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morethanalittleconfused · 3 years

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I accidentally wrote a 5k fanfic about incidents caused aboard the ghost by differences between species

I've been reading a lot of those old tumblr posts that are like “what if humans are actually just really, really hardy and alien species would be just completely blown away with the shit we put up with without a second thought” and it's got me thinking about the crew of the Ghost trying to get used to each other at first with three humans that are all just absolutely fucking insane, even more so than even your average human.

Rebels spoilers ahead, as well as a trigger warning for blood, vomit and general injuries

It starts with Hera and Kanan. It’s just the two of them, aboard the Ghost, and it takes some getting used to.

At first Hera is shocked by the way Kanan's body seemingly has no limits. He has never once complained about the temperature of the ghost, even when they were running low on power and Hera could feel her limbs start to get sluggish from the cold. Two weeks later he somehow managed to find his way back to the ghost after being in -2 degree Celsius weather for a half an hour with no coat on. When he walked back through the hatch with snow blowing in his loose hair and a red nose and said “it's cold as shit out there” after Hera had been panicking about losing him for the literal entire time, she had to practically scrape her jaw off of the floor. She would have been dead after a few minutes, and yet here he was, now steaming from a shower and shirtless, bitching about how the caf maker was broken.

As time went on, she learned his body did have some limits to the heat. At about 35 degrees he got irritable and short, but that was about when she started getting uncomfortably warm, too. But he would tolerate it. And more. He kept impressing her with the things he somehow managed to pull off, in conditions she would have thought would kill him. He could get knocked around far more than she thought he should be able to, and would haul himself back to the ship with a grin every time.

The way his body worked constantly surprised her. She noticed it first in how quickly he healed, and in how much he ate.

He could eat literally anything. Things she thought were poisonous for most species. He loved chocolate, and would easily eat ten times the amount that would send her to the hospital to get her stomach pumped. He could withstand a ridiculous amount of alcohol, and could drink unprocessed coffee with no problem by the cup. Caf didn't seem to really affect him because his body processed it so fast. And he ate so. Much. it was ridiculous. The good thing was it didn't really seem to matter what.

Hera didn't need much food, but it had to be good. It had to count. Too much filler and she would lose strength. Her body couldn't process a lot, and if what she got wasn't exactly what she needed, her health went downhill, quick.

Kanan was not the same. He could, and would, eat anything. He didn't have any noticeable preference for plants or meat, or the quality of the food. If he could get his hands on it, he would eat it. He would eat food out of the refrigerator she would have considered to be dangerous. He put appalling amounts of random, unrelated food in a pan, cooked it, and acted like that was an acceptable thing to do. Omelets? She hated the very idea but he seemed to think they were wonderful.

And yet, for all that, they had once been stranded for over a week with only enough rations for one, and Kanan had insisted that she take the vast majority of the ration bars. She pushed back, and he then presented her with the absolutely shocking fact that humans can survive for over a month with no food. She was absolutely flabbergasted, and he took advantage of her stunned silence to press another ration into her hand, smirk at her and say, “I can take it. Trust me.”

Another thing she noticed very quickly was how fast he healed.

He could be bleeding openly one minute, and the wound seemed to close itself the next. She knew human blood had clotting factors far beyond that of nearly any other being, but it was ridiculous how fast he sealed himself up. Further into their relationship she got to see this close up when she accidentally touched some of his congealed blood on the floor of the refresher after cleaning him up. She had had to turn away and take a few deep breaths at the slimy, gelatinous texture. He had gently huffed out a laugh.

“Kinda gross huh?”

“Yeah... it's… unique.”

“I've always been kind of fascinated by the way it congeals so quickly. Handy I guess.”

Out of sheer curiosity she had run the end of a pen through the small puddle and been horrified to see that it mostly stuck together.

“It just… does that? Inside you? And that doesn't cause problems?”

“It can. If it clots when it's not supposed to. But mostly it keeps me alive.”

And it did. And though she wouldn't say it to his face, his ability to pull through seemingly anything took just one more worry off her plate. His wounds would be almost completely closed in often under a week, where she would have been dealing with bandages and salves for a month. He almost never got infections, and could keep going with seemingly incapacitating injuries.

They had once narrowly escaped a fight with a gang of imps and made it back to the ghost with almost no problems. She had a sprained ankle, so he had supported her most of the way there, and they had patched up each other's scrapes. He had needed a bit of training so he didn't just slap a bandaid on what could have been a potentially life threatening injury for her, but he did alright. It was only later, when they were sitting in the cockpit, well into hyperspace, and he had coughed suddenly, when things went sideways. She turned to see blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth, and more on his hand when he pulled it away. They both looked at it for a moment, then Hera almost blacked out as a sudden wave of adrenaline washed over her.

“Kanan you're- are you- let me make the calc- are you dying?”

“What? Oh- no I had thought I just cracked a few of my ribs but it would appear I must have broken at least one of them.”

“BROKEN? Your bone? Like in half?”

“I- yeah?”

“Chopper we need to get to the nearest med center right now. Tell them were coming. I dont care if its a fucking imperial light cruiser”

“Wait no lets not be hasty-”

“HASTY? YOU BROKE YOUR BONES KANAN”

“Okay i know it looks bad but really i'm not going to keel over and die right now. Make sure it's a safe med center and cheap too. I can wait.”

“Kanan your bones are literally broken.”

“Yeah. It's happened before and it will happen again. I've broken my arm twice. I've broken one of the bones in my lower leg. A couple toes. At least one finger. And don't even get me started on my nose. It didn't always look like this.” At that he had huffed out a small laugh, but then winced and brought a hand to his lower chest. Almost as an afterthought, he reached down and pulled up the hem of his shirt. She had started to avert her eyes at the sliver of hip he showed, but as he pulled the shirt up higher and revealed more, she felt the breath taken out of her. His skin was mottled a whole host of awful colors, angry and puffy. He coughed that wet cough again and said, “Maybe I do need a med center after all”

She was incredibly relieved when they dropped out of hyperspace and into the welcoming arms of medicine. She was less happy when Kanan was returned to her, that night no less, with only bandages around his chest and a note to “take it easy for a while” she was appalled to say the least.

His ridiculously resilient body sometimes created just as many problems as it solved, though. He got into bar fights after downing enough alcohol to kill a bantha, and got the piss kicked out of him. He ran headfirst into danger with little consideration for life or limb. He was reckless, and incredibly hotheaded, and overall behaved like a clown. She had no idea how the Jedi accepted humans into their ranks, if Jedi he was. Restraint, my ass.

His recklessness applied to food as well. He didn't really seem to mind what he ate, content with the knowledge that if it didn’t work out, he could always regurgitate it back up. Twi’leks could not vomit, like many other species. It was yet another bizarre human trait. The ability to purge substances from your body without them having to pass through your entire digestive tract and cause more issues had always seemed like a neat trick to Hera. That is, of course, until she saw it in action.

She was roused one night by a strange noise coming from the refresher, and she had padded to the door, only to find it open. Blinking in the harsh light, she saw Kanan curled on the floor, wearing no shirt. His hair was loose and hanging around his face, and he was panting heavily. She only had time to say “Kanan, what-” before he coughed and vomited into the bowl.

Her immediate reaction ricocheted from “Oh my god he's dying” to “I’m actually going to die just having to witness this” to “Oh stars he is actually dying” so fast she could barely process it. She was immediately horrified but had no idea how to help him.

“Kanan are you- do you need a medic? How- chop- CHOPPER! How do I help you? Are you hurt?”

He had turned and peered up at her with puffy eyes and a runny nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He tried to talk but his voice came out too rough and he had to try again. Even then it was strangely thick.

“Hera? Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Am I okay Kanan? You're in here dying for stars sake and I have no idea how to help you and where the hell is chopper-”

“Hey. hey.” He turned away for a moment and took a long breath in through his nose. “Calm down for a sec. I feel like shit so you're going to have to talk slower. Are you hurt or something?”

“Hurt? No I'm not hurt i’m just- you- you're in here- I don’t even know-”

He closed his eyes and took another long breath in through his nose.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah i’m just… trying really hard not to throw up again.”

“Oh.”

He opened his eyes again and looked up at her again.

She shifted against the door frame. “But you're… okay? This isn't life threatening?”

He huffed out a soft laugh, then seemed to immediately regret it as he dropped his head between his knees for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and tipped his head back up.

“No. I'm good, I just ate something bad at that pub. And I also probably drank a bit too much as well. But I think it was definitely the squids fault.”

“Oh. So this is… normal?”

“More so than I would like. Yes.”

“Okay so…” she took a deep breath to calm her nerves now that it was apparent he wasn't in any imminent danger. “Do you need anything? How can I help you?”

“Some tea maybe. Some crackers. Anything ginger you have. It'll work itself out with time.”

She stood in the door, unsure of what to do, wanting to help him, and watched as he drew a quick breath in and closed his eyes again.

“Hera. Tea. Now”

“Right.”

As she dashed to the kitchen she heard the sounds of retching from behind her.

There were some strange things about humans that became interesting as their relationship developed beyond mere captain and crew. His hair, for example. At first she had thought it was appalling, the sheer volume of it. It was everywhere. But all it took was threading her hands through it a few times, and hearing the wonderful noises he made, before she quickly changed her opinion.

Related to his hair was the fact that humans seemed to enjoy a certain level of pain, which she could not understand. He would moan audibly when she tugged at his hair, which startled her the first time, in the best way. Once, when she was feeling particularly adventurous, she had dragged her sharp canines across the delicate skin of his throat, and had been surprised to find the taste of metal filling her mouth, sharp and bright. She was even more surprised at the way he had shuddered and come apart beneath her, just like that.

Then, later, when Zeb and Sabine joined the crew, there was yet another learning curve as Hera adjusted to another human as well as a Lasat, and Zeb adjusted to Kanan and Sabine at the same time.

Sabine was just as reckless. She was a fighter too, but she didn't have the force to help her out. Hera had more than a few small heart attacks in the early days of Sabine's presence before she fully appreciated that she could take almost as much of a beating as Kanan. Sabine had once walked over a half a mile back to the ship with a broken leg, and when Hera pressed her on just how she managed to do that, Sabine had gotten quickly tired of the argument, ending it with a, “I don't know what to tell you, Hera! I didn't have any other options! I had to do it, so I did.”

Hera was used to most of Kanan's strange human quirks, but Sabine presented a new and entirely alarming one, which Hera first came in contact with on a supply run. Sabine needed a monthly supply of medical supplies. Hera knew very little about menstruation, as that was a trait entirely unique to human females. Why their biology decided that it was necessary was completely beyond Hera, it seemed incredibly inefficient. Sabine made as little fuss about it as possible, but Hera had embarrassed everyone about three months in when Sabine asked hera to go get her data pad from her room. Hera had burst back into the common room, and only then was able to identify the smell Sabine was carrying with her that had been tugging at the edges of Hera’s mind all day. Blood. She turned on Sabine with a very distressed, “Sabine are you injured? Are you sick?”

To which Sabine had responded, with a distinct note of confusion, “No? Why?”

And Hera, without thinking, had said, “There's blood all over your bed? Did you hurt yourself?”

Sabine had gaped at her for a moment, then blushed ever so slightly. “I uh- I forgot to wash my sheets after... Sorry. I forgot about that before I told you to go into my room.”

Hera still had not connected the dots and was opening her mouth to further interrogate Sabine as to why her bedsheets were covered in blood when Kanan had jumped up and said, “Hera! Let's go for a walk, yes?” and pulled her gently out of the room, but not before she heard Zeb turn to Sabine and say, “So, why were you bleeding?”

Zeb apparently hadn't had much contact with the more alarming of the humans' quirks, as he had his own room, until Ezra showed up. Then Zeb had to learn for himself just how absolutely wild human biology was for himself. He arguably had a rougher go of it, because while he had the rest of the crew to help him out, he was literally sharing a room with a teenage human.

The first time Ezra got food poisoning was just about as rough for Zeb as it was for Kanan and Hera, except it happened in Zebs room. Ezra was mostly self-sufficient, but Zeb had come hollering down the hall. He had broken the “do not open my door without knocking” rule Hera kept firmly in place, but she couldn't even be mad at him. Hera was just glad Kanan had been in his own bed that night. She had woken to see Zeb standing in her door, his fur standing up like a spine down his back, one ear folded inside out, panting hard.

“Hera the kid- he’s- I don’t know what the fuck happened but he- I think he’s hurt- or- or something but I don’t know how to help him- it’s Ezra-”

At which point Kanan, who had been woken by Zebs racket, slid open his door wearing only his sleep pants. He took one moment to assess the situation, looked down the hall and said, “Oh, Ezra’s throwing up. Do you want me to take care of him, Hera?”

Hera sighed and got up from her bed.

“No, you get Zeb some tea or something. I've learned well enough how to hold hair back at this point.”

Zeb, still looking entirely horrified by the situation, allowed himself to be led into the galley by Kanan. Sabine poked her head out of her door, decided this crisis did not involve her, and went back to sleep.

The same situation had happened the first time Ezra had gotten a bloody nose in the middle of the night. It was the kind Hera had witnessed with Kanan, and knew firsthand how horrifying it was if one didn't know humans noses just Did That sometimes. It was a middle of the night kind of bloody nose, where Ezra had presumably woken up with blood all over his face and in his mouth and in his hair and on his sheets, and had tried to catch the blood in his hands, which was all well and good until he somehow had to get down from the top bunk and open two doors to get to the refresher. That left Zeb to wake up to a room smelling of blood, with blood on the floor, on the door panel, and a trail leading to the refresher where he found Ezra leaning over the sink which was also, conveniently, covered in blood. All it had taken was for Ezra to turn his face toward the creature standing in the door and say “Zeb?” before Zeb was hurtling down the hall in a panic, calling for Kanan to come help him because the kid was dying.

Sabine, who had been up working on a project, was the first to respond to this particular “The human is dying!” call. She took one look at Ezra, standing in his pajamas with blood on his hands and said, “That sucks,” and turned back to her room.

Hera, who was making her way down the hall to check on if Ezra really was dying this time, had the pleasure of seeing Sabine turn back and say, “If you want a tampon to stop up the bleeding, they're in the bottom left drawer.” This worked surprisingly well at stopping Ezras bloody nose, because he was blushing so hard there was no blood left for his nose. Hera turned back to comfort Zeb, telling him she had reacted the exact same way the first time Kanan had woken up with a bloody nose. She saw him come out of his panic in time to realize she had effectively confessed to sleeping with Kanan, but wisely decided not to say anything. Nothing he didn't already know.

The humans were absolutely bizarre to spend time around. They ended up installing a wall in the galley that had live plants in it, not because they needed fresh plants to eat, but because their brain chemicals got thrown off if they weren't around plants for too long.

They had empathy for everything. Hera had once witnessed Ezra cry in a market when they passed a fruit stand with a deformed Meiloorun. When Hera asked why he was crying, he had looked up at her with these huge eyes, sniffed, and said, “I just feel so bad for it! No one will buy it!” They had, of course, bought it. Kanan tried not to get attached to anything, but he apologized for bumping into inanimate objects, and Sabine got visibly sad when they had to throw out a good piece of gear because it was broken or old.

They all three loved swimming. They were awful at it, just barely flopping around on the surface, but any time they were near even relatively safe water, they were in it, having the time of their lives. Kanan had once explained to Hera that humans have an extra fun little bit of evolution called the mammalian dive reflex, which slows their heart rate and lowers their blood pressure when they are in water, making it calming and enjoyable. Hera was skeptical until she watched Ezra calmly floating down a river on his back and wished she had that, instead of feeling nothing but panic anytime she had to float in water.

They were mimics. They could replicate a stunning array of sounds, from animals to tech. Ezra's favorite way of annoying her was to make the noises her ship made when something went wrong, just to see how much she would panic before she realized it was him. They would sing along to anything, even if it was just instruments, and Hera would never admit it, but she loved Kanan's voice.

They could sleep anywhere. One of her favorite memories was walking around Chopper Base after a particularly exhausting mission and finding the three of them, Kanan in the middle, with one kid leaning on either shoulder, asleep, leaning against a crate. They had looked so peaceful, and yet she was again surprised at them. It was far too cold for her to even consider sleeping, there were fighters landing only a few hundred meters away, people running all over, and they were snoozing with smiles on their faces, just glad to be home.

And humans would pack bond with literally anything. She had thought Kanan was bad until she met Ezra. It was ridiculous. Her father had said that she was improper for developing a fondness for a droid, but the kid formed a relationship with everything that moved. It got them out of a few tight spots, sure, but she would never get used to having to sit still as some enormous predator loomed in their faces. The sight of Ezra staring down a cat the size of the ghost on some jungle planet, the cat's fangs mere inches from his face as it huffed at him, was something she would never forget.

They were wild and hard headed and strong and made her life so much more interesting.

Early on, Kanan’s strange human ability to adapt to seemingly anything had been a momentary point of contention between the two of them, and was still something she struggled with. It took time for her to be okay with the fact that humans and Twi’leks were just built differently. But it frustrated Hera how weak she felt compared to him. It infuriated her the way he could just walk off something that would have killed her. She had always striven to be adaptable and up for anything. She was strong, and she knew it. But she felt her inadequacies sharply next to Kanan. Early in their partnership they had been in the galley repairing themselves from yet another fight, when Hera had turned to see Kanan casually sewing his own skin up with a needle. The way he could just puncture his own skin like that, with nothing more than a wince and a hiss of breath, had made her see red for a moment and she had to excuse herself to the cockpit to take a breath. They had talked about it, and he had helped her to realize that she was, of course, strong. Humans were adapted differently, so it was entirely unfair for her to be comparing them. But they could compare emotionally, and she was one of the strongest people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. The two of them were forged in war, and had been through incredible things. She had fought prejudice and overcome so many obstacles to get to where she was, the best pilot in the resistance, without question. As he had said the last part, she heard him smirk a bit, and looked over at him, bathed in the blue light of hyperspace, to find him with a little crooked grin on his face and his hair falling down around his ears. She had felt her guarded heart open a little bit more at that, and had to turn and gaze back out at the stars before her heart opened completely to this rogue of a man.

Later, pressed against his chest in a supply closet, hiding from some stormtroopers, she would marvel at just how fast humans' hearts beat. She knew they were supposed to beat about two times faster than a twi’lek, but his seemed like it was fit to fly out of his ribcage. She found herself thinking, “Is it supposed to be doing that? Is this why he's such a hot headed idiot?” Later she would discover it did not always beat that incredibly fast, usually just a bit faster than hers. It made him ridiculously warm, and also may have contributed to why he was so quick to anything. Not rushed. Not hasty. Just quick. Quick to anger. Quick to smile. Quick to fight. Quick to laugh. Quick to love.

Maybe that was why it was such a shock when he finally reached his limit. She had gotten used to him pulling through impossible situations. She had forgotten that they had limits, just like her.

And then, years later, a glimmer of hope. Ahsoka and Sabine, travelling the galaxy over, searching for Ezra. While Kanan was gone forever, she still had a chance to get one of her boys back.

And of course, there was always Jacen. Her beautiful little boy, who was soft and sweet and yet surprisingly strong, just like his father. And Hera was comforted to know that wherever this wild galaxy would take him, he had Kanan Jarrus’ blood coursing through his veins to keep him safe.

#kanan jarrus #kanan x hera #caleb dume #star wars rebels #ezra bridger #hera syndulla #sabine wren #garazeb orrelios #star wars #i accidentally wrote a fanfic #enjoy #tw #blood #angst #blood tw #rebels spoilers #rebels fanfic #fanfic #kanan x hera fanfic

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rex101111 · 3 years

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Drink, Drown.

Fandom: Fate Grand Order.

Rating: E (tho this chapter is M)

Chapter 1: The Truth is in the sake. And no one likes bitter sake.

Summary: Raikou and Shuten are tasked with finally putting their hatred for each other behind them. Things go horribly, and then less horribly.

Raikou No Minamoto was certain she had never found a cup of sake more distasteful than the one she was currently holding in her hand. Looking at it rationally, there was no real reason for her to hold this sake cup in such contempt.

It was perfectly serviceable, made of finely polished red clay and containing alcohol of such quality she’d be surprised if her venerable father had any in his vast stores that could match it. The problem was not with the cup, or the sake, but rather the person, the annoying insect, that was offering it to her.

Lounging as a queen on a throne was Shuten-Douji, drinking her own cup of sake with a pleasured flourish. Her long coat hung very loosely around her figure, hiding nothing of the oni’s lithe body save for what was covered up by those ridiculous undergarments that counted as clothes the same way a gnat counted as a horse.

(Raikou expertly hid the breath she had to take to center herself when she found her eyes roaming over the demon’s form, and if Shuten noticed she was polite enough to play along like she hadn’t.)

Raikou herself, sitting stiffly with her knees on a pillow, was dressed as she usually was, the purple silk of her own clothes hugging her curves as it always did. Though now she found that fact oddly grating in a way she found hard to describe, as she made minor adjustments to her posture and tugged at the fabric.

The two servants were alone, in the middle of the day, seated across a simple table in a room far away from the general hustle and bustle of Chaldea. The goal of this situation was both simple and utterly absurd to anyone who had known the two servants for more than two minutes each.

They were sat down in this room, Shuten’s (which explained all the alcohol), and told that they would not be allowed to come out until they could get along. Or at least come to some mildly peaceful arrangement that would have them stop trying to rip each other to pieces every time they passed each other in the halls.

She still couldn’t believe their Master had convinced them to do this.

“You haven’t touched your cup!” Exclaimed Shuten with wounded grace, having already polished off two bottles in less than an hour and was barely showing any signs, “don’t tell me the scion of the Genji can’t handle her liquor! The shock of that would be more than I could bare.”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated or needed, oni.” Raikou snapped as sharply as the sword that was taken from her before this exercise in futility began, her fingers gliding back and forth across the smooth lacquer, “I will drink when I wish to do so and not a moment more, while you can feel free to drown yourself as you please.”

“So cold!” Shuten laughed imperiously, taking another dignified sip from her wide and flat dish, “I bring you this gift and you rebuke it? Were I not a monster your heartlessness would have broken mine.” For all the dramatic flair, Raikou could see that the oni was in perfect control of herself, every word carefully picked and placed like a gift as she spoke. “You’re not going to force me to be the reasonable one in this situation are you?” Another laugh, this time carrying a bit more bite as Shuten drowned it behind another gulp of sake, “now that would be heartless…”

Raikou wrinkled her brow and scoffed, before she turned her gaze back to her still full cup, the liquid within gently reflecting the meager light of the room and showing her a lightly distorted mirror of her face.

She had been considering this cup and its content since the moment Shuten had shoved it into her arm in the name of celebrating the inevitability of it all, and the longer she did the more a suspicion about it grow in the back of her head.

The history these two shared hung heavy in the air and rested on the back of Raikou’s tongue, leaving something bitter and old in its wake as she considered the liquid more and more…

“Do you think it’s poison?” Shuten asked of a sudden, Raikou whipping her head to look at her. “Do you think this is some stab at revenge for the last time you and I shared a drink? Oh please.” Faster than the amount of alcohol in her system should allow, the oni swiped the cup from Raikou’s hand, drained it in a single motion of her head, and then refilled it with the third bottle she was busy draining herself before handing it back to Raikou. “This is nothing more than what you see, a cup of sake to ease the tension between us two.”

The samurai considered the newly filled cup in her hand just as gravely as its predecessor. “You’ll forgive me if I find your generosity hard to accept, oni.” She fixed Shuten with an arrow point glare. “As you said, last time we shared a drink ended with something a bit more dire than a bar brawl.”

“Unlike you humans, us oni would never consider spoiling a perfectly good cup of sake with poison.” To illustrate her point, Shuten knocked back another mouthful with a pleased sigh. “Raikou, if I had any plans to kill you with sake, I’d throw you into a barrel and melt you with it, so calm yourself and drink, you and I will never have this conversation our master demands if either one of us is sober.”

Loath as she was to agree with the pesky demon, Raikou sighed and finally lifted the cup to her lips, delicately drinking her first serving of sake of the day. “…Not bad.” She admitted under thin lips. “For all your faults, it seems you are competent in this at least.” She narrowed her eyes and curved her sword shaped smile. “Even an insect has her talents, it seems.”

“How gracious of her ladyship to bestow this lowly demon with her compliments.” Shuten’s voice was a mire of sweet acid, her smile thin and sharp as she refilled Raikou’s cup. “Don’t hold back now, wouldn’t do for a Berserker to show restraint, would it?”

Wordlessly, for the next half hour, they drank in diplomatic silence. As Shuten finished her fifth and sixth bottle, Raikou carefully reached half of her second. Being servants meant that things that would normally kill or at least cripple a normal human had profoundly less effect on them, but even then Shuten held the distinctive advantage of being an oni while Raikou was decidedly not (fully, anyway). That meant that while Shuten could soak in sake for a week without feeling it the samurai needed to exhibit some modicum of self-control.

Self-control, she internally groaned, being something she had in already short supply before you introduce alcohol into the equation.

“Right.” Shuten sighed quietly as she put down her last cup, straightening in her seat slightly to look at Raikou directly, “since this is a diplomatic meeting, of sorts, I think it’s only fair that the one person in this room that was trained for diplomacy have first crack at this mess.” She waved a hand vaguely in the samurai’s direction, “so, tell me how you really feel about me, get it off your considerable chest.”

Biting back the irritation of the crack at her figure, long used to it from Shuten, Raikou put her empty glass on the table and placed her hands on her knees, attempting to impale the oni with her glare, “my feelings on you are quite clear, I’ve made them apparent from the first time we met in Chaldea.”

“How you feel about me while sober and how you feel about me while drunk are two entirely different things.” Shuten easily shrugged Raikou off, her smile easy and unaffected. “When you’re in your right mind you want me to die and stay away, now when you have some sake in your system…?”

Shuten trailed off to allow the question to arrive unspoken, a hand outstretched to await Raikou’s answer.

“I want you to stay away and die.” Raikou said evenly, letting the answer hang in the air before she hurriedly added, “slowly. I want you to stay away and die, slowly.”

Shuten blinked. Her face perfectly passive as she took in the answer. Without a single muscle in her face twitching, she reached under the table for another bottle (Raikou didn’t have the strength to question how she had so many) and poured Raikou another drink, “right, not drunk enough yet.” She nudged the full again cup towards the samurai lightly, “here you go, drink up until you’re reasonable.”

“I’m being perfectly reasonable.” Despite saying that, she reached for the cup and drained it quickly, reflexively motioning for another serving soon after. “You’re pestering Kintoki, annoying me, and you’re useless to Master, so I don’t-oh, thank you.” She nodded politely at Shuten as she filled her cup, before throwing it back swiftly, “ahh, right, so I don’t see an issue, do you?”

“Well,” Shuten began as diplomatically as the alcohol in her blood would allow, “for one thing, I don’t want to die, selfish I know,” she took a long swig from her bottle, “and for another, I’m plenty useful, I’ve helped Master on plenty of occasions.”

“That’s debatable.” Raikou muttered as she accepted another refill, almost automatically.

“Well,” Shuten uttered, as she emptied another bottle and got another one, “whatever your opinion on the matter, Master finds me useful and her opinion has more weight, so there’s that.” Putting the bottle down and straightening her posture all the way, the oni locked eyes with the samurai. “So, my death being off the table, let’s try again.”

Raikou kept her stare steady with Shuten for a long, breathless moment, seeing the image of her flushed face in her dark eyes, before she broke it to take another controlled sip from her cup, “Master wishes for us to get along, or at least stop fighting, yes?”

Shuten nodded, “that would be the gist, yes.”

“So, we need to find a way to…minimize the ways in which we antagonize each other.”

“Hah! Well isn’t that a polite way of putting it!” Shuten approved with a short laugh and a subtle smile, “alright then, I’ll start, you tell me what I do that angers you so much, and I’ll try and be subtler about it.”

Taking another, much slower, sip of her sake, Raikou considered this for a long while. If anyone else had asked her while she was sober, the answer would be simple. But now, alone with this demon, her blood purring with the alcohol, it all seemed so…hard to grasp.

Part of her wanted to blame Shuten exclusively, to think up that she unleashed some fog into the air of the room to addle her thoughts. But she knew her too well for that, she had inhaled deeply of that mist ages before, she could recognize the tang of it at the back of her tongue, and could center herself against it.

Perhaps the answer was as easy to grasp as always, only this time she could not afford to acknowledge it.

“What is your obsession with Kintoki?” She asked at last, putting down her cup and placing her palms on her knees. “Ignoring his discomfort at your presence, you glue yourself to his side and shove sake into his hands, why?”

“Oh, this again.” Shuten sighed wearily, polishing off one last bottle before tossing it behind her with little care. “You know, Kintoki is free to talk to whomever he wishes.” She chuckles and shakes her head at Raikou, “it’s very poor form for a mother to hover over her child like some sort of circling raven, you know.”

“Answer my question.” Raikou was now in more familiar territory, anger at the oni burned away some of the sake, making it slightly easier to think. “You remember he’s the one who cut your head off, don’t you?” The memory was sharp in Raikou’s mind, the brilliant gush of blood as the terror of mount Ooe was cut down, “what is your obsession-“

“My interest with Kintoki,” Shuten cut through as pleasantly as a rusty knife, “lays in the fact that he is an interesting and entertaining young man whom I have known since he was a child.” She graciously ignored Raikou’s harsh scoff, “and besides, why should I hold a grudge over that sordid little affair?”

Raikou breathed harshly through her nose, “what on earth are you-“

“I was a man-eating demon!” Shuten exclaimed, cutting Raikou off again, “I was stealing sake and ruining fields and, well, eating men! And woman and children!” She laughed a bit, “honestly you and Kintoki were only doing what was expected of you! I’d be more surprised if you two didn’t go off to kill me.”

Raikou gaped at her, before she picked up her cup again along with a bottle laying nearby, pouring herself another serving with an angry mutter.

“It was all fair enough, in hindsight at least,” she allowed her smile to turn into a toothy grin as Raikou abandoned her glass for just downing the whole damn bottle, “I was a demon, you tried to kill me, I tried to kill you…” She shrugged her shoulders, “all in the past as I see it, water under the bridge.”

(She could still picture it, that moment where Shuten Douji realized she was going to die. Her shaking fingers losing their grip on the sake dish, her skin growing paler, her eyes filling with something between frantic surprise and dread.

Before her form shifted and Ibuki Douji burst out from underneath her skin, Shuten smiled thinly.)

“I thought you didn’t want to be the reasonable one here.” Raikou growled, placing the bottle on the table between them, if this demon thought she could get under her skin she had another thing coming, “water under the bridge? How big of a fool do you think I am?”

“We’re both dead, Minamoto.” The oni said, her tone calm and still as an afternoon lake, “all of us, here, in this place for heroes and legends, we’re all dead.” Her grin shrunk to something small, both in width and presence, “I call it water under the bridge because calling it anything else would be a waste of my time.”

(Kintoki breathing heavily, his axe stained red and his clothes in disarray. One of her swords broken, her right arm’s flesh shredded nearly to the bone. They bury the body and the head in silence, under two separate trees. They say a prayer, light incense, and walk away.

The shadow of Mt. Ooe follows them for miles.)

Raikou gets up, opens a drawer at random, and is half pleased and half infuriated that she finds another bottle. She begins to drain it with her back turned to Shuten, the oni quietly watching her. Something in her blood begins to simmer.

“I do not think you a fool.” She answers finally, leaning back on her arms and looking up at the pale ceiling. “Otherwise I’d be the one drowning myself in sake.”

Shuten leans her head slightly to the left, the motion lazy and sleepy. The bottle shatters with a sound like a thunderclap on the wall behind her.

They wait. No sounds of rushing feet beyond the door to ask them what’s going on.

Raikou sits. “Stop bothering Kintoki.” Her tone is stiff, professional, a shadow of her father’s hand places itself on her shoulder and pulls it back. “You want to ease the tension? Do that.”

Shuten looks back at the shards of the bottle behind her, sighing mournfully at the small pool they float in, “what a waste…” She looks back at Raikou, her eyes glowing a faint silver, “fine, I’ll give the boy his space, mother dearest, so long as you promise not to throw anymore bottles.”

“Good.”

The air grows thick, Shuten adjusts her posture to look at Raikou more directly. Her eyes pin her to her seat, arrows in her legs. She leans forward, the light catching a hint of red in the depths of her dark eyes, “well?”

Raikou barely restrains her flinch. “Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me? Ask me why I don’t much like you myself?”

“You don’t like me?” Raikou manages an air of surprise despite the arrowheads digging deeper, “I never would have guessed so, considering how much sake you’ve provided me with.”

“You’re my guest.” Shuten explained graciously, though her tone seemed sharper, “Us oni take great pride in being good hosts, I simply put aside my feelings to do so.” She puts a hand on the table and leans closer, the air between her and Raikou beginning to boil. “You are no fool, ask me, if you wish for this to be resolved, for Master’s sake at least, ask me.”

Stay away from me, Raikou nearly says, because she is a killer of monsters and should not suffer this one showing this much arrogance. What you think of me means nothing, you pest.

But there’s something there, in those eyes, some understanding that pierces her bones and pulls out something ugly. And that is why blades fly and blood spills between them, Shuten knows this and lets it lay. And that terrifies Raikou more than she can bare to think, that this demon is the only person in the world, in this life and the last, that can see through her and place her hand on the truth, and then to choose to do nothing with it.

(Raikou’s bones want to shift, her blood wants to scream, her teeth wish to shred.

Something, something old and angry and buried on a mountaintop, wants to wake up.)

“Why?” She nearly curses at how her voice comes out tight and hoarse. “What grudge do you hold, if not for your death?”

“No grudge.” Shuten corrects calmly, drawing still closer, “what animosity I hold towards you is not due to some past blood, no, I prefer to focus on what is now and right in front of me.” Their faces are a few inches apart, Raikou’s ears ring with something like excitement and fury, “and what I see is a coward.”

Raikou is nearly floored by the overwhelming urge to bite her head off, “what did you-“

“I see someone afraid of her own blood.” Fingers capture her chin, her gaze nailed to Shuten, the smell of sake burns in her nose. “I see someone with strength and speed and skill turning away from the truth of herself, I see a monster who refuses to acknowledge herself.”

(Mothers dragging their children behind doors, whispered warnings and panicked bows.

They owe her their lives, they dare not meet her gaze, they flinch from the blood dripping from her blade. They hate me, a voice like a child hiding behind a wall says, they all hate me.)

“You let other’s views corrupt your own,” an inch closer, their noses nearly touch, “for all your growling, you let insects and cowardly old men shape you and chain your teeth.”

(Minamoto No Mitsunaka is like a statue, coldly towering over her as she presses her forehead to the floor. He walks towards her, his steps echoing in her bones, and places a sword in front of her.

“You are Yorimitsu.” He says, commands, his voice bounces off the walls and impales her. “History will remember you as my son, my warrior, my heir, understood?”

This is a pale shadow of what she wished for, living in the woods overlooking what should have been her home. But she dares not ask for more as she closes her fingers around the scabbard.)

“I hate you because I hate to see an oni denying herself so utterly.”

“I am not-!” Her voice catches in her throat when Shuten closes the distance between their faces almost completely. Her vision filled with the yawning abyss of her eyes, their breathes mingling between lips half an inch apart. “I…I’m not-“

“I want you to stop hiding, Ushi Gozen.”

The sake in her blood vaporizes, something in the back of her mind shoulders it’s way to the front and commands her hands to wrap themselves as tightly as possible around the oni’s neck. The next command is to press her thumbs to the base of her throat and to continue until she hears the most satisfying snap of her life.

“O-oh, dear.” Shuten coughs out, a laugh tumbling out of her soon to be crushed throat, “it seems the sake has g-gone to our heads, how ir-rresponsible of us, eh?” Raikou tightens her grip further but all it accomplishes is to squeeze another strangled chuckle out of Shuten, “but…a-amazing, h-how beautiful you are when you indulge yourself,” a grin like a rusty sickle stretches across Shuten’s face, “I think I prefer this side of you most, Ushi Gozen.”

Don’t call me that. That is what she wants to say, that is what she wishes to growl from the bottom of her throat, but all she can manage is an inhuman sound that she cannot acknowledge or else surrender herself to the urge to curve her own lips in a mirror of Shuten’s grin.

One of Shuten’s hands reach out to Raikou face, the other to her clenching fingers, and caresses them both gently. “How beautiful you are when you choose to be honest…” The tips of her fingers dance like feathers on Raikou’s skin, sending a wave of ice where they touch. “I want you like this always, to acknowledge what is in your grasp, and what is forever beyond your…” Her voice, usually so smooth and so quick, slows and cracks as less and less air gets through her throat. “…beyond our reach…”

(Kintoki is bleeding, he holds her shaking form and whispers gentle assurances. There is blood around the edge of her lips.

Her son’s hands grip her arms as tight as iron, to keep her from escaping, to keep her from attacking.

Her head wants to slump forward; the horns are heavy.

“It’s okay.” He promises, his blood dripping from her lips, his golden hair in disarray. “You’ll be okay.”

She did this. She did this, she did this to her own son she did this-

“You’ll be okay,” he repeats again, his hold tightening twofold into a crushing embrace while he buried his nose in her hair, “everything is going to be okay.”

Ushi Gozen wails, her tears flowing down the mountain.)

Her fingers release Shuten, the oni gasping for air and rubbing her sore throat.

Shuten sputters, no attempt to salvage her dignity as she sucks in air on reflex, her voice is hoarse and spiteful, “oh, come now, why the sudden restraint?” She coughs harshly, looking up at Raikou, who was merely standing over her, her hands slowly lowering to her sides. “What?” Shuten snapped, something in Raikou’s gaze jabbing her somewhere sensitive, “was I not clear?”

“What is beyond us?” Raikou asks, suddenly, her voice far away, “why are you so defeated? Why is the terror of Mt. Ooe so quick to die?” Her eyes are dark, and yet something shines in their depths. Something sharp. “Why?”

Shuten rubs her neck, as she considers her next few words.

She looks at the figure in front of her very carefully, up and down, takes note of her stance (rigid, ready to spring forward teeth first), her eyes (unfocused, swirling with a primal impulse), her hands (shaking, growing sharp), and realizes who is truly in front of her.

She almost wants to laugh, she nearly cries. She thought she would be more beautiful than this. Ah, well, another thing to be wrong about, what’s the harm?

She stands up, her posture regal and proud, as she looks deep into the eyes of Ushi Gozen. “Why do you cling to love?” She finally feels what an ocean of alcohol could not impose on her, her head and heart and gut aching in equal measure. “Why reach out towards something you’ll never grasp?”

“Because I had it.” Ushi hisses. She looks down at her hands and flexed her sharpening fingers. “I had it, right in my hands, I held it my hands I had it.” She stops, freezes, her eyes widening in sudden comprehension, “and you want it.” Shuten’s frame locks up, and Ushi doesn’t pass up the opening, “you want it, you wish for it, yearn for it, but you hold yourself back.”

“Silence.” Shuten hisses, her eyes swirling with red and silver, her air of dignity and grace nowhere to be found, “do not presume to know me, I will not-“

“I presume nothing.” Ushi hisses back, and then finally they degrade into what they had always been, the only things they were ever allowed to be, two monsters gnashing their teeth at each other. “You call me a coward, and yet you hide in your coat and your wine and your blood.”

“I said quiet!”

“Why!?” Ushi Gozen raises to her full height, her voice a roar of rage and barely contained terror, “why do you wish for death, instead of reaching for what you want!? Why would an Oni deny herself what she wants!?”

“You know NOTHING!” Shuten puts her foot on the table between them and raises to meet Ushi’s glowing gold eyes, “I will not be lectured on how to be an Oni by a child scared of her own horns!”

“Is that what you think we’re destined for!? To be alone!?” Ushi’s voice gains more in panic and outrage, and then her eyes widen again in realization, “that’s why you cling to Kintoki…”

Shuten clenches her jaw. “You. Know. Nothing.” She crushes each word between her fangs like a sieve working through sand, “you think you held it in your hands? You think you captured love?” She shakes her head with a bitter laugh, “if you did, you would have simply crushed it between your fingers, because that is how Oni loves humans, and no other.” Ushi Gozen opens her maw, but Shuten Douji captures her jaw between her claws before she could say another word. “Hear me now, hear it from someone who has lived as a demon for far longer than you have denied it,” she brings her closer, their foreheads, their horns, touching as nearly all space between them is gone, “to be an Oni and to love is to feel blood between your teeth and flesh between your fingers, am I clear?”

Ushi Gozen raises her left arm and swings her claws to knock off Shuten’s head.

The oni spares one hand to grab the attacking limb’s wrist and continues, “if you think you can deny this, go above your nature, then you are deluding yourself.”

“ENOUGH!” She raises the other hand to attack, but this too is caught by Shuten, though their foreheads remain glued to each other, their skulls and horns grinding against each other as the floor and table beneath them begin to crack. “I won’t surrender to this! Not again! I approached the brink and he pulled me back!”

“Then he delayed the inevitable.” Shuten growls, her arms shaking under the effort of restraining the former samurai, “it does not matter what the world around you says, no comforting embrace or words of passion can change the color of blood.”

“COWARD!” Ushi roars, and the sounds of rushing feet and pounding on the door sound from behind her, though she ignores it, “you hide your fear behind wisdom, you hide your despair behind conviction, you accepted death didn’t you!? You knew what was IN THAT BOTTLE!”

Shuten bares her fangs, lets out a scream of primal anger, and all around them both is red.

A swirl of muffled pain and gnashing teeth follows; neither is sure how long it lasts. The first to regain herself is Raikou, how suddenly finds herself restrained by Kintoki, his arms gripping her like a vice while he swears up a storm between his teeth.

The room is a mess, the walls of metal crumpled and ripped apart like paper, various bottles shattered across the floor, blood staining and pooling in various places across it. And right in front of her, she sees Shuten Douji.

She is being held against the floor by Ibaraki and Tomoe as she roared and thrashed in their grip, the archer’s horns burning red hot while her chest armor carried an imprint of a fist on its face. The yellow oni was yelling at her friend to stop, her own clothes in disarray and a shallow slash on her cheek.

In between her directionless screams, Raikou could swear she saw something going down Shuten’s cheek, something clear…

Raikou looked back at Kintoki, who was breathing raggedly as he held her, his sunglasses were missing, and his lip was bleeding. “What the fuck was that!?” He shouts, first directing his panicked gaze to Raikou before turning to a slowly calming Shuten, “what the hell were you two talking about!? What happened here!?”

Neither of them answer, they both avoid the gaze of every other person in the room…and in doing so they meet each other.

Shuten’s nose was broken, blood streaming down her bruised face. Raikou could feel her own face covered in blood and swollen, one of her fingers was bent the wrong way.

Her head hurt, everything hurt.

They locked eyes for a long, quiet moment, the others in the room forgotten as they felt the weight of everything land on them.

Shuten turned away first, and with that Ibaraki jumped off of her and put Shuten’s face in her hands, muttering worriedly about needing to go see one of the doctors, are what Master would think, and on and on while Raikou felt all of her strength leave her.

“Well!? Are any of you gonna say something-!?”

“Let go of me.”

He stopped short, looking at Raikou with a mix of anger and fear that nearly broke her heart, “what the hell-“

“I said let go of me Kintoki.”

She glared at him, she thinks, she isn’t sure, he flinches away from her so violently. Slowly, like he was handling a wild animal (and, really, wasn’t he?), he released his grip. The look on his face makes her want to crumple into a corner, more so because she put that look there, but the pain in her body pushes her away from him, and out the door.

Shuten let’s herself be handled by Ibaraki, the girl fussing over her wounds. Shuten’s eyes stay glued to the shallow cut on Ibaraki’s left cheek, the thought that she put it there makes her want to vomit, but she can barely gather the energy.

She looks up, meets Kintoki’s gaze. He reminds her, for the first time in a long while, of the little boy that stumbled onto her mountain. He looks at her like she’s some sort of beast he doesn’t recognize, but he soon schools his expression into something calmer, “what did you do?”

She thinks he’s saying “you” in the plural sense, but some wretched part of her is almost eager to take the blame, to resign herself to finally pushing him away for good. But as always, she settles for a half measure, she laughs weakly, tasting the blood in her mouth as she does, “I wasted perfectly good sake, that’s what.”

He scoffs angrily, and opens his mouth to call her out on the bullshit, but he must’ve seen something not worth the volume about half-way, because he closed his lips in a thin line, and then turned on his heel, stomping away in Raikou’s direction.

“Shuten?”

She’s never heard Ibaraki that timid, this small, and she returns her gaze to her sister, allowing a pitiful, bloody smile to shift her face. “Yes?”

“Are-“ She starts haltingly, eyes jumping around the various wounds on her body. “Are you okay?”

A centuries old reflex nearly kicks in, of course I’m fine of course why wouldn’t I?, but she feels the burning glare of Tomoe scorching the back of her head. She turns to the Archer for the first time, and there’s a mix of concern and anger in there that makes her laugh.

The laugh is weak and hoarse, she leans back on the wall, leaning out of Ibaraki’s hands on her face, and looks around her destroyed room, and all the smashed bottles that littered her floor.

She reaches over and begins to pick up the glass shards without a word, gathering them in her bloody palm, “…what a mess…” she mutters, “can’t have Master seeing the place like this…”

Elsewhere, Raikou leans against a wall, and tries to will her fangs away. “Be quiet…” She commands under her breath, gripping the cloth next to her chest as her heart pounds wildly, “be quiet.”

Ushi Gozen rumbles under her skin, her need and hunger unsatisfied, but soon retreats back to her cave. Raikou slides down the wall and sits on the floor, her face buried in her knees.

(The smell of blood and sake stays in their noses for weeks.)

#Fate Grand Oder #minamoto no raikou #Shuten Douji #what's the ship name??#stuff rex wrote #Drink drown

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tressieandmavreth · 6 years

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Get Up (Pt. III of IV)

[[tl;dr: Tressie and Mav’reth go out for an evening of romance and gladiatorial bloodsport on Nar Shaddaa, and they end up participating a bit more than they had bargained for. *** CW: Language, violence. *** Written by @tehlaen, who plays Mav’reth; Tressie belongs to @carasilvaart.]]

The dim lamps of the combination fighting pit and dive bar painted Mav’s gleaming white teeth the shade of freshly gushing arterial blood. It was, she reflected with her lips curled in a predatory grin, a look that really did it for her.

Eyes followed them, heads turned and the crowd split before them. The two strolled through the path that opened for them, eyes sliding over faces and seemingly unaware of--or, more likely, uninterested in--the attention. Tressie’s long legs set a leisurely pace, leading Mav’reth to their seats--or rather, the seats they intended to have. Mav’reth’s hand rested lightly in the crook of the elbow that Tressie gallantly offered her. Her fingers tightened in an affectionate squeeze, and Tressie turned her head and gave her a beaming smile.

A human, a Twi’lek, and a pair of Rodians were in their seats in the front row of the middle terrance. The Purebloods stopped in front of them and waited. Mav looked from one to the next, regarding them from under hooded lids, like a carnivore idly considering whether the morsels in front of her were worth the effort.

Tressie gave them an expectant look--though her patience started to run out as the seats’ present occupants exchanged wary looks. After almost a full minute of the silent discussion, the gangster cleared her throat pointedly.

“Ya mind? Yer in the lady’s seat.” Citrine eyes gave them a hard stare. The standoff stretched for a handful of heartbeats, and Mav’reth glanced around, an expression of boredom on her face. Those other spectators sitting nearby were watching with bated breath to see how the confrontation would unfold.

Tressie’s voice dropped to a dangerous octave and she growled, “Get. Up.”

The human held her gaze for another heartbeat and a half. Then she and her friends scrambled to make themselves scarce.

Mav’reth favored Tressie with an adoring smile. “Thank you, my darling.”

“Anything for a Lady,” she shot back with a grin.

Mav’reth stifled a sigh of disappointment around the rim of the glass. Te first three bouts had been unremarkable at best. She pondered idly whether that was intentional--a play, perhaps, to sell more of the overpriced, watered-down rotgut that was the bar’s stock in trade. Watching over-the-hill, half-blind akk dogs get butchered--slowly--by an equally past-her prime Mandalorian who hadn’t had the grace to die in honorable combat would likely be far more entertaining if one were suffering the early stages of alcohol poisoning.

The Wookiee from the second fight was similarly underwhelming. Normally, Mav’reth appreciated Wookiees’ primal savagery and brutal strength, but the poor beast had long ago lost both. It had virtually been a mercy-killing when the iknayid punched its heart out through its spine.

She sighed softly again and tucked herself under Tressie’s arm, and Tressie gave her a squeeze. Her chinspurs twitched as her lips curled down in a frown. “Ya look bored, love. Ya wanna say ‘fuck it’ and leave?”

Mav’s lips pursed as she considered. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, the lights went down again and spotlights bracketed three figures on the bloody sand in the middle of the arena.

“This looks promising,” Mav’reth murmured in Tressie’s ear as the announcer’s voice boomed from hidden speakers.

“And now, dear sentients and fight-fans of impeccable taste… Our Main Event!” The dim hum of conversation in the stands surged into cheers--not, Mav’reth mused, as much as one might expect. She thought it likely quite a few of their fellow spectators were as disillusioned as the two of them and didn’t have high hopes.

“Our undercard fighters have got the pit sands hot and bloody for our stars! Sentients, are you ready to see our prize fingers kill and bleed for your entertainment?!”

The crowd roared, and Mav’reth added her own primal scream to the bloodthirsty chorus. Tressie jumped and stared wide-eyed at the Sith, and Mav answered her with a sharp, toothy grin and a feral gleam in her eyes. “Don’t pretend it doesn’t get your pulse racing, too,” she purred and gave Tressie a hooded, heated look.

Tressie just laughed and shook her head, and they turned their attention back to the arena.

“Here’s what’s in store for our champions tonight, sentients and gentlebeings! Three challengers, one purse, seven waves of rabid, starving-mad beasts… and a hundred ways to die, each more horrifying than the last!”

Mav’reth gave Tressie a smile and her teeth shone white in the dim gloom. Tressie’s arm settled around her shoulders and the Sith nestled against the gangster’s side.

“Now let’s meet our challengers! Hailing from the ass-end of nothing and nowhere, Kohnir climbed the ranks of the Republic’s elite Special Forces, where he offed so many Imps that they put a price on his head--a bounty that still holds the record for an Imperial contract on an individual Republic soldier. How’s that for a gladiatorial pedigree?!

“The Pubs kicked him out--dishonorably, they said--for brutality. Well, here on Nar Shaddaa, we aren’t squeamish about brutality, are we?!”

The spectators screamed their denial. This time, Tressie’s voice rose to join Mav’s, and the two shared a wicked grin.

“Neither’s Clan Vizla! When their warriors came to collect the bounty, he collected their skulls instead… and won adoption into the clan through combat! Mandos might be creazier than a shit-house rat, but they ain’t stupid, and they know a talent for killin’ when they see it!”

Kohnir sprang into the air on a silver flame from his jetpack, then pirouetted with a ribbon of fire gushing from his wrist-mounted flamethrower. At the apogee of his climb, he tucked into a forward flip, then dove for the ground. He slammed to the sand, a concussive charge detonating as he landed. He rose to his feet and thrust his fists into the air, sand falling back to the ground and cheers washing over him in waves.

The spotlight on the Mandalorian dimmed and focus shifted to a woman wearing white- and bronze-colored armor that looked too big and unwieldy for her slight frame. The ease with which it moved with her as she twirled the lightsaber-pike around her body and over her head removed any doubt that she was accustomed to it.

“The Eternal Empire sure as shit wasn’t, but our next fighter might just be! Aubriena served--and survived!--Arcann and his even-crazier sister Vaylin, first as a Knight of Zakuul and then as a Horizon Guard! Sure, she could go back and hang up her saber, but war runs in her blood! And if she’s gonna die with her boots on… She might as well get kriffin’ rich, right?!”

The announcer introduced the third fighter, but Mav’reth only paid the barest of attention. Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of orange and red drew her gaze, and she casually glanced over. It could have been coincidence: a human, a Rodian and a Gamorrean striding in like they owned the place, wearing the colors of one of Tressie’s crew’s chief rivals on this level. Tressie followed Mav’s gaze and the Sith could feel her lover tense up.

Not coincidence, then.

Mav’reth slipped her arm around Tressie’s waist and patted her stomach gently. “Pay them no mind, darling, not tonight.”

Tressie looked down at her and forced her scowl to curl into an unconvincing smile. “Sure, Mav. Whatever you say.”

Mav’reth turned her attention back to the announcer’s explanation of the night’s entertainment. “...Just one prize, winner takes all! Do they take out the competition early, or run the risk of bein’ outnumbered, overrun and eliminated with no support? Take a look at these savage beasts, sentients and gentlebeings, and tell me if you’d wanna face ‘em alone!”

Holographic images of the beasts in their cages sprang to life above the arena. Mav’s eyes dilated and her breath hitched in delectable anticipation. She felt her mouth water, her pulse race, and her tongue move of its own accord over the sharp points of her teeth. The promise of violence made her hot and tight between her legs, and her fingers curled, clutching at Tressie. Her lover chuckled softly as Mav’s eyes fixed on the nightmarishly-lethal monsters, and a moan--equal parts lust and bloodlust--slipped from her lips.

“Excited for the fight?” Tressie teased.

Mav’s eyes flicked to Tressie’s and her lover almost flinched with the intensity of her smoldering look. “For the fight, and for after, my love,” she purred in a voice like liquid velvet.

#star wars #sith #swtor rp #my writing #carasilvaart #tehlaen #mav'reth #tressie de'roachez #nar shaddaa

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alia-turin · 6 years

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Aaaand things happen. Somebody unexpected appears.

Fic Title: Not Strong Enough Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 Rating [Warnings]: M [mention of body injury] all chapters will have different warnings Pairing: Luche x OC, Nyx x Luna Summary: 3 years have passed since Noctis disappeared and Luche finds himself on the side of unfamiliar road with no recollection how he got there Note: I was listening to Apocalyptica’s Not Strong Enough while writing that hence the title. It’s VERY suitable sing for the fic.

Tagging: @birdsandivory @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy @lazarustrashpit @jojopitcher

One of the fishermen had agreed to take them to the island up north where most of the imperials were. Ironically everyone had agreed that the imperials have to be reached but nobody wanted to help. They had barely convinced this man to help, and Tredd calling him a coward didn’t really help the situation.

“So, I’m thinking a king size bed for the bedroom.” Luche was standing next to her and looking in the distance toward heir destination.

“You realize you have to build that right?” Ada laughed as he winced slightly. “Maybe we will find one lying around who knows.”

“He will have to build it.” Nyx joined them. “Whatever furniture is not used has long been burned. You build it yourself or pay someone to do so.”

“Explains why yours is so unformattable.” Ada said and Nyx pretended to look hurt.

“I’m not a carpenter, neither is he for that matter.” Nyx made sure to return the gesture as now Luche pretended to be hurt by his words.

“We have to agree however that whatever I have ever started doing I have done it to perfection.” Luche didn’t let his reputation go down that easy and Ada laughed. She missed that.

“I will remind you about that.” Nyx was going to say something else but they had reached the dock at the island.

The fisherman refused to come with them, fearing for his life and said he will be back tomorrow around the same time. Ada thought that wasn’t enough time, they had no idea which part of the island to look at nor how long it would take them to negotiate with the Imperials, but Cor just nodded at the man’s words and he was the boss after all.

It was colder here and she had to zip her jacket. Humidity and lack of sun really wasn’t working very well for Galahd. The place was awfully silent, there were no traces of demons but there were human tracks. That at least was hopeful.

“Should we split?” Nyx asked as he was studying his environment.

“No…” Cor was running his hand over the handle of his sword and Ada knew that movement very well, he was expecting something to attack them. “We don’t know how many of them are here and how armed they are.”

She tried to follow Cor’s gaze but even if he was seeing or hearing something, she didn’t.

They walked down an old road which seemed like it was barely used. Grass and plants had started growing over it and destroying almost anything human made. Wherever the Imperials were, they probably didn’t care much about the place.

“Hey, Luche.” Tredd started as he cut a branch that almost slapped him in the face. “You want to join Axis and myself in making the most amazing brew on the star?”

“That poison of yours that causes the mother of all hangovers?” Luce said and Ada couldn’t hide her laugh. Tredd was so proud of his ‘business’.

“Yeah chemistry is not my thing. I just know that you let things go bad and alcohol happens.” Tredd said as he stretched and yawned loudly.

“You do know that if you mess up the alcohol you can go blind or worse?” Luche sounded amused and Ada had to agree with him. These idiots somehow did things correct using just the very basic knowledge about how alcohol was made.

“Yeah, Soni said something like that but neither of us knew how to avoid it.” Tredd chuckled and wrapped an arm around Luche’s shoulder. “But now that you are here, smart boy, maybe you can give us a hand…”

“I don’t really have a choice do I.” Luche patted the redhead’s back. He was going to say something else but Cor suddenly stopped and they all went silent. Ada looked around and saw it. Slow movement in the woods, someone was stalking them. Before she could even ask Cor what were they going to do the first shot came, and then another one. Chaos rose amongst the trees as Imperial soldiers rushed toward them. She shoved her knife in the first one that approached her, but the she froze in place. She knew the man standing in front of her. Tall, broad shoulders, stoic expression that could freeze the sun…

“Captain…” was the only words that came out of her mouth before she felt Drautos’ hand on her throat. He turned her around, her back pressing against his chest, his fingers squeezing so hard into her skin that she started struggling to breath. She tried to fight him off but he was way stronger than her, he had always been stronger.

“Marshal!” his voice pierced her hearing. “You should drop your weapons or I will have to break her tinny little neck and then take your weapons.” He lifted her up a bit as if to show he wasn’t joking, Ada struggled to keep her feet on the ground. “Let’s make sure no one else died today, Cor.”

“Let her go Titus.” Cor pointed his sword in Drautos’ direction. “Let’s solve it between us as it always should have been.”

“Titus is dead, Marshal.” The man behind her said with metallic voice. “Do it Cor, she doesn’t have much air left, but I’m sure you see her struggling. Same goes for you guys.” With his free hand he pointed and Nyx and the others. The Captain didn’t even need two hands to hold her.

“I killed you once, I will do it again.” Nyx spat but Cor placed his hand on his shoulder. Neither of them brought their weapons down however and Ada could feel her vision starting the blur. She turned her head toward Luche, as best as he could, his guns were pointed at Drautos, she wondered if he could take the shot without scratching her, but somehow didn’t want to test it. Then her breath almost stopped in her chest. It wasn’t because of the Captain, she could barely feel his touch now. Luche turned around and pointed his guns at Cor and Nyx.

“Lu…” she tried to speak but the massive hand on her throat stopped any sound from coming out just failed gasps for air. She saw Tredd pointing his guns as well in the wrong direction and Titus snorting behind her. The lack of blood to her head started making her dizzy, she knew what followed she was going to lose consciousness.

“Luche, what the fuck?” Nyx shouted as he looked at Titus and then at the other two. It was just a blur. The blur in front of her that was Nyx was shouting at Luche and Tredd, Cor…she couldn’t even make the lines of Cor’s face.

“Marshal, consider that my resignation. I have always been loyal to the real captain of the Kingsglaive.” Luche said with a smile on his lips.

She remembered almost nothing from the trip to the fortress the Imperials have built. Tress, imperial soldiers, Drautos…she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was…different. He looked aged, his body still strong as she had experienced herself, but somehow tired. Part of his face was badly burned and judging by the scars that followed down his neck it wasn’t just the face that burned. He was walking somewhere ahead with Tredd and Luche, neither of them even looking at the other three. She wishe she had the strength to just fight the soldiers away and strangle Luche and remove that smug smile of his face. She couldn’t see him but she knew he had a smug expression.

Her brain started working as one of the soldiers shoved the three of them in a cell somewhere below the fortress. They had put some sort of cuffs on her and Nyx that didn’t allow them to use magic. Every time she tried to cast a spell, nothing happened and by his expressions he could tell he was trying as well. Ada was sitting on a bench, Cor was kneeling in front of her gently touching over her neck with two fingers.

“It is bruising, but you will live.” Cor said and offered her an encouraging smile. There was nothing encouraging about it, he was never good in faking emotions and it was obvious he was pretending to be calm and relax.

“I’m going to kill both of them.” Nyx was pacing around the cell, talking to himself. “Fucking believe them. Why did I believe them?”

“We all believed them, Nyx.” Her voice came out broken but was enough to make him stop.

“Well of course you did, one smile from Luche and you were in bed with him, I should have known better.” He said in anger and Ada got up. She was going to shove his head right trough the bars of the cell or die trying. Most likely die trying.

“At least I didn’t hide like a coward in Galahd while the world was falling apart.” She responded and saw him clenching his jaw.

“That’s enough!” Cor roared. “You both know better, and we all made a mistake, don’t put blame somewhere else.” He looked around the cell as if trying to find exit but there wasn’t one.

“I’m sorry.” Ada told Nyx and sat back. She wasn’t angry at Nyx, but she was angry. At herself, at Luche…she should have never allowed him back, feelings or no feelings. Cor was right, why didn’t she listen to Cor when he warned her not to trust him. But that was the real problem wasn’t it. She didn’t trust him for a while and then it was all the smile and gestures and…last night.

“Yeah me too, I wasn’t thinking.” Nyx said as well and sat next to her. “When we get to them, I’m going to let you kill him. Tredd is mine however.”

Ada nodded, it was fair deal she guessed. She should have seen that coming, she had no idea why she was so surprised by that development. She had really believed him with all his fixing things and proving that he was better and that all he did was because he believed in the greater good. She should have known better. But also that was his thing. He was smart and cunning when he needed to be. She wondered if he had known along that Titus is alive, somehow. Or he had been looking all the time for an opportunity and that opportunity just presented itself? Or maybe he was going to use the imperials for his own needs, Titus just happened to be in the picture and Luche had no option but to play ball for the time being? Regardless of his motivation, he has betrayed her, again, and it still hurt.

“Here is a question. If the Astrals are brining glaives to atone for their mistakes, how come Drautos is alive.” Ada said as she didn’t want to think about Luche, that hurt too much, for second time.

“Maybe he didn’t die.” Cor suggested.

“I beat him to death, he was a corpse when I…died.” Nyx chuckled at the irony. “I have a better question, why are we still alive?”

“Information.” Cor was still looking around as if there might be an exit they missed. “He needs something otherwise he would have killed us.”

Ada ran her fingers over her bruised skin. Whatever the captain’s deal was he wasn’t any weaker than he used to be. He could have snapped her neck there and then with very little effort.

“Marshal.” Speaking of him Drautos appeared at the cell with two imperials at his side. “Let’s take a walk.”

#my writing #nyx ulric #luche lazarus #OC #titus drautos

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fyrepen33 · 7 years

Text

Reports come in from the Outer Rim. Generals Kenobi and Skywalker and the heroic 212th and 501st take another system for the Republic.

Once we were their heroes.

Then they forgot us.

In other news, more pardons were issued by the government of the New Republic to Imperial officers involved in the governing of the Outer Rim territories…

I glanced at Appo, sitting across from me in my office, his expression unreadable, the only light in the room coming from the HoloNet flickering between us. I wondered what he was thinking. Pardons? What would there be in the way of pardons for us? Would they leave us alone? Or would they come knocking our door down to arrest us?

“Don’t worry about it, Commander.” He said, as if reading my thoughts. “Cross that bridge when they get here.”

I huffed. “I almost hope they come back. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here feeling that its because they granted us the dignity of their word. I don’t want to owe them that.”

Appo nodded mutely. He was far away already, I realized. Away with the rest of his company. Did they get pardons, out there on Coruscant? He missed them, I realized. Who could blame him? The only thing that stung harder than feeling isolated from them was the memory of mistreatment.

Systems flock to Coruscant to join the New Republic…

I used to wonder, during the war, what would happen. Especially after the shit show that was Umbara. How could we not be wondering that after Umbara? Even Rex, arguably one of the most loyal among us was wondering that. But I didn’t begrudge him that. How could you go through what he did, and not wonder? I wasn’t there, not in person, I was on the other side of the planet with my general and didn’t hear about what happened until it was too late, and I stopped to wonder.

Did the Jedi care about us? Were we just a means to an end, the weapon through which they would achieve peace for their Republic? A Republic that we would not have any place in, since we would either be dead, or on our way to dying of old age. Ask any shiny off the ship from Kamino, and they would give you a prepared answer, one they had practiced for all eleven years of their lives, one that they had been reciting since they could talk. It had only been around three years, and I couldn’t remember what that felt like to be a shiny.

“Appo, go make sure the south wall is patrolled.” I said, absently reaching for my teacup. Tea. I was getting old; I could hear Wolffe’s laughter from our Acadamy days. A memory came back, that time the Wolfpack invited me to join them for contraband whiskey. In those early days, Sinker’s whiskey tasted less like alcohol and more like rat poison. Wolffe had laughed at my reaction to it, clapping my back “You get used to it.” I hadn’t had tea once in my life until that one time at the beginning of the war when General Kenobi offered me some as we prepared to ship out that first time. Once in the field, they said that we spent so long around our generals we adopted their quirks, and they ours. I wondered if Wolffe ever thought about what he might have picked up from General Plo. Now I barely touched alcohol, tea was usually the first line of defense against stress. Old habits from the Empire die hard.

Appo saluted; it was a slightly crooked gesture with a subtle dramatic flair that could only have started with Skywalker.

In the end though, it didn’t matter, if they had cared about us. I just knew that we cared about them; enough that when I saw my general fall from the side of the cliff and I felt the pounding in my head subside, and the whispers (Good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders, good solders…) died down, I just felt raw pain. The same raw pain I felt when Waxer, or any of my men, or even any of my brothers died. The one that I had learned to swallow like bitter bile because somewhere, my brothers and men were dying of grief and they would look to me (What do we do, sir? What now, Commander Cody?) and I had to have a composed face and an answer waiting for them. I remember that day, when Order 66 went out. I have been unable to forget it, which is good, I suppose, because years later General Kenobi turned up alive and everyone turned to me, and from then on, they would ask me “Which was it, Commander? Deliberate miss or terrible aim?”

I don’t miss. Not then, not ever. Palpatine must have known that. I hit exactly where I was aiming for. It didn’t change the fact that both options were downright insulting. The first implied we had a choice when Order 66 went out, and the second implied that I was bad at what I did. Neither were true.

Rex wasn’t there for any of that though. After Fives died, he couldn’t bear it. Wolffe had commented that I was cold, and detached but I was that way because it was the only way I could survive taking them into battle with me. I kept friends outside of my legion. Apart from being professional, I already felt responsible enough when they died on my watch. Rex however had taken Echo and Fives when they were just shiny and had seen them advance to ARC troopers, only to watch them die at the height of their careers. I think that he believed Fives to be untouchable; the brother had survived the worst academy scores, the Rishi Moon, the Citadel and Pong Krell. And he went out killed by his brothers in the Courscant guard. I had to admit, when he described it to me, there was a moment when I was transported back to the Rishi Moon station as I saw two rookies taken into the 501st moments after seeing the rest of their squad die. All I could think was that I was thirteen years old, and had lived long enough to personally watch the rise and fall of an entire squad.

Shot by your own brothers. I couldn’t think of a worse way to go. I didn’t tell Rex that though. He knew. Of course, after Slick, neither of us were really in a position to judge Fox. After all, good soldiers follow orders.

The Empire pushed us aside, and we were ultimately forgotten by most of the galaxy. Oh, there were some that knew us, some that remembered Order 66 and the end of the war as well as we did. How they hated us. Hated us for existing, for being born, for fighting in the war. We had outlived our purpose and our punishment for surviving the impossible was the hatred and scorn of the galaxy for a crime that we were forced to commit. Some of us ended up here, on the prison of Raxus Prime. Others scattered to the corners of the galaxy. Rex, Wolffe and Gregor joined the rebels. I couldn’t bring myself to feel invested in the civil war. The Empire was built on oppression and darkness but the Alliance represented the Republic that had enslaved me and my brothers. At least with the Empire, I was a warden and I could pretend I was the one calling the shots.

“Satisfied, Rex? Because I’m not.” I thought bitterly, not for the first time.

It didn’t occur to me to be outraged at the injustice of our fate until the civil war was long over. That they could take me and use me and throw me away. That they could do that to me, to my brothers. To Rex, who fought their wars for them, survived. What life did he have with the new Republic? I didn’t know. Wolffe shared my fury, I knew, but unlike me, he was ready to forgive. Years in exile had pacified his temper while it only fed mine. At that point, outrage was useless; the galaxy moved on, the new Republic leaders forgot about us, or didn’t care. After the atrocities of two wars, what rights could I demand? I would be lucky to get a pardon. And I didn’t want that anymore. I was tired of my life depending on the mercy and goodwill of natural borns with power. So I turned away from it all. I took my refuge on Raxus Prime, and took in any of my brothers that wanted peace. Peace away from the Republic, and the Empire and their fighting. Just my brothers, our family together.

Another memory came as I stared at my empty teacup; Rex stepping off the ship from Kamino. I knew him in the Academy, his first year in leadership training had been my last. Anyone looking at him would have thought he was totally confident, but I knew by looking that he was nervous. Nervous, but hopeful. He wanted to make a difference and this was his chance. I never would have imagined then that he would desert, and join those trying to rebuild the system that had kept us down. I had been angry with him, when he reappeared with the rebels. How could he do that, to his brothers in the 501st? How could he do that to me?

I don’t think it stopped me from missing him and even Wolffe though. These days, I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with them, not anymore. How could I? They forgave me for staying with the Imperials. If he could forgive himself, and me, for Order 66, how could he not forgive the New Republic for how they treated us? But still, they were hope, for us. Hope that we could be forgiven, hope that we could be absolved, with time. While most of us hid away from the galaxy in our people’s shame, they continued to build history and repair what we had done at the end of the war. Nobody would know but that’s what it would be. They would be our voice and they would tell our story.

They would remind them who we were.

#Clone troopers #Commander Cody #Drabble #commander Wolffe #Captain Rex #star wars

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