ever.

______________

Thank you for reading! This is my first fic and any feedback would be very welcome and appreciated!

#i'm so nervous/excited to finally publish this #my first fic #whouffaldi #fanfic #fan fiction #my fanfic

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dariodanoite · 4 years

Text

send nudists | bo & dario

LOCATION: the forest. PARTIES: @bemyfriendplease and @dariodanoite. SUMMARY: dario meets with the girl who lured the jaguar back into being human. bo accuses dario of being both a nudist and a furry. somewhere along the way they promise to be each other’s person.

Dario knew that he’d told Bo he’d show her the jaguar again, but the truth was— he didn’t have any plans of turning completely into the cat he had been stuck as for thirteen years. A very large part of him had thought to do so, to simply disappear into the forest for another decade or so instead of dealing with the grief for his family that came with being human again. But if he did that, who would avenge his family? Was losing himself again truly what he wanted? That was a part of the reason he’d been excited to find Bo again. Even if she didn’t know it was him, she’d known him in some way before he’d come back to civilization. It was at least some sort of link that he had, rather than coming back to nothing. However, that excitement had quickly dissipated when it had become clear she simply thought him insane, or a nudist, or both. So here he was at one of his favorite ponds in the forest, waiting for her to show up so that he might...well— he wasn’t entirely certain yet. Hopefully he’d think of some way to prove what he was, and that they’d known each other...in a way. His sensitive ears picked up the sounds of someone rustling closer, and he called out, “Bo?”, curious if she’d come.

It was a bad idea to meet a nudist, Bo knew that. Except this nudist she knew, vaguely. In glimpses in highschool, in slapping missing persons posters around, in--apparently--feeding him cookies in the forest like an idiot. She held her cookies closer to her, baking a fresh batch and putting it on one of her nicer tupperware containers. She stepped over roots and around branches, navigating with some understandable difficulty to a pond she’d never been to before--or maybe she had, all ponds kinda looked the same to her. Ducking under a branch, she was happy to find a clothed Dario waiting for her. “Y-yeah…” she gulped, suddenly a little nervous. This was a man that’d seen her cry, supposedly, and that vulnerability she hadn’t meant to show. “That’s me!” Bo coughed, stepping closer to the man and holding out her little container of cookies, still hot. “I--uh--brought the--uh--um--you look good! W-with clothes! The clothes suit you!” She gulped, again. Her voice fell small as she continued, “p-p-please don’t take them off.”

Dario looked at her, and little flashes of his time as a jaguar came rushing back, making him wince a little. It was always disorienting when his lost memories decided to bombard him like that. But he remembered her cookies, and now he remembered the...crying. Why had she been sad? Meanwhile, a flash of relief also made its way through him, glad that she’d actually come. There was also a shred of guilt though, for so far having zero memories of her in highschool. It was only made worse by the knowledge that she’d help put up his posters. Normally, he might have made a joke about looking good without clothes as well, but that would most likely only make her more nervous that she appeared. Instead, he sat himself on the ground next to the pond, trying to appear non-threatening. “Thanks, you look good with clothes, too.” She really thought he was a nudist? “I promise I don’t make a habit of taking all my clothes off unless the other person wants me to. Thanks for ah- coming, though,” he finished, rubbing at the back of his neck. His nose twitched a little in excitement as he smelled what was in her tupperware. “You brought cookies?”

Bo shifted uncomfortably, kicking at the dirt below and watching it give to her in a way the world didn’t. “D-d-don’t compliment me,” she stammered, holding the cookies out while turning her gaze anywhere but at him. This was so much worse in person. The vision of his abs was burned into her eyes, practically, and it was all she could see. Now she felt like one of those girls that spent highschool tripping over themselves for him--except she didn’t like him, she just turned red like she did. “Oh, um, I did!” She smiled, stilling avoiding his eyes, and opened the container. The cookies shone in all their lumpy, misshapen glory. One of them was even a dark, almost moldy-green! Just for that extra kick! She thought Dario might like the color, so she tried to mix one up a little special for him. Nevermind that it was splotchy, and the choice of white-chocolate chips was questionable. “Try one!”

Dario frowned for a moment. Didn’t girls usually like it when you complimented them? Something that simply added to his confusion was the concept of wanting Bo to like him, and having to… work for it? It was true that he was much changed from highschool, not as openly charismatic, or sending a charming smile to anyone that looked his way. And he couldn’t entirely explain the need he had for the girl’s approval. Maybe it was simply because he wanted someone who knew where he’d been for the last thirteen years of his life. “Why shouldn’t I compliment you?” he asked, eyes not leaving her face. As she turned pink, that was an expression he recognized, though he couldn’t be sure what had caused it. But then she smiled, and he was set a bit more at ease. That was something, right? “It’s true though- I remember thinking you were pretty.” His back straightened as he craned over the cookies, perhaps a bit too eager. “Oh, thanks.” Anything was a welcome respite from eating exclusively ramen. Naturally, the green one drew his eye, and he plucked it from the bunch. Had he seen a green cookie before? It wasn’t until the thing was in his mouth that he tasted the chocolate. He probably shouldn’t eat it, but surely just a few bits of lactose wouldn’t make him keel over, right? Then he patted the forest floor next to him, signaling that she should sit. He was still curious why she’d been crying, but figured it wasn’t the best conversation starter. “So...do you like the forest?”

Why shouldn't she be complimented? Wasn't that the question? Bo sighed, mouth shut tight around the right answer. That she wasn't good with them, that she never felt like a single one was deserved or truthful, or more obviously in this case, that she didn't want one from an alleged nudist. "I just don't like them," she admitted quietly after a moment. "Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes, a small laugh fluttering out of her mouth. "You didn't even remember me! And you probably think every girl is pretty." Being called pretty really wasn't much of a compliment coming from a guy like Dario, and even less knowing he'd slept with Beatrice. Beatrice was far prettier, unmistakably. But she watched him take a cookie, the one she made special for him, and bite into it without fear or coercion. She smiled a little wider and took a seat beside him. "It's—uh, nice?" Bo glanced around, the pond was serene, the trees were tall. Seemed like a nice spot to cry. "You said you liked it here?" She turned to look at him, "c-can I ask why that is? It kinda just seems like any old pond."

The little line between Dario’s brow deepened, not sure what to make of Bo and her aversion to compliments. Further than that, she was confusing him. She’d seemed...more sure of herself online, all too willing to yell at him about being a nudist. And now here she was stuttering through sentences. “To be fair— I’ve been having memory problems recently, and since I disappeared...and some of the time surrounding it.” Nevertheless, he gave her a slow and lingering once over, trying to will himself to remember something about her from highschool. It was no use, and he turned away in frustration, chewing angrily on his cookie. Had he really not noticed her in highschool? That was rather...shitty of him to do, wasn’t it? “I think a decent amount of girls are pretty, but not all girls. I mean we all have our preferences, right?” He looked towards her again, taking her in. “And you align with mine,” he finished with a simple shrug. Dario’s gaze shifted back to their surroundings., feeling a bit more serene as he took them in. “Well the pond is deep, and nice to swim in. And I liked climbing the trees. They were sturdy and tall. Also not many people came by here.” Then he realized such a phrase might offend her. “Not that I minded when you came by wherever I was.”

“So you...didn’t run away to be a nudist?” Bo looked over at him again, considering for the first time that maybe her idea was a little ludacris. Maybe, instead, that something terrible happened--like everyone had thought. But what explained the days spent in the woods? The days he seemed to remember being fed cookies? “I--uh--woah!” She blinked at him, “s-slow down! You’ll choke on the cookie!” She sighed, shaking her head. And then he continued and concern grew into shock and then anger, and then angry shock. “I said don’t compliment me!” She swatted at him, knocking her free hand gently against his, surprisingly, toned shoulder. At least the casual compliment-giving Dario seemed more like the one she knew, half-knew. “You...swim in there?” She looked back at the pond, brows furrowed in worry again. “You climbed the…” the way Dario was describing it, he sounded like some kind of feral jungle man living out Tarzan in the woods. But why? She opened her mouth to ask when he spoke again, and more than being called pretty, this struck her. “You mean...when I was crying? You didn’t mind that?” Bo turned to him, tilting her head. “I wasn’t...interrupting your manly jungle time; climbing trees and yodeling?”

This time, her nudist comment only earned her a gentle eye roll from Dario, finding her seemingly beginning to accept reality a bit amusing. “I did not run away to be a nudist,” he confirmed. Did she think that joining a nudist colony had been his response to his family being murdered and their house being burnt to the ground? She’d know about that, wouldn’t she? After all, she’d said she put up posters. Which reminded him of something he’d been wanting to ask. “Why’d you put up the missing posters of me? Or were you already working for the police?” One of the things that had unsettled him when he’d returned back was realizing just how ready White Crest had been to forget that he’d ever existed. Though...he supposed he couldn’t completely blame them. He’d only lived there for a year before everything went South. Still, it wasn’t the best feeling to realize that there was no one to welcome you back after being missing. However it was nice to think that...someone hadn’t forgotten he existed, even for a little while, and even if it was their job. Her insistence about the cookie made him pause for a moment, surprise flitting over his features before amusement took hold once again. But what garnered his first little smile since seeing her was, perhaps counterintuitively, the way she hit him. “Is this assault? Are you trying to go to jail right now? I know a cop. You know that, right?” Nevermind that the cop was her. “And I wasn’t even trying to compliment you! I was just saying the fact! Am I not allowed to say facts about you being attractive?” What was so confusing about swimming in a pond, though? “Yes? It’s nice and refreshing. And I like the way the water feels when I move in it.” Was this a part of her still refusing to believe that he’d been the jaguar? And he hadn’t meant to make it sound like he didn’t mind that she was crying. That made him sound insensitive, didn’t it? Of course, to be honest, he hadn’t really had much of a concept of crying when he was a jaguar. “I just mean- it’d been...a while since I’d seen a human. One that I didn’t want to...ignore, or have them not see me. So it was nice to have the change.” And have the person that had somehow triggered the change back to human for him. A light snort shook him. Manly yodeling. Where did she come up with these phrases? Alright, she definitely didn’t believe the jaguar thing still. “You know- I could show you how I climb the trees.” Maybe this was his chance to prove it to her.

Bo, still set in her nudist idea, simply gave Dario a solemn nod. His next question caused her to fall over, staring at him up from her place on the ground. “Why….why wouldn’t I put posters?” She didn’t answer the other part, the first thing having struck her as so completely stupid. “Why wouldn’t I care? I c-care about everyone that goes missing...and you--I knew you. I would have done anything to help. I s-still would.” She righted herself, coughing and swiping away dirt. “I don’t just care because it’s my job to, you know.” She sighed, looking at the pond and its steady waters. Oh, to be a pond in the middle of the forest where a weird nudist man would swim in you...well, maybe she wasn’t so jealous of that last part, but the steadiness was enviable. “I care. I care about you. I care about everyone. I cared that you were gone, and I care that you’re back. I keep---I keep track of it...or I used to. It’s depressing but I think...maybe if I remember every name and face that I’ll know if I see them somewhere, and if they come back they’ll know at least one person was waiting for them. But there’s been so many people gone, it got impossible to keep up with.” Not to mention her own missing father. Well, especially not to mention him, because she didn’t want to talk about it.

She snickered, now given completely to the idea of finally smiling. “You know, technically it is assault! That--” Bo paled, “oh no! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to--” she pulled herself back from him, conscious to make sure no parts of their bodies were touching. Eventually she realized it was easier to stand and so she shot up. “I-It’s not a fact. Being attractive is subjective. A f-fact is that you….h-have nice arms! Oh no, wait, that’s also subjective…” Her brows furrowed and her attention fell back on to the pond. Oh to be a body of water instead of a bumbling young woman. “You could...just go to a public pool.” Rather than a pond with who-knows-what in it. But he was fine and not covered in a flesh eating bacteria so maybe it was okay anyway. “See you...climb a tree?” She looked back at him, “that’s...okay? Okay, sure? I guess? I’ll watch you climb a tree.” It was the oddest thing to offer to do, and odder still that she accepted it. But he ate her cookies, and somehow that was important here.

Dario stayed silent throughout her explanation, eyes intent on Bo as she spoke and not breaking away. Perhaps one of the things he still needed to get used to when it came to being a human again was appropriate amount of staring and eye contact. But he only had vague memories of her as a jaguar, and most of them were of the girl crying. Now, he found himself wanting to know what she looked like when she was wearing other emotions, to see what form her features took as other thoughts and feelings flickered over her face. And the fact that she felt so...much for these people, people like him. The fact that someone hadn’t forgotten about him, even if he hadn’t been in her thoughts every day, and even if they hadn’t been friends...it was comforting. To know that his existence hadn’t just been a blip, a fluke, that all he’d ever been was the popular boy girls liked to chase after. The thought gave him another stab of guilt. To think that she’d been out here doing her best to find missing persons, himself included. And...he couldn’t be bothered to remember what she even looked like in highschool. He wasn’t sure what to say, a foreign sort of thrumming coming from somewhere in his chest making it confusing to find proper words. For a moment his voice caught in his throat, and then he tried to clear it. “Thanks,” he started simply. “Thanks for...caring. You’re a good person, Bo.” Certainly better than himself. Most likely better than the majority of people on this Earth. The girl went around putting up missing posters and handing out cookies to stray jaguars. That was more than enough to prove his point. Her caring did something else though. It made...part of him want to try. Certainly she deserved that in return. His voice was more sincere this time as he spoke, “Um- why were you crying? In the forest?” He was an ass for not having already asked wasn’t he?

For a beautiful moment, his own smile widened into a genuine grin, enjoying her snickering despite himself. Christ, he hadn’t felt this human since...he wasn’t sure how long. But her quick turn from joy resulted in his face falling into confusion, unsure what had happened. “Bo—” he began, reflexively reaching up to try and lightly grasp her wrist. “Bo, you’re fine. I’m joking.” Then he was straightening himself from the ground, standing in front of her. She was getting flustered again, it seemed, and he did his best to try not to make it worse. Still, he couldn’t stop the smirk from sliding back over his lips. “You think I have nice arms?” he asked, brows raised in a small tease. “But fine, whatever. I find you subjectively attractive, then. It’s a fact to me, though,” he finished nonchalantly. “Mmm, pools have lots of people. And lots of those people are often screaming kids.” As she agreed to the tree watching, an unexpected bundle of nerves sprouted in his stomach. He’d been so keen to have her actually know it had been him in the forest, to...prove that they didn’t just know each other from highschool and her putting up the posters. But what if she reacted negatively? The only person in White Crest who genuinely cared that he’d returned, had remembered he was gone...what if that care went away? “Alright- uh- don’t freak out...okay? And don’t worry, my clothes will stay on. Just like...try to be...calm...please.”

Bo tensed, gazing into the still pond again. Being called a good person was...odd. Like any other compliment, she didn’t know how to accept it...or if she could. If he changed his mind, would she still get to keep the words? If she didn’t always feel like a good person, did that make his words more or less true? She clenched her hand, drawing dirt and bits of dead grass into her palm. “Everyone’s a good person...deep down, I think.” And so she decided it wasn’t much of a kind thing to say, because it was true of everyone, and she was as special as the masses--which was to say, not at all. Like this, she could take his words with more comfort. “Why was I crying here?” She looked at him, as though the answer was obvious and she shouldn’t have been asking. She’d come here adamant on not talking about the why so much, maybe explaining a lie to two about it. But Dario was being so honest, so giving...it was only fair she offered him some of that back. And maybe part of her wanted to. Part of her hoped he might not laugh. That he might understand it. “There’s nowhere else to cry, really. Not any place people don’t try to ask questions or...give advice. It’s--I’m really tired of the advice. It’s nice, I guess. People see someone cry and they try to stop it but...the solutions I want, they don’t have so it’s kinda pointless.” She looked back at the pond, imaging she might have filled her own once with how much she sobbed. “I dunno. I cry about everything. I can’t cry at the station, so I come here. I can cry about people who get hurt, people who go missing, people who are sad and can’t cry.” Herself, even. “When you hold everything in...it’s nice to just let it out. It makes the holding in a little easier.” And that was more she’d shared to someone else in years. The exchange left her breathless and eager to move on.

The officer shook her head, “I do! They’re kind of like really muscular trees!” It would be nice to be held by them, hugged. Not that she’d ever ask. At all. Ever. “You don’t like kids? They’re just really happy to be in water...I dunno what it is about kids and water. They go nuts.” Not that she understood it, she hadn’t swam since she was a child either. She hoped it was a skill that stuck, on the off-chance Dario threw her in the pond. Which she wasn’t yet convinced wouldn’t happen. “Why would I freak out?” She looked at him, blinking in confusion. She sat back down, and then sat up and then down and then decided that standing would give her the best view of...Dario climbing a tree. “Please commence operation tree climb, Captain Dario. The leaves await you!” She beamed, happy for the first time in...well, a long time. Everything she did was tinged with sadness, but for a moment, with the absurdity of watching the only man who enjoyed her cookies climb a tree, it didn’t matter. It could be okay, maybe. “I’ll be calm, you weirdo. Promise.”

Again Dario felt a frown tug at his lips. Certainly, she’d said she didn’t like compliments, but this was hardly a compliment, right? What was so bad about being called a good person? Yet again, he did his best to rebuttal her words, as if determined to make his sentiment stick. “No, they’re not,” he said bluntly. An old rage for the Hunters that had killed his family began to surface, but he quickly tamped that down, not needing it at the moment. “And even if they were, not many would be as good as you.” But he stilled once more as she decided to go on another lengthy explanation. Not that he was complaining. He liked listening to her talk, and the more she did it, the more he remembered having enjoyed it when he’d been a jaguar as well, even if a decent amount of it had been crying. Dario hadn’t meant the location so much as the why, but he listened still, content to hear whatever she saw fit to share. “People...don’t know what to do when someone cries. Or when they’re sad. They just want it to stop when it’s around them. So they try and offer shitty solutions.” She cried about...all these things? Bo probably thought more about others in the span of a single minute than he ever had in his entire life. And he hadn’t been the one to think about people and their bleeding hearts before, “Then I’m glad I came back. To give you less missing people to cry about.” He was surprised to find that the words were true, often warring with himself when it came to whether he should just go back to the forest, live out the rest of his life as a jaguar. Dario knew he’d go back one day, after everything was done, and after he got rid of those that had harmed his family. Being human...it just wasn’t right anymore. Not after everything that had happened, not with this burning grief in the pit of his stomach that he refused to acknowledge. He’d have to tell Bo when he changed back. Have to lie and say he was moving somewhere so that he didn’t add again to her pile of missing people she cried about. And just like that— he’d become one of the problem solvers he’d been so cynical of only moments ago. But it hadn’t only been because he was uncomfortable with the thought of her crying. He just wanted her...happier. So that maybe she didn’t have to spend quite so much time crying in the forest. “But uh-” Had it helped when he’d been her for her crying? Even if he’d been a jaguar. “You know- if you didn’t want to- cry...by yourself. I could uh- be here. Or whatever. Like before.” Absently, he rubbed at the back of his neck with a raised arm, obviously on shaky ground when it came to doing things like this. “I promise not to say shit. It’s probably safer for you, too. Keep the nudists away.” Was that weird? Was it...strange to offer to be there for someone when they cried?

A relieved sigh found him grinning once more, eyes crinkled in the slightest as they sailed back into more familiar waters when it came to topics of conversations. “You could touch them if you wanted.” Had he ever had his arms be compared to trees before? It was becoming clearer that her unique way of defining the world was something he enjoyed, something he found himself looking forward to whenever she answered once of his questions or spoke. “And I don’t mind kids. I swear they just turn into little gremlins at the pool.” With that, he was done being able to put off showing her at least a part of the jaguar, and he was left facing the tree in question. “Well I can’t keep the leaves waiting. I don’t mind Captain Dario, though.” A small, last joke to try and steel himself for any reaction she might have. But...so far things had been good, right? “Alright. Here we go.” With that, he willed his claws to slip out, letting the partial transformation take hold and holding his hands out for Bo’s inspection. “These...make it pretty easy to climb the trees.”

As clear as day, as simple as the fall of night and the change to day, Bo retorted without missing a single beat. “They are,” she asserted, looking at Dario with an unwavering resolve. “I know---I know what you mean. I’m an officer and I know. I know what people do, I’ve seen it. But you have to believe that deep down we are all creatures of good, capable of good. That we can be misguided, but we are good still. It’s---” her resolve shattered as she went on, and she blinked, lashes fluttering. “What else is there then? If you don’t believe?” Is that what Dario thought of the world? Should she have asked him what actually happened? Should she have inquired into his truth? She thought she might have been doing a kindness. Her normal nosy attitude pushed people away...as much as she didn’t really know Dario, she didn’t want to push him away. “I’m glad you came back too...but not for me. So you don’t have to live in a forest. So you can have people again.” She smiled, weak, but a smile nonetheless. And then, a laugh--equally as watery and weak, but a laugh just as genuine as the smile. “It’s okay, Dario. I think I should probably learn to stop crying so much…” she trailed off, her smiling growing just a little bigger; more valiant as she looked at him. “We can...do that for each other...you know? I can be your person and you can be mine? We can...cry with each other?” Was that dumb? It was probably dumb. “I don’t think either of us should be so alone, I mean! A-and I am really happy you’re back, even though I don’t know you so well!” It was weird. And it was getting weirder the more she went on so Bo swallowed back more of her word-vomit and moved on. “Yep! One nudist is enough for me.”

And it had been going fine, away from her weirdly personal babble and into more lighter territory until---”TOUCH THEM!?” Bo blinked, a slowly reddening face screaming her thoughts on that idea. “No, no, no, no,” and then she screamed them. “Absolutely not! I will not be doing---there will be no touching of you!” She gestured to him, scoffing like a nun. “Yeah! The kids turn into gremlins!” She whacked him again, finding that even in her embarrassment, she liked his company. And this odd humor they’d struck. “Okay, there, Captain. You--” she froze, staring at his hands. Had his nails always been that long? Wasn’t there some personal hygiene issue about that? Certainly, she hadn’t just watched them grow from him. That was absurd. She must simply have been too distracted from his tree-trunk arms to notice his clawed nails. “...You should really cut your nails, Dario. I mean...it’s pretty gross to let them grow out like that and is that--are they sharp? Did you sharpen your own nails?” She glanced at him, opinion skewed again. He had a nice heart though, and she was the one going on about believing in the good. “Uh, well, I’d be worried you’d break a nail if you used those. Are you sure this is safe for you?” At least he wasn’t nude...although maybe she wouldn’t have minded that.

Dario wasn’t sure if he agreed with her beliefs when it came to people. As much as he might want to think that people were pre-dispositioned to be good, that the goodness was always lingering inside them somewhere, fueling at least a little of their actions...he couldn’t let himself. How could he reconcile such a concept with the picture of the Hunters that had killed his family, that had murdered a little girl without hesitation...How could a person like that have even a single grain of goodness in them? But he wasn’t sure how to answer her question. What else was there? “I- maybe just...people. People that...aren’t good or evil. I don’t know.” He wasn’t sure whether he actually agreed with his answer, but he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Bo by not giving one whatsoever. And beyond that- he liked the certainty with which she spoke of her belief. That believing— it reminded him of how she wanted each and every person to come home, and that wasn’t something he wanted her to lose. So he could have people again. He didn’t know how to tell her that he wasn’t interested in people this time around. That picking up people meant you could lose them, and he wasn’t interested in losing people anymore. Nevertheless, he did his best to mirror her wan smile, not wanting her to be unhappy. “Honestly- the forest wasn’t bad.” Probably actually better than the weird cat lady garage he was currently staying in. “Especially since a pretty girl liked to come along and visit. Even if she was sad, sometimes. And that’s not a compliment,” he tacked onto the end, even if it was a lie. It seemed there was a direct link between her grin strengthening, and his own growing wider, but he still felt those nerves bundled with dread in his stomach. And yet...for a moment he decided to try and ignore them, to give Bo something she wanted, and give himself what he wanted as well if he were willing to admit it to himself. “I wouldn’t mind being your person.” He tried not to think about what would happen to her when he had to leave. Then he was blinking a bit owlishly, her words reminding him that there was truly no real explanation for the strange little string he seemed to feel that linked them together, that she knew him even less than he thought he knew her. She didn’t believe the jaguar stuff had really happened...right? “Yes. I’d probably just be jealous of any other nudists in your life.”

This time, his grin was brighter as she blushed, with a hint of a smirk as well. Old habits died hard, he supposed. “Alright, you don’t have to touch me. Should I touch you, then?” he teased, hand barely raised in her direction. An actual chuckle fell from him as she landed her hit, his head nodding forward a bit with the motion. “You said you wouldn’t touch me and then...you touch me. Do you see how I might be getting some mixed signals here, Bo?” You should really cut your nails, Dario. Well. At least she hadn’t freaked out. However at the same time...this wasn’t exactly...progress. “No- it’s not my nails,” he said, trying to hold them out further, retracting them into his hand, and then letting the claws slip loose once more. “It’s- I know you...you have to remember seeing...a jaguar...right?

Bo held herself, eyes fixed back to the pond—still, steady water. A sight she could parse, a sight that had easy answers. Maybe people weren't good or bad but then...what was the point? If everything was neutral then where did the hope go? She didn't answer his speculation, she thought even entertaining an idea like that would strike her frail optimism down. She looked back at him, hoping he'd understand that she'd been lying just a little; she needed that hope. She needed to believe. Even if everyone else didn't, she had to. But these were grand questions, probing introspection that she didn't want to get into. He'd already seen her cry, would he have to know how fragile each part of her felt? She'd never known how to lay those parts bare without thundering guilt striking behind each confession. "But it's a forest, there's no plumbing out here." She already felt like he knew too much and her throat tightened around her words, begging she swallow it all back down. Instead, she smiled a little wider still and let him go on. "Then it's official," Bo grinned, shyly tucking away strands of her hair behind a reddening ear. "We're each other's people." His height never bothered her until she decided she wanted to look him in the eyes properly. She propped her hand on her hip, indignant, just to make it seem like she wasn't hopelessly gazing up—wishing on whatever stars she could see. "I'd be jealous of any other police officers in your life." A beat. She threw up her hands a moment later. "Uh, b-but not really because you should definitely seek the help of everyone on the force if you ever need it!"

Bo didn't know her face could burn as much as it was now. "I'm not—hitting doesn't count as touching! It's not touching! I'm not touching! There will be no touching!" She jammed her hands into the tiny pockets of her jeans, awkwardly kicking at the ground. "I'll mix your signals," she grumbled, "you giant nudist with meaty arms." Bo had also never really learned how to insult people just right, though it wasn't a skill she ever wanted. Her eyes turned to his hands and she stumbled back, blinking. "That's some...interesting make-up work…" Stage plays used something similar for those fake-knives, didn't they? But she'd never seen it so realistic, done so effortless. Even Beatrice's magic (which was also fake) didn't look this good...then again, she never did look at it this closely, more marveled by the spectacle of it. "Jaguar?" She glanced up, meeting his eyes again. "That—that—" she had remembered one. But that was him...in a jaguar-suit? With those fake-claws? Was he trying to say that not only was he a nudist, he was one of those people that dressed up like animals? Bo stumbled backwards, inching away from Dario. "Y-yes I—I sometimes see things when I'm crying. It gets—I get really dehydrated... that's probably why. Jaguars don't live in Maine."

Dario didn’t feel any need to push the conversation about good and bad, pure and evil. That was something he himself didn’t have any wish to delve into, not wanting to burden himself with the emotional baggage that would seep into such a conversation. Besides, who was he to try and break Bo’s worldview? By the looks of it, she already had enough reasons to cry, and he was a little surprised to find that somewhere in the last fifteen minutes, he’d decided to never be a reason she felt the need to run to the forest and let tears loose. And yet, it was still impossible to not give a little sigh as she spoke about plumbing, obviously still not willing to marry the concepts of the jaguar she fed in the forest, and the man that stood before her. “No plumbing is correct.” But the warm little feeling in his chest was quickly returning as they got back to their declarations of people, and his soft smile was blooming in another moment. “Then it’s official,” he echoed, feeling a little stupid for how...content he felt in the moment. To think that he had someone here in White Crest that would be his person, and vice versa. It’d been far too long since he’d felt the bond of another human in a way such as this. Perhaps...he’d missed it more than he’d been willing to admit. “Don’t worry, Bo. I promise— you’re the only police officer for me,” he said, slipping into more flirtatious cadences once again without so much as blinking.

God, it was cute the way her face just lit up to the color of a tomato though, wasn’t it? And it couldn’t be his fault if he found himself increasingly endeared. Who wouldn’t have such a reaction to a sight such as this? “It definitely counts. It’s too late, Bo. You already touched me. There’s no going back, now.” He dropped the hand he’d teasingly been inching towards, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if he was misreading the situation. “You can mix my signals any time you’d like to,” he continued on in that smooth, effortless tone. He held his breath as she stepped back, a pang of nerves entering his stomach as fear made itself known. Would he lose this person so quickly? All because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing? “It’s not make-up, Bo,” he said gently, sincerely— very much disliking the hint of vulnerability that was coming through his voice now. “You’re right, they don’t live in Maine. Not regular jaguars, anyway.” Fuck, she was backing away again. A flash of panic set in, not wanting to drive Bo away. “Bo- please. I’m not- making this stuff up. I promise,” a hint of pleading entered his tone, along with a sense of worry.

Bo beamed, warmth settling into her in waves. It was official, she smiled. They were each other’s people, the definition of which she wasn’t entirely sure about but she liked the idea all the same. “And you’re the only nudist for me!” She beamed back innocently, whatever flirtatious tone he took, she was unaware of. She never was the best at reading those kinds of things.

Except...this did kind of sound like flirting, didn’t it? “Oh,” Bo squeaked, trying to figure out if he was earnest or not. Probably not. He did this sort of thing with women all the time, right? He probably did it with Beatrice too which made her feel...something. Something she definitely didn’t want to address. But really, was it any of her business knowing her ex-friend turned tentative-friend slept with the hot nudist with the tree-trunk arms? No. And so, like most things that didn’t make sense, she ignored the feeling. “I don’t want to touch or mix your signals!” She coughed to hide her impossibly red face. Eventually, the redness did fade, replaced with paleness. She continued to stumble back. “Th-that’s so cool, Dario!” Her laugh was nervous. Could she remember the way out of the forest? Was it a left and a right and then a left? Or was it two rights? “If it’s not make-up then what---” she gulped. She didn’t want to know. “You’re not...you’re not one of those people are you?” The small population in White Crest that screamed about Vampires and Werewolves and now...Jaguar people? No. That couldn’t be right. They were each other’s people. Dario wouldn’t do this to her. He wouldn’t be like them, he wouldn’t throw his life away like her father had. “A furry!” She quickly corrected herself, “okay, wow! That’s sooo neat!” She picked up her things, leaving the box of cookies for him. “So awesome! I like Garfield too! Or whatever furries like.” Bo was nearly crawling away before she paused. Dario was being sincere and she was being...rude? “Okay,” she sighed, “It’s just---It’s getting late. And I need to...water my plants.”

Dario’s eyeroll and matched sigh were gentle enough, still simply pleased to have made a...friend? How long had it been since he made a new friend? He was fairly certain the bear he’d meet in the forest and sometimes hung around as a jaguar didn’t really count, even if they’d hung out a good amount...if you could consider a jaguar and a bear lying in the tree branches making various noises at one another...hanging out. A low chuckle rumbled through him while Bo’s face was still pinkened, and her voice was possibly too high pitched for her own good. This was the second time the word ‘cute’ had leapt unbidden to his mind, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Better just take it for what it was. If he found her cute, it made sense. Who wouldn’t? “You don’t have to touch me, Bo. Only if you want to, like I said. Just let me know,” he teased a bit longer, though his voice had toned i’s smooth and effortless flirtatious air down a few notches, a bit worried Bo might spontaneously combust.

All that joy was once again replaced by dread, disappointment, and a tinge of guilt. He shouldn’t have shown her, right? He’d made a mistake. But was it his fault for wanting the girl who’d somehow brought him back to the human world to fully understand what she’d done? Just how much he owed her? And should he be condemned for hoping that...she’d be happy to know him both as himself and as the jaguar? As quickly as they’d appeared, that claws were gone, and Dario was holding his hands alongside his head as if surrendering. “Sure, if that’s what you want to think...sure.” It wouldn’t be the first time he was called a furry. At this point, he was willing to go along with whatever she might say in hopes that she might stop looking at him like he was- well....a freak. To top it all off, it seemed like the chocolate chips that had been in her cookies decided to take their vengeance, his stomach gurgling and rolling in a very unpleasant manner. If he didn't want to make an even bigger fool of himself, Dario needed to get out of here as well. “Sure,” he repeated, retreating back into the closed off shell he’d made for himself upon returning to human-kind. “You go do that.” Taking a few steps back to give her some space, his hands thrust themselves into his pockets before he remembered to say. “Thanks...for the cookies.”

Bo lingered at the edge of the clearing, hand pressed to the rough bark of a tree. She watched him for a moment, seemingly defeated, and waited. Part of her thought he might transform into that strange Jaguar she saw in her tear-filled delusions, part of her thought his eyes had that same curiosity, tinged with that same sadness. Her fingers twitched against the bark and she fought back the urge to go to him, to ease away pain, to make things better like she always wanted to. She didn't like the way he nearly curled into himself, she liked him open and laughing and joking and saying he was her person, a lot better. She could fix this. She could fix that sadness. She could for him, and she would for everyone else in this town. "Dario," she called out, "thank you...for inviting me here." She bit her lip, searching for more words, "and thank you for...taking your fursuit out and listening to me cry and letting me rub your belly and—" she gulped. That wasn't exactly the comfort she was trying to go for. "You're a good guy, Dario. I hope good things happen to you." And with that, she left, mind on the strange man by the pond.

#// don't ask me how this got this long #we had feelings #wickedswriting #ch:Bo #chatzy #send nudists

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minuteminx · 4 years

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Ooh how’s about 🌼 and 🔥???

Omg I spent way too long answering one of these but it was so much fun. Thank you for the ask friend!!

🌼Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI (or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

One stumbling foot after another, limbs still tingling from two-hundred and ten years frozen in that chamber. Two-hundred and ten. And what had she woken up to? A missing baby, a dead husband, and a barren wasteland where the only things that didn’t seem to want to kill her were Codsworth and the stray German Shepherd who walked cautiously close to her side.

She was heading toward Concord, where Codsworth had said other people were. He didn’t seem too hopeful that they were good, non-violent people who wouldn’t kill her on sight, but at this point she didn’t care. Other people, other humans... she’d thought she was alone, and it was worth the risk.

As soon as she stepped foot into the once thriving historical site, now nothing more than a ghost town, bullets whizzed past her. She shrieked and crouched. She wasn’t a fighter, she’d only ever learned how to use a pistol just in case if intruders, and she was currently armed with nothing more than a prayer and that rusty combat knife she’d found in the vault.

People in odd cloth and cage attire turned to look at her, or at least appeared to look at her. She couldn’t tell through the goggled hoods they wore. For a brief instant she wondered if the might be friendly, but only an instant, as one of them raised their weapon and aimed.

Charlie clenched her eyes shut, preparing for her inevitable demise, but it didn’t come. Instead there was a loud searing noise, one she’d never heard before, the smell of ozone and burnt flesh filling her nostrils. The noise rang out again and again, and again, until she was brave enough to open her eyes. Before her were no longer attackers, but piles of glowing red ash.

She looked around frantically for the source of whatever it was that had more than likely saved her life, but there was nothing around, no one. Then she heard it.

“Ma’am,” a man’s voice shouted. She looked around again. “Up here!”

She lifted her gaze up directly in front of her, to the remains of what used to be the Museum of Freedom. On the balcony stood a man, dressed in some ridiculous colonial attire and hat that looked like they were taken straight from one of the exhibits, waving at her. Was she dreaming? Had she died? If so the afterlife had some sick sense of humor. Angels didn’t dress like Paul Revere. Or did they?

“Hey,” he shouted again and she snapped back to “reality,” flinching and blinking. “I know you’re scared but you have to get inside. There are more Raiders coming.”

“But—“

“Grab that laser musket on the ground there and hurry.”

Laser. Musket. Was he serious? She didn’t have time to question further as she heard shouting in the distance, she grabbed the ungainly weapon and ran inside.

Of course she was met with opposition. A hand full of those “raiders”—as the balcony man had called them— had made their way into the main hall. Charlie hid and fiddled with the gun attempting to figure out how it worked while Dogmeat made easy work of some of the attackers. She finally realized the gun had to be cranked before pulling the trigger would work. She did so, and managed to knock an enemy over one of the railings above.

She and Dogmeat made their way through a maze of dilapidated exhibits, past broken display cases and turned over mannequins, until she heard that man’s voice again. He was talking to another man, whose voice, though mumbled, sounded apologetic, despondent. Charlie approached slowly, afraid to alarm the men inside, worried they might not be safe after all.

Dogmeat barked happily, wagged his tail, and rushed ahead of her. The man in the hat knelt down and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears and praise for “bringing help.” Was she the help? Boy did she have some disappointing news for him.

Charlie entered the room, sheepish, feeling clownish with her skin tight vault suit. The man turned his attention from Dogmeat to her, rose back to his feet and smiled.

“Ma’am, I don’t know who you are,” he said, as if somehow impressed with her less than dazzling arrival, “But your timing is impeccable.”

She looked around the room, eyes meeting those of a man in a mechanic jumpsuit with welding goggles and the best hair she’d ever seen, an old woman who looked entirely too calm for the situation, a tear-stained man, and a woman who looked like she wanted to murder Charlie just as much as the people outside. She finally brought her eyes back to the man who’d spoken to her. He had warm brown skin and matching eyes that waited patiently for her to gather her bearings.

“I’m Preston Garvey.” He extended a hand to her to shake. “Commonwealth Minutemen.”

She took his hand, and the simple gesture nearly overwhelmed her. Even unconscious, two-hundred and ten years locked in an icebox left her completely starved for human contact. Tears welled in her eyes and she cursed herself mentally. This kind stranger was going to think her weak.

“Woah. Hey.” He squeezed her hand more firmly, and led her over to a chair that sat nearby. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting down and taking a few steadying breaths to keep her from losing it. She smiled and looked up at the man who called himself Preston. He didn’t know her, but his face was painted with so much concern. “Its a long story.”

“I’d love to hear it.” He smiled again. “As soon as we get the hell out of this museum.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Smart.” She shook her head. “But, uh, I go by Charlie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.” With that he stood up, looked around the room, and then back at her. “Can you help us?”

“I can try.”

🔥If your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones?

Charlie has a really long fuse, and it takes a lot to make her angry enough that she becomes outwardly so. The quickest way to make her blood boil is to hurt or threaten those she cares about as well as just innocent people who don’t deserve to be hurt or threatened. She’s very put off by injustice as well as petty sniping when a team solution is always a better option. She has two types of anger: cold and icy (usually reserved for situations in which she likes the people who are pissing her off- like for instance when Desdemona and Deacon did not trust her to lead the Minutemen to do the right thing re: the synths in the Institute). Rather than saying hurtful things she just shuts down completely until she’s able to talk about it. And then there’s the fiery hot anger that’s much less common for her but it’s pretty much reserved for people/organizations that would hurt those she loves. Hell hath no fury like Charlie in those instances. Oh and she’s typically pretty easy to calm down. A diffusing joke, a comforting hand on the shoulder, etc

#fallout 4 #charlie smart #preston garvey #long post #asks

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illfoandillfie · 5 years

Text

Future Management

Pairing: Roger x Reader

Summery: Roger rewires your mind

Warnings: Smut!, Bimbofication/intelligence play, Hypnosis/trance state, drinking, tickling, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex (yes you read that correctly there’s actually a condom in this one wtf), mentions of spanking/restraints/blindfolds/degradation/public sex but not explicitly, a bit of dom!rog sub!reader, thigh riding.

Words: 6969 (N I C E !!)

Inspired by: Future Management by Roger Taylor (oh my god that video im hhhhHHHhh this song really makes me feel some kinda way)

A/N: So Bimbofication has a bunch of different connotations for different people. For some the emphasis is on the physical shape of a stereotypical bimbo – think big boobs and blonde hair and a valley girl accent - which can lead into body modification stuff. For some it goes hand in hand with hypnosis and mind control. For some it’s about intelligence play - turning a smart person dumb. There are a bunch of different ways to play with this kink and different things to get out of it, especially when you start mixing the different aspects together or connecting it to a dom/sub dynamic. I’ve gone with an interpretation that aligns with what I personally find hot about bimbofication, mostly focusing on the turning a smart girl into a dumb slut/sex object aspect (though I’ve also included a little hint of the physical appearance) using some light hypnosis stuff as gateway to the “bimbo state”. I am by no means an expert in hypnosis (or anything), I just have a passing interest and think it’s kinda hot. A lot of the hypnosis part of the script was inspired by THIS podcast episode which discusses bimbofication/intelligence play and ends with one of the hosts hypnotising the other to make her dumber (it’s a really interesting discussion and FUCK that hypno scene at the end oof its hot).

Also big thanks to @somekindof-cheese @idontbelievethiss and @dtftomholland for being my betas and giving me some great feedback!!

Taglist: @ezmina98 @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama (i hope none of you mind being tagged in this, couldn’t remember if you’d asked to be tagged in all my fics or just the RRL ones lmao, let me know if you wanna be removed from the list!)

To the world at large you are a well-respected, intelligent, and accomplished woman. You graduated university top of your class and head of multiple extracurricular groups. After uni you’d found a job that you loved, working in a law firm, gaining attention as you rose through the ranks and became a prominent attorney. Two years ago you’d thrown it all in to start your own non-profit organisation that aimed to reduce the growing rate of homelessness. It was challenging work but rewarding and you loved it. You’d appeared as a guest on news panels and talk radio programs to discuss the issue and campaign for support which had made you, if not a household name, certainly a recognisable figure in the community. Which is how Roger knew you when you first met. Of course, you’d known him too – how could you not?

You’d run into him at bar, most of your friends having ditched you for the dancefloor or whoever they were hoping to take home. That wasn’t really your scene though so you’d intended to finish your drink and then head home. Before you could leave, he was in front of you, introducing himself and apologising for the interruption. “I wanted to congratulate you on your work, what you’re doing is incredible,” he said earnestly, “the world needs more women like you. More people like you.” “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say,” “I’ll leave you to your drink now, have a good evening,” “Wait,” you said, surprising yourself, “this seat’s free if you want to join me,”

That introduction sparked a conversation which lasted hours. For the rest of the night you were wrapped up in each other entirely, the flow of conversation never stopping as you covered every topic under the sun – politics and music and food and literature and everything in between – without any awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. You found yourself hanging on his every word, blown away by his quick wit and intelligence, and that cheekiness that permeated his very being. He kept both your glasses topped up as you talked, well beyond the point where all your friends had left, until eventually he invited you back to his place. You hesitated, the first hitch in your conversation all night. “You okay?” Roger asked after you were silent for a little too long. “Yeah. I just, don’t...know...” “Don’t know if you want to come home with me?” “Yeah.” You nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “That’s okay, you don’t have to. Just figured, we’re having such an amazing night, why should it end now?” he said with a slight shrug, “It does kinda surprise me that you’re unsure about it though.” “What d’you mean by that?” “Nothing bad I promise.” he chuckled, “Just that you’re so sure about everything else. Don’t really seem like the type to not know your own mind.” You exhaled a single breathy ‘ha’, “About everything else you are correct. Not so much with this sort of thing.” “Well, at least let me drop you home.” “That would be nice, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” He stood to call a car since neither of you were in any state to drive, “The offer still stands by the way, if you do decide you want to. You’ve got nothing to lose.” You laughed as he threw you a wink but his words stuck with you, looping through your head as you waited for him to return.

Roger led you out into the street to wait for the car, placing his jacket over your shoulders when he noticed you shiver slightly. He leaned against the brick wall of the bar as you chatted in soft voices until the car arrived. Once you were both tucked away in the back seat, safely hidden from prying eyes and cameras, Roger leaned towards you. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb sliding softly over your cheek. Your eyes darted to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “At the risk of ruining an otherwise great night, I’d really like to kiss you.” You nodded, the closeness of your bodies already releasing a colony of butterflies in your stomach, their fluttering only getting faster as he moved closer still. His lips were softer than you’d been expecting, his hands rougher as the one remained on your face and the other rested gently against your arm, though you should probably have realised so many years of drumming would leave their mark. You rested your hands against his shoulders, gradually slipping one up into his hair as he deepened the kiss. Well, shit, if this is how he kisses... You blinked your eyes open as he broke away from you. No one had ever kissed you like that before and there was only one thought running through your head. Roger’s voice. You’ve got nothing to lose. “Take me home with you,” you said softly but decidedly, throwing caution to the wind. Roger grinned and indicated the change of plans to the driver before pulling you into another kiss.

Neither of you even contemplated stopping the whole way to his house, only breaking apart briefly to fall out of the car and hastily climb the steps up to his front door. Even then, his hands remained on you – lightly tracing over the small patch of exposed skin on your back where your shirt had come untucked from your pants. Clutching Roger’s arm, you leaned in to kiss along his neck as he fumbled with his keys. You felt very unlike yourself but it wasn’t an unwelcome difference. You’d never felt such a connection with anyone before. Never found anyone quite as irresistible as you found him. You were glad you’d agreed to this, vaguely recalling the rumours you’d heard about how capable Roger was with women and deciding you could use a little capable. When he finally figured out the keys he ushered you inside and lunged for your lips again, pressing you against the wall as he found them. You’ve got nothing to lose. It was the only thought you had time for as his hands slid down to cup your arse, pulling you tightly against him, and he began kissing down your neck, making your breath quicken. He pushed his jacket from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in the middle of the hallway as he found his way back to your mouth, and began walking you through the dark house towards his bedroom. You hit the edge of the bed faster than you’d been prepared for, falling backwards with a giggle and a soft thud. Roger laughed as you scooted backwards towards the centre of the bed, and followed you, slightly more gracefully than you managed. Moonlight streamed through the partially open curtains, bathing you both in a soft light that made him look somehow more gorgeous, and you couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Hovering over you he began unbuttoning your blouse, his lips wandering over your sternum and down towards your chest. You moved to unfasten the buttons and zip on your pants, trying to speed up the process. “Someone’s in a hurry,” “Want you so bad Roger. Been a while since I did this and god I need it.” “How long’s a while?” he paused midway through pushing your shirt down your arms. “Umm... Months, not sure how many.” “Christ. If you wanna slow down...” “Don’t slow down.” You leaned up to kiss him again, to show him how eager you were, “Just don’t try anything too crazy, I’m a little out of practice.” You pulled your shirt off and throw it to the floor. “Noted,” Roger said as he began tugging your pants off and dropped them to the floor as well, “I’m gonna make sure the wait was worth it though.” He lowered his head towards your thigh and you couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled up in your throat. “Oh, you’re ticklish!” his face lit up in cheeky delight as he brought his hands up to your sides, making you squeal and writhe as you tried to escape the sensation. Every twitch of his fingers pulled more laughter from you until you were panting and struggling to say his name, begging him to stop. “You’ve got such a cute laugh,” he said as he removed his hands from you, dropping a small kiss just below your bellybutton as you tried to catch your breath, “can’t wait to hear what you sound like moaning.” You could feel him smirking as he left another kiss, lower than the first, on your skin and you let out a breathy whine. He kissed lower still, leading down to your still clothed pussy and the small wet spot that had appeared over the course of the night, as you pushed yourself up on your forearms to watch. When a kiss landed over the top of your clit your hips bucked and when he wrapped his lips round the wet spot, sucking the soaked material into his mouth you whined again. He was clearly enjoying teasing you, the tent in his pants more obvious with every passing moment. “You want some help with that?” you indicated his noticeable bulge but Roger told you to hush. “I’m not the one that’s gone without for months. Just lie back and let me take care of you.” With that he finally tugged your underwear down your legs, and you let your head fall back against the pillow.

Roger didn’t hesitate, pushing your legs further open as he dived in to lick your pussy. He took his time, covering almost every inch of you with his mouth, listening to your whines and whimpers so he could find where you were most sensitive, but steadily avoiding your clit. When he sucked one of your lips into his mouth you moaned and he made sure to repeat the action, sending a jolt through you each time. You were already babbling about how good it felt, breathless words rolling off your tongue with no rhyme or reason, bleeding into each other and the moans that followed, when he began to tease your entrance, pushing his finger tip in and letting it slip back out as you tried to clench around it. “Aren’t you just so needy,” he said as he sunk his finger into you, deeper this time, and let it slip out again, “haven’t even touched your clit and you’re already close to cumming for me,” he continued to finger you slowly, pushing deeper each time until it was buried knuckle deep in your core. Then he began again, adding a second finger, as he returned his mouth to your wet folds. You whined his name as the pit in your stomach began to ache with the need for release, and put your hand on the back of his head trying to press him closer. Roger scissored his fingers inside you for a moment before he brought them to a complete halt. You whimpered at the sudden change but didn’t have time to reprimand him as he finally brought his mouth to your clit, flicking his tongue back and forth over it. It felt fucking incredible but the pressure wasn’t consistent enough to push you over the edge. “Oh fuck. Roger I’m so close,” “I know, can feel you clenching round my fingers.” You bucked your hips again, trying to get the friction you needed and felt Roger laugh, his breath ghosting over your pussy. “Want to hear you scream my name when you cum. Let everyone know who makes you feel this good.” He pressed his tongue against your clit before sucking it between his lips, at the same time he made a come-hither motion with his two fingers. Within seconds you were coming undone, moaning his name loudly, as per his request. He held you there, blissed out beyond belief, eyes closed as you rode out the orgasm, quivering slightly as his fingers twitched inside you. “So was that worth waiting for?” You blinked as you came back to reality and found Roger looking up at you, his head resting against your thigh as he drew random patterns over your stomach. “You realise It’s been months since I last had sex not since I last had an orgasm, right? Like, I do know how to masturbate,” a pause, “But yes, well worth it,” you conceded with a smile. Roger flashed you the cockiest grin you’d ever seen, “told you so.” He crawled back over you and you could taste yourself on his lips as he kissed you hungrily, “and by the way,” he said breaking the kiss, “you masturbating is something I would be very interested in watching. But right now, all I want is to be buried in your gorgeous cunt. The way you felt around my fingers, fuck, want you on my cock so bad.” You hummed as you kissed him, “Think I can make that happen,” you said before rolling the both of you over so you were leaning over him. “Condoms are in the top draw” he pointed at his bedside table as you hurried to undo his fly and pull his pants and underwear down his legs. “I’ll get it, you get those clothes off.” “Yes ma’am,” he said, already ripping his shirt over his head. You saw it fall to the floor as you dug around the draw, followed by the sound of him kicking his pants off his feet. His cock was already standing at attention when you got back to the bed, tearing open the condom wrapper with your teeth. “Might have to take this a bit slow,” you said as you rolled the condom down his shaft. Roger nodded as you took hold of his cock to line him up with your entrance. His breath caught in his throat as you slowly sunk down on him, taking your time as you adjusted to the unfamiliar and complete fullness. “Christ, fuck,” you swore under your breath as you took him a little deeper and paused again. “Stole the words right outta my mouth,” he grunted, squeezing your hips, “fuck, you okay?” “Told you I was out of practice,” your laugh turned into a moan as you lowered yourself the last inch or so, sheathing him fully inside you. Roger moved his hands to squeeze your breasts as your breaths turned to pants. You slowly began rocking your hips, the room filing with your gasps and whines as you picked up speed. “Fuck, want to be buried in your cunt forever.” he gasped out as you began raising and lowering yourself on your knees, needing more more more. “Roger, ohh god, rub my clit, please,” He didn’t need to be told twice, letting one hand drop down where you needed it. His touch sent a shiver down your spine and your back arched as his name dripped from your lips again. This only encouraged Roger who sped up the furious circles he was making on your clit. You felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm as your pussy clenched. “Gonna cum soon,” Roger’s hips jerked up as he grunted his warning. “Same,” you said as you leaned forward to suck a hickey onto his collarbone. It wasn’t much longer before he was calling out your name as he hit his climax, and pulling you into yours with his fingers still on your clit.

You collapsed on your side next to him, still breathing heavily. Roger left the bed long enough to dispose of the used condom before he was back, pulling you against him and throwing the covers over the two of you. “I’ll call a cab in a moment,” you said, voice thick with exhaustion. “Don’t be daft.” “Not gonna kick me out?” “Course not. Jesus, what d’you take me for.” “Good. I’m too comfy to move anyway.” “Good. I like having you in my bed.” You hummed as his arms tightened around you and you felt him drop a kiss to the back of your neck. You could feel your eyes drooping but fought off sleep for as long as you could, not wanting the moment to end. Letting your fingers trail softly over Roger’s hand which was flung over your stomach, you listened as his breathing slowed and became deeper. Smiling into the pillow you finally let yourself succumb to sleep.

When you woke up you were alone and slightly confused by your unfamiliar surroundings. Oh, fuck... Things started coming back to you as you took in the clothing still littering the floor. You hurried to dress yourself in yesterday’s clothes and then made your way out of the room, wanting to find a phone to call a cab from. You found Roger first, following the sound of the kettle through the house to the kitchen. He was standing over the stove, back to the doorway and you allowed yourself a moment to look him over in the daylight before you caught his attention. “Morning,” He whipped around at the sound of your voice, “Morning. I was gonna bring breakfast up to you.” He held up the spatula he was clutching as proof of his intentions. “Thanks, but I should probably get going.” “Already?” You were surprised by the note of disappointment in his voice. “That’s how this sort of thing normally works, isn’t it?” “Told you last night I’m not gonna kick you out.” You hesitated. “It’s a free meal, love, might as well stay. Nothing to lose.” There were those words again. They reverberated through your head and you found yourself sitting down. Roger smiled as he turned back around to the stove, shuffling fry pans and plates around as he served the breakfast. “I hope bacon and eggs are okay,” he said as he placed your plate in front of you. “Brilliant,” you suddenly realised just how hungry you were, not having eaten properly since lunch yesterday. “Dig in, don’t wait for me. Tea?” “Yes please. No milk, two sugars.” “Can I ask you something? About last night?” “Yeah,” you said, a forkful of food halfway to your mouth as your stomach began to twist with nerves. “What made you change your mind?” He put the tea down in front of you, “You were going to go home and then you changed your mind. What was it that convinced you to stay?” “You’ve got nothing to lose. You said that to me and I realised you were right.” You shrugged as you brought the fork to your mouth, “Plus, no one had ever kissed me like that before.” “I was giving you my A game, had to impress you.” “I was worth A game?” “Course, couldn’t give such an incredible woman less than that” “You flatterer,” you laughed, “It had been a while though, I probably would have been happy with C game.” “Well I didn’t find that out till later did I.” He took a sip of his tea, staring at you over the top of his cup. “Out of curiosity, why had it been so long? Something to do with the lack of A game kissing?” he teased. “I mean, it was a factor.” You could hear the indignation creeping into your voice and willed it away, “Not everyone has mountains of groupies after them.” So much for no indignation. “No need to get defensive,” Roger held both his hands up, palms towards you, “wasn’t judging.” “Sorry. It’s a bit of a sore spot is all.” “No, you’re fine. I shouldn’t pry.” “Truth is I haven’t dated much. And none of the guys I did date were any good. Recently it’s just been easier to put work first.” “Does that mean I’m the best you’ve ever had,” his cocky grin from the previous night was back and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, but it was a very very low bar.” “I’ll take what I can get.” He looked you over, seeming like he wanted to say something else but wasn’t sure how, “I had the best time with you last night and I was thinking y’know...maybe this doesn’t have to end here. Let me take you out tomorrow night on a proper date.” “Let me guess… I’ve got nothing to lose?” you laughed. “That a yes?” “Yes.”

You left Roger’s place a little while later, heading home to sink into a hot bath and relax, and barely thought about anything besides him until he picked you up the next night. Your first official date went well – dinner, drinks, making out in the car before he dropped you home. You invited him inside but he wanted to prove he was interested in you for reasons besides that, instead leaving you with lips tingling from a long deep kiss as he departed, and the immediate need to masturbate. He took you out again the next night and again two days after that. Before you knew it, you were three months into your relationship, spending more and more time with him. You introduced him to your friends and family and met his in return. To the outside world you were still the same intelligent and accomplished woman, but now you also had an enviable relationship which seemed to get you more attention than your work did, though Roger was always the first to brag about it. He loved showing you off, telling anyone who’d listen about your work, pulling you into conversations so people could see you were just as bright and self-assured and brilliant as he’d told them you were. More than once you found yourself in a deep discussion with someone he’d been talking to, and caught him staring at you like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. It made your chest burst every time. The way he celebrated every aspect of you, cared enough to ask about your day and pressed for details about your job. Even when you disagreed about something, he’d hear you out, maybe with an eye roll, but he genuinely cared about your thoughts and opinions.

Which made it easier to take yourself less seriously and loosen up a little. Your work was still incredibly important and something you cared deeply about, but now that you had Roger it was easier to admit you’d been spending too much time at the office. Using it as an excuse to avoid the terrifying unknowns of life and the impending future you hadn’t been able to imagine. Where before the question ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ would have caused anxiety that led to a week’s worth of overtime and insomnia, now you were able to confidently say, “I might not know but I hope it’s with Roger.” You smiled more around him, laughed more. He could turn you into a silly giggling fool with one look, and that was the most freeing feeling you’d ever experienced. You had nothing to prove to Roger. You didn’t have to make him see you how you wanted to be seen, like you’d had to do within your studies and work, because he already saw you as wonderful. And frankly you liked the person you were with him more than you’d liked the person you were alone.

And then there was the sex. You’d never believed people when they talked about the incredible sex they were regularly having. Never understood why everyone made such a big deal about it. In your experience it wasn’t worth it. Roger had quickly changed your mind. On your third official date he agreed to go back to your place but you’d spent most of the night talking about sex rather than actually having any. The topic of your limited experience had come up again and Roger was trying to gauge what you'd already tried. “Yes, I’ve sucked dick before,” you rolled your eyes as you stood to fill your empty wine glass, waving it round as you spoke, “not my favourite thing ever if I’m being honest but no one ever complained about my techniques.” “Hand job?” “Is that a request?” You raised your eyebrows and took a sip of your wine. “Stop trying to get my pants off, love,” he laughed, “You’re the one who keeps saying you’ve never had good sex, ‘m just trying to find out what you have had, so I can decide how to blow your mind next.” “If you really must know, all the guys I’ve been with were fairly bad at it. Only two of them made me cum regularly and even then it was a one and done situation. You did more to blow my mind on our not-quite-a-one-night-stand than anyone else has.” “Keep talking like that and you’ll give me a big head.” “As if you don’t already have one.” You dropped yourself into his lap, giggling at the small ‘oof’ of surprise he let out, and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Alright, alright. So, what’s the kinkiest you’ve done then?” “Does being eaten out count as kinky?” “God, are you serious?” “No, I did convince one of them to spank me once which was fun. Hinted that I might want to try more, being tied up and stuff, but he wasn’t into it.” “Christ, no wonder you gave up on dating,” “I wouldn’t say gave up, just put it on the back burner.” “Well it’s a good thing you met me then.” he said, looking up into your eyes, “I’d be very happy to tie you up, and stuff.” A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestion, “Really? You’re into it?” “Oh, love, we are going to have some fun. You’ve got -” “Nothing to lose,” you finished before leaning down to kiss him.”

The longer you were together the more you found yourself thinking about sex. It was like meeting Roger had flipped a switch inside your brain, set off some sort of chemical reaction that made your blood run hot and your skin tingle with the need to be touched. Suddenly you cared about sex, wanted it, even dreamt about it. You had years of bad sex and dry spells to erase and Roger was only too happy to help. To his credit he never rushed you or pushed you to try things you weren’t comfortable with and he always made sure you were safe as he slowly opened your eyes to new things. It started out small, a light spanking one night, since you already had experience with it and liked it. He used it as an excuse to question you more about what else you’d be interested in trying, promising to reward you with another hit for every answer you gave him. At first you’d felt self-conscious, especially when asked to describe what you’d fantasised about. But soon enough he’d had you admitting to everything you’d ever wanted to try, desperately trying to earn another spank as you slowly dripped onto his knee. And then he’d praised you for answering so well and god you could have cum from that alone, the three fingers he'd pressed into you were just a bonus.

Your answers gave him ideas for what to try next. Adding handcuffs or blindfolds when he fucked you, calling you degrading names while you tried out words like Sir or Master for him, testing how they felt on your tongue and deciding which you liked. Pulling you into public restrooms and other secluded spaces because you admitted that the danger of being caught was a turn on. He’d use your own ideas against you until you were begging, often times for more. He was particularly fond of bringing up the fantasy you’d had of being turned into a silly, giggly, dumb slut – empty headed and eager to please. It was something you’d developed a penchant for back at uni, a fantasy you turned to when the pressure to be smarter than everyone else got too much, though you’d never actually told anyone about it before. The idea of him knowing – of anyone knowing – your desire to be a brainless bimbo was terrifying and exciting and every time he mentioned it you got goosebumps and butterflies. He’d lean in close to your ear, running his hands through your hair, and tell you that a good slut had no use for her brain. That you should just let it go. What could you possibly have to think about besides being pretty and filling your holes however he wanted? It was so easy to sit and listen, let his words fill your head until there wasn’t room for anything else, just the need to please him. It was your favourite release when work was stressful and tough, and for the last week that’s all work had been. Between the land deal you were trying to organise taking longer than you’d planned and the constant juggling of calls to contractors for quotes and calls to estate agents to renegotiate terms, everything was getting to be too much. You just needed to forget about everything for a little while.

So, when Roger got home that evening, he found you waiting, wearing the tightest, skimpiest clothes you owned – a skirt that only just covered your lace panty clad arse, and a low-cut singlet over a bra that pushed your tits together, plus the tallest heels you owned. It was the sort of outfit you only wore when you wanted to be his brainless toy. It helped you drop into your new role faster, helped your brain melt away. “Everything okay?” He asked as he pulled you into a hug. “Yeah, just need a break. If you’re up for it?” “Course, love. You know I love playing with my bimbo doll.” You hugged him tighter, trying to convey how much you loved him with one gesture, already feeling slightly tingly. He led you to the couch, sitting you down to face him.

“Just need a break from all that noise in your pretty head, don’t you?” His voice sounded different to when he’d first come in, softer and calmer but more authoritative, “all that stress from work. Just need to listen to my voice and slowly sink deeper down, away from your brain, away from everything bad and stressful. And the more stressful things are, the more worries and noise in that silly brain, the faster you sink down down down until you can’t remember anything anymore. Down deeper, where there’s nothing to lose. Where there’s no need for big words. Where the only thing that matters is being a good doll for Sir. Pleasing Sir. Because pleasing Sir makes you happy and horny, doesn’t it? “Yes,” you sighed softly, a wet spot already beginning to form as you stared into his eyes. “It’s so simple, so easy, isn’t it my pretty, silly, slut. So simple and easy to leave your mind behind.” You breathed deep as Roger’s hands glided through your hair, gently smoothing it back, his fingernails running over your scalp and down down down to push it behind your ear. “That’s right, just relax. You’ve got nothing to lose by listening and relaxing. Thinking about how fun it is to be simple and easy.” Your eyes were shut, though you didn’t remember closing them. You felt Roger’s hand move further down your hair, splitting it into sections, running his fingers through it to smooth it out. “You like being simple and easy, don’t you? Simple and easy and fun and dumb. My pretty, silly, bimbo.” He was winding your hair round his fingers, moving slowly and gently, sending tingles down your spine as you took another deep breath. A whimper dropped from your lips and you could almost feel your mind emptying with every word he spoke, letting go of the day, the meetings, the harried phone calls, the forms you had to sign. All of it was so unimportant compared to his voice. “And d’you wanna know the best part about you being like this?” “Yes.” If you’d been able to think properly you would have said your voice had changed too. Higher pitched than normal. Brighter and bubblier. “The best part about you being simple and easy and fun and dumb, is how hot it is. How wet you get. Isn’t that right?” “Yes,” you giggled, “hot and wet.” “Good girl,” You giggled again, his praise making what was left of your brain feel mushy and happy. Roger chuckled at your giggly, giddy response, letting his fingers slip out the bottom of your hair and onto your arms. You shivered at his touch, face breaking into a smile. “Feels good being touched when you’re like this. Simple and easy and fun and dumb. You want me to keep touching you?” You whimpered, “yes,” breath coming out in pants as his hands slipped down your arms, setting your skin aflame. “Yeah, you like that. Got nothing to lose by being touched. Just feels good.” “Yeah, feels so good,” you giggled and you heard Roger chuckle in response. “Open your eyes for me, wanna see your pretty eyes,” Your eyes shot open and you beamed at Roger. “You like when I compliment you, don’t you?” “Yeah,” you giggled again, feeling bubblier and lighter now that you could see his reactions. His hands had slipped down to your own, tracing patterns softly over your skin, between your fingers, tapping over your nails. “Like, when I tell you how cute you sound right now, all giggly. A silly, giggly slut.” Your response was so predictable, Roger was smiling even before you started to giggle again. “How do you feel, love?” “Ummmm, fuzzy. Happy.” His hands slipped further, landing on your thighs and slipping over your knees, making a wave of arousal roll through your body and a soft whine roll off your tongue. “Yeah? Do you remember those four words I used to describe you earlier?” You thought for a moment, furrowing your brow as you searched for the right words, “dumb?” “Yes, that was one of them, do you remember the other three?” “Umm,” you stared at Roger, mouth slightly open, “horny?” Roger laughed again. “Dumb and horny.... and... easy?” “That’s right, but horny wasn’t one of the four words.” “Oh,” “But that’s okay, you feel horny, don’t you? D’you want me to tell you the four words?” You nodded fast. “Simple and easy and fun and …?” “Dumb!” “Good girl.” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours as you laughed again, “And now that my pretty bimbo doll has nothing left to lose, all dumb and mindless, what does she want to do?” "Ummmm,” “What is it?” “I want to suck your cock, Sir,” “Is that so? Thought you said you didn’t like sucking cock.” “Noooooo, I love sucking your cock Sir.” Roger looked so amused by your answer you couldn’t help but giggle, even though you didn’t quite understand why. All you knew was you wanted to please him, that pleasing him made you feel good.

As soon as you heard the jangle of Roger unbuckling his belt your mouth fell open and your tongue stuck out. He moved around so his leg was stretched out down the length of the couch, his other hanging over the edge, with you kneeling in between. Slowly, his eyes glued on you, he unzipped his fly and pushed his pants down his hips enough to let his cock spring free. You waited patiently for his word, watching as he grasped his shaft and lazily stroked along it. Your mouth was almost watering as your desire to lick and suck grew, drowning out everything else. “God you’re cute. Practically drooling. Ready to show me what a desperate cockslut you are?” You hummed, replacing Roger’s hand with your own, wrapping it around his base as you kitten licked at his tip. He sighed softly as you took him into your mouth, relaxing further into the couch, and you felt a small burst of pleasure pulse through you. It spurred you on and you sunk lower, taking more of him, before rising back up to swirl your tongue around his tip. He groaned and you were hit by another jolt between your legs. Every noise you pulled from him set you on fire, the pit in your stomach tightening, your cunt dripping, only encouraging you to suck harder and take him deeper. His fist tangled in your hair, holding you down as you gagged around him. Looking up with watering eyes you could see Roger had dropped his head back, his lips silently forming words he couldn’t get out, lost in the sensation of being in your throat. It was enough to make you moan and redouble your efforts, bobbing up and down faster, working him as deep as he could go. “Fuck, Y/N” Roger choked out, “gonna make me cum soon,” You released him with a pop, unable to stop the grin the crept onto your face. “You like the idea of me cumming down your throat?” “So much, Sir!” “What about the idea of you cumming?” “If that pleases Sir, yes” “You’ve been such a good doll, think you deserve the reward. But only after you’ve swallowed all my cum okay?” “Promise, Sir,” “That’s enough talking now, wanna hear you gagging instead,” he tapped your head and you leaned down, letting him slip all the way back down your throat. His grip returned to your hair, pulling you up and then pushing you down again, showing you the speed at which you should be moving. You fell into rhythm, breaking the pattern every now and then to hollow your cheeks around his tip or lick along the underside of his cock or gulp for air, before finding the rhythm again. “So close, fuck, so so close,” Your movement was suddenly halted as he pressed down on the back of your head, making you choke. You tried to move, needing another gasp of air but he held you down as he came, coating your throat with hot spurts of cum. You swallowed every drop he gave you, your body surging with the electric knowledge you’d pleased him so much, tingling from head to toe.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He sat up, brushing his fingertips over your cheek. “So much, Sir! I love your cock,” you giggled, leaning forward to drop a quick peck to the head, “love drinking your cum.” “And you’re so good at it. My pretty, cocksucking doll. Do you still wanna cum?” “ummm, yes?” You didn’t really care if you got to cum, you just wanted to make your Sir happy. “I’d like to watch you cum,” “Then yes!” another giggle. “Then why don’t you sit that cute cunt right here,” he patted his thigh, “and show me what a good slut you are.” You settled yourself over him, hitching your skirt up in the process, so you could grind against him, still wearing the skimpy panties you’d picked out. A moan escaped you as you rolled your hips and Roger placed his hands on them, to keep you pressed firmly against him as you rocked yourself closer to your release. You were already so worked up it didn’t take long for you to reach the edge, whimpering as Roger’s grip tightened. “That’s right, cum for me,” His permission was all you needed to let yourself fall over the edge with a gasp. You felt so light and happy, buzzing with pride and the knowledge that your Sir wanted to see you fall apart. You shuddered and fell forward as the orgasm washed over you, leaning your forehead against Roger’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to the top of your head as you shivered through the orgasm. “So beautiful,” he was playing with your hair again and you hummed at how good it felt. “That’s right, just relax, listen and relax and come back. Nothing to lose by coming back. Back to who you were before. Who you are. So simple, so easy to come back. Relax into it. Relax back into yourself. Letting go of the bimbo. So easy to come back to your mind.” You took a deep breath as you returned to yourself. More aware of everything around you. The salty taste of Roger’s cum on your tongue. The warm, wet feeling between your legs. The scent of Roger’s cologne as you breathed deeply. You sighed contentedly as the giddy, giggly lightness you’d felt slowly faded and the real world came back to you. Roger’s eyes found yours as he tilted your head up, searching them for anything amiss. “Hey,” he said softly rubbing your arm soothingly, “how was that, you okay?” “That was exactly what I needed. Thank you.” You pecked him on the lips. “You’re very welcome. You wanna talk about work?” “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I’m,” you shifted slightly, still straddling his thigh, “still a little worked up actually. Race you to the bedroom?” Roger’s lips slammed against yours as he held you tightly, the kiss heated and hungry, “who need’s a bedroom when there’s a perfectly fine couch here. Time I repaid you for the fucking fantastic blow job.” You squealed as you found yourself on your back, Roger pulling your soaked underwear off hurriedly.

To the world at large you were a well-respected, intelligent, and accomplished woman with an enviable relationship. And you were. All that and more. But you knew, and Roger knew, that deep down you were just a silly, giggly, dumb slut, who loved sex and craved cock and lived to please. Just a pretty bimbo who had no use for anything besides her Sir. And really, what more could you possibly want.

#my writing #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor smut #queen smut #queen fanfic #im actually finally happy enough that i can post this #i know its not gonna be everyones cuppa tea #but bimbofication is literally all i can think about when i hear future management #and uhhhh #oof it gets me going #anyway #enjoy!!#as always feedback is appreciated #and if you wanna talk about hypnosis or bimbofication or anything in here #i am more than happy to have that convo lmao #(also that word count was not intentional but it did make me laugh)

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crqstalite · 4 years

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wip whenever.

honestly just because i want to put something out there, literally anything at this point lol. a chapter and a half left, and they’ll all go up :)

from the prologue of ‘i have questions’ + follow up to my first wip whenever.

"You know exactly what they are capable of, and I doubt the Council would do much more than the Alliance is doing now."

Brione wants to say that they wouldn't do that, and then bites her lip reminding herself of what they did when Shepard died. Cover-ups weren't an unknown tactic used by the brass, and it was done often enough she's pretty sure there's a guide book on it somewhere at headquarters, "What more are they going to need to do something about it? Another Sovereign kicking down our front door?"

Later, she's really wishing she hadn't said that.

The door slides open behind her not even a moment later, a frazzled looking man behind it. He straightens seeing her, but she waves her hand to dismiss his fear as Udina addresses him, "I assume you have a good reason for being here, Private?"

"We just lost contact with Luna base," He says hurriedly, holding out a datapad to her, "No one knows why, but I was told to report here and let Councilor Udina know about the developing situation."

"Luna base? But that is the moon, why would they be out in the middle of the week?" He asks, as she scrolls through the report. She narrows her eyes at a jumble of letters and numbers, unable to pick up the camera feed attached to it. That was odd. Losing just sensors for a few seconds was normal, they often rebooted servers after months on end. Losing contact with anyone on the base was a harder problem to pin down, one that sets a sense of dread over her, "Why come to me with this, should you not report this to a communications officer?"

"I don't know, Councilor. I was only told to bring the news to you," He trails off as she moves to open her omni-tool, then to the blank screen on the wall, "Just...in case it was something big."

Holding the datapad underneath her arm, she enlarges the orange interface on her forearm to appear just before the three of them on the wall, swiping away notifications before attempting the transfer of data. The logs scroll past her in a dizzying array of white text while they upload, her eyes glazing over before she manages a connection to the security feed. Nothing but a garbled message that she struggles to clear, handing the datapad back to the increasingly more anxious private. Her fingers pick up speed, eyes darting between strands of code when an agonizing sound fills the office, one that shakes her to her core. She isn't fast enough to quiet the near roar, and she cringes, trying to block out the horrifying sound that erupts from the small speaker.

Just before she finishes rendering the audio and visual, an update from a news network appears in the corner. Initially unbothered by it, she pushes it away when another takes it place. The number in the corner of the notification square spirals into numbers exceeding one hundred in only seconds. Curious and rather concerned about the implications of such a jump in coverage, she eventually taps it anyway, if not to at least get rid of it. Udina steps up behind her, the private on her left.

Feeds from what she believes to be Beijing, Rio, and London flood the screen, the sounds of various anchors overtaking the sound of loading from the processing of data. Sounds of screams, the terrifyingly loud roar of something absolutely inhuman -- she can barely keep eyes on everything that's going on. Smoke, fires, screams and shouts, reporters that can't keep the fear out of their wavering tones, screens that go dark.

It's all painfully familiar, what she'd watched from the streets as a child. Thinking of the smoke that nearly strangled her, the fires that left burns that hadn't healed for weeks. Now standing here twenty two years later watching it all from a vid is painful enough, and if this is what she thinks it is, it only makes it worse.

The private curses under his breath when she spreads the windows further apart to make sense of it all after the fear releases her long enough to reason. She watches as buildings and homes flash past her eyes, an ominous red beam tearing them and their surroundings apart within seconds. Biting her lip, she chooses the one from a station in Rio to open.

"We have reports of large synthetics landing here on Earth, no one has been able to identify what they are but we will keep reporting--" The sound of an explosion sounds in the report, then, the connection is lost entirely. It fades into nothing but static, but is replaced by the anchors in the station, stuttering out words of warning. Ones she doesn't even completely register before jumping into action, pulling the screen down and opening pages on her omni-tool.

Udina is speechless for a moment before he finds his focus again and strides to his desk, "Captain--"

She ignores him, turning to the private, "Get to a QEC and get me in contact with Admiral Hackett. Udina, get in contact with Anderson, HQ, anyone from Earth if you can."

"And just what do you intend to do?" He asks sternly, fingers already scrambling across his keyboard while the man rushes out. She can already hear sounds of shouts outside the door when it snaps shut again. News traveled faster than she expected. Panic would start setting in within the hour if they didn't put out the fire, and with what she thinks is the end of the galaxy itself taking up residence on Earth, well, there'd be a lot of people running around screaming 'the end is nigh!'. His voice quiets, "Do you believe it is the Reapers?"

"No, I think it's an army of dark space inhabitants starting their invasion of every major species in the galaxy -- yes I think it's the bloody Reapers!" Her own tone surprises her, scrolling past every contact in her omni-tool, "Alenko wasn't due back until the biotic regiment was, was he?"

"That is...that is correct, he is still on Earth. What is left of it, I'm sure," Udina's voice is uneasy once the jumpy private leaves, "The situation seems dire from the vids alone, I would be inclined to believe that any force on Earth is unable to called on at this time, Captain."

"You weren't on any suicide mission, if I know Shepard she would've tried the Normandy first if it wasn't destroyed," Shepard's comm, she knows that it would've been disabled when she was incarcerated, Alenko hasn't spoken to her since the trial. Her hands are getting shaky just thinking about every life that's being extinguished with every second she spends pondering the situation herself, "Just..find anyone from the Alliance if you can, start a damage report for the Councilors. I'm reporting to Hackett, let him know the fleets are under an assault surely. If those feeds can come through, then I'm damn sure we can find someone down there."

"Why are you so deadset on finding Shepard?" He asks sharply, "What is she going to do from Earth that someone else can't from here?"

"Because if I don't, we've already lost this war," She pauses, considering the weight of the words. He has a point, if Shepard was dead already, then they're wasting precious time they could be using to warn Sol system colonies. Shaking her head, she instead decides to try Joker's contact information. If anyone knew where Shepard was, or if she'd made it there, it'd be him, "If we don't have her to get us through this, we might as well be signing our death certificates already."

If he says anything else, she doesn't hear him before stepping back out into the crowded embassy. The continued pinging of her omni-tool without an answer isn't promising. Vancouver had been where she was being detained at, last she'd heard. The Normandy couldn't have been far. The fastest and stealthiest frigate in the Alliance, they'd made it through Virmire, the Suicide Mission, she knows Joker wouldn't give up without a fight. Much less Shepard herself.

And now she just has to do the one thing that was foreign to her -- hold out hope.

#it's not completely finished #but im happy enough with it right now #mass effect #wip #wip whenever #brione petrakis

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

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Shouldn’t Be- KNJ [Part 2]

For the @btswriterscorner - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Kim Namjoon is a Doctor whose most challenging client ends up teaching him about how love could heal.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Female OC (Madeline)

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of conversion, violence

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin L’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 1,985

AN: This certainly was a challenge to build a world like this. It was a bit different than what I like to write (supernatural and fantasy) but I feel satisfied with it. I hope you guys like it as well! Comments, reviews and all around messages are always welcome!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin L). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Freckles.

That was the main thing that he noticed when he bent down to examine the woman that had stumbled there that night. Namjoon had been working late into the night because he was on the verge of something that would be able to help provide a greater success rate for others. However, in that process--he’d pretty much ignored his social life and his new Match of 6 months. The man had shut himself away just to do it, much to her agitation.

Now because of that, he was now staring at another woman who had been hurt. All week, he’d been seeing reports of the Rebel activity in the area but never thought that there would be some sort of demonstration or attack so close to him. It was something that he really hadn’t seen in person either, only by education and reports. That was the extent of his knowledge of violence and to see the results of it before him? It rattled him, to be honest. Human life was very precious to begin with, not even suicide was allowed in their lives because that one person could help produce more people. That was the very reason he worked so hard to help the population live, to expand and to rid themselves of their faults that had been passed down from generations ago.

She trembled in his arms, after weakly beating at the door to get his attention. Her face was slowly losing its color and Namjoon’s mind went into overdrive. Each of them had the training to treat people but his specialty was in the genetics and reproduction area. Still, he was woefully under prepared to treat trauma like that where he was.

“Miss? Miss? I need you to stay awake--focus on my voice.”

She murmured something that he couldn’t make out but he could tell that she was trying. Namjoon figured that she might have been caught in the crossfire with the authorities and the Rebels. He bent down and scooped her up, the need to get her to a better spot to be treated was becoming more apparent as he shook himself out of the daze he was in. Silently, he thanked Felicity for the fact that she wanted him to look better--of all things.

“Miss? What is your name? ID number?! I need those for the ambulance.”

She started to claw at him but he held her close, worried that she would make her injuries worse. Finally, he was able to get to one of the rooms where he could properly take a look at her--noting the clothes that she had on as they looked like she had been cut with something. Shrapnel? Knives? Just as he was about to inject her with some painkillers, she grabbed at his arm and pleaded with him before he was able to administer it. Her voice was shaky but her grip was firm as her eyes told of an emotion that he hadn’t felt in such a long time.

“No please. No doctors, I’m so scared. Please don’t let them get me…”

“But I am a doctor, Miss and you need more treatment than what I can offer here!”

Tears started to leak out of her eyes and it took everything in him not to become like that himself. What was wrong with him? He’d dealt with a great many things but the pressure that was beginning to grip his chest? It concerned him just as much as her refusal for treatment did but that’s what he chalked it up to. No doctor would be lenient with a life in their hands those days. He had to do something to get her to relax enough for him to do something until the ambulance got there.

He lowered the needle and grasped her hands, the ones around his forearm. Sighing again, he worried about the consequences of what he was about to do. He needed to help her but then again, what if she was a Rebel? Mentally shaking his head, Namjoon decided to take that out of the equation because he had a responsibility to help her--to help save a life.

“Miss, I at least need to know your name and blood type if you need a transfusion….”

“Madeline.."

He nodded and against his better judgement, he started to treat her as best as he could without having to call anyone else out there. He could tell that she was determined to not have anything done to her unless he didn’t call anyone. The wounds, after cleaning and inspecting them, would have been bad had she not had any treatment at all. However, working with what he was just going to be good enough. He frowned as he worked, sewing up the places and gluing some together. She finally settled into a state where the drugs were kicking in and he was able to inspect her more closely.

It was the freckles that caught his attention more, almost like he was connecting the dots on her skin. They reminded him of a constellation map of the sky--just like the ones he used to look at when he was younger. They reminded him of a time long ago when he wanted to fly in the sky and see what was really out there. His boyish imagination was quickly shut down with the System’s rating of him, placing him in the Medical Field. He had to tear his eyes from them as he resisted the urge to map them out.

He reached over to tie her hair up and realized that her hair seemed to be one of the softest things he’d ever touched. It took everything that he had not to marvel in it, to run his fingers over the locks and spread them out to inspect them. His heart hammered in his chest as he got a better look, trying to see if there were any more wounds that he needed to attend to. His throat hurt from swallowing so harshly throughout the process but after stopping the bleeding, he could finally breathe just a bit easier--just like her.

Her breath started to even out a bit more from the frantic panting, slowly starting to breathe deeper and easier. He had to thank whomever was up there that she was able to make it to someone that could treat her--even if it was a little bit.

She wearily opened her eyes, the sparkle that had dimmed a bit but still was twinkling strong. He needed to get her some place safe, an area to rest until her injuries had healed. Her gaze stirred those strange feelings inside of him again, the ones that he’d been taught were dangerous and caused the literal Hell on Earth that they were experiencing now. The very reason why they had to live in colonies due to the wars and annihilation that their ancestors had caused.

Looking at her, he had to wonder about why those were banned. Why they all were taught something different since basically birth and placed in the areas that they were currently in. He didn’t even look at Felicity that way and she was his wife. What was it about that connection that drew him in so? Namjoon had to figure it out, his curiosity starting to over take him.

“Where else does it hurt?”

She sighed and struggled to speak due to the drugs in her system. He realized that it would soon be a trial to even keep her conscious so he shook his head, a little grin on his face appearing. He was being so stupid for asking, he realized. He reached up and placed a hand on her head, smoothing back some of the sweaty hair that had placed itself there. He then knew where he could take her to recover where he could easily keep an eye on her. But first, he had to get her there safe and sound.

He was truly lucky that he and Felicity hadn’t moved in together yet, despite her insistence. Leaning over her again, he double checked what he had done and when he was satisfied--that was when he presented the idea to her. It was a bit silly to do so since she was slipping into delirium but the doctor would feel odd should he not tell her what he was doing. After all, they were going to be seeing each other quite often once he got her set up.

It was damn near a miracle that he got Madeline to his home without anyone noticing what had happened. He even made it a point to let his co-workers know that he would be taking the next few weeks off due to personal issues. The authorities had descended on the lab and even made it a point to question everyone that worked there, himself included. Being the honest soul that he was, Namjoon told them everything that he could--only omitting the fact that he treated and kept a person in his own home.

But now that the fervor had died down, he could concentrate more on his new patient. Madeline had been asleep for nearly 48 hours and that was starting to bother him. After the questioning, Namjoon had checked up on her in the spare room. Her light breathing calmed him down after bending over to check her pulse. His fingers found her wrist and he closed his eyes to help him focus on counting the beats. They were a lot stronger than they were before, when he had stitched her up and it gave him a little more hope about her recovery.

It would still be a long one but that was why he decided to take that time off. Namjoon really couldn’t let her leave with all of that and as strange as it was for him, he needed to have her around to figure out what it was about their connection that drew him in so. Was it also a genetic thing, to want to touch and to feel the warmth radiating off the other? Was it something ingrained in them so deeply that they couldn’t engineer it out of themselves?

“So, you like holding hands--don’t you?”

He snapped out of his thoughts to her voice, something that brought him back to the reality of the situation before him. He felt a bit silly for reacting that way but when she spoke finally, it was the timbre of it that nearly made him crawl in there with her to sleep. And he always had trouble sleeping too.

“I--uh was checking your pulse. You’ve been out for nearly 48 hours but you’re safe!” He hastily added, the confidence ebbing away the longer he talked to her. “I took you back to my place so that way you could rest.”

She gave him a grateful smile and sighed, almost trying to turn over in the bed but he stopped her. Even the huff that escaped her lips made the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. He shook his head at her and reminded her that she still had fresh stitches so she had to stay still. The unspoken communication between them was almost like they were yelling at each other, her eyes on something or if she sighed a certain way--he knew what she needed. He knew every time she was in pain because of the stitches or when she pulled some out by accident when she had a nightmare.

Namjoon knew and she knew that his quiet soul yearned for something more. It practically was screaming out for someone to notice and there she was, quite literally falling into his lap. They started to have a little bit of peace while she healed--and that was something she didn’t ever think she would get again. But he made it possible as she healed, as they both healed.

#btswriterscorner #btswriterscollective #hyunglinenetwork #btsbookclub #bts-amor fabula #kwordsmiths #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts #kim namjoon #bts dystopian au

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chancellormatt · 4 years

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Voltron Rewrite Episode Seventeen - A Black Day

Allura stares out of the shuttle viewport at the battle still raging outside. The shuttle is once again behind Coalition lines, which are now slowly retreating back from the colony planet. Energyfire tears back and forth between the two groups, as ships on either side continue to fall. Her eyes scan back and forth across the scene, as if searching for something.

The Atlas surges back to life, engine reviving in a flash of blue energy. “Atlas is back online!” Matt declares over the comm.

The Altas extends the blade from it's forearm and begins slashing apart encroaching galra ships.

“Are we ready for retreat, then?” Ryner asks.

“Not yet! We’re still waiting on Shiro!” Matt replies.

“And Keith!” Lance says.

The Atlas lets loose an energy blast that destroys half a dozen galra ships.

Nearby, the robeasts that were affected by the pulse begin to surge back to life as well. One moves for the Atlas and is knocked back by an arm blast. More rise to take its place. Soon the Atlas is battling half-a-dozen of the machines.

Allura watches it all, silently searching.

There is a sudden flash of light outside the viewport. Keith and Kosmo appear clinging to the outside of the shuttle. Allura stumbles back, agast.

Another flash and they are both inside. Keith immediately collapses to the floor. Allura rushes down to his side, pulling off his helmet. Keith coughs, eyes distant.

“Keith! Are you alright!?”

He coughs again, holding his side. He gives a slight shake of his head.

“This is Princess Allura! I’ve got Keith!” Allura states over the comm.

“Took him long enough.” Lance says, mockingly.

“What about Shiro?” Pidge asks.

Keith’s eyes immediately widen before going dark. He stares at Allura for an eternal moment.

“No…” She whispers, seeing an answer in his eyes.

In spite of his wincing pain, Keith reaches one hand over to the other wrist, activating his comm.

“Shiro...is gone...” He takes a shuddering breath. “...dead.”

“WHAT!?” Comes the collective response of Lance, Pidge and Hunk.

“Keith, what the hell are you talking about!?” Matt exclaims.

“Zarkon...Zarkon killed him. I saw it.”

“That’s not…” Matt stammers.

“He…he’s gone?” Hunk says with disbelief.

“We’ve got to try going back!” Pidge says suddenly.

“Yeah!” Lance agrees. “Maybe there’s a chance he-”

“I saw it!” Keith shouts. His eyes begin to well up.

“But we can’t just-”

“-Lance.” Allura cuts him off. “...now is the time to call the retreat. If we stay any longer the enemy will encircle us and we’ll all be trapped.”

The comm is silent for a moment.

“...lets move out.” Lance finally says, voice without strength.

The whole of the Coalition forces move back. The Atlas lingers for a few moments, still holding back the robeasts.

“...Matt. We’ve got to go.” Pidge says carefully.

For a moment, the Atlas continues to strike down robests. Finally a string of obscenities comes from the mecha’s comm, followed by the Atlas turning back to join the retreat.

Inside the shuttle Allura lets out a breath, and slides to the floor beside Keith. Her eyes well up. Hesitantly, she reaches out to put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. He flinches, so she pulls back and sits silently beside him. He stares off into nothing, and begins to cry.

It isn’t long before she is crying too.

***

Zarkon watches a feed of the Coalition ships as they retreat, then disappear. The holographic display vanishes, and he is left staring at the wall. He turns, watching a pair of galra soldiers, wrap up the body of Takashi Shirogane. His lifeless eyes stare at the ceiling before the bag finally zips up over his head.

Zarkon turns away, leaving the room. He walks with a slight limp, hand covering the spot where his armor was pierced.

His path takes him down to the hangar, where the other Dark Paladins have already convened. Honerva and Sendak look equally impassive. Lotor, on the other hand, is pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. Raimon sits on the floor, staring down at the sword in his lap.

They all stand at attention when they notice Zarkon approach.

“That...was a disaster.” He says.

“I agree.” Lotor growls.

“Oh you do, do you?” Zarkon sneers. “Well you would know. After all, you had the simple task of making sure the prisoner didn’t escape!”

Lotor’s eyes burn. “And she wouldn’t have if the dome had slayed closed! Last I checked, that was a job you decided to take upon yourself!”

“You will watch your tone with me boy!” Zarkon bellows in reply. “...and what you imply.”

“Why!? You berate us for failure and perceived betrayal! Rage at any miniscule mistake! But when you allow an enemy paladin to creep inside our fortress, pry it wide open and-”

“One more word! And you will find out what real rage is!” Zarkon’s hands curl into fists.

“Stop this.” Honvera says coldly, stepping between the two. “There is very much at stake here, and time for squabbling is one thing we lack.” Sendak steps up beside her.

“Do not lecture me, woman!” Zarkon sneers. “If my boy is looking for a violent lesson, I will not deprive him of it!”

“I believe I have at least learned a moment of consideration on your part. From both of you.” She turns back to look pointedly at Lotor.

The Prince grits his teeth but says nothing and turns his gaze to the floor.

Zarkon is also silent for a moment. He gives curt gesture to continue.

“...good. You know what our true goal is. You know that all of this theatre of war, these games, are nothing. Just a way of reducing the uncertainties. The array has been completed. I’ve run and rerun the numbers. The odds are in our favor. The time is now. The very structure of this reality will soon be at your fingertips. Shall we not forgo the games to finish what we started? To ignore these children?”

“...the problem is that all these ‘children’ are threatening to throw a wrench in the whole star-burned thing.” Lotor spat.

“Mind your tongue around your mother.” Zarkon says distractedly. He appears to be thinking. “...very well. Honerva, go to the array and prepare it for the robeasts. Sendak, marshall all our forces, we’re leaving this place behind and reallocating everything we have on defending the array. Lotor…”

He studies the Prince for a moment.

“...try to keep any more of your alteans from running away.”

Lotor stares up at his father. “...only if you make sure not to let any more of those ‘children’ get the better of you.”

The Emperor smiles. Lotor steps back, uneasy.

Zarkon’s Black Lion flies into the hangar, carrying the other Black Lion in it's jaws. It drops the other Lion onto the floor with a deafening clang. The other Dark Paladins stare.

“Got the better of me, did he?” Zarkon chuckles as he turns to walk away.

He enters his lion and flies out of the bay.

Honerva lets out a breath. She turns to regard Lotor. “You know...your father’s temper is legendary. But you certainly seem to have inherited that trait.”

“I’m not like him!” Lotor’s scarred eye twitches. He turns away. “...not like him…” He continues to mutter the statement as he walks away. Honerva stares after him.

“Mistress?”

“Hm?” She turns to face Sendak, who is standing beside the powerless Black Lion.

“What shall we do with this?”

“Leave it there, for the moment. We can take it with us when we leave. As long as those other paladins don’t have it, they still can’t use Voltron.”

“Very well, Mistress. I shall see to our armies, then.”

“As you were.”

Both of them leave the Black Lion behind, dead and limp on the floor.

***

Admiral Sanda watches as three of the Lions of Voltron and one shuttle touch down onto the rocky ground. One by one the paladins file out of their lions.

Keith finally stumbled out of the shuttle, supported by Allura.

Sanda stepped forward to meet the downcast boy.

“...what happened?”

***

“...I see. So you succeeded in your mission of saving the Princess. But you lost a Lion in the process.” Sanda says, addressing the paladins from within the briefing room.

“And Shiro.” Keith says quietly, not looking up from the table.

“And Shiro.” Sanda repeats. She says nothing for a moment.

“...without-” Allura’s voice cracks. “-without the Black Lion, we still cannot form Voltron.”

Sanda turns her back to them, to stare at the wall. “...so we’re back where we started.”

“No, we’re not back where we started!” Keith shouts, slamming his fists down on the table. “We’re much, much worse off! Because now Shiro is dead! ” Keith’s hands clench into fists. “And you really don’t seem to give a damn~”

Sanda replies cooly, still not facing him. “Lieutenant Shirogane was a soldier. He knew what he was getting into. He wasn’t the first one I’ve lost, and I suspect he will not be the last.”

“He wasn’t just a soldier!”

“Boy you will watch your tone. We are still within my base. I understand you are emotional right now, but we will lose this fight if we don’t control our-”

“We’ll lose!?” Keith exclames. “We already have lost! We threw everything we had at Zarkon, and even Shiro couldn’t beat him!”

Keith stares down at the table for a moment, then storms out. He is quietly followed by the other paladins.

Matt along with a few of the other Coalition officials remain.

“...what?” Sanda says, half-turning to Matt. “Nothing to say?”

Matt stares at her for a moment before shaking his head.

“If...that’s the way you wanna play it...” He mutters, before getting up and leaving the room.

***

Keith marches down the corridor, darkness in his eyes.

“Hey, Keith!” Lance calls after him.

Keith keeps walking.

“Keith!” Says Allura this time.

Still he doesn’t reply. Lance runs up and catches hold of his arm. “Hey!”

Keith turns on him. “What?”

“Don’t...don’t you want to talk about this, man? Shiro just-”

“Shiro just died, Lance. And talking about it isn’t going to bring him back.

“Yeah but we’re a team, we should-”

“Team? Maybe to all of you, that’s what Shiro was. A teammate. But for a long time, before I even knew my own mother, he was the only family I had. So if you don’t mind-” He pulls his arm free of Lance’s grasp. “-I’d like to be alone for a while.”

Keith walks off and the other paladins are left staring.

“I...can’t believe he’s really gone.” Hunk says after a moment.

“It's a war Hunk, it was...bound to happen…” Pidge swallows hard.

“It's easy to say that, and understand the idea.” Allura says. “But actually losing someone is so much different. It feels like a hammer crushing your heart. It's a blow to the soul. And sometimes one that never fully heals...” She stares at the space where Keith used to stand.

Lance grits his teeth. “I know. That’s why we should all be dealing with this together.”

Hunk puts a hand on his arm. “It's Keith. This is just how he deals with stuff.”

Lance doesn’t reply for a moment. “...guess I just thought he was past leaving us all to fend for ourselves.”

Without another word, Lance turns and walks away in the opposite direction.

Eventually, Hunk sighs. “I...think I could use a little time, too. He nods to the other two before walking off himself.

Allura still stares off in the direction Keith went.

“Hey,” Pidge says. “We’re all...still trying to process this. But how are you holding up, yourself? You were being held prisoner by Zarkon a few hours ago.”

“...anything that happened to me is nothing compared to Shiro’s death. There is...a great deal to discuss about my ‘stay’ with the Dark Paladins. But this is not the time. Now is the time for grief.”

“If...you say so.”

“Thank you for asking, Pidge.”

She waves a dismissive hand, before walking off. After another moment of silence, Allura walks, in the direction Keith went.

***

The Castle of Lions rises above the craggy horizon, dwarfing the Garrison base. Coran stands in it's shadow, massaging his mustache.

“It's beautiful.” Allura says, stepping up beside him.

“Thank you, Princess.” Coran sighs. “I just wish we could appreciate it under better circumstances. Shiro was...well he was a true paladin. He won’t be forgotten.”

“Yes he will be.” Allura agrees. “He was the man who always thought himself unworthy, but constantly proved otherwise…”

She stares up at the Castle for a moment. “...Keith came by this way, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Coran nods.

“Do you know where he was headed?”

Coran nods to the Castle. “He wanted to know if the training room was operational.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“The truth. That it needs someone to test it out. He volunteered. And with the look on his face, I wasn’t about to turn him down.”

“Understandable.”

“You want to go talk to him?”

Allura considers. After a moment, she shakes her head. “...no. I’ll leave him be for the time being. As much I want to help Keith right now, I’m not ready. I’ve a bit more experience with death than the other Paladins. But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. I’ve got to grieve just as he does. Besides…” Alllura notes a figure moving up the castle steps. “...I think someone else is on the job.”

***

Keith bashes his bayard against the gladiator bot’s staff. He swings his blade in a downward arc, like a hammer against an anvil. The bot’s legs buckle and it drops to the floor. Keith buries his bayard into the bot’s chest. The bot’s artificial muscles spasm, before it goes limp.

He stands in the middle of the Castle training room. The lighting is at a dim setting, leaving his face cast in deep shadows.

Keith rips his blade free and shouts, “Another!”

A hole opens up in the floor, and another gladiator bot rises up. Keith dashes towards it, blade tearing across in a horizontal arc. He clashes against the bot a few more times before taking out one of its legs. Off balance, he easily disarms the machine and separates it's head from its body.

Scowling, Keith kicks the limp bot.

“I think you got it.” A voice says from behind.

Keith whirls around to find Krolia standing near the entrance. He lowers his bayard.

“I heard what happened.” She says, eyes soft.

“Who hasn’t?” Keith shrugs tiredly. “Another!”

“...do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?

The floor opens up and yet another gladiator bot rises up from the floor. He charges after it. “...I went off to rescue Allura…” He says, his bayard locking against the bots staff. “...thought I was real smart by trapping Zarkon…” Keith forces the bot back, unleashing an onslaught of blows. “...only turns out I was the real one trapped!” The gladiator tries for a counter, but Keith knocks it aside and scores a hit on the bot’s shoulder. “And because I was too stupid, too overconfident and too weak, Shiro had to come save me.” Keith stabs his bayard through the bot’s head. The bot spasms and Keith pulls the blade free, letting it slide to the floor.

“...and then Zarkon killed him. Shiro died...because I wasn’t strong enough. Because I couldn’t beat Zarkon myself.”

Krolia steps up beside him. She doesn’t say anything at first, just joining him in staring down at the defeated bot. He opens his mouth as if to call for another one.

“-do you know what the two saddest days of my life were?”

Keith closes his mouth and gives a half-shake of his head.

“The first was the day I had to leave you and your father behind.” She gets a distant look. “It felt like I was leaving my heart behind. I never thought I’d ever feel so broken for the rest of my life. Until...until the day I found out your father died.”

Keith finally looks at her.

“That...that was like my heart being crushed. I’d left all those years ago to keep the two of you safe. But in the end he died anyway, and you were left alone. I couldn’t help thinking that I was wrong. That I should have stayed after all. And maybe if I had, your father would still be alive.”

“Maybe-” Keith’s voice cracks. “-maybe you should have.”

Krolia shrugs. “But that would have meant putting you in danger. I’ll never know what could have been. But I do know that I never was going to do anything that would risk your life. Even if...even if I knew I’d be leaving you all alone.” A bittersweet smile touches her lips. “But you weren’t alone were you? Not once Shiro found you. I was...so happy to find out that someone like him ended up looking after you. ”

Keith scoffs. “...but maybe that was his big mistake. Taking me in. Maybe if he hadn’t, he’d have found someone better to be his successor.” Keith's grip on his bayard tightens. “Someone stronger.”

“Even if I didn’t know him very well, I could tell how you meant to him. And I’m sure that if he were here right now, he’d tell you that he didn’t have a single regret. He saved you Keith, because he believed in you. And because he knew you could finish this.”

“But how!?” Keith demards. “We’ve thrown everything we have at them, and each tiny victory, every small win comes at a huge cost! I couldn’t even save Allura without losing Shiro and the Black Lion. We still can’t even form Voltron. And even if we could form Voltorn, I still don’t think I could beat him.”

“I don’t know Keith. I don’t have all the answers. But-

“-I...think I need some time to think.” Keith cuts her off.

Krolia studies him. “...alright.”

She steps closer, hesitantly at first, then pulls him into a hug. “...I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you back then. And I’m so sorry that this war has taken so much from you. But just don’t forget that...I’m here now. And so are a lot of other people who care about you.”

Keith hugs her back, not replying.

For a moment they stand there in silent embrace.

Then Krolia steps back, releasing him. She takes one more look at her son, before walking out of the room. Keith stares down for a moment, then raises his bayard, the black bayard, to study it.

“How am I supposed to do this without you, man?”

***

Pidge sits in the Holt family residence. She is on the couch, fidgeting with her hands. Matt lounges on another couch opposite her, eyes boring a hole in the floor. N-7 sits beside him, holding one of his arms.

Their parents are at the kitchen table, watching them with concerned expressions.

Pidge’s fidgeting grows more frantic. Her breath accelerates. She grits her teeth.

“This is wrong!” She shouts suddenly, launching to her feet.

“Pidge!” Colleen exclaimes.

“Shiro shouldn’t have died! It just doesn’t...doesn’t make any sense.” She says the words exhaustedly.

“Sometimes...these things don’t make sense.” Sam replies.

“But...If anyone deserved to live past all of this, it was him. After everything he pulled us through. All that he taught us. Every battle we won because of him. He deserved to live. It just...doesn’t add up.” She lets out a long sigh. “I don’t think he even wanted to keep fighting. He gave up more than pretty much anyone, and just wanted to be able to leave it behind. But we wanted him out there.” She looks down at her hand. “...hell, I’m the one that made him a new arm.”

Sam chuckles. Pidge scowls.

“Sorry.” Sam shakes his head. “But you’re crazy if you think that Shiro was ever actually going to sit back while the rest of you fought. Sure, he thought he was unfit and came up with plenty of reasons why he should leave things to you kids. But even if you hadn’t made him that arm, I doubt he would have been able to stand by forever. Sooner or later, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself. That’s just the kind of guy Shiro was.”

...I know that.” Pidge says reluctantly. “In my head. But it still feels so wrong. It's like an...equation that doesn’t have a solution.”

“Not every problem has a solution. I’m a lot older than you, Katie. Shiro’s not the first person I’ve lost along the way. Death isn’t something we scientists can fix. Sometimes all you can do is cry. And that’s okay.”

Pidge’s shoulders slump and she sits back. “But that just feels so...useless.”

“That’s life, kiddo. It's not a math problem.”

Pidge still looks unsatisfied, but she nods.

After a brief pause, Matt lets out a grunt.

“While sitting down and crying seems great and all…” he rises. “...I’ve got something to take care of.”

“What’s that?” Pidge asks.

N-7 also looks up with a curious tilt of her head.

“Don’t worry. Let’s just say I’ve gotta do something that Shiro would want me to do.”

N-7 nods in apparent understanding. With that, Matt leaves.

***

Allura roams the halls of the garrison. She puts one foot in front of the other, as if the effort of walking is exhausting. Her path has no clear purpose. Her eyes are directed at the floor and have a distant light.

She almost runs into the door marking the end of the hallway. She hesitantly opens the door and peeks inside.

Inside is the mess hall, and at first glance it is empty. Allura is about to duck her head back out when something catches her eye.

“Hunk? Is that you back there?”

Sure enough, Hunk is behind the kitchen counter on the far side of the room, working on something.

“Hey Allura.

“What are you doing?”

“It's late enough that there aren’t going to be any more meals served tonight, so I asked if I could use the kitchen. I spent some time with the family but…” He shakes his head. “They were doing their best to comfort me, but it got a little suffocating.”

“I see. Well don’t let me interrupt you.”

“Actually, I could use someone to test-taste all this.”

Allura hesitates, then after a moment, nods and walks over. Her eyes widen as he peeks over the counter.

“Stars above! How much did you make?

Before her are a plethora of cakes, cookies, muffins and other pastries and deserts of all kinds.

“A lot. Kinda been cooking nonstop.”

He hands her a piece of cake. She takes a large bite.

“How is it?”

“Delicious as usual.” Allura smiles weakly and takes a seat on the bench behind her. “...at least that much hasn’t changed. You seem to be handling yourself well, in this most trying of time Hunk.”

“Well if it looks that way, it's just because I’m keeping myself busy. To be honest, I’m about this far away from a breakdown. Losing Shiro is...awful. But I can’t help thinking, does it end with him? Who else are we gonna lose before this is over?”

“Does...that mean you’re having second thoughts again?”

“No.” Hunk says immediately. “Even if I’m scared, even if I could die, I made my choice. I’m in this until the end.”

Allura smiles at that.

“...so, any word on Keith?”

Allura shakes her head. “His mother spoke to him, but other than that, no one’s seen much of him. Last I checked he was hanging around the canyon…”

***

Keith guns the engine on his hoverbike. He tears off down the ridge, kicking up a storm of dust in his wake. He rides deeper into the canyon, no regard for his own increasing speed. The two sides narrow and Keith makes the jump to the other side. His hoverbike bangs against the wall of the other side. He rides on.

He drives his bike back up to the top of the ridge, racing towards the cliff. Keith goes full throttle on the engine. It flies off the cliff, hovering in the air for a few quiet seconds. Then it dips back down, and Keith hugs his body against the bike. At the bottom, he can see the knife-shaped rock.

Keith hits the brakes.

The bike slows in the air, but not fast enough. The bottom of it smashes against the stone below. Keith’s body is rocked and he struggles to hang on. The engine sputters and gives out. The hoverbike crashes down to the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust. Coughing, Keith tries to reignite the engine. It wines for a moment, before giving out again.

Growling, Keith jumps off the hoverbike to look beneath it. The vehicle's undercarriage is severely dented, and smoke is leaking out of cracks.

“DAMMIT!” Keith swears, kicking the bike. He kicks it again and again. Finally panting, he turns away, putting his back to the broken bike.

The knife-shaped rock lies in front of him. The same one that had served as the finish line for Shiro and his races. The bike broke down barely a dozen feet away from it.

Keith stares at it a moment, before shaking his head and turning back around again, to walk back up the canyon.

Sometime later, an exhausted Keith pulls himself up onto a ledge, to sit down and stare at the setting sun.

***

Admiral Sanda sits alone in her dark office. The only light on in the room is a small lamp on her desk. She stares down at the small disc in her hands.

Matt Holt kicks open her door.

Sanda leaps to her feet. “Holt! What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

Matt’s face remains expressionless as he sizes up the room, noting it's dark interior, observing everything except Sanda herself.

Her eyes harden. “If you do not explain yourself right now, I’ll have you thrown off this base! I don’t care how you rank in that Coalition I’ll-”

“-you can fool all these other people, Sanda.” Matt shakes his head. “Make them think you’re this iron-hearted commander, who only cares about results. But there are two people who you could never fool. I’m one of ‘em. The other is dead.”

Sanda’s expression loses some of its strength. “...you’ve got something to say, I take it?”

“Not much. Shiro was like a brother to me. And that cuts deep. But I know that despite how you might pretend that none of this hurts you, he was like a son to you. And I’m not about to let you sit in this dark room all alone, without talking about that.”

Sanda swallows hard, staring down into her desk.

“Annnnd just in case you needed a little convincing, I heard that Shiro owed you a bottle of some of the hard stuff. Unfortunately, I don’t have any scotch but…” Matt holds up a bottle of purple liquid that glows softly. “...I do have this galran ale. Tastes like jet fuel and gives you a mother of all headaches in the morning. In other words, it's good stuff.”

“...I’m on duty.” Sanda objects, without much strength.

Matt puts on a confused expression. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure you got off five minutes ago.”

Sanda stares at him for several silent moments. “...shut the door.”

Matt grins, shutting the door behind him. He sits down across Sanda while she pulls out two glasses.

Matt fills them both.

***

“Well why why the hell not!?”

Allura is walking down a hallway when she hears the exclamation. She quickens her pace and finds the source of the outburst from around a corner.

Lance is having what looks like a heated debate with Kolivan and a handful of other Blades.

“As I’ve told you,” Kolivan says with just a hint of aggravation, “the logistics of one of our operatives stealing back the Black Lion is outlandish. It's reportedly being held in our enemy’s most secure compound-”

“-Which we just broke into!”

“...yes, using methods that will not work twice, and in the process of which we lost the Lion in question.”

“What is...going on here?” Allura asks, tentatively.

“Well I’m trying to get to the bottom of why these superspy space-ninjas, that Keith likes to spend so much time around, won't bother trying to get back the Black Lion!”

“None of our men can fly the Black LIon. it wont fit inside a fighter or shuttle. The few operatives we have still implanted would need to steal a cruiser full of hundreds of galra soldiers just to be able to carry the blasted thing!”

“I’m hearing a whole lot of excuses, and not a lot of solutions!”

“Lance.” Allura says in a kind but firm tone. “I’m sure that Kolivan knows what he is talking about when he says that something isn’t possible. The Blades aren’t known to back down from a challenge.”

“Rest assured, getting back the Black Lion is our top priority. But at this moment there’s no clear way to do that. We’ll find out what Keith wants to do once-”

“Once he’s done sitting around moping, you mean!”

“Lance!” Allura scolds.

“What!? Last I checked we were still fighting a war!”

“We all need time to-”

“Time is the one thing we don’t have!”

“Then what do you want us to do, Lance? Do you have any idea what to do about the current situation? Because we all know what kind of situation we’re in. But shouting at people isn’t going to make anything better.”

He opens his mouth to speak, then seems to think better of it. He sighs.

“...sorry.” He directs it at both Allura and Kolivan.

“It’s alright.”

“Think I’ll...go to the shooting range. Clear my head.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Lance starts to walk down the hallway, but stops halfway down, with his back still to Allura.

“...any word from our fearless leader yet?”

“Afraid not.”

“Figures…”

***

“That man...was the greatest pilot to ever serve in the Garrison.” Sanda remarked, with slightly slurred words.

“I’ll drink to that.” Matt says, downing the rest of his glass.

He pours himself some more, taking note of just how little liquid there is left in the bottle.

“You know he thought I’d be mad, the day he broke my record on reentry?”

Matt chuckled. “Were you?”

“Hell no. That was one of my proudest moments as an instructor. Of course...I couldn’t let him know that. So I told him it was a little sloppy and put him on cleaning duty for the rest of the day.”

“And you call me a piece of work.”

“Oh he was fine. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get a big head. You gotta be careful with people as talented as Shiro. Otherwise they get overconfident and…”

“Turn out like me?”

“...yeah.”

Both of them chuckled at that. Sanda’s face quickly gets serious again.

“He should be in this chair right now. Always wanted him to take over.”

“Shiro? Behind a desk? You’d have had a hell of a time keeping him out of a cockpit.”

“Yeah. It was probably a pipe dream, anyway. I’m just so tired. Tired of seeing good men die. Tired of sitting in this damn chair.”

“...then why do you still do it?” Matt asks.

“Because someone’s got to.” She shrugs. “And because my best idea for a successor went and got himself killed. I know I’m...a little hard on my pilots.”

Matt scoffed,

“But that’s because I expect great things from them. Was I really so bad to serve under? Did you really hate being my subordinate so much you never even considered coming back?”

Matt shakes his head studying his drink. “Sanda you’re a good commander. Whatever barbs I throw at you, they’re just because it's fun getting on your nerves. Ask Pidge, I do it to her all the time. The reason I didn’t come back was because I knew I could do more good with the Coalition than I could down here. Serving in the Galaxy Garrison was an honor. But there’s people that need me more now. More than just earth. And besides...” He laughs to himself. “...I’m impatient. Do you have any idea what it's like to go from our shuttles to starship with FTL drives? Who in their right mind would wanna go back after that jump?”

Sanda chuckles, then studies him for a moment. “...I want you piloting the Atlas. Permanently.”

“You’re letting the drink talk for you.”

“I’m serious. It hurts to swallow my pride, this much but you are undoubtedly the man for the job. The coalition trusts you, and I trust you. You’re perfect. Shiro said so himself.”

“Now that’s just cheating.” Matt says, leaning back in his chair. He downs his drink again. “...fine. But don’t think I’m gonna suddenly start saluting you again.”

Sanda only smirks.

Her eyes fall on the small disc, sitting on her desk.

“You want some more?” Matt asked, indicating the bottle.

Sanda shakes her head. “No.I think I’ll sober up. There’s something I’ve been putting something off…”

***

Keith stares up at the stars, feet dangling over the edge of the cliff. He looks to be searching for something in the night sky. He doesn’t find it.

The sound of footsteps prompts Keith to tear his gaze away from the stars.

“Have you been out here all night?” Allura asks, walking up to stand beside him.

He nods.

“You should get some sleep. You took a beating in that battle.”

“Tried to. Didn’t take.”

Allura nods. “...do you mind if I sit here?”

“Depends. Are you going to try to tell me this isn’t my fault?”

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything, actually.”

“Then have a seat.”

She does so, folding her legs beneath her.

For some time they sit in silence. A cool breeze brushes against them. Crickets chirp in the distance. A comet cuts across the night sky.

After what seems like an eternity, Keith speaks.

“...you know what the worst part is?”

Allura blinks, caught off guard. “...what?”

“I...keep expecting him to come by and give one of his famous speeches. He’ll tell me what I’m doing wrong, encourage me to trust in myself, and assure me that I’ll do just fine. And then, everything will seem okay. Whatever misgivings I had before will just melt away...”

Allura says nothing, only staring at Keith as he talks.

“...but that’s not going to happen. He’s gone. I’ll never get to hear one of those speeches again.” He picks up a stone and tosses it over the side. “So maybe you can tell me what I’m supposed to do. Do I just push all this pain aside and try to forget it? Tell the other paladins that everything’s going to be okay? That as long as we believe in each other, we’ll overcome anything? I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t think I’m strong enough to just let go of what I’m feeling.”

“...I wish I could tell you, Keith.” Allura says. “I wish I knew what to say, to make this right. But sometimes there just aren’t words. There’s nothing I can say that’ll make what’s happened better. I know that better than anyone.” Her eyes get distant.

It's Keith’s turn to study her. “...does it get easier?”

“...yes. Eventually.” She smiles weakly. “When altea was destroyed, I lost my father, my mother and everyone else I ever knew. It was just me and Coran when we went into cryo. Then, when I woke up there were five strange earthlings waiting for us. And I had no way of knowing they’d turn out to be the best friends I ever had. In the early days, there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of everyone I’d lost. But you made it easier. All of you. You and Lance and Pidge and Hunk...and Shiro.”

Keith looks caught between smiling and crying.

“So yes, Keith. It does get easier. Especially if you’ve got the right people to pick you back up again, after the fall.”

Keith stares into Allura’s eyes, and for what seems an eternity, neither says a word. Finally, he looks away.

“...you look tired Allura. You should get some sleep.”

“...only if you do too.”

“I will.” He says. “I’m just gonna stay out another minute.”

“Alright. Good night, Keith.”

“Good night, Allura.”

With that, Allura gets up and leaves. Keith doesn’t stay much longer. He gets up, tosses another stone down into the canyon, and turns around to walk back to the base.

***

Keith is walking back down the garrison halls, when he nearly runs into Admiral Sanda.

“Keith.” She says with some surprise. “You’re still awake...good.”

“What is it?” He sighs.

Sanda stares at him for a moment, as if deciding something. She holds something tight in one hand. Letting out a breath, she opens her hand, presenting it to Keith.

He looks down with curiosity, at the disc in her palm.

“What is it?”

“Do you know what a Last Word is, Keith?”

“It's...an Old Garrison tradition, right? When a pilot was going on an especially dangerous mission, they’d leave a message behind, just in case they didn’t make it.”

She nods, then indicates the disc. “This is Shiro’s.”

“You mean-”

“One last message he recorded, not long before the battle. To be seen in the event of his death. It's for you.”

Keith’s eyes widened.

“Go on then, take it.”

Tentatively, Keith reaches down and picks up the disc. He turns it over in his hands, feeling it’s weight.

Sanda looks down at her boots. “I’m sorry I held onto it so long. I suppose I felt like giving this to you meant it was real. Foolish, I know. But I guess I’m getting sentimental with age.”

Keith looks at her as if seeing Sanda for the first time. “It's...alright. I understand wanting to hold onto the piece of him.”

She nods slowly. “...well then. I’ll leave you to it.”

And with that Sanda vanishes back down the darkened corridor. Keith is left staring at the disc. He starts walking.

It doesn’t take him to find a dark room with dozens of computers. He sits down at one, and turns it on.

Keith holds the disc up, staring at it. He lets out a long sigh and inserts the disc into the computer. For a moment nothing happens.

Then, Shiro’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey, Keith.” Shiro smiles. “If you’re watching this...well, I’m dead.”

Keith swallows hard.

“Sorry about that.” Shiro gets a bashful expression. “Hope I at least went out like a champ. Doing something heroic, you know? Anyway, I made this video for you specifically, for a couple of reasons. Firstly because there’s some things that I need to tell you from one leader to another. And secondly, because some of this might be hard to hear….”

Shiro takes a breath.

“...it's honestly a shock I lived as long as I did. This might be strange to hear, but for a while now it’s seemed like I’m on borrowed time. And I’m not just talking about having my soul pulled out and stuffed into a clone body. Although that..that didn’t help.” Shiro shivers. “...no this goes back much farther. Sanda could tell you all sorts of stories about how I almost got myself killed pulling crazy maneuvers back in the Garrison. But if I had to pinpoint when I first started feeling this way, it’d be when Sam, Matt and I were taken by the galra. Fighting in the pits, not knowing if next day would be my last…” He shakes his head. “...I thought I was going to die there. By all accounts, I should have. But fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it had other plans. Somehow, impossibly I ended up back on earth. And I became the Black Paladin. I had the job just long enough to make sure you could all do it without me. If there’s a reason I lived past everything I did, I think that’s it. To make sure all of you were ready to face what came next.”

He smiles and shakes his head. Keith’s hands tighten as he struggles to keep any sense of composure.

“And, in spite of everything I just said, there’s a part of me that really wishes I could have stayed in the Black Paladin, forever. Being a part of Voltron is the best thing that ever happened to me. And I cherish all the time I spent fighting in Voltron alongside you, Lance, Hunk and Pidge...but that’s the hard part of being a mentor. Knowing that one day, you’re going to have to step aside and let someone else take over. I know you’ve always wondered why I picked you to lead Voltron. It might seem kind of strange, since you always were such a loner. Well it was because out of everyone on that team, I knew you’d be able to take whatever the universe throws at you. No matter whatever grief or anger you’re feeling right now, I know you can get past it. Because you’re the toughest dang kid I ever met. Voltron’s yours now, Keith. And if any part of you ever questions that, I’ll tell you a secret that I think might make it a little easier:” Shiro grins. “Black was never really my color anyway.”

Keith’s eyes are wet, but for the first time since Shiro’s death he cracks a smile.

Shiro takes a breath. “Keith, this is my last lesson to you. I know you better than anyone else. Which is why I know you’re probably reacting to all by isolating yourself, and trying to shut the rest of the world out. That’s not your fault. You’re human. But you also aren’t the only one that’s going to be hurt by this. You’ve got a lot of people relying on you now. They need you Keith. And even if you don’t want to admit it, you need them too. Take it from me, it hurts a lot more to hold onto this stuff inside, than it does to let it out. They care about you, so let them in. It takes five to form Voltron. ”

Shiro sighs. “And now the hardest part. Goodbyes. Assuming I don’t get a chance, tell everyone that these past few years were the time of my life. I’m proud of how far each and every one of them has come. Especially you.” Shiro gets a distant smile. “Never got a chance to start a family of my own, but in a way that’s what you all were, to me. A family. And if ever had gotten a chance to have a son...I’d have wanted him to be like you. Goodbye, Keith. It's been a hell of a ride.”

The screen goes dark. The room goes silent.

“...look at that.” Keith says, tears streaming down his face. “You had one last speech in you, after all.”

He closes his eyes and sits back in the chair. “Thank you for everything, Shiro.” He whispers. “And goodbye.”

When his eyes open, they are filled with determination.

At the same time, millions of light-years away, inside the dome on the colony planet, the Black Lion’s eyes flash.

***

Lance blasts his rifle at the shooting range targets. About half of his shots miss entirely. Curiously, the other half either hit or are near the bullseyes. Lance keeps firing regardless of whether he hits or not.

“You know I could make you a new stabilizing bracelet.” Pidge says, approaching Lance from behind.

He half-turns to acknowledge her, then returns to facing the targets.

“It's fine. I’m sure you’ve got more important stuff to work on.” Lance fires at another target, missing entirely.

Pidge cringes.

“...it was getting better.” Lance explains. “Before...well you know.”

He fires again. Another miss.

“...you know what ticks me off?”

“I’ve got a feeling you’re about to tell me?”

“The fact that no one else around here seems to remember that we’re fighting a war!” Another shot, another miss. “Shiro’s dead, yeah. But that doesn’t mean the bad guys are gonna stop working on their plan. We need the Black Lion back asap, or we aren’t gonna be able to stop them. We don’t have time to wait for Keith to get over the fact that Shiro’s gone.”

“Uh huh. And you are?”

“Huh?”

“You are over Shiro’s death already?”

“I’m trying to be practical.”

“No, I think you’re trying to fix a problem, so you don’t have to think about what happened. I know ‘cause my head was in the same place yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, and since when are you a master of psychology?”

“I’m not a master of psychology. Just a master of Lance being a doofus.”

“Wow, so now I’m an idiot for trying to actually deal with the problem at hand?”

“I didn’t mean…” Pidge sighs. “...I’m just saying I don’t think you’re thinking clearly, right now. None of us are. Some problems don’t have solutions.”

Lance hesitates. Then his eyes harden. “No...but I just thought of one for this one.”

He deactivates his bayard and marches out of the room. Pidge’s eyes widen.

“Lance?” She calls after him. “Oh quizank. Lance!”

She runs after him. Lance continues down the hallway, walking with a determined gait.

“Lance, what are you doing?” She says, running up next to him.

“We need the Black Lion, or we won't be able to form Voltorn. So then I’ll just take Red and go get it.”

Pidge blinks. Then stares. “You...you’re serious.”

“Sure am.”

“Lance that’s suicide!”

“Who says. Whatever anyone else around here believes, I’m actually a good pilot.”

“It's not a matter of skill, it's a matter of being literally impossible! We barely broke into the place with an entire fleet at our back! It would be insane to try it by yourself!”

“And that’s why they’ll never see it coming.” Lance quickens his pace, and Pidge has to struggle to keep up with the much longer-legged boy.

Some ways behind them, Hunk rounds a corner, looking curious.

“What’s going on, guys?”

“Lance is trying to do something stupid!” Pidge calls over her shoulder.

“Uh oh.”

Hunk starts to give chase as well.

Lance kicks open the exit door and strolls out.

It's raining outside. Clouds darken the sky, as their payload is released down to earth. The falling droplets beat against the four remaining lions, sitting in a row on the mud-covered ground. Lance moves towards Red.

Pidge and Hunk follow on his heels.

Pidge accesses her comm. “Allura you’d better get out here. Lance is about to take his lion and go after Black!”

“...wha..what!?” A groggy voice replies.

“Just hurry!”

Pidge catches Lance’s sleeve. “Lance!”

He stops in his tracks, frozen.

“Just...give this a second.” Desperation is thick in her voice.

“We don’t need to lose anyone else, Lance.” Hunk says. “Take a minute to calm down.”

Lance doesn’t reply.

“If you rush off like this…” Pidge has to take a moment to marshal her voice. “I...I don’t want to lose you too.”

“Yeah...well I don’t want people to die either!” He pulls his arm free. “So I’m going after Black. Because that’s the only way we have a chance of beating Zarkon!”

He starts walking towards Red again.

The door opens behind them and Allura stumbles back, looking disheveled.

“What is going on here!?”

“I’m going to do what needs to be done!” Lance calls back.

Allura looks to the other two for support, but they return helpless expressions.

“No one, is going anywhere...” A low but commanding voice says.

All turn to see Keith standing a few dozen feet to the side. He walks over, trudging through the mud.

“...not without thinking everything over, and coming up with a real plan for how to beat Zarkon.”

He stops in front of Lance, blocking his path to the Red Lion.

“Well look who finally decided to show up!” Lance exclames.

“I haven’t been around. I’m sorry. But I’m here now.”

Lance’s expression softens for a fraction of a second, before he shakes his head with anger. “Well, you’re a little late. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got to go get the lion you left behind.”

Lance tries to step around Keith, but he moves to block him again.

“It's being taken care of Lance. So please, stand down.”

Lance scowls. “Maybe I don’t want to follow the orders of a guy who only decides to be our leader when it's convenient for him!”

Keith winces at that.

Lance brushes past him, but Keith catches his arm.

“...let go.” Lance’s voice is ice.

“I’m not going to let yourself get killed, Lance.”

Lance’s eyes flash with anger.

He whirls around and punches Keith in the face.

The other paladins gasp. Keith stumbled back, looking shocked.

Even Lance looks down at his outstretched fist, as if not believing what he’d just done.

Then, Keith’s eyes harden. “Fine, if it's a fight you want.”

Keith whips a lightning-fast jab that takes Lance in the chin. Lance falls back, flood slipping under the wet ground. He goes down on one knee. Keith doesn’t press, seeing if Lance will stay down. He doesn’t. Eyes burning with rage, Lance launches himself at Keith.

“Keith!”

“Lance!”

Allura and Pidge yell respectively, moving to dash towards the boys. They are stopped by Hunk grabbing hold of both of them.

“Hunk what are you doing?” Pidge demands.

“We need to stop this madness!” Allura objects.

Hunk doesn’t say anything at first, still watching the two boys swing punches at each other.

“Why are you fighting now, Keith? Don’t you just want to run away like you always do!? Like when you left to be with the Blades!?”

“I never ran from anything, Lance! I only ever did what I thought was right for this team!”

“Well you were wrong!” Lance tackles Keith to the muddy ground.

“...no.” Hunk finally says.

“No!?” the girls exclaim in unison.

“No.” Hunk decides nodding to himself.

“They’ll kill each other!” Allura says.

“No, no they wont. Even if they’re a little emotional right now, they aren’t that dumb. There’s been a fire burning between those two since the moment they met. It’s been cooling down lately, since they’ve both been acting more mature. But now with Shiro gone it's been reignited. Everything’s raw, and they aren’t holding back anything anymore. They need to work this out now, or they’ll never be able to understand each other.”

The girls look like they want to continue to object, but Hunk remains impassive. Reluctantly, they stop resisting, and watch their friends fight.

Keith is trying to pull Lance into a headlock, but he keeps twisting free, slicked by the mud.

“Why couldn’t you just let me go, Keith!?” Lance says shoving his hand into Keith’s face. “I was trying to save the day for once!”

“Because dammit Lance, you’re acting like me!” Keith grabs Lance’s wrist and uses it to twist his arm back, pushing Lance down into the mud.

“And what’s that!?” Lance grunts.

“Like an idiot!”

“At least we can agree on that!” Lance manages to twist free of Keith’s hold, and knees the other boy in the side. Keith rolls back and it’s Lance's turn to try and pull off a headlock.

“Be honest…” Keith says, voice straining from Lance’s arm against his windpipe. “You always h-hated me. N-never...could stand how much better I was.” Keith elbows him in the gut once, twice, then three times. Lance’s grip weakens and Keith breaks it entirely, before shifting around to try to swing at his face.

Lance catches his arm, and forces Keith back down to the ground.

“Hate you? Keith, I wanted to be you! You were so good it was stupid! All I ever wanted was to prove I could be as good as you were! And then you go and become the leader, and I actually believed in you! I had no idea you’d run away to the Blades the first time it got hard!”

Keith kicks Lance off him and lurches to his feet.

“I came back didn’t I?”

“Yes, and that’s the worst part! I actually thought you were different now! But without Shiro you just turned back into the same brooding loner from before!”

“Well I’m sorry my grieving was so inconvenient for you Lance! I wish I had the privilege of not having to care that Shiro’s gone!”

“You aren’t the only one that misses him!” Lance bellows, throwing a punch at Keith’s head.

Keith sweeps Lance’s legs, but the other boy drags too. They both hit the ground hard, breath leaving their bodies.

“I know Lance!” Keith shouts, panting. “....I know. And...I’m sorry.”

Neither make a move towards the other. They both stay down, panting.

“...I’m not the best leader. Maybe not even a good one. But I’m trying, Lance. And I’m not going to stop trying, even if I keep screwing it up. It’s why…” He laughs hysterically. “...it's why I’m lying here in the mud with you right now.”

Lance doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“...you know I thought bringing the Black Lion back would break you out of what you were going through….but you couldn’t even let me have that could you?”

Keith chuckles at that. “...sorry to disappoint.”

Lance shakes his head. “I really am an idiot aren’t I? Did I really think I was going to go charge through the enemy’s army and bring back Black? And I was mad at you for not handling Shiro’s death well? Couldn’t even give you a few days of peace.”

“No, you were right. It probably wouldn’t have come to this if I’d been open with all of you from the beginning.”

“And miss this epic fight of ours?”

Both laugh, then wince. The droplets of rain start to fall away as the sky overhead begins to clear.

Seeing that the fight is over, Allura, Pidge and Hunk rush over.

“Are you alright!?” Allura asks, holding Keith’s head. He nods and she helps him up to a sitting position.

Pidge also helps Lance up. Then she punches him in the side.

“Ow!”

“Idiot.” She scolds.

“...fair enough.” He sighs.

“You two get everything out you wanted to?” Hunk asks.

Both nod.

“Good...so I guess now we need to think of an actual plan to get the Black Lion back.”

“Actually…” Keith says, looking up.

Lance squints up at a dark spot in the sky that is growing larger. His eyes widened.

Seconds later, the Black Lion smashes down into the stone just a few feet away.

“...how?”

“A trick I learned from Zarkon. If he can control his Lion without being inside so can we. But I only unlocked the ability...after I saw Shiro’s Last Word.”

Everyone is silent for a minute.

“...you know It's kind of funny,” Lance finally says. “Shiro was always the one too keep us from being at each other’s throats. Guess we kind of missed the point when we ended up fighting over him.”

Keith cracks a smile. “He probably wouldn’t be too surprised. We always did take too long to learn his lessons.”

“Yeah, just think about how long it took us to form Voltron for the second time!” Hunk points out.

“Allura shouting at us sure didn’t help.” Pidge puts in with a coy smile.

“Oh I’m sorry!” Allura says in mock offense. “But it must have been awfully hard for them to connect with someone they didn’t even know was a girl!”

“Most of them did, besides Lance over here.”

They all laugh. Keith smiles.

“Do you guys remember when Shiro got so mad because…”

From a distance away, Krolia watches the group.

Coran steps up beside her. “They’re more resilient than you might think, that lot.”

Krolia smiles. “I was worried about Keith. He had to deal with so much alone and I wasn’t there. I thought without Shiro he’d find himself alone again. But it looks like I was wrong. He’s found himself a great family to rely on, after all.”

With that, she turns on her heel, leaving the kids to talk and laugh and cry about their times with their fallen friend.

#shiro #keith #lance #allura #pidge #hunk #voltron #legendary defender #season 8 #rewrite #fix it fic #get ready for tears #i'm not crying you're crying

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shortsnstories · 5 years

Text

Prompt: Friends who know each other really well. (WIP)

Although I’ve known Denny for only about three years, it’s as if I’ve known him since before I was even out of the womb. Denny, my best friend, is the one person in the world who knows me the best. Now, you may say that, Flora, that can’t be true, what about your parents? Well you see, mother and father dearest are not around. Too busy with business trips and things of the like that are much more important than their precious daughter. I appreciate them, and I love them, but they don’t know me. Denny has been the one for me the last three years. He has been the one who has been there through all the anxiety attacks, the depressive episodes, all of it. And he is the one who knows me the best. Except for one thing. Something that’s kind of big. Really big, actually. He doesn’t know that he’s the person I am madly in love with.

Now, that may sound confusing, which it is. Flora, how could the boy you’ve been madly in love with for three years, not know? He’s the thing, he things I am just utterly infatuated with a guy at our school, Geoff Clifford (Yes, I know it’s a dumb name, I don’t know how Denny thinks I’m actually in love with him either). He thinks that I’ve been madly in love with Geoff Clifford since the summer of 5th grade. But he’s wrong, so, so, so wrong. Denny, the one who knows me best would never know how madly I’m in love with him. He could never know, cause he’s actually in love with Rosie Bates. The prettiest girl at school, the one who makes the boys drool and the girls scowl. And why wouldn’t he be, she’s perfect. In every way she is the perfect girl. I could never live up to that, especially when Denny is a God on Earth. I could never be enough for him, so here I am sitting alone in my room, writing into a pink diary I haven’t opened in years. All because of Denny, my best friend of three years, who doesn’t know that I’m madly in love with.

“Flora!” Tingles are sent up my spine as I hear a deep voice call out my name. I turn my head, quickly shielding my eyes from the blazing August sun. My eyes focus as I look in the direction of the call, my eyes finally landing on Denny. My eyes fall up and down him as his shirt moves slightly with his chest as he makes his way towards the bench I’m sitting on. I quickly sit a little straighter, my hands instinctively moving to sweep my hair behind my ear. My eyes focused on him as he finally reaches the table, sitting on it as he pants slightly.

“Denny, what’s up?” I say, making my tone sound casual, even though there is a colony of Monarch Butterflies in my stomach during October. My heart beat quickens, but I try to ignore the pang in my chest as I watch his eyes travel to Rosie.

“Homecoming is coming up, isn’t it?” Words ring through my head but I don’t really register them at first, still recovering from the sudden appearance of my best friend.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about asking Rosie, do you think I have a chance?” My blood runs cold. He’s gonna do it, finally. It only took him eight months to finally pick up the courage to do it. But it still hurts. Just a bit. Right down in my stomach.

“I don’t know, Denners, maybe. I don’t talk to her much.”

“That’s a shame, she’s so cool! Not as cool as you, though.” He turns to me and smiles as he says it. Not noticing how my cheeks flare up so much you’d think I had escaped from the tomato farm. I quickly avert my eyes from his contagious smile. Fingers fidgeting with the hem of my skirt.

“Thanks, but you should do it. What do you have to lose?”

“What do you mean what do I have to lose? My dignity maybe. Hah, you really think that she’d go for someone like me?” He said, a doubt creeping into his voice as his eyes trailed back over to her. She was sitting with a group friends. Brown hair falling in soft ringlets to the middle of her back, perfectly curled eyelashes accompanying perfect hazel eyes. A yellow sundress hung on her lithe frame. I watched as Denny’s eyes fell over her, soaking in ever ounce of her, just like I was doing with him now. I know that look in his eye, he gets that look when he’s playing football. The look of pure bliss, true happiness. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know him so well, than I wouldn’t be able to read him this well. And if I couldn’t do that, maybe I could fool myself into thinking I have a shot with him, even if it was for just a bit of time. If I could fool myself into that, maybe I’d be just a bit more okay.

“You should ask her, you never know.” The words fall from my mouth as another piece of my heart is chipped away. I ignore it, pressing a smile onto my features and making my eyes look bright. Denny looks at me, a look as if he almost knew what I was thinking, but then it was gone. Even so, he couldn’t know, I haven’t even told anyone. No one knows except me. And that stupid diary I confided in last night, if you put it in writing, it can come back and haunt you. But, whatever. Denny doesn’t know, at all.

“Yeah! I think I will, thanks, Flora. You’re the best.” He smiles at me, his hand coming down and ruffling my hair. He hops off the bench, striding away towards Rosie. He’s doing it now? Now? Right in front of me? I might barf. But I can’t seem to look away. If I had any sense in me I’d start running away right now. So I could hear about it later. But if I leave now, I’ll have to live in suspense for hours, which may be worse. So I sit there, watching dumbly as he walks towards her. I can see it in how he walks, the fear. He’s bouncing off of his left foot more than usual, right hand twitching in his jacket pocket. All classic signs that he’s stressed and freaking out on the inside. Things I know so dearly because I’ve been the one there for him for three years. His best friend, and nothing more.

“Rosie! Can I talk to you for a second?” I can barely hear him, but I can. I watch as she looks at her friends, a knowing look being passed around the group. She gets up, long, slender legs pushing off the green grass.

“Yeah, course.”

“Great. Over here.” He leads her over to a tree about 20 feet away from Rosie’s friends and where I’m sitting. I can still hear him, he’s making small talk. Another classic, he’s so nervous, I can tell. But why wouldn’t he be? He’s finally asking out the girl he’s been infatuated with. I feel my heart fall, and tug, the physical pain I’m so familiar. It just hurts when he mentions her, talks to her, looks at her. Cause, why isn’t that me? Why doesn’t he love me the way I love him? Why? But there isn’t much worth in thinking about it. Cause while I’m sitting here wallowing, he’s asking her.

“So… I want to ask you something. I’ve been wanting to ask you for some time now.” Denny says, his voice wavering a bit.

“Yeah?” She replies, her eyes searching his.

“I… I was wondering if you, if you wanted to go to homecoming with me…?” There, there are the words that’ll end me. I hear the questioning and hesitation in his voice, almost as if he’s amazed he even got the words out. I watch as surprise falls onto Rosie’s face. I watch as it switches from surprise to happiness. Her eyes crinkling as a smile fixes itself to her features.

“Yeah! I’d love to!” She says, a lightness in her voice that makes my head spin.

“Oh, that’s great! I’ll talk to you later.” Enthusiasm dripping from his voice like thick sap from a tree. And he turns, he turns towards me. Shooting a jolly thumbs up. The look of pure happiness on his face is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I wish I had a camera to capture that moment and never forget it. But it’s bittersweet, because I know it’s not me who’s making him smile like that.

“Flora! Flora! She said yes, can you believe it?!” Denny comes running up to me. Turning back to look at Rosie who shoots him a sweet smile, which he returns. I quickly arrange my face into something that looks like happiness and surprise. I smile at him, and I’ve never seen him this excited or happy. A genuine happiness that fills his entire being.

“I can believe it, you’re amazing, Denny. I told you!” I force my voice to be as cheerful as possible.

“Thanks, Flora. I don’t know what I would do without you.” And I know he means it, but he doesn’t mean it in the way same I do. He doesn’t need me to function, he needs me to help him, to get him through stuff. I need him to function, and I’ve accepted that it’ll never be the same for him. No matter how much I want it to, it’ll never be that way. Cause I know him so well that I can tell, I can tell there is no interest in me in him. No romantic interest at least. And I’ve just got to deal with that, even if it breaks me in the process.

So here I am, back home, sitting at my stupid desk with this stupid diary. Why am I putting it all in writing? There’s a big chance that it could get stolen, or even worse, read. But here I am anyways, confiding in a book. It hurts so much, you know. No-one ever tells you how hard heartbreak is. They never tell you how much it hurts and how much physical and emotional pain you’re put through. I think being heartbroken is the most painful thing in the world. And, yeah, I’m only 17. But it’s the worst thing I’ve ever been through. The hardest thing I’ve had to go through, and he wasn’t even mine. This hurts so much. So, so, so much. I can’t believe I let myself get this head over heels, even from when I knew from the start that he’d never be mine. But what can I do. Nothing, there’s nothing I can do. Ever. So I’ll just sit here and confide in a stupid diary that’ll never know how hard it is.

#short #story #shortstory #writing #draft #wip #workinprogress #unrequited #teen #homecoming #love #teenfiction #fiction

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mosaiccreme · 5 years

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Existential Crisis

Chapter 14: Hollow

Patreon and ko-fi

(snippet below)

The collector ship was a devastating reminder to all of what exactly humanity stood to lose if their mission wasn’t a success. Clearly, the collectors held no intentions of limiting themselves to the human colonies of the Terminus. They intended to hit Earth, the cradle of humanity. Perhaps equally disturbing, the evidence suggested the collectors were, in fact, reaper-altered protheans. Contemplating how the Illuminated Primacy might respond to such knowledge, should it become publicly available, made Thane’s head spin.

And yet, the most troubling thing he walked away from the experience with was the knowledge that the collectors appeared to have specifically chosen Shepard as a primary target.

His siha.

He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. He refused to lose another woman he loved.

The Illusive Man knew the turian distress signal wasn’t genuine, yet he did nothing to reveal the fact to Shepard and allowed them to board the collector vessel blind. She was rightfully angry with the Cerberus leader, and Thane, well, he was furious. He couldn’t allow himself to show it, however. Shepard needed him to remain strong and supportive, give her the room she required to work through the matter. So, he retired to Life Support as she made her way to the comm room to speak with the Illusive Man. Undoubtedly, she’d make her discontent more than clear enough for the both of them.

It wasn’t long before she came looking for him, the door to Life Support sliding open at her approach. He pushed away from the observation window and turned to look at her, sucking in a deep breath at the sight of the confusion and frustration still filling her eyes. The door closed behind her as she crossed the threshold, her steps aimed straight for him, and he held his arms open. Burying her face against his chest and shoulder she tucked her arms between them, clinging to the lapels of his jacket. He held her close, wishing there was something more he could do to make the mission and inevitable war against the reapers run smoothly. For her sake as much as for the galaxy.

“At least he didn’t lie about knowing it was a trap,” she said after a moment, defeat heavy in her voice.

“No?” It surprised him, honesty certainly didn’t seem to be a trait belonging to the Illusive Man. “What was the point of sending us in under false pretenses?”

“He said he couldn’t be sure communications weren’t being monitored. He wanted them to believe that we thought the ship was derelict,” she said and sighed, “otherwise, we might have missed the opportunity their ambush presented.”

“I see.” It wasn’t a good enough excuse, not for Thane.

Surely, had he wanted to, the Illusive Man could have gotten word to Shepard. If not for EDI’s warnings, they would’ve been taken by surprise and someone—Arashu, all of them—might’ve died. What good would the information gained do if Shepard didn’t live to use it to stop the collectors?

“And now that we’re off the collector ship, he tells me we need a reaper IFF to get through the Omega 4 relay.” She let out a frustrated growl. “Even if it was just a working theory, if he’d told me ahead of time … we had the chance to get the IFF off the collector ship. Instead, now we have to board a supposedly dead reaper. One that, apparently, Cerberus has known about for some time. He had people stationed on the damn thing, and now he’s lost contact with them.”

“You believe they’ve become indoctrinated?” he asked, rubbing small circles against her back.

“I think it’s pretty damn likely. Even if the thing is dead as he claims, it’s still reaper tech. We know the reapers themselves aren’t the only thing to cause indoctrination. They have other methods, and we know that prolonged exposure to reaper artifacts pretty much guarantees indoctrination.” Unexpectedly, she pushed away from him, raking her hands through her hair before throwing them into the air. “What the hell did he really expect?”

“I don’t know, siha.” He watched as she started to pace. “I wish I had answers for you, truly. Do you believe the reaper is actually derelict and this isn’t just another lie?”

She stopped, pressing her palms into the table, head hanging between her shoulders. “He swears that it is, as much as a reaper can be, anyway. I’m not sure it really matters, though. We missed the opportunity to get the IFF on the collector ship, the chances of us getting aboard another are ….”

“Quite slim, indeed.” He studied her for a moment, unsure as to whether he should close the distance between them after her retreat. “Still, perhaps we can find another way.” He didn’t like the idea of her being so close to a source of indoctrination, not when she already feared having reaper technology inside of her and questioned her own mental faculties.

A harsh, cynical huff of laughter left her mouth, and she shook her head before looking at him once more. “I swear to God, when this is all over … one way or another, I’m putting a bullet through the Illusive Man’s head.”

Fighting the urge to gape at her, he glanced toward EDI’s access node, praying the AI understood the nuances of making empty threats when one was upset. However … Shepard really wasn’t one to make empty threats. She seemed to understand his train of thought, however.

Gaze flicking toward the access node, she sighed. “EDI … you really don’t need to pass that statement along to the Illusive Man. I’m just blowing off steam.”

“There is no need to worry, Shepard.” EDI’s hologram sprung to life. “Priority to confidentiality has been given to the conversations between you and Thane at Yeoman Chambers’ insistence. I am programmed to follow Yeoman Chambers’ recommendations to support the mental health and well being of the crew. I am only required to file a report if it is believed that you have become a danger to yourself or to the crew. The Illusive Man is not a part of this crew.”

Shepard let out a soft chuckle; the AI seemed to have truly arrested her moment of agitation. “Good to know. Thanks, EDI.”

“You are welcome. Shall I set course for the reaper?” EDI asked.

“No, not yet.” Pursing her lips, Shepard ran her hand through her hair again, the motion far more relaxed than a moment before. “We still have other things on the table we need to take care of, and Thane’s right, if there is at all another way, we should take it. Let’s see what else we can find in the meantime.”

“As you wish, Shepard. Logging you out.” The hologram folded in on itself before disappearing completely, giving them the illusion of privacy once more.

#mass effect #fanfic #shrios

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the-colony-roleplay · 5 years

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☭ FEVER STATE: “COMPROMISED SYSTEM”☭ stage ii

For a moment—a tortuously fleeting moment—things appeared to be looking up for Col22 citizens.

It actually mildly surprised medical staff when, by the afternoon of Wednesday, January 5th, the third day of sickness, some of the fevers were very slowly starting to subside earlier than expected, and for a handful of the Colony’s sickest, the worst of it seemed to be rounding the bend behind them. Sickness lingered, as it would and was expected to for at least another three days, but some citizens had seen the peak of what their illness would become, and could look forward to feeling progressively better as the days went on and they were finally able to keep down fluids and some less-solid foods. Finally not dry-heaving long enough to actually get a few hours’ much needed rest.

But much like the onset of the sickness, this new beast started slowly—picking off a couple individuals at a time, going unnoticed at first, and largely unreported—then rearing its head and taking over all at once.

Wednesday night was the first time someone put a voice to fears they’d juggled with since the morning: something was very, very wrong with their so-called ‘Infection’. In fact, by nightfall, they weren’t able to use their infected ability at all.

As it would turn out—they were not the only one. There were others who’d started to notice these symptoms as well, but hadn’t yet said it out loud, be it for fear it was not but their imaginations, or that it was not likely to get worse—or perhaps for fear of making it real. For fear of what it could mean.

By Thursday morning, however, the putting off of acknowledging it changed nothing: all Infected citizens were reportedly experiencing fluxes of control with their Infections—having to strain to use their ability in even the simplest form with a sputtering in and out of results; like an electric engine puttering in a desperate wheeze, well beyond time for a recharge, trying in vain to press forward—until it chugs to a pathetic, whining and whirring stop.

And so is how it went with the infections, as well. When Thursday night at Colony 22 falls, all evidence of any Infected citizen having any unnatural or ‘evolved’ power at all has been wiped away. No strength to move without touch, no speaking without tongues, no invasive tapping into the emotions of others. Even the Deluded cease to experience ‘symptoms’ of their delusions, though each case where they are concerned is a little different, due to the nature of their unique so-called ‘abilities’.

It would appear as though the Infected have been stripped of whatever it is that makes them different—and naturally, it sends everyone into a panic. Even the NWRF. Some might say especially the NWRF.

Thursday Jan 6th, through Saturday the 8th, Infected citizens of all subclasses are spending hours upon hours each day undergoing emergency testing—blood tests, scans, MRIs—absolutely any kind of data collection lab researchers (both NWRF aligned and otherwise) can get their hands on, because no one knows what this means, how exactly this could have been caused—or how long it will last.

Could this possibly be a permanent change? Was there something in the parasite that ate away at whatever it was the mysterious gasses of both Fallings changed in so many of the remaining human race? Were the ‘Evolved’ simply no more? Or is this a temporary side effect? Would the Infections return, and if so, when, and would they be just as they were before, or would they evolve again in some way? Grow stronger, even?

Was this sudden absence of Infection something that could be replicated? Bottled? Sold?

The questions were endless, as were the tests. Lab researchers, techs, medics and scientists would lose sleep over the next three days, up into all hours of the night pouring over results and data, trying to piece together meaning, uncover answers never before uncovered.

Meanwhile—the Infected and all their supporters try in vain not to panic. For the question remains: is this a beginning or an end?

A/N: There you have it darlings! Part 2 of this new, 2019 plot drop. And though you will see updates as this stage progresses and unfolds, plus a wrapping of sorts down the road when the timeline moves forward, etc, this will be the last of the time-constrained ‘event-style’ portion of this drop, at least for a while. But more on that later—for the time being:

Welcome to: ☭ FEVER STATE: COMPROMISED SYSTEM ☭ { stage ii } !!

This post marks the beginning of stage two, and shifts the timeline forward to January 5th through January 8th. This means that though you may continue all old threads, you may not start any new threads from stage one.

All NEW threads must be between Wednesday morning, January 5th, and Saturday night, January 8th. There will be no exceptions to this. But, as always, and to reiterate, you may continue all old threads as long as you need!

This time window will continue until you see a post here on the main with updates to this portion of the plot line and officially moving the timeline forward. Once this stage is ‘complete’, the RP timeline will open back up to the regular vague and approximate week-by-week approach, relatively open and flexible until such a time that the next plot drop is released, which might not be a for a while.

Here is a quick summary of events so far regarding the Fever State drop. In bold, is what is currently open to start new threads about.

MONDAY, January 3rd - All citizens start to get sick to varying degrees throughout the day, regardless of what was or wasn’t eaten. The sickest are kept in the infirmary for close monitoring and hooking up to IVs, and those whose fevers are not as high and who are able to keep down more fluids are confined to their houses instead, mostly tended to in their dorm rooms by rotating medical staff.

TUESDAY, January 4th, 11:00am - Colony Wide Recall Notice; informing citizens of flour recall, details regarding what can be expected of the parasite symptoms and that it should run its course within the space of roughly seven days.

WEDNESDAY, January 5th, morning - Some infected start to experience inconsistencies and strange ‘brown outs’ with their Infection abilities.

Wed, Jan 5th, night - The first official reports about fluctuating control of Infection abilities arise, word begins to spread.

THURSDAY, January 6th, morning - All Infected citizens (Deluded included) are experiencing a gradual and unpredictable ceasing of control/strength of their Infection abilities, to varying degrees. Some of them stopping completely.

Thurs, Jan 6th, all day - emergency lab testing for the Infected commences

Thurs, Jan 6th, night - By the end of the day, all Infected abilities are seemingly gone.

FRIDAY, January 7th through SATURDAY, January 8th, inclusive - Testing continues. Standard symptoms of parasite have started to subside across the board. People are released from the Infirmary, classes and chores are slowly reintroduced. Uninfected slowly begin to feel normal again. The Infected, however, though they start to feel less sick, still have no traces of their infection abilities.

Currently, you may not RP past Saturday night.

Additionally, as with previously, new threads must be TITLED somehow to reflect the current stage (Stage two). Again, that can be done in a variety of ways, including somehow indicating the “Fever State” plot drop and the stage number, or indicating the stage title itself, so in this case “Compromised System”. Remember you have the freedom to indicate this however you wish, so long as you DO indicate it somehow. For examples from the first stage, which would apply similarly to this stage, please check out this post.

On the main blog we will continue to us #col22feverstate for all posts regarding this plot drop, and we will also be using #col22FScomp for posts regarding this stage. You can use these tags for your personal posts and organization as well if you want, but you are not required to (just remember to keep titles of your threads clear!)

☭ INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER VARIATIONS: ☭

Like last time, it’s up to you to decide the details surrounding how/when your character is affected by these new developments, so long as they remain congruent with the canon narration and timeline provided above. For characters of any status, you can decide when they start to feel a bit better, though this is bound to fluctuate dramatically across the board, and some will still be pretty darn sick even as the weekend approaches.

For Infected characters, you can decide if they were one of the ones who noticed changes earlier on Wednesday, if they were one of the ones who reported it to an Official that night, or if they maybe heard about it that night but kept their mouths shut. Alternatively, maybe they didn’t notice anything with their own abilities until Thursday. However, by Thursday morning, all Infected are noticing these effects in some way.

If you have a deluded character, feel free to get creative with how their ‘delusion’ is affected, but remember it is about stripping the ‘symptoms’ of their delusion away, or their so-called ability. So, for Orson, it’s not that he suddenly believes his Delusion was untrue all along, but that he stops actively seeing visions of death when he touches someone. For Roy, perhaps he stops hearing Death’s voice in his head. For Annie, maybe she still believes she’s in a nightmare of sorts, but she doesn’t experience the ‘tells’ of her sleeping state anymore. But these are just examples—you can decide for yourselves how you want to play it out, and feel free to run stuff by the mods if you want guidance!

☭ STATE OF THE COMMUNITY: ☭

As already mentioned, the return of normal colony schedules will be very gradual. Lots of people are still sick, but the infirmary will slowly thin out as Saturday approaches, and though some group classes/therapy sessions etc may be reinstated, not all will be at this stage. Additionally, there will be a considerable amount more testing going on for Infected citizens, and the general environment of Colony 22 will be rather frenzied, chaotic and tense due to the new developments and panic, but also somewhat sluggish, do to lingering illnesses and lack of regular schedules. Lab techs and researchers will be working day and night, rumours will be spreading, Colony officials will be tight lipped and reluctant to release information before it is confirmed, or to speak out of turn. NWRF reps will be a bit manic, dealing with lots of back and forth between other local reps, other colonies who were subjected to this parasite, and Headquarters.

This time window will continue until you see further updates from the main blog. As always, please bring any and all event-related questions to the MAIN BLOG ASK. Additionally, if you have any ideas or things you want to contribute with regards to this plot and your character, feel free to come to us! We are more than happy to help and there is some room as this plot develops to incorporate member contribution of ideas!

Alright, happy plotting friends! Ta for now!

xxCol22Mods

#col22feverstate #col22fscomp #literate rp #sci fi rp #original rp

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thewildwaffle · 6 years

Text

Abduction - Chapter 12

Chapter 1 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

***

The creature had the audacity to point its own blade threateningly at her. It would pay dearly for that. She would make it pay.

It became a deadly dance of sorts between the two. Strike. Miss. Swing. Duck. Shuffle. Repeat. Neither seemed to gain or lose any ground. Neither showed any signs of letting up. It didn’t take long before both were breathing heavily. Ever so often, one of them would make contact with the other, purple blood started showing up across various cuts. Red blood oozed out of the creature’s nose and along its arms.

Her muscles ached and screamed, but to stop would be death. She had to continue until the alien tired, slipped up, gave an opening, something. It had to, eventually, right? Right? Something was happening to it. Beads of water or some clear liquid was starting to collect across its face. What the heck? What was that about?

It was hot. The day had started out hot and muggy and only had gotten hotter and muggier since. It was usually felt nice but under the circumstances… not so much. Limbs burned and felt heavy, but there was nothing to do but keep moving, keep swiping, keep dodging. How was this thing not overheating?

This went on for a while, each until another voice echoed out through the foliage. Both froze. Now was the chance to strike while her opponent was distracted. Or it should have been. She took advantage of the break to rest. Oh krag, it felt good to pause for a bit.

The voice came again, a little louder this time. The bipedal creature frowned, looked toward the source of the sound and back to her - its face changed shape to a very interesting expression. It muttered something in its weird language. She didn’t need a translator to know it was some sort of curse.

Before she knew it, the creature sprang away, disappearing into the foliage towards the clearing. It left a trail of broken branches and snapping twigs in its wake. At first, she felt relief. The monster was gone!

Oh, frewan.

It took my blade.

Not only that, it would, more than likely, go back and regroup and come back with reinforcements. She ran to her pack and reached to pick it up. No. She paused. No, she wouldn’t be able to make it back up out of this gorge in time. That alien and any companions would be on her trail before she’d get far, especially while carrying her precious cargo. But leaving the pack was out of the question.

If flight wasn’t an option, fight was all she had left.

The creature had seen her, even though she’d been standing perfectly still among the foliage. There were some creatures who had eyes that could see in what they called “colors” and normal methods of camouflage were rendered useless by an ability to differentiate certain light wavelengths. This alien might be able to do so as well. That would explain it. Or maybe it had a great sense of smell? Or maybe some other weird sense? Well, maybe. In any case, trying to ambush it when it came back was not looking like it’d be a great plan, or at least, not on such short notice.

No, she’d take the fight back to them, before they could regroup. Before they could expect anything. If she could just get that blade back, she could make quick work of the other one.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Wenona muttered under her breath before she yelled out again, “Miiiiiiiike!” Nothing.

“He’s probably ignoring me, off exploring or doing something stupid,” she said to herself as she leaned against the hull of the pod. Jebannuck may want him to come back, but she didn’t. Not right now. She was mad and was not interested in making nice. “If he wants to go off and pout like a child, then I say let him. Koko used to always do this too, it’s just a tantrum.”

She frowned. Koko, her little sister was about nine years younger than her. She hadn’t thrown a tantrum in years, she’d grown out of it long ago. But she still remembered the way her mom had dealt with them, let the anger burn out, give space, cool down.

Wenona’s nose prickled and she felt tears coming on. She hadn’t thought much about her family lately, being kind of busy with everything else going on, and it was kind of painful to think about when she did have a moment. Her family. What was the last thing she’d said to her parents? Either of them? How had they reacted when they found out she was gone? She’d been gone so long, had they given up looking for her yet?

She was torn away from her memories as she saw Mike across the clearing, tearing through the undergrowth and sprinting as fast as he could, a look of terror on his face.

“Mike?” she called out, confusion overtaking any feelings of anger from before.

“Montauk!” He gasped as he got closer, “Montauk in the woods!” Mike nearly lost his footing on some uneven ground but righted himself before he completely lost balance. He looked like a hot mess. His face was red and covered in sweat. He had bits of leaves, twigs and dirt patches everywhere. His nose was bleeding, as were several nasty gashes along his arm.

“What the…” was all she could get out before another shape appeared from where Mike had emerged. The sight of it made her stomach feel like she had just swallowed a boulder. She had hoped she’d never see that familiar shape again.

It charged at them at full speed, it’s dark exoskeleton took on a greenish iridescent shine to it as it burst into the full sunlight. With only a few strides, it started closing in on Mike, who had lost a lot of momentum from nearly falling on his face.

She started forward, the Montauk was closing in on Mike and was completely focused on him. It never saw Wenona charge and full-body tackle it to the ground. The both rolled into a bush, the montauk midsection crashed into a hard trunk base and let out a wheezing gasp. Wenona hit the ground hard, the breath completely knocked out of her. That would bruise. Probably. But there was no time to tend to that now - she got to her feet as soon as she could see straight again. Mike was back up too. They’d fought montauks before - heck, they’d fought off an entire ship of them. One should be a breeze between the two of them.

It really should have been, but the alien was certainly not backing down and was quick on its feet to deal with both the humans as they tried attacking on opposite sides. The montauk dealt a high blow to Mike and spun to quickly to sweep Wenona’s legs out from under her. Wenona fell hard onto her side, but Mike was able to remain standing, though he was now bleeding from his shoulder. He stumbled back, regaining composure when the montauk returned its attention to him and sprang at him.

“Mike, look out!” Wenona screamed.

Mike fumbled with the makeshift blade in his hands. By the time the attacker was on him, he only just had time to raise his blade in defense. They cut into each other before falling back in pain, neither wounded very deeply, but still nasty. Before the montauk could recover, Wenona had jumped up on its back and wrapped her arms around its neck in as tight of a headlock as she could manage.

The montauk struggled under her weight, stumbling backward toward the pod and crashing into its side, attempting to crush Wenona as it bashed desperately against the outer wall. It managed this twice before she was able to get a grip on the wall with her feet as the montauk pulled away to try to slam her again. She used her step to push herself up and over its head. She held onto its neck, forcing it to now bend down. It struggled to get back up, thrashing, trying to knock her off, but she held on, finally trying to get purchase on something to help not be thrown into the air, maybe even pin the monster down. Her grip was slipping - blast her dumb hand - she couldn’t grip with it, and all the exertion it’d been through was taking a toll. She tried shifting to help take the pressure off her hand, but by doing so, the montauk finally was successful in throwing her. She hit the ground and rolled. Ow, freak, no. She cradled her arm tightly, streaks of light flashed across her vision.

***

The second strange creature was down. Finally. Krag, it had a grip! Now, where was the first one? Oh, there it was, struggling to get back on its feet. Its arms were trembling as it tried to push itself up off the ground. That was a lot of red. Her knife was still being held in its grip.

Not for much longer.

Before she could coax her legs into moving towards her injured opponent, the door to the pod opened suddenly and a new, tall, familiar-shaped alien stepped out. He was clothed in a Confederation uniform as well, though with the colors and marks of an officer. What was the name of this species again? Sefra. Yeah, sefra. Tough. It looked badly wounded already. Good. She stood a good chance.

Frewan, it had a blaster.

She dove and rolled just in time to avoid being hit by a yellow blast. While still on the ground, she kicked out her backmost legs into the sefra’s knees. He tried dodging, but his movements were slowed. He’d obviously sustained some serious injuries. She could see that now. He stumbled to his knees with a pained groan.

Her chances were looking better and better.

This could be it. This was really happening. She’d beat a Confederation soldier. She’d beat the two deadly aliens. She’d take control of the pod and get away - find a place at some market in some out-of-the-way colony world, save up enough to get revenge on those heg-heads who left her to die here. She stepped toward the fallen sefra. First, things first. She lifted her remaining uninjured forearm, ready to cut through sefra flesh, her soon-to-be victim grunted as he struggled to look back and up. She caught the flash of fear in his eyes.

“Know this, sefra, you die by the work of Simmo Montauk of Karcheer.”

Before she could deliver the blow, she was hit hard in the side. The first alien?! How? It looked like it should have been on the verge of bleeding out from its wounds! Reeling from the blow, she felt more than saw - powerful alien hands wrap around two of her legs and spun her off the ground. She flew through the air briefly and rolled into a dusty pile of spores. Immediately, her skin began to crawl and itch.

Flarg. Gerchrung wood. No, no, no, no. Her mind raced in panic as she tried to shake loose as much of the spores and dust as she could. Before she could get far in doing so, she was hit again. The alien was relentless! Or wait, no, it was the second alien, the one with the long fur on its head. How were they both still on their feet?!? What did it take to kill these creatures?!

She struggled as long as she could, but her wounds were getting the best of her and her energy was draining fast - not only from extended exertion but also from the burning she now felt all across her body as the spores did their work. Her attackers, however, seemed to have found some new energy reserve, seemingly out of nowhere.

I never did stand a chance, then. I almost did, but I had no idea what I got myself into.

Then everything went dark.

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#abduction #space #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #aliens #montauk #fight fight fight

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