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lgbtlunaverse · 30 days

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Fandom is so nice to Jiang Cheng's inferiority complex because in reality every single thing he gets accused of is something Wei Wuxian is better at than him.

Jiang Cheng killed Wei Wuxian? Nope. Didn't even get close. Wei Wuxian's own spirits tore him apart before jc could even get there. wwx:1 jc:0

Jiang Cheng tortures people? We get two and a half rumours and a mention from jin ling that jc has 'captured' demonic cultivators before, but who is also apparently confident that just letting wwx run off will kill the issue even though those earlier rumours said ~no one who sandu shengshou captured was ever seen again~

The word jiang cheng uses when he tries to talk big game about 'beating the truth' out of Wei Wuxian's is a word that carries the context of pestering someone to do their homework. Doesn't exactly strike fear into my heart.

Wei Wuxian? Excellent at torture. A prodigy. Did you fucking see what he did to Wen Chao? Dude didn't have fingers anymore because wei wuxian made him eat them. He ripped out his hair, burned his skin off, and then stalked him for several days just to prolong the pain. He forced Wang Lingjiao to bite Wen Chao's dick off and then made her shove a stool leg down her own throat! 10/10, no notes. Absolutely horrifying.

Meanwhile Jiang Cheng's idea of torture is getting a dog to bark at Wei Wuxian for a few seconds. Weak, unoriginal, I bet fairy was literally wagging her tail the whole time. 2-0

Jiang Cheng made the entire cultivation world believe Wei Wuxian was up to no good on the burial mounds and ultimately orchestrated his downfall? lol. lmao, even

It's a big thing in certain corners of the fandom to really zoom in one one particular phrase at the end of chapter 73, where after wwx and jc have their staged duel to make the world believe they hate each other jiang cheng tells everyone wwx has defected and become "a public enemy'' or "an enemy to the cultivation world" or whatever the translation you're familiar with decided upon.

(As an aside, something I really like about this line is that the last half of it is almost exactly the same, like verbatim, as what wwx told him to say. like, the chapter is really hammering home just how much jc is speaking from a script here. wwx tells jc to say "今后魏无羡无论做出什么事，都与云梦江氏无关." and jc says "今后无论此人有何动作，一概与云梦江氏无关" the only meaningful difference is that he says 'this person' instead of wwx's name)

I've seen it said that this bit, the use of 'enemy' was said without wei wuxian's approval, that jc deviated from the script just to hurt his ex-shixiong for leaving him. And that this is what caused all the other clans to turn against wei wuxian. Regardless of if this is what jc and wwx discussed, or if jc had malicious motivations for it (considering my conclusions above, you can guess where i fall) it doesn't really matter, because the novel tells us when the clans completely freak out and become convinced wei wuxian is out to get them (though of course they've been wringing their hands about it since the literal day wwx ran off with the wen, months before jiang cheng visited) very neatly in chapter 75!

It's when they find out about Wen Ning.

And how do they find out about Wen Ning?

Because Wei Wuxian took him on nighthunts! And they kicked ass!

...Wei Wuxian, my man, why are you on nighthunts??? Why are you showing off your incredibly cool sentient fierce corpse buddy, who is way better and stronger than all the other fierce corpses, in front of the whole cultivation world??

Whatever his motivations (extra money, maybe?? they were strapped for crash) I can only draw the conclusion wwx had already given up on appearing calm or non-threatening and didn't care if the clans thought he was a threat, because they'd believe whatever they wanted anyway. Which he seems to clearly be aware of the whole time.

Regardless, we know that this is what created the myth of the Yiling patriarch. It's literally when the title first shows up!

Even if you really believe jc was secretly plotting against wwx in chapter 73, he's clearly doing a shit job of it because nothing he said made anywhere near as big an impact as this. Flopped!

The other point people use to argue Jiang Cheng caused wei wuxian's downfall is Jin Guangyao's speech in Guanyin temple about how jiang cheng could have saved wei wuxian if only he stood by him. Setting aside that jin guangyao is trying to get into jiang cheng's head here, and isn't necessarily saying what he really believes (though it very well might be! who knows with a character like jgy. assuming he's always lying is just as misleading as assuming he's always saying the truth) the fact is, if you read the speech closely, what he's talking about is not the 'public enemy' line, he's talking about the bond between them. The fact that people wanted wei wuxian out of yunmeng jiang, because the two were too powerful together.

He's talking about that one time Jiang Cheng very publically kicked wei wuxian out of the sect!

Which, unbeknownst to Jin Guangyao, was in fact Wei Wuxian's idea the whole time.

final score: 3 for you wei wuxian, you go wei wuxian! And nothing for Jiang Cheng bye.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #yunmeng shuangjie #i have never been more tempted to tag something as 'canon jiang cheng'#i don't really believe in the whole 'reclaiming the tag' thing i kinda roll my eyes at it and stay out of there #but I AM explicitly talking about fanon misconceptions about jiang cheng... and is that not what that tag was for?? oh well #let's not antagonize people #i am giggling at the realization that jgs must have thought all his pointed comments about wwx's 'disrespect' hit their mark #when wwx defected #only for jc to sneak his future daughter in law to yiling and letting wwx name his grandson a few months later #LMAOOO GET REKT OLD MAN

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utilitycaster · 8 months

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VERY glad that Evontra’vir said “the titans are dead” because like there are currently living beings that will suffer if Ludinus’s plan succeeds and they just don’t seem to matter compared to titans that died a millennia ago??? (After trying to wipe out mortals themselves)

Hey anon,

Agreed. The thing about the titans coming up is that it does, actually, make a lot of sense for the two characters who have been most vocal about it - Ashton and Laudna - to feel this way! But it doesn't come from a rational place; it comes from profound trauma and loss about which they can't be objective.

Taliesin talked about this on 4-Sided Dive: Ashton is grabbing on desperately to the one piece of information they know now about their missing childhood and is "leaning into it...probably before he should." We know this about them; Ashton's been emblazoning themself with the Hishari and Dunamancy symbols without having a single clue what they were. The titans are part of that. Did you notice how he keeps saying "things are changing" and didn't actually like...provide any meaningful information? Again to quote 4SD: "...there's not a lot of judgment happening about whether or not that's a good thing or not, and what it actually means." Like, I think that, based on Ashton's past position of "don't kill everyone for your goals, that is shitty" if they did stop, and process, and set aside that strong emotional factor that's in play (which is not something I'd expect them to be able to do easily!) They'd realize that the titans returning, were that possible, would be cataclysmic. But that's not what they're thinking about right now. I think Evontra'vir bluntly stating that the titans are dead was a needed splash of cold water on that line of thinking.

My thought re: Laudna is that it's slightly more metaphorical. Consider her backstory: a conquering force swept in and destroyed most of what had been there before. She is a relic both of that earlier time and of that conquering force, and the subjugation she experienced never truly stopped, even though Whitestone has moved on. Of course she'd see herself in the titans in the telling of stories about the titans! People like Percy get to return and revitalize and build a new family and grow old and happy and die, despite their trauma, and she's caught between life and death forever. Of course she'd relate to some half-buried thing that people call monstrous and ancient and displaced! But that doesn't actually help her do anything about her situation and it's not a philosophy that really is useful in understanding the larger geopolitical (and, frankly, cosmic) reality happening right now, because, yeah, if you let the titans back, people will die.

For both these characters - who have spoken to each other about being physically altered and left for dead, alone, in ways no one else can quite understand, I think there's something immensely seductive about the idea of something older than the gods, something defeated but could rise again, which both is relatable to their own situations and comes neatly packaged with a reason why it didn't save you when you called out. But it's still a fantasy. It's not real, it's not going to happen, and so it's important that Evontra'vir, who as Jirana said, does not mince words, called it out for what it is. The titans are dead. Something of their essences does remain for you to use to make a choice. You are going to have to do this using your own judgment; you are doing the saving; stop worrying about the dead and start thinking about what you will do to serve the living.

I think an emerging theme of this campaign - and arguably a secondary theme of the past campaigns, and really, the theme of D&D if you think about it, is that the person you developed into because of your trauma, and the coping mechanisms and behaviors and presentation you developed as a result may eventually cease to serve you once you find a support network and begin to be given more and more agency within the world; and indeed, if you cling to these things they will begin to hurt those around you, and eventually you as well. I think "The Titans are dead" is one way to very, very bluntly and effectively communicate that.

#answered #Anonymous #critical role spoilers #ashton greymoore #laudna #re the last paragraph i do find that this campaign the fandom voice in favor of NO WHAT IF I NEVER NEED TO CHANGE is louder #or perhaps i just had it better tuned out in c2 or perhaps the nein made a more inhospitable growth medium for that particular breed of mol #anyway. evontra'vir was right. titans are dead. nice dichotomy idiot. what lies outside it.#critical role

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dreadsuitsamus · 1 year

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Satisfied | Kakashi Hatake x Reader |

author's note: this is a WIP that i actually finished today haha i started this many months ago and picked it back up yesterday. i apologize if you can tell what's old and what's new 🙈 this is a fluffy modern au where the reader and kakashi are elementary school teachers!

pairing: kakashi hatake x fem!reader

warnings: pregnant!reader, no plot just fluff

Hatake Kakashi leans against his wooden desk, waiting patiently for his young students to calm themselves after they'd returned from their lunch period. He's a laid-back teacher that doesn't mind letting his students socialize a tad more than was maybe necessary at times. He learns a lot about the children this way; he studies their friendships, their rivalries, and even some inklings of a crush in a few of them. It sure made planning the seating chart fun, whenever he decided to change things up.

"Naruto!" He says sharply as the fifth-grader held a pair of scissors to the ponytail of a girl that routinely made it clear she didn't like him. Kakashi wasn't exactly a fan of how Ino would exclude the blond boy, but he surely wasn't going to let Naruto cut her long, beautiful platinum hair. The last thing he needed was screaming, and the calls to the parents, then the paperwork... He shudders at the thought of it all.

Naruto scowls at his teacher and stuffs his scissors back into his pencil box, crossing his arms and turning his head so Kakashi can't see his face. It was enough to elicit a soft chuckle from Kakashi, and by then the class had calmed down and focused their attention onto Mr. Kakashi, as he had introduced himself at the beginning of the school year.

"Oh, is it my turn?" He jokes softly before standing tall, hands stuffed into his pockets. "For the rest of the day, we'll be outside and painting with Mrs. Hatake's class."

The classroom erupts into cheers. The most fun they ever got to have during school was when Mr. Kakashi and Mrs. Hatake teamed up. Kakashi held a thin finger to his nose and lips, indicating to his students to hold it down. He smiles pleasantly when even Naruto collectes himself and hushes up.

"Leave all of your belongings and line up by the door; and be quick! We're already late."

"We're always late." Sakura frowns. Kakashi could only wonder why she was upset; perhaps because a certain black-haired boy is in Mrs. Hatake's class?

"Time is merely made up." Kakashi shrugs before leading the way out of the classroom, each student neatly in line. Not even Naruto was willing to see what would happen if he tried misbehaving while they walked through the school; Mr. Kakashi once said that he had eyes on the back of his head and he certainly didn't want to see them!

The kids cheer when they get out of the building and ran towards Mrs. Hatake's class. The newspapers, the paint, the brushes, all of it was already set up and ready to go. The other students are patiently waiting and chatting generally amongst themselves, whereas you, Mrs. Hatake yourself, stand waiting with crossed arms and an unimpressed eyebrow when Kakashi finally approaches.

Kakashi rubs the back of his head, smiling weakly and laughing nervously. "Ah..."

"Save it." You snort and turn to the students. "Alright everyone, settle down! Before we start painting, make sure to put on your aprons so you don't mess up your nice clothes!"

Sakura and Ino both squeal as they rush to collect an apron and make it back to the table before someone could take the spots beside Uchiha Sasuke, who already has an apron on. Naruto runs and picks up two aprons, rushing back to his friend Gaara, who was generally too nervous to involve himself in a crowd. Gaara smiles and thanks his best friend with a strong hug that Naruto's more than eager to return. They really are the cutest boys in the bunch, in your opinion.

When all of the children are ready to go, you pass out thick pieces of paper, talking as you go. "I want you all to paint whatever you want! Your pets, your friends, your favorite superheroes, anything! Just express yourselves today. As long as you turn in a painting, you get a hundred!"

"Yes!" Naruto cheers. He didn't get many hundreds on anything, so he's quite determined to rock this painting activity.

The kids start their paintings, so you and Kakashi settle in your own spots on the benches to paint your own things. You make eye contact and share a small smile, a fluttering feeling in your swollen belly passing by, before getting started. "So what will you be painting, Mr. Kakashi?" You absentmindedly swipe a hand over your baby bump; in just a few more weeks it'll be time for your maternity leave!

"Hmmm, I'm not sure yet, Mrs. Hatake." He hums softly. He sure loves saying your name. "How about you?"

"Well, I'm going to paint my beloved cat Julian." You grin smugly. Oh how Kakashi despises that cat.

"The entire world, and you choose a cat? And not only that, but the dumbest one in this world?" Kakashi narrows his eyes with a scowl. Julian was a good kitty, he could admit that. It's the idiotic antics that the orange fella got up to that irritate him to no end, and he's gotten worse since you got pregnant. He's a bit like Naruto, if he really thinks about it. But Naruto's definitely smarter than that cat, at least.

"Ehhhh?!?!" Footsteps quickly approach you and your husband.

Kakashi's eye twitches before he dares look at the only student who can get that loud. "Naruto! What's wrong?"

And thus begins Naruto's rant about Sasuke, his rival since kindergarten. You laugh softly and rub your lips together in an effort to hold yourself back, continuing on painting your cat while Kakashi stares blankly at his student and tries comprehending why he's so upset about Sasuke improvising and making purple paint with the red and blue paints, since Naruto had stolen the purple paint just to spite Sasuke in the first place.

Perhaps Julian has the edge on Naruto after all.

Even young Gaara, a student of your own, has his head hung in shame with a palm plastered to his face. At that, you couldn't contain your laughter. "Naruto, honey." You chuckle softly. "Why don't you get him back and see what happens when you mix red and yellow?"

Naruto nods roughly and runs back to his seat, and moments later he cheers for his success in the making of his favorite color. Kakashi smiled and looked at you with gentle eyes. "How do you do it?"

"I just think how he would and then go from there." You shrug and glide the paintbrush over the paper. "It doesn't make him feel dumb and he learns something new."

"You'd be better off as his teacher than me."

"I don't know about that one. You have quite the knack for kids, even if your style is different from most." You wink at your husband and quietly continue painting.

Kakashi smiles to himself and begins working on his own canvas, but with his own watercolor set instead. He took some art classes back in college, so he decides to put his skills to the test with this project. Being with you gives him inspiration like that, when otherwise he would just be lazy and draw something simple, like an apple with a worm in it. There were endless reasons why he loved you and married you; the way you made him feel and the confidence you gave him were very high up on that list of answers.

You check your watch and issue a ten-minute warning to the students to finish up so their paintings can dry before they go home for the day, and that they could have a whole hour of recess after you called time. Little hands quickly hurry their brush strokes and reach for different bottles of paint as they perfect their masterpieces.

Kakashi hums softly, intently focusing on his canvas. "I wonder what they've all made." He continues to focus on his artwork, diligently ensuring each stroke of his brush is perfect. Hatake Kakashi had yet to be bad at something in his life, so you already knew whatever he was envisioning was going to come out onto that canvas exactly as planned.

You allow Kakashi the time to continue his work and take on the task of getting each student cleaned up on your own. At their current age, they mostly were able to keep themselves free of the paint, save for a few dots here and there on their hands.

"Naruto..." You sigh, rubbing your face tiredly. Even with an apron that was bigger than his little body, he managed to get paint on his face, arms, and the shoulder of his t-shirt. You already know his mother, Kushina, would tear into him when his father brought him home from school. Minato picks the boy up every day, ever since the incident with Naruto and the mud pies happened when his mother picked him up... She was still fully deserving of her title as the Red-Hot Habanero that she'd been given when you were in grade school with her, you learned that day.

Naruto pouts and averts your gaze. It seemed he was also well aware of his mother's ire, but he just wasn't able to control himself enough to avoid the consequences just yet. You offer your hand and take him inside to clean up, and when you're done he runs to join up with his friends on the playground. "Don't get dirty again!" It was a fruitless demand, but you at least had to try.

"As if that could ever happen." Kakashi snorts. Seemed he'd finished his task while you were cleaning up Naruto.

"All I can do is try." You sigh with a shrug and start walking around the tables to get a look at everyone's artwork.

You pause in front of Sasuke's canvas. With a deep sigh, your hand absentmindedly moves over your heart, the other coming to rub against where your baby's just kicked you. Sasuke's painted himself with a first-aid kit in one hand and a medical degree in the other, a big smile on his face. His dream is to become a doctor and cure the disease that's befallen his elder brother, Itachi. You were Itachi's teacher as well when he was Sasuke's age, and to think that a bright young boy like him would become too frail and sick to achieve his true potential was enough to bring tears to your eyes. Sasuke is determined to cure his big brother, and you know nothing will stand in his way.

"Hopefully he's given the chance." Kakashi murmurs, looking at the painting from over your shoulder. He presses a swift kiss to the back of your head, snaking a hand around your midsection to hold your body to his, running his hand over your belly in a wide, swift stroke before he continues his journey around the table.

Gaara painted himself and Naruto playing at the beach, building a sandcastle together. Sakura and Ino both painted themselves holding hands with Sasuke, though you could tell they'd sabotaged one another by swirling green paint through each other's drawings of themselves. You sigh and shake your head; you really hope one day they'll grow out of their rivalry that merely exists because of a boy of all people and become wonderful women with their own motivations. And if they don't, they are set to be in for one tough ride with Mrs. Tsunade Senju when they got to high school.

"Choji needs a hobby." Kakashi muses. The boy's canvas reflects a rather delicious looking meal, but then again, that's what he always turns in for artwork projects.

"Eating is his hobby." You snicker, gazing at Shikamaru's work of art, a lazy attempt at drawing the sky. The paper is simply painted blue, with a yellow circle for the sun and puffy clouds outlined in black. He hadn't even filled in the clouds with white paint! "Shikamaru could use some of Choji's inspiration, that's for sure."

"Sure..." Kakashi keeps eyeing Choji's artwork. "Let's go out for dinner tonight." He murmurs.

"Only if you're buying."

Your husband shrugs noncommittally. "It's a date."

You smile and move beside him, squeaking softly when he puts his arm around you and pulls you into his side, a large hand rubbing the side of the swollen tummy housing his child. "'Kashi…"

"Hmmm?" He hums, not taking his eyes off the students as they play on the playground.

"PDA, with the students so close?"

It isn't a secret you two are married. Of course all of the staff know about it; you two married just one year after you started working at Konoha Elementary. You met in and dated throughout college, and now you're heavily pregnant with your first child together. Hell, if the students were astute enough to put two and two together when they learned both of your last names, they could have figured it out themselves ages ago. In every school year there's eventually a turning point where the students realize your relationship; so far this particular set of students haven't figured it out.

"Shhh... Enjoy the moment. One day that'll be our little darling out there. Playing with their friends..." Kakashi's dark eyes are practically swimming in eagerness and pride. He has such high hopes for the baby, and plans to help them succeed in any way possible. Hatake Kakashi had yet to be bad at something in his life, and he won't let insecurities with himself and his relationship with his father cloud his ability to care for his own child.

You laugh softly. "Not for quite some time, 'Kashi. They aren't even born yet!"

"Time is made up, but it passes in the blink of an eye." He mumbles, eyes still carefully watching the kids.

"You do have a point." You hum and keep a watchful eye over the students, allowing them to play without interruption.

After some time, you cup your hands around your mouth. "Alright everyone, let's come and present our pictures!"

The students eagerly run back over and sit in front of their now dried paintings. "You don't all have to present, but those that do want to are encouraged to do so!" You smile sweetly at all those little faces. This bunch of kids are so special. They're so smart and silly and good friends to one another. It's been a while since you liked a class this much.

Naruto leads the charge, naturally, and then various students volunteer to share after. Everyone gets a turn to present, and you rub your belly as you show the kids your painting. "This is my kitty, Julian!"

"He's so cute!" Sakura squeals. You grin and put your picture down, thanking the class as they compliment your artwork.

"Does anyone else want to share?"

"Mr. Kakashi, I wanna see yours! You never share!" Ino pouts, crossing her arms.

The rest of the kids cheer and pout with her, demanding to see what he spent so long working on. Kakashi laughs nervously and runs his fingers through his silver hair, cheeks tinged red. He glances at you and you smile softly, nodding encouragingly. He carefully picks up his watercolor work and holds it up for the class.

"Wooooooow…" The students hum in harmony, amazed at what a great job their teacher did.

He's put extra care into this, that much is obvious. It's of a very pregnant woman holding hands with a silver-haired man, the both of them smiling. You wipe a stray tear from your eye and rub at your belly, gazing at your husband with all the love in your heart.

"Hey…" Naruto cocks his head, perking a brow. "Mr. Kakashi, that looks like you!"

"It is." Kakashi responds simply.

"And…" His lips twist as he puts the pieces together. But ultimately it's Shikamaru that figures it out.

His eyes go wide with shock. "That's him and Mrs. Hatake!"

"Mr. Kakashi!" Ino scolds Kakashi. "That's weird!"

"How is that weird??" Kakashi holds his hands up, failing to fight his urge to laugh at the accusation.

"You're making it seem like…" Sasuke starts quietly, and Gaara finishes his sentence. "Like you love Mrs. Hatake."

"Well, I do love her. She is my wife, after all."

You, frankly, were not prepared for all of the screaming. Laughter bubbles out of you as the kids crowd around, asking questions a mile a minute and looking between you and your husband like you suddenly sprouted tails. Kakashi can't even hide his amusement and does his best to answer all of the questions.

"We met in college."

"We've been married for five years."

"I did not tell a single lie to you guys. You just never asked my last name."

"Yes, I've heard her fart."

"Thaaaaaat's enough." You scowl at your laughing husband. "Time to head back inside for dismissal."

"Awww…" The kids hang their heads low and pick up their paintings, lining up to go back inside. You and Kakashi lead the way back, your classrooms across the hall from each other.

Kakashi smirks and sneaks in a quick kiss to your lips, which prompts the students to lose it once again. You snort and pat his cheek twice, perhaps with a little more force than normal as revenge, and then move into your classroom.

Kakashi laughs to himself and does the same, his chest light and happy. And once the students have left the building, he meets you in your classroom, leaning on the doorframe and watching you quickly fill in the perfect scores in your gradebook. You glance over and blow him a kiss, which he catches and places into his shirt pocket.

"So, where are you taking me?" You ask, filing away the book and gathering your purse.

"I was thinking ramen?"

"Hmm, I like that train of thought. Might keep you around just a bit longer now."

Kakashi chuckles, stepping towards you with his hands in his pockets and a small smirk on his face. "Just a bit?"

"Might let you stay longer if you rub my feet tonight." You purr with a little laugh, taking his extended hand so you can stand up easier. Kakashi wastes no time in capturing your lips, rubbing your swollen baby bump with both hands and massaging lightly. He's always been clear with his love, but ever since your belly started growing bigger and bigger, he's been unable to stop himself from showering you with more and more love and attention.

"If that's what it takes…" He says against your lips, kissing you for a moment more before he continues. "I'll rub anything you want for the rest of my days."

You smile against him and rub his chest. "C'mon. Get me outta here already; this bra can't come off soon enough."

Your husband smirks and pulls at the clasps through your shirt, somehow unlatching the three hooks. You gasp, affronted at the audacity of that man. Kakashi, however, howls in laughter as his long legs rush him out the room and towards the car, his silver hair falling in his eyes as you're helpless to chase him in your current state. You shake your head with a small chuckle and lock up the classroom before heading out yourself.

That's alright, You think to yourself.

Just for that he's grading all my kid's homework next week!

#kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi hatake #naruto #naruto shippuden #fic

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lostbetweenvampiresandmusic · 23 days

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Changes chapter 2

< Previous chapter

The girl nervously fumbled with the hem of her dress as Lucien rang the doorbell. The house in front of her was large and covered in a white layer of paint. She could smell the presence of a dog and the presence of a creature that was like Lucien - and her, she reminded herself. She flinched as the porch light switched on, wincing as the brightness burnt her eyes. She looked up as she heard the door click, a lock switching open, and then the door quickly being opened. In the doorway stood a man, dressed in a typical 80s suit with shoulder patches and a pattern that could only be described as horrific. He was wearing thick framed glasses, his har combed back neatly. Overall, he looked nothing like she expected. The girl looked at him, really taking him in, her face blank. He didn't look like Lucien, who was dressed in all black and covered in tattoos. No, this man looked absurdly normal. Too normal, maybe. With uncertainty, she looked at Lucien. He gave her a kind smile.

"This is Max," Lucien told her. "Max, this is Julie."

The man - Max - smiled kindly at her. "Why don't you come inside, both of you. I think we have a lot to talk about."

Julie hadn't wanted to go inside, but after Lucien laid his hand on her back with gentle force and pushed her towards the door, she realised she had little choice in the matter. The door closed behind Lucien, and the three of them were standing in a brightly lit hallway. There were objects with bright lights and bright colours everywhere, flashing and turning. Every where she looked, things were moving and turning. It was like the man had built his own miniature carnival in his living room. Julie winced, focusing her eyes on the floor, the lights being too much.

"It's alright, Julie," Lucien said, guiding her to a less bright room. She looked up, nervously biting her lip. She hadn't known what to expect when Lucien had told her that he knew someone who could help her, but this wasn't it. As she looked around, she realised they were in a kitchen. The walls were covered in white tiles, and the cabinets wrapped in a wood patterned vinyl. The sink was filled with dirty dishes, but most of them were glasses and cups. No plates, pots, or pans. Julie couldn't help but wonder why that was. Surely Max had to eat as well, right? In the middle of the kitchen was a small round table, with five chairs positioned around it. Max had sat down at one of them and motioned for them to do the same. Slowly, Julie sat down across from him.

"Do you know what you are?" Max asked. Even though his expression was on the stern side, Julie could pick up on the hints of worry in his voice. She frowned slightly - what did he mean? She was just Julie. And on what she was - or rather what else she could be - she wasn't sure. No one had told her what they'd been doing back there, and Lucien hadn't exactly asked or explained anything.

After a moment, she shook her head, not looking Max in the eye. Instead, her eyes focused on everything around her. The doghairs on the floor, the half empty bowl near the backdoor, the empty cup with a red liquid in the sink...

"Do you know what happened to you?"

Julie shook her head but then slowly nodded. She did remember things, bits, and pieces. Flashes of light and pain, flashes of laughter, flashes of people bidding money. But nothing concrete, nothing that would explain how this happened or why.

"Just bits and pieces, hm? Maybe that's for the better, dear. Don't focus too much on it." Max gave her a kind, sorrowful look, as if he felt terrible for what happened to her. Maybe he did. Julie wasn't sure, but she hoped that the compassion wasn't an act. If she were to stay here, she'd rather stay with a man who was genuine.

Slowly, she nodded. That made sense - that forgetting could be better than remembering the horrors. It had already happened, so why focus on it? Julie looked up as Max stood up from his chair.

"I've got a room for you upstairs. You're welcome to stay there, if you want. I've made sure that no sunlight will be able to get in. There's a small bathroom attached to it if you want to get cleaned up. Try a bath instead of a shower, alright? There are towels in the bathroom." Max looked at her. Normally, he'd explain how running water was an issue and that it could burn - but now wasn't the time. The girl was scared and frightened, most likely brought here against her will. She needed some time alone to settle and to think. He just hoped she would accept his help because she needed it.

With a hint of uncertainty, Julie looked at Lucien. When he nodded with an encouraging smile, she followed Max upstairs. He led her to a soft white room. Dark green black-out curtains hung in front of the window, blocking any light from outside. In the middle of the room was a large bed, covered in blue blankets. Across from the bed was a small desk, a pile of paper, and some pencils laid on top of it, as if to invite her to write or draw. Above the desk was a small corkboard, where she could hang decorations if she wanted - or so Max told her. Next to the door, across from the window, was a wardrobe. The old wood had also been painted white, with some floral patterns on the edges. Julie looked at Max, giving him a shy, thankful smile. It was the first time since she could remember that she had a room of her own to stay in.

"It's alright, dear." He stood in the doorway. "The door can lock from the inside if you prefer that. Try and get some rest, Lucien will also be here tomorrow evening."

Julie nodded, comforted by the thought. She may not have known Lucien that well - or at all, really - but he was a familiar face. A familiar face that had proven to be helpful and kind towards her. She closed the door, locking it. She waited, expecting to hear Max return, but he didn't. It was really okay to lock the room. She thought for a moment but felt too tired to wash herself now. She could always do that tomorrow morning, right? She took off her shoes and laid down on the bed. It was comfortable. The blankets were warm. With a soft sigh, she drifted off to sleep.

"What on earth happened to her?" Max asked as he returned downstairs.

"I don't know. She doesn't talk, she wrote that she could speak but something forced her not to. But that's all I know. I've been feeding her in the past couple of days by filling a refill cup. I have no idea if she can even comprehend the fact that she needs to kill to survive."

"But she did drink the blood?"

"Gulped it down."

Max nodded, thinking. "Alright." That was at least something. As a newborn, vampires need more blood. That was a simple fact. Whether Julie knew about what she was drinking or not, the fact that she had consumed blood would only make the hunt easier. She knew what she was getting out of it, so to speak.

He noticed the sun rising - he felt it happening before he even saw the sky beginning to change its colour - and he led Lucien to a sunproof room. It was next to Julie's. Max went into his own room, biding the man good night.

Max woke up early the next evening, realising he needed to make a plan. First, Julie had to learn what she was. She had to realise that she was a vampire and what it all meant. Second, she needed to feed. Properly. Getting blood in cups would sustain someone, but with a newborn vampire, it would not suffice. She would need more. A lot more. Thirdly, he needed to know what happened to her. The lack of words coming out of her wasn't just a response to trauma or a strange new situation. No, he was quite certain someone compelled the girl to be silent. At least, he hoped so - seeing that there were other more permanent ways of shutting someone up while letting them live. He shook his head - no, she probably still had her tongue and vocal chords, and this was just the result of someone compelling her. He sincerely hoped it was - he could probably help her overcome the compelled command, but healing such severe and delicate injuries? He wasn't sure if he could.

"Julie? I need to go, kid." He heard Luciens voice outside his room. "No, I can't stay. I have to go, my mate needs me. He's been hurt."

It was quiet for a moment before he heard Lucien speak again. "You can always reach me, and I'll be here as soon as I can. I promise."

Then, there was silence. Max stepped out of his room, having given them as much privacy as he could. Julie's door was closed, and Lucien stood in front of it.

"Go to your mate," Max nodded, "She'll be fine here."

"Thank you, Max. For everything."

David had gone off on his own tonight, curiosity of this new girl driving him to go and visit Max. He had expected to find the house empty, the older vampire taking the newborn out to feed or on a flying lesson or something. Instead, he found the front door wide open. Thorn was nowhere to be seen. Inside, the lights were on, and he could sense Max' presence inside the house. It was only when he landed in the yard that he noticed the girl - young woman, he realised - sitting on the steps of the front porch. She was staring at the ground in front of her, sulking about something.

"You must be-"

The girl looked up, fear flashing in her eyes. Within seconds she was inside, the front door slammed shut. Inside, he could hear Max speak. "I'll go see who it is. In the meantime, you should drink some of this."

David waited, and it didn't take long before Max was outside. He gave David a stern look, but both men knew it wasn't that serious.

"I thought you boys had decided to give her time to settle in?"

"I was curious."

"You should meet her properly, now that you're here." Max decided. Seeing Julie's response, it was best if she knew David wasn't a threat. Maybe it would benefit her if she knew the boys, having vampires closer to her turning age to hang out with - who also understood to a certain extent what she was going through.

"Her senses are all fucked, aren't they? She didn't even notice I was there."

"She's not attuned to them yet." Still, Max made a note of it. If he too started to feel like she wasn't attuned to them, he had to do something about it. It was dangerous for her otherwise. What if she didn't hear a hunter or a werewolf? She wouldn't be able to get away in time.

David shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it, you've got your job cut out for you."

"Her case is tricky, trickier than any of yours had been."

"Seriously?"

Max nodded. Objectively speaking, up until that point, David's change had been the most problematic. He'd been changed during the war, being saved from death by Max. The war stopped for no one, and during the change, he had almost lost his life again when a bomb hit close by. It had been touch and go for quite some time, especially since a leg had to be reattached, and Max found it explained the bitterness the vampire had quite well. Once David was fully turned, everything went fine, but still - sometimes, in the early years, the killing brought back unwanted memories. It hadn't been easy, and even though he had come to terms with it now, sometimes he still had a bad day.

"Shit."

The two of them walked inside, and Max was glad to see that Julie was drinking from the cup of blood he'd given her. She looked up only when they stood in front of her, making Max wonder if David had been right about her senses.

"Julie, this is David. He's one of my -" he paused, looking for a better word but finding none, "sons."

"I didn't mean to scare you." If David had been troubled by the usage of the word son, it didn't show. As the boy looked at Julie, he gave her a rare, kind look.

Julie nodded quietly, taking a sip from her glass, pulling her legs up, her arms wrapped around her knees.

"I have three other boys. You'll probably meet them later tonight." Max looked at her, realising that he didn't want her to be alone. Not because he didn't trust her - but because he was certain that it wouldn't be to her benefit. It would be best for her if she saw other people, other vampires. If she could have a tiny bit of a normal life, maybe it would help her come to terms with her vampirism.

Max had to go to the store tonight, if only to check in, and knowing David and the others, they would show up. Taking Julie along seemed like the right plan. She could meet the others, and he could see how shed respond to the boardwalk. Besides, it would be a good way to see if she had any control and to take her out to feed afterwards.

David stood in the kitchen still, looking at the girl at the table. "If anyone ever gives you trouble, you come to us, alright? We'll handle it for you."

The girl looked surprised before smiling. Everything about her seemed to scream thank you, but no words came out. David nodded before letting himself out. Max was right. The others needed to meet her tonight, just so she'd know who were on her side and who could help her if necessary. There was something about her that made him care. It was something that surprised him. Normally he wasn't like this.

Max sat down across from Julie. "I need to go to town in a bit. I have a store there and I need to make sure everything is alright. I'd like you to come with."

Slowly, the girl nodded, her feet touching the ground again.

"I want to leave in an hour, does that give you enough time to get clean and ready?"

Yes, she thought quietly, that would be enough time. She just needed to get washed, and fhen she was ready to go. It wasn't like she had makeup or an elaborate wardrobe to go through, wondering about what she would wear. She only had the one dress she was wearing now. The man looked at her with a kind smile, and she went upstairs. She went to the bathroom, letting the tub fill with warm water and picking a floral soap to pour into it.

Downstairs, Max couldn't help but wonder about the girl. If he wanted to help her, he needed to know what happened to her. He picked up the phone, ringing Luciens number, but he got no answer. He didn't think any of it, deciding to try again later.

Next chapter >

#the lost boys #marko #david #paul #dwayne #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #max tlb #david tlb #dwayne tlb #paul tlb #marko tlb #changes

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ssahotstuff · 1 year

Text

Aaron Hotchner x reader (virgin/innocent reader)

Part 4

Part 3 can be found here

Warnings: fingering, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, angst with Haley, cursing, some alcohol use, angst in general kinda

Word Count: 5.4k

The day Jack went home, Aaron called Haley beforehand to tell her they needed to talk. You were down the hall with Jack, cleaning up his room with him, helping him organize everything the way it had been prior. You often helped him get ready to go back home, he usually asked you to.

"The next time I come to your house, can we make donuts? I saw a video on YouTube and it looks really easy," Jack often helped you in the kitchen—the two of you were always baking treats for Aaron to take on cases, and to enjoy with the two of you when he came home. Haley's newfound attitude had put a damper on the time you'd usually be spending with him—but hopefully Aaron could convince Haley that you weren't so bad after all.

"As long as your mom is okay with it," you didn't want to crush his spirits, but you were planning from this moment forward to run everything by Haley so you didn't step on any toes.

"I'll ask her when I get home! I have to get your picture too!"

A moment later, Aaron was coming down the hall to collect the two of you so you could leave. Aaron's hand found yours, so instead of getting in the car as he put Jack in his seat, you stood behind him as he worked. Once he had Jack's door closed, he turned to you.

"When we get to Haley's, let me do the talking, that way she gets mad at me, not you."

You nodded, sighing heavily. You didn't want Aaron to be the target of her fury either, and that also meant you were completely unable to defend yourself against anything she might have to say to you in return.

Aaron hated how much this was hurting you. Haley was already unhappy on the phone, and it would only get worse when the two of you arrived to talk. Aaron knew Haley well enough to know she wouldn't make this easy for him, or you, but he had to try.

✨✨✨

45 minutes later, you were seated on Haley's patio in a chair next to Aaron. Haley was sitting across from you while Jack stayed inside with Haley's sister Jessica, who seemed much more pleasant by far. She'd greeted you with a warm smile, and even shot Haley a sideways glance when Haley refused to acknowledge you.

"There's nothing in our divorce agreement that says he's allowed to stay with your girlfriend," she spat, getting straight to the point. You did as Aaron asked and sat quietly, your hands folded neatly in your lap.

"There's also not a single word about him coming home if I have a case," he countered, knowing that was an arrangement she'd decided out of nowhere just to try and get back at him.

"Does she even know anything about taking care of a kid, Aaron? He's on a schedule, I can't have some random stranger you're sleeping with this month—"

Aaron cut her off quickly, his voice calm yet stern.

"That's really rich coming from you—how many random strangers did he see when you were sleeping around during our marriage, Haley?"

You brain was fixated on what she had said—had there been many women before you? Secrets he was keeping because he was embarrassed? He'd only ever told you about Haley, but they'd been apart for two and a half years when you met—that gave him plenty of time to do whatever he wanted.

"You honestly think that little of me, Aaron? Jack never saw a thing on my end," she defended, turning on the tears—Aaron's posture immediately changed when she started to cry; he softened visibly, moving his hands to the table, almost as if he wanted to reach out and comfort her.

"I—I shouldn't have said that, Haley. I'm sorry. I just don't understand why you're changing your mind now. We've been together nearly a year. She's a part of Jack's life," Haley sniffled, wiping her eyes before she said anything else. You felt as powerless as ever, watching her play Aaron like a fiddle.

"You don't even live together—he bounces around enough between my place and yours. He doesn't need another place to get used to."

Haley was finding any excuse in the world to keep Jack away from you. Aaron felt like he was running out of options—there wasn't a clear solution, not one that Haley would agree to anyway.

"She's not going anywhere, Haley. I'm not letting you take this away from me," Aaron was exasperated, feeling like he was being pulled around on a string, still controlled by Haley long after their relationship had ended.

"I'm not budging on this, Aaron. Unless you want to fight me in court, Jack comes home when you get a case. End of discussion."

She stood from the table and opened the door leading inside, signifying that the conversation was over and that the two of you needed to leave. Jack came rushing from his room, running right up to you and Aaron. He gave you both a big hug before turning his attention to you.

"I can't find your picture anywhere. Mommy, have you seen it?"

Haley gave Jack a sympathetic smile before looking to you, shooting you an icy glare before she replied.

"I'm so sorry, Jack! I must've thrown it away," you could hear the venom seething from her words, your heart nearly torn in two at how vindictive Aaron's ex wife could truly be.

Once you were in Aaron's car, you expected him to say something—anything that might make you feel a tiny bit better about the situation. You were stone cold silent, staring out the passenger window as he navigated you back to his house. He had both hands on the wheel, his eyes set straight ahead on the road.

The silence didn't end until his phone rang. He answered it quickly, and you assumed it was work on the other end, about to pull him away from you before you could even talk.

"I'll be there in an hour. You can start without me, I'll get up to speed on the jet," he said, glancing over at you quickly. He knew the timing wasn't ideal, but he couldn't help when his job took him away from you. He hung up the phone and cleared his throat, his hand coming across the console to rest on your thigh.

"I don't think it'll always be like this. She just needs time to get used to you is all," he said, trying to sound as optimistic as he could given the circumstances. In your eyes, Aaron was still trying to defend her—you couldn't imagine having an ex that had done you as dirty as she did—and you especially couldn't fathom defending them over Aaron. You knew there was a major difference—there was a child involved. But you were perfectly capable of taking care of him. Aaron hadn't bothered mentioning that, though.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

You didn't bother looking away from the window. Aaron knew you were upset; you had every right to be. He knew if the roles were reversed, he'd be livid. For the first time in your relationship, he was worried—afraid of how this might make things exponentially harder on you in the future. If Haley didn't come around, it would certainly make your life much more difficult than it needed to be. He was afraid you'd grow tired of the fights and drama and leave him alone—and that was the last thing that he wanted.

When you got back to Aaron's house, he led you inside while he gathered his things to get ready to leave. You sat on the bed and watched him buzz around the room quietly, stewing in your own frustrations about the situation. Aaron let you be; he didn't want to make things worse. He leaned down to kiss you, tilting your chin upward with his fingertips.

"I love you. I'll call you tonight, okay?"

You nodded, smiling back at him—you knew there was so much more that needed to be said, but instead, you told him you loved him too and let him walk out the door. You swallowed that feeling of dread that came from all of your unanswered questions and tried to compose yourself as much as possible. You should've known Haley would outcast you, and you wouldn't dare put Aaron in a position where he had to defy the mother of his child. It would only end bad for everyone involved.

You decided then that Haley would have to try a hell of a lot harder to push you away. Aaron and Jack were your life, your future, and just because she'd let it slip away before didn't mean you were going to make the same mistake.

✨✨✨

When the week began, you tried to put all of your energy into work so you wouldn't have time to think about anything else. At the end of the day on Wednesday, your boss had called you into his office, which had you worried the entire walk from your floor to his. Mr. Jennings wasn't exactly a kind person—in fact, he was terrifying. He wasn't a man of many words, so the fact that he wanted to talk to you had your palms sweating profusely as you knocked on the door to his office. He called for you to come in, so you opened the door and shot him a dazzling smile, hoping it would soften the blow.

"Hi, sir. You wanted to see me?"

He gave you a once-over, taking you in fully, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. He nodded towards the empty chair nearest to you so you sat, crossing your legs and clasping your hands together.

"You've been on fire this week."

You were taken aback that he'd noticed, given his usual lack of recognition to the majority of the people on your team. This was a rare occurrence to your knowledge, so you were slightly baffled.

"Just trying to make the most of my time, sir."

He gave you a tight lipped smile, nodding to the paperwork on his desk.

"More than that. You've exceeded every expectation we have. That's an impressive feat."

You weren't sure what to say, so you just nodded, smoothing out your skirt nervously.

"Thank you sir," you said finally, and he cleared his throat, holding up what looked like a contract—which really confused you.

"I'm offering you a partnership. The flexibility will allow you to work from home if you want, just keep showing me the kind of initiative I've been seeing the last couple of weeks. You'll get a sign on bonus and an official title change; a raise and a car from the fleet, too."

This was the last thing you had expected. You knew you'd been working harder to avoid the current problems at hand, but you didn't know it would lead to such a monumental moment in your career.

"Wow—sir, thank you. I don't even know what to say."

He handed you a pen so you could make it official, shaking your hand firmly as he stood to his feet.

"You can clean out your desk and take the rest of the day off, start fresh at home tomorrow. You deserve it. See Angie at the front desk to get the keys to your new ride," he beamed happily back at you as you gathered your copy of the new contract and headed back to your desk for the last time. You couldn't wait until Aaron was home—there was cause for celebration, and you couldn't have been happier.

✨✨✨

Aaron was running on two days of no sleep when he finally reached his hotel room, exhausted to tears. He collapsed on the bed after kicking off his shoes, immediately checking his phone to see if it was too late to call you. He had to factor in the time zone difference, but it was still kind of early for you, so he hit send, waiting to hear your voice fill the other line.

"Hey, baby. Miss me yet?"

Your lighthearted demeanor was exactly what Aaron needed right now. The case was taking a toll on everyone—the ones involving children usually did. He was praying for a break, desperate to make it back home to you without falling apart beforehand.

"More than you could ever imagine. It's been rough," the last thing he wanted to do was tell you about the case; he couldn't really, and you didn't deserve the nightmares that it would surely cause you.

"I'm so sorry baby. I know it isn't easy. What can I do to make it better for you?" Your voice was soft and as sweet as candy, already easing part of his worries just by answering the phone when he called.

"I just need you, to hear your voice. How was work today?"

Aaron was thrilled to hear about your promotion, the fact that you could work from anywhere really opened a lot of doors for you. You weren't tied down to the office, which meant you could stay with him more and just work from the comfort of his office if you wanted to. You were so excited to tell him, it only made him wish he would've been there when you got off work to hear the news firsthand.

"We'll celebrate when I get back. The ladies have been wanting to see you; we could go out, if you wanted," Aaron typically didn't frequent the team's nights out at clubs, but for you, he was willing to make plenty of exceptions.

"You hate going out," you reminded him, but what he liked didn't matter as long as you were happy in the long run.

You talked until Aaron couldn't hold his eyes open any longer. He knew there was a lot left to be said about the situation Haley had put the two of you in, but for now, all that mattered was that you'd be waiting for him when he got back.

✨✨✨

The next time you saw Haley was without Aaron. He was still out of town, but you'd decided to take your work to the local coffee shop. You hadn't expected to see her, considering this wasn't her part of town, but you decided to say something anyway, just to be polite. You managed to catch her attention as she was waiting for her order, walking up to her with your head held high.

"Haley! How funny running into you here," she nodded back at you, looking around before she spoke.

"I'm surprised you're talking to me without Aaron here to defend you," she quipped, but you weren't taking her bait, not by a long shot.

"Defend me from what, you? I choose not to speak—unlike you, I don't want an argument," it was the last thing in the world that you wanted honestly, but she refused to let things be simple.

"There isn't anything to argue about. You are just a placeholder—something to keep Aaron occupied until he comes back home. You think you'll take my place, be his wife one day? Think again—he may love you, but he will never give you his last name."

She said it as if it were a stone cold fact—that it had already been decided. You didn't let this break you; you kept a brave face and blinked back the frustration so you could have the last word.

"Believe me when I say that the second we decide to get married, you'll be the first one with an invitation, Haley. Wouldn't want you to miss out on Aaron marrying the love of his life," you gave her the brightest smile you could muster before walking back to your table and continuing your work. She was playing a dangerous game, trying to come between you and Aaron—one that she wouldn't win, no matter how hard she tried.

✨✨✨

"So, have you met Haley yet?"

Emily was the first to ask after they practically pulled you to the bar to do shots. Aaron had given you a happy nod and told you to go have fun, sitting in a booth with Spencer and Derek. You were sandwiched between Emily and JJ, and Penelope was to your far left, listening in when she could. The topic of Haley piqued everyone's interest, so you had their full attention.

"Oh yes. She hates me, to put it mildly," you told them, and Emily snickered in response.

"I'll bet she does. You're pretty, funny, and young! I'm sure she despises you," Emily said, passing you a shot before taking one for herself.

"You can't let a woman like Haley bring you down. She didn't want Hotch, but she didn't want to see him happy with someone else. It was so toxic," JJ explained. You wondered how Aaron had lasted so long in something so obviously deteriorating; did he see the signs and ignore them? Would he do the same in your relationship? You'd never know, but you'd always wonder.

"Sounds like it," you agreed, hoping the conversation shifted to something lighter—you didn't want to spend your night of celebration talking about the one person in the world who couldn't stand you.

From across the bar, Aaron could see your discomfort. He was immediately rethinking the entire night judging from the look on your face alone. He didn't want to interrupt if you were busy, so he sent you a text asking if you wanted to meet him outside for some air instead. He went in the direction of the front door, deciding he'd wait for you at the side of the building where it was less crowded.

You didn't bother replying—you told the girls you needed some air and they let you go without argument. You had just rounded the corner when you saw him, leaned up against the brick wall of the building. Even in the lamplight he looked delicious; you were convinced he'd worn the olive green polo just to tease you all night. His arms were practically bulging through the tiny sleeves; you'd caught more than one woman staring at him tonight.

Your fingers felt his belt loops as you leaned into him, resting your head on his chest. You could still hear the music pouring from the speakers inside, but you could feel the drumming of his heart, beating wildly in his chest.

"Talk to me; you don't look happy," Aaron could tell your mood had been off for days, but he hadn't said anything. This was the first time he'd seen you in five days, so he hadn't really had the chance. He'd known something was up though, just from your voice on the phone.

"I'm fine, really. I just have a headache is all," you told him, but he wasn't buying it—not tonight.

"Don't tell me that. Something's going on with you, and I can see it. Is this about Haley? Is that what you want to do tonight?" He knew how accusatory it sounded, but he couldn't take it back now. Your hands fell from his sides and you backed away, taking a step forward back towards the door.

"No, it isn't. I'm not doing this, Aaron."

You sighed heavily before making your way back inside. Aaron stayed behind for a few moments, giving you enough time to find the girls before he came back inside. He decided then that he'd keep his distance for the rest of the night—he'd already made you upset when the night was supposed to be centered around you.

Derek gave Aaron a curious look when Aaron joined him at the table. Aaron sipped his drink and prayed no one said anything, but Derek wasn't letting him off that easily.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Aaron shook his head, not wanting to air out their business, but at the same time, he did want an outside perspective on things.

"I don't know. Haley doesn't like her—I'm in a tricky position trying to make them both happy—trying to keep things civil," he finished off the rest of his drink and decided he was done for the night so he could drive the two of you home.

"Woah—why in the world do you care about making Haley happy? Haley isn't your friend, Hotch. She's your ex wife. You have a custody agreement signed by a judge—she can't keep Jack from you. Pleasing my ex wife would be the last thing on my mind if I had a woman like you've got," Derek said, glancing towards the bar where you sat, looking like there was a personal rain cloud above your head, pouring on what was supposed to be a good night.

"It's not about pleasing Haley—it's about Jack's parents getting along to some degree."

Derek shook his head, leaning in closer.

"You pick Jack up, and drop him off. There is no getting along. What do you have to talk about? You're not friends, Hotch! The longer you ride the fence, the higher your chances are of only having Haley to turn to in the end," he said flatly, standing up to go to the bar. He left Aaron alone to think about what he'd said; as much as he hated to admit it, Derek was right.

You were seated between Emily and JJ when Aaron came up behind you, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Want to get a milkshake before we head home?"

Aaron was trying to salvage what was left of your night, hoping you wouldn't turn away from him again. You gave him a nod and said your goodbyes, taking his hand as he led you to the front door. As soon as you'd made your exit he was turning to you, taking both of your hands in his.

"I'm sorry. I've been handling this all wrong, this situation with Haley. I've been trying to put your feelings and hers in the same category and that isn't fair. I don't care what Haley thinks; I only want you to be happy," he told you, his eyes full of remorse. He hated that you spent so much of your night mad at him over what he'd said.

"It's okay, Aaron. I don't ever expect you to be on my side when it comes to Haley. You two have a lot more history than we do; I get it, really," even though you understood, it didn't make it hurt any less. Haley thought that their past trumped his current feelings.

"I'm always on your side! I know it doesn't seem like it, but I am," he defended, raising his voice loud enough to draw the attention of a group of young guys passing by. One of them quickly asked if you were okay and you nodded, removing your hands from Aaron's grasp so you could wipe the tears from your eyes.

"So I'm just supposed to sit around and listen to her talk about me like I'm not in the room for the rest of my life? And what's even worse is that you don't open your mouth to defend me, not even the slightest."

You turned around and walked in the direction of the car with Aaron on your heels. He unlocked the car so you could climb in, waiting to start the vehicle until you'd finished your conversation.

"I know that I let her get away with saying some inexcusable things. That's on me. What I'm telling you now is that I won't ever do it again. I'm aware that I've made mistakes—please let me fix them."

He opened the glovebox and found you a pack of tissues, moving the middle console so he could come closer. He dabbed at the mascara running down your face gently, trying not to irritate your skin. Your breathing was shaky and shallow as you tried to calm down, finally turning to look at him for the first time since you'd gotten in the vehicle. The minute your eyes caught his gaze, his face softened, his hand coming to cup your face as you leaned into his touch.

"She made me feel so stupid, Aaron. It's all I've thought about since it happened," Aaron took you in his arms, kissing you on the top of the head as you finally gave in and let him comfort you. He'd been gone so long it felt silly to fight it any longer; now that the air had been cleared, you finally felt like you'd be able to rest. You'd spent the week stressing about Haley and the interaction you'd had with her; wondering how you were going to confront Aaron and finish your conversation. Between that and your new job title, your week had been a big ball of nerves. You were finally getting the chance to calm down a little.

"I love you so much. I'm so sorry she made you feel that way; I'll never let her get away with it again baby. I thought I was keeping the peace, but I was just making a mess," he explained, letting go of you long enough to try to get a look at your features in the darkness of the car. He hated to see you upset, especially because of something that he'd done.

"I love you. I know you had good intentions, Aaron. I also know we're both new to this. We're gonna figure it out together, okay?"

Aaron was thankful for your patience; he'd never expected to love anyone else, so he was clueless as to what he was supposed to do when it came to Haley. Clearly he hadn't been making the right choices up to this point; he'd have to change or risk losing you, and that wasn't happening.

"Together. Now let's get you that milkshake."

✨✨✨

Later that night you were tucked into bed next to him, his shirt draped over your body, his hand on your bare thigh as the tv droned on in the background. You stopped paying attention to it when his hand began to move upward, his eyes still trained on the television. Before you knew it, he was parting your thighs, scooting down on the bed so he could lay between your legs. It started innocently enough; his head on your thighs as he tried and failed to focus on the movie he'd picked out. Soon enough, he gave up, rolling over on his stomach so he could kiss the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. After a rocky start to your night, Aaron was going to make sure the remainder of the evening was spent making you happy.

"I love you—so fucking much," he breathed, his mouth hovering directly above your center, nothing but a tiny piece of fabric in the way.

"I love you, Aaron. Always," you promised him as his hands crept upward to pull your panties down. Aaron took a deep breath as he spread you open, eyes darting between you and your dripping core. He ran a teasing finger through your slick before settling on your clit, rubbing small, precise circles over your bundle of nerves. He always knew exactly how to touch you, driving you mad as soon as his hands were on your body.

"Yes baby," you panted, so Aaron sped up a little, his lips curling into a grin as you shook, your legs wiggling with a mind of their own. Aaron yanked his shirt over his head and disappeared between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips, causing your back to arch immediately. Aaron's tongue was relentless against you, the orgasms becoming more powerful as time passed by. Aaron loved seeing you like this, your eyes glassy, lips pouty and swollen as you stared down at him.

Aaron would never get tired of pleasuring you—it was something that he quite literally ached to do. His mind ran rampant with thoughts of how he could fuck you, new things he could try with his tongue to keep you satisfied. He wasn't typically the kind of man to try new things, but late at night when he was away from you, he'd browse the internet for things that he'd never expected to enjoy, making a mental list of things he could introduce to you.

Aaron's mouth worked tirelessly against you, and soon enough he was coating his finger in your arousal so he could slip it into you, curling it perfectly against your sweet spot. You saw stars as his finger pumped into you and his tongue swirled around your clit, your hands falling to his hair out of reflex. He whimpered as you tugged lightly at his hair, so you peered down to make sure what you'd done was okay. You hadn't expected him to be looking back at you, his cheeks tinted red, his lips glistening in the lamp light.

"Do that again," he hissed, so you pulled a little bit harder and he nodded, licking his lips before he reattached them to your core. He was always so content between your legs; you could only lay back and enjoy him in all of his perfection, baffled that you had such an attentive, loving man.

Aaron had lost count of how many times you'd came on his tongue; he wasn't sure any amount would ever be enough to satisfy his hunger for you. He'd been busy so long that when he glanced to his left, he noticed the sky changing from a dusky purple to a kaleidoscope of pinks and oranges. He chuckled lowly as he came up on his knees, nodding to the window so you could see too.

"I want to be inside of you as the sun comes up," he whispered, taking his time pressing into you. He was always so patient with you, giving you plenty of time to adjust to his massive member—you'd never get used to the way he felt when he first slid into you. His hand found yours as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips as his hips began to move. You were finally to the point that there wasn't a single moment of being uncomfortable anymore—it was all pleasure now. You were amazed how he could always make you feel like you were on top of the world; it was a feeling you never expected to go away.

"You're perfect, baby. You make me feel complete," he told you before his lips connected with yours, possessive but so tender—it made your heart swell ten sizes.

"I hope you stay forever," you said through clenched teeth as you found your high, Aaron's lips pressing kisses along your neck and jaw as he fucked you through your orgasm. You could tell by the way his pace had quickened slightly that he was close, seconds away from his own release. You held his face in your hands, making sure he was looking right at you.

"Fill me up, Aaron, please," you begged, and Aaron came with a shudder as soon as the words left your mouth. Your sensual words were music to his ears, and he hoped the more time you spent being intimate together, the more open you'd be. You were still getting the hang of things now, trying to figure out what you liked, what felt good. Aaron was glad that it was him to be able to help you through it all.

The sun crept over the horizon just as he slid out of you and got you cleaned up. For a moment he just stood and watched until you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, kissing the middle of his back.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" You said, admiring the colors of the morning sky, something you usually missed because you were asleep.

"It is. I'm glad I got to see it with you," he turned to kiss you, letting you wrap up in the covers before he came to join you. He knew he'd be exhausted later, that the two of you would have a hard time sleeping now that the sun was out, but he didn't regret a minute of it, not when you were by his side for it.

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#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #ssa aaron hotchner #ssa hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner x reader #ssa aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x fem!reader smut #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #hotch smut

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mama-qwerty · 10 months

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You know how ferrets will gather up and hoard stuff? I imagine Eclipse does the same. Callie can't find her serving spoons so she goes to search his room

The gremlin would TOTALLY hoard stuff. ~~~~~

"MOM! WHERE'S MY APPLE HOODIE??"

"How should I know? Clean your room and maybe you'll find it."

"I DID AND IT'S NOT HERE!"

"I don't think it's in the laundry, so look again. It's gotta be there."

"IT'S NOT!!"

"THEN I DON'T KNOW SILVER, STOP YELLING ACROSS THE HOUSE!!"

Callie heaved a sigh as she shook her head. She loved that little hedgehog to bits but sometimes that boy couldn't see something even if it were right in front of his face.

Besides, she had her own problems.

She opened another drawer. They shouldn't have been in here in the first place, so it was no surprise when she didn't find them. With a grunt she closed it again, her brow furrowed.

Her measuring spoons were missing. She'd looked everywhere--in the dishwasher, under the counter, in every drawer in the kitchen--they just weren't anywhere. Like they'd grown legs and wandered off.

A lot of stuff around the house seemed to have developed that ability lately.

Clothes. Her spoons. Bits and pieces out of the trash. A few of her hair ties. (Okay, the cats may be behind that mystery, as she'd caught Bloom tossing one in the air to chase a few days ago.)

She and Silver always seemed to be missing something. If it were just Silver, she could brush it off as his forgetfulness. He often just put things down and forgot where.

But it wasn't just him. Callie was nowhere near a neat-freak, but she liked things in a certain order. (Because, she too would lose things if she didn't have a specific place to put them.) And those things were walking away, too. Things she knew she'd put away properly.

So, if she was losing things, and Silver was losing things, that left one other person in the house as a possible suspect. And he hadn't complained about anything going missing.

With a sigh, Callie headed toward the stairs. It was time to ask her second son a few questions.

~X~X~X~

Eclipse hunkered down in his closet, hugging his knees to his chest. His gold-on-black eyes flickered over his treasures. Things no one else cared about. But they were special to him.

His newest acquisition was a small set of spoons all connected with a little plastic ring. They fit neatly inside each other, but could also spread out like a little fan. He'd seen them in a drawer in the kitchen, and they never seemed to be used, so he figured they were okay to take. They were neat. He liked spreading them out and then tucking them back together.

He smiled. This stuff was his. His. And it made him happy.

A knock made him gasp, and he scurried out of his closet and closed the door behind him. Then he moved to the bedroom door, and opened it a crack. Callie stood in the hallway, and gave him a little smile.

"Hey, Monkey. Can I come in?"

Eclipse narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

She shrugged. "'Cause I wanna talk to you."

"Can't we talk downstairs?"

Callie raised an eyebrow. "Some reason we can't talk in your room? You hiding something?"

"NO!"

Eclipse groaned inwardly. That sounded suspicious. And by the look on his adoptive mom's face, she thought so, too. He cursed himself and begrudgingly opened the door wider to let her in.

"Thanks, oh suspicious son of mine," she said with a little smile as she walked in. He didn't have a bed to sit on--he slept in a hammock hanging in the far corner of the room--so she lowered herself to sit cross-legged on the floor. She patted the spot in front of her. "C'mere. I wanna ask you something."

With a sigh, the little darkling moved to sit down, copying her pose. His tail curled around to the front, and he absently grabbed the end to squeeze and tug.

"Silver and I have been having some things going missing around the house lately," she said, her voice soft. She ran a hand down his head as she spoke. "I was wondering if you had anything go missing, too."

Eclipse kept his eyes trained on the tail in his hands. He shook his head. "Nuh uh."

"Oh, well, that's good. Because it can be really frustrating to have something you need disappear. And, depending what it is, it could also be a little hurtful. If it was something that meant a lot to you."

Eclipse ducked his head a little lower.

She knew. Somehow she knew what he'd been doing.

He hadn't thought about making anyone frustrated or hurt--he just saw the stuff laying around the house, not being used. If it wasn't being used, that meant it wasn't wanted, right? Better for him to pick it up and keep it safe instead of abandoned, neglected, and tossed aside without a second thought. Because that was a horrible feeling. A terrible, horrible, awful feeling.

He bit his lip as he felt his mom's eyes watching him. She didn't say anything else, and it didn't feel like she was mad at him, but her gaze felt heavy all the same.

"Do you know what happened to everything that's gone missing?"

The question was soft and gentle. Not accusatory. Not blaming. Not angry.

Eclipse swallowed hard.

Without a word, he stood and walked to his closet. He pulled the door open, standing with his head lowered as the light from his room spilled inside.

His gaze was on the floor, but he saw his mother push herself to stand, and move over to look inside the closet. After inspecting the pile of stuff, she turned and hunkered down to tuck a knuckle beneath his chin and lift his gaze to meet hers.

"Tell me about this," she said, her voice still so soft. "Help me understand."

Eclipse stared at her for a few seconds, before pulling his face away and stalking to another corner. His brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms.

"Doesn't matter," he hissed, turning away from her. "Just take the stuff and punish me.

"Why do you deserve to be punished? Did you take these things to be mean?"

The question caught him off-guard and he turned quickly. "No!"

"Were you going destroy them? To try and hurt me and Silver?"

"No!"

"Then why?"

"Because I never had anything of my own!" he yelled, his teeth clenched and hands balled into fists. "No one had anything on the Black Comet, and everything that was there belonged to all. I never had anything that was just mine. And all that stuff was just left around the house, not being used. Abandoned."

A look of understanding seemed to blossom over Callie's face then, and she moved closer to him, gently taking his hands in hers.

"I understand," she said, a little smile on her face. "I do. And I'm not mad. But you can't just take other people's things. It's not that big a deal here in our family, but if you take something that doesn't belong to you, that's stealing, and it's wrong. You could get into a lot of trouble if you stole something from a store or someone else. Understand?"

He furrowed his brow. "Even if they're not using it?"

She nodded. "Even if they're not using it. It's still theirs, and you can't just take it. Promise me you won't do this again?" He thought about it for a minute, before nodding. "Good. Tell you what, let's sort through the stuff in your closet, and we'll see what you can keep. And next time we go to the store, you can pick something out just for you. Okay?"

Eclipse looked at her for a long moment, before a little smile spread over his lips. "Okay!"

~X~X~X~

Over the next half hour, Eclipse pulled everything out of his closet, and Callie separated it into three piles--one for Silver's things, one for hers or the house, and one for the things Eclipse could keep. She sacrificed a few of her things, and some stuff from the kitchen and living room for his pile, making a mental note to pick up replacements the next time she went shopping.

But the happy smile on her boy's face was well worth the additional expense.

~~~

Like this? Check out my other shorties. Reblogs are appreciated!

#ask me #ask shortie #ames stuff #eclipse the darkling #callie macpherson #sonic fanfiction #silver the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog fanfiction

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queenangst · 1 year

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DARE I REQUEST… 1 & Neverafter? In my head im thinking Pinocchio and his father, but im also thinking of PIB and Tomás, but I’d be very psyched for more Neverafter pieces

sorry about the blood in your mouth i wish it was mine + pinocchio & geppetto (and mother goose) | read on ao3

Pinocchio doesn't know why he goes to Tim.

Maybe it's 'cause, like, Mother Goose is one of the only adults in their little crew. Maybe it's because all of the times Tim will put a hand on Pinocchio's shoulder—not hesitating for a moment for his fingers to rest on wood—and say a little word of encouragement, or maybe it's the way Tim tells stories, steady and just the right way.

Maybe it's the greying hair and the smile. Maybe it's that Mother Goose is a dad, and Pinocchio is a kid. Not his son, not his kid. But:

"So, uh," Pinocchio says. "Hey."

Tim smiles easily. "Here, come on, why don't you sit."

"Sure."

"You find any good hot dogs?"

"What? Oh," Pinocchio says, and holds up his empty hands. "Not really. Guess they got eaten. I kinda wanted to talk to you or whatever. That's all."

Tim turns fully. He's a pretty transparent guy, not a particularly good liar really, but Pinocchio likes that about him. That there's someone who gets it—lying is necessary, to survive—but who's still bad at it, in the kind of way that means he doesn't like it. It means he doesn't really hide the surprise that flits across his face, or the warmth.

"Not about the hot dogs."

"Not about the hot dogs," Pinocchio agrees, and tries to figure out how to say it. "It's about my dad, actually. Um."

Everyone knows about Mom, now. Ugh, not Mom. Stepmother, with a The in front too, apparently. Her. And they kind of know about Dad from that snatch of memory they'd shared, which is honestly a pretty bad impression, 'cause Dad was just upset even though Pinocchio had tried to do the right thing, lying.

He must be silent for a little too long, because Tim goes, "...Pinoch?"

"Yeah. I guess I just wanted to, well, there's just some stuff I wanted to say to him when I can see him but I don't—I don't think that's gonna be anytime soon. So maybe we could workshop a tight five?"

Tim laughs. "Sure."

In the same way everyone kind-of-knows about Pinocchio's dad, everyone also kind-of-knows about Jack. That story was told quick and tied up neatly when Tim brought it up. A book, a wish, and a Gander. The end.

Pinocchio thinks there's blood in that story that got left out. There's blood in his.

"What do you want to tell him?"

When Pinocchio was a real boy, real-real, he'd picked up a few habits. Mostly bad ones, of course; but one of them was cracking his knuckles. He saw Candlewick do it and thought it was cool. Something about the feeling, and the sound.

Even after he turned back, he still does it sometimes. It doesn't work the same way with wood, doesn't crack, but he's carried it over anyway. He cracks his knuckles. Left, then right.

"I'm sorry about lying, I guess," Pinocchio says.

He twists his nose in his hand. On his face, under splinters, there's a dull ache.

He is sorry about lying. That it was one of the only things Dad asked of him, to not. He is not sorry about lying to save Dad. Or lying to get a ride, or a little money, to survive.

My son, Dad said, when he saw Pinocchio as a real boy. Tears welled in his eyes.

"You needed to," Tim says gently. "I would've lied too."

"Yeah." Not that the lie had saved Dad, in the end. Just spared both of them some time. "But I'm still sorry, anyway. I just don't regret it."

"It's okay if you tell him that, too, you know."

Pinocchio swallows. Another human trait.

"I miss him. A lot."

Darkness swallowing him. A low, throaty sound that sends vibrations right through him. A flickering candle at the bottom of the ocean.

The whole time, Dad said, I was only worried about you. If you were safe, and okay. If you were hungry. If you'd gotten into trouble and I couldn't help you.

Tim sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. "I get that."

"I don't really wanna go back," Pinocchio says, not to the life of worrying about every single little thing, about performing, about being good and whatever that meant. Back doesn't mean simpler, either, just different.

And even if Pinocchio could go back now, if Tim's book could magic up some spot in that story... he'd know. That things could be different. That the story was a story. That most of it was never really his in a way that mattered.

Won't it hurt him? Pinocchio asked. Isn't there any other way?

If you want us all to be happy, you need to help me. If you're going to help me, you need power. If you need power, you need blood. And you don't have blood.

So—be good, Pinocchio.

"I want him to be safe," Pinocchio mutters. He leans, without thinking about it. He's a little too old to play pretend even if he closes his eyes, pretend that it's not Tim but it's Dad instead. "I know even when- when he messed up he just wanted to take care of me. And I want to, I need to make sure he's okay."

There are still a hundred, a thousand, versions of Dad, he thinks. But not his dad, the one who held him gently even as a puppet to layer lacquer on him; the one who took the coat off his back, shivering in the cold, and sold it for a single school book Pinocchio doesn't remember the contents of. Not the one who wrapped his arm around Pinocchio as they stood on the tuna's back and headed home.

"We'll find your dad," Tim says.

"Pib says we got a long list of bullshit to do."

"We'll add it to the list. It's important."

His nose is still dark, stained in this world with blood from the last. His dad's sacrifice. His love. His care. His pain.

There's one more thing he needs to tell Dad. He doesn't say this one out loud, just thinks it, I'm sorry you hurt for me. I wish it could be me.

He's not sorry for lying. But he's sorry the lie took his blood away, so Dad had to bleed instead.

"Right," Pinocchio says. "Okay. I'm trying to figure out how to tell this joke right, but I don't think it wood work. You know what I mean?"

Tim throws his head back and laughs. He squeezes Pinocchio's shoulder.

"We'll workshop everything," he says, "and the next time you say all of this it'll be to your dad, okay?"

#screams #i was gonna do pib and tomas TOO and then this one just kept Going #sorry i know its pinoch and tim but its really ABOUT pinoch and geppetto frrrrr #asks #siken fic prompts #d20 #d20 fanfic #my fanfic #d20 neverafter #neverafter #pinocchio #geppetto #timothy goose

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burglarhobbit · 10 months

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Hey! Hope this isn’t a weird question, but I was curious about the co-writing process on “after the storm (are you leaving)”. What is it like to write with someone else? And how do you split up who writes what bits/editing before posting?Just kind of interested in the creative processes of other fic writers 😅

hi! not a weird question at all, don't worry.

so i see @silk-scarlet-ribbons already answered the question; I don't know how much of a different answer I can give you, but I'll try my best. so they already mentioned that it really helps that we didn't go into this as co-writers, I guess, but that we're really close. more than that, even, I think what helped us co-write this fic (and anything else we've written) is that we both view characters very similarly and that we enjoy the same kind of plots (and, perhaps, more important, dislike the same kind of things lmao). we both have a similar view of what we like to see, not just story-wise, but writing-wise, and I'm not sure if writing together would've gone as smoothly if one of us wanted a very romantic story while the other one doesn't vibe with that.

scar already said that we usually were in a room with each other when we were writing. this really helped us shape the story we wanted to write together because we got to talk about it as we were writing, asking for input, thinking about where to go with it next. the number of times one of us was like "wait!! yeah say that, because then I can--" is probably in the hundreds. it's just a lot of fun to be able to write that way with someone you trust. when we were reading back our stories together, we'd usually go like "oh I love how I wrote x and you took it and did y" because that's just... how it went?

i'll actually talk about the process a bit because phew this is already getting long. so what we did for "after the storm" is a little different from how we did other fics (but similarly to how we did "how I could love you" iirc). we started out nearly snaking into each other's sentences. when scar says that we don't remember who wrote what, it most notably refers to "a tale of ivory table cloth and ruined weddings" in which we were nearly lying on top of each other laughing at the other's writing and neatly stopping them after 2-3 paragraphs to continue on. that might have been the purest co-writing we've done in that sense, because then we were just switching mid-sentence at times when we were thinking of something funny. our merlin fics were mostly written together but we weren't always in the same room for that, so what we did is this: one of us wrote one scene (we usually kind of debated what we wanted to say with that scene, but unless it was one of the "important" scenes, we usually let the other person pick the setting) and then would write the start of the next scene. obviously depending a little bit on if we knew how we wanted to continue or if someone else had an idea. the nice thing about co-writing is that sometimes I would tell scar or text them that I didn't know where to go next, and they'd be like "oh what about this? I'll pick up with that" and the other way around. one of us always had an idea. when we did both know where to go, we had a rare couple of occasions both of us wanted to write something, but there's always a couple of different scenes we really vibed with so then we'd just compromise or divide up the scene. we always love what the other one comes up with, so in the end it doesn't even really matter who writes what. I'm the one who usually ended up writing the more romantic bits, I think, but that's as far as our "preferences" went.

(oh and I'll say this: scar and I both tend to write pretty fast. this is fortunate, because then we ended up writing very, very fast together because we were egging each other on (probably mostly me. I'm impatient). it definitely helped while we were writing together though because we could write a scene pretty fast and have the other person continue on without having to sit there for hours without anything to do.)

even if we both had a different idea of where to go, we tended to talk it out and quickly end up agreeing on an idea, so I don't think we ever really had any issues in this direction. as I said, I really think it's most important that you co-write with someone who shares your view of what a story is about and what the characters are like, and you'll never run into too much trouble. scar and I live anywhere between 6-11 hours of a time difference at any given time these days so co-writing has been a hassle to figure out, but I really miss it, because when you have a good co-writer, it's the most fun thing in the world.

#i feel this ask allowed me to ramble abt how much i love writing with scar and feeling nostalgic for those days #i also hoped it actually answered the questions lmao #liz talks

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anghraine · 1 year

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I occasionally see people point out that, whatever D&D's inspirations, its classes etc don't map neatly onto Middle-earth. True! I once invented a Númenórean stat block because (as written) they fit so poorly into the standard species/races/cultures.

That said, I don't think the classes map as badly as they might.

For instance, 5e wizards are often seen as one of the main hurdles, since Tolkien's wizards are not really a class in the sense of the standard D&D wizard and would be wildly overpowered for the setting if they were. This is also true. Tolkien wizards are not like D&D wizards; it's more a mixture of species (Maiar) and vocation (divine), and anyway, they'd be NPCs unless you could work with something like Volo's version of aasimar+Tasha's flexibility and flavor them appropriately.

But that doesn't mean that there's nothing at all like D&D wizards in Middle-earth! Only that they're not called wizards. Characters in Middle-earth with sufficient personal attributes can certainly become skilled in sorcery or enchantment or similar things through study and learning, which doesn't actually map onto D&D sorcery at all, but does map decently onto D&D wizardry.

For instance, the Mouth of Sauron is a Númenórean sorcerer (closest to a 5e wizard) who studied and learned evil magic, while Galadriel's native abilities seem much amplified by studying under Melian. Galadriel would have likely multi-classed over her long lifetime and ultimately shifted towards magic, but the version of Galadriel who fought at Alqualondë might have been an Eldritch Knight, say.

Some classes are naturally easy to fit to many characters, like Artificer (Celebrimbor and Narvi! Fëanor!), while some would be difficult for a PC. Warlock, say—though now I'm wondering if Sauron would be an Artificer, or a Talisman warlock of Morgoth—I do feel like he makes a lot of sense as a charisma caster, Annatar-wise...

Meanwhile, Rangers in LOTR aren't necessarily equivalent to 5e rangers. I think Aragorn is either a core fighter with a great roll on stats and healing feats or multi-classing, or one of the most melee-oriented paladins. Faramir makes the most sense for paladin for sure, IMO—probably of the Crown, with Zone of Truth. Fear effects taking over his allies when he falls unconscious is exactly how the paladin Aura of Courage works, too.

If Middle-earth wizards were allowed, you could go with paladin as well, though I might make an argument for combining Maiar as a species with either cleric (really!) or even celestial warlocks. The wizards aren't clerics as we think of them, but they are emissaries of the Valar, and Gandalf makes some Eru-sounding references and clearly has put some points into WIS. Celestial warlocks, meanwhile, specialize in fire and radiance, which is very much his deal, and I could believe he's gaining some of his abilities from greater powers as well as his ring.

I think now that I've talked myself into "maybe Nienna is a warlock patron" I'll stop, but it's fun to think about!

#anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #dungeons and dragons #long post #deep blogging #anghraine's gaming #now i have to contemplate it for pathfinder :P

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moonstream-05 · 1 year

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5 times Sky wanted to experience what Brandon did + 1 time he did

A little writing piece about Sky and Brandon (Sky's perspective)

Hope you enjoy :)

Sky had known Brandon from his first memory, Brandon was older than he by a good few months, not that it mattered now, but as a child, Sky had thought it to be the coolest thing (and maybe he was a tad jealous). He'd vocalized this to his parents, but he'd been dismissed, his mother saying, 'you're a prince Sky, grow up,' and his father saying, 'wait till you're King, then everyone will be jealous.'

Sky was happy to admit he'd never taken any of that advice.

Moving forward in his memories was nicer, he remembered things more clearly and they were happier: he’d gotten to hang out with a family! He remembered the first dinner he spent with Brandon and it was absolutely divine. The food made was homely and conversation flew easily, and he was included.

He was 8 and Brandon was 9, making his sisters about 5 and 3 if Sky was able to recall correctly. They'd stared at him and he remembered being creeped out, brown eyes and green eyes staring directly into the soul, until the elder one said, “You've got pretty blue eyes!”

Young Brandon had, very kindly, replied, “Don't be a creep!”

Before taking Sky's hand to drag him to Brandon's room. Sky remembered thinking it was absolutely tiny. There was a bed neatly tucked into the corner with a bookshelf over the top of it, stuffed with books about fighting. At the bottom of the bed was a box which was also packed, but with toys instead. There was a calendar on the other side of the room, atop the yellow walls. There was a wardrobe too, it was covered with stickers but one of the doors was slightly off the hinges. Brandon’s bed covers were different too, the covers a dark blue and the curtains were a dark red. The room was also messy, very messy; Brandon didn’t seem to care.

“This is my room,” Brandon had said, smiling.

Sky remembered smiling in response. They spent a lot of the day chatting on the bed, jumping off of the bed and playing with the toys from the bottom box. Sky even remembered playing a short game of hide and seek, where they’d taken turns in hiding under the bed or within the wardrobe. It had already been a great day.

Brandon’s mom had come up, and opened the door with a smile to the two, “Dinners almost ready boys, want to help us set the table?”

Sky didn’t know what that was at the time, but Brandon sure seemed happy to comply.

They put the forks down and the knives, and Brandon’s dad even let them help light the candle, Sky had been mesmerized.

The five of them had then eaten dinner, conversation throughout and he had adored it! He wasn’t excluded from the family conversations and the adults had even talked to him. The only thing he hated about dinner was the finishing, and being finished meant he had to go home, those were the conditions set by his parents.

“We hope you enjoyed today, Sky,” Brandon’s mom had said, eyes crinkling.

Brandon’s dad had agreed and continued, “We’d be more than happy to have you again.”

Brandon had shouted, “Yeah!”

Sky had wanted that and said as much.

When he’d gotten home, his mother sent him straight to bed. His bedroom felt empty, the walls were the same color, a miserable white. And yes his room was massive but it didn’t scream him, like Brandon’s had.

He had said at dinner with his parents, “Do you think we could decorate my room?”

His mother had frankly responded, “Sky, do not talk at the dinner table, what have we said?”

Sky remained silent. And had contemplated what he’d experienced at his friend’s. He decided he might be a little bit jealous of that family life.

Brandon and he were 13, and were at Brandon’s as per usual. Brandon’s dad was with them too though, something rather rare for the Eraklyon guard, due to the packed schedule. They were being taught how to fight, with a sword.

It was the condition for Brandon’s father to actually have time off for his wife’s pregnancy, to teach Sky how to defend himself. Brandon had been joining in.

Sky had been taller than Brandon for a while, but Brandon was slowly catching up, Sky had loved to hold that over his head.

During their training, they’d both been doing well, Sky had been excelling though, feeling a preference towards the more ‘classic’ weapons, a shield and sword. But he was more looking forward to the broadsword, he didn’t know why, it just looked cool, really. It was tall and well wide, and if used well could split earth, a rare weapon among specialists, something he aspired to be.

Brandon, to put it nicely, had been clueless, at least at the beginning of the lessons before he became more confident by the end. Sky knew this would be the case, due to their different backgrounds, but thought he’d have been a bit more knowledgeable due to the multiple books of fighting that now littered Brandon’s room. Still, Sky wasn’t judgemental, Brandon was his best friend.

Sky remembered voicing his excitement to his friend, Brandon hadn’t shared the same excitement, but still voiced his enjoyment, especially over the fact that they’d actually be getting a different teacher, opposed to his dad. Sky hadn’t and still didn’t understand why Brandon was excited to not be taught by his dad, Brandon’s dad had always been great. Though, Sky hadn’t shown his bewilderment over the statement.

Once they arrived at the designated area for the lesson, they were introduced to their ‘teacher’, a younger member of Eraklyon’s Royal Guard, who was to be supervised by Brandon’s dead.

His name was Ezra, and he was tall and muscled and very smiley. He had blonde hair that was tied up in a ponytail, and had sparkly blue eyes. Sky had remembered wanting to be just like him.

Throughout the lesson he provided gentle encouragement, along with the advice. He had structured the lesson, in a very effective way (Sky had thought): to begin with Ezra had shown the posed and moves without the sword and had had the two copy him; then there were wooden broadswords where Ezra had showed them how to grip effectively and then they copied the moves with the wooden swords.

Sky had thought it had gone great, the sword didn’t exactly feel right but he’d put it down to the well, wooden make of the weapon. Ezra had agreed and promised that in the next few weeks he would provide the two with ‘proper swords, that would suit their sizes’. Sky hadn’t been able to contain his excitement.

A few weeks had passed, the twos training had continued to go well, there was always the looming sense of excitement for if the two’s broadswords had been sorted. Finally, that day arrived.

Sky had jumped around in excitement (though he will deny it to anyone who asks), and couldn’t wait to try the sword out. They had to have a refresher session, before actually using the weapons (which made sense, but Sky had been so eager). The strikes, the moves, the hold was recapped, and then, Ezra placed the sword in Sky’s hands.

He had wobbled. He’d managed to steady himself, but he felt off balance, like it was too heavy, which didn’t make sense, it was made for him, ‘why didn't it work?’ He’d been thinking. He had been holding it correctly, but it had felt so loose in his hands. Whenever he’d tried to do a move, or anything really, with the sword, his whole balance was spun around. And for a moment he had stopped; he saw Brandon, who’d been frolicking around with the sword.

It was hard not to feel bitter about it.

Brandon and he had grown a lot. Brandon now towered over most people and Sky wasn’t to be considered short by other planets, despite being ‘average’ on Eraklyon. Despite his physical growth, his parents still refused to allow him to leave the planet at all, not even to attend Red Fountain.

“I can’t believe this,” Sky complained to Brandon, the both of them hanging out in Brandon’s (now tiny) room.

“Why don’t you just talk to them some more, dude?” Brandon replied, flicking his fringe away from his eyes.

“The only way they’d let me leave is if I had constant protection, which would look ridiculously stupid in a hero school,” Sky said, groaning, before contemplating, “Unless… Brandon, how would you feel about attending Red Fountain with me?”

Brandon looked taken aback, “You know, I’d love it. You also know, my parents can’t afford that. They’ve got other kids too, and are barely considered middle class.”

Sky smirked, before running to the castle shouting back, “Leave that to me!”

He approached his father, explained an idea, “Father, you know how much I would love to go to the school and I respect that you are worried, but I have a solution to a multitude of problems.”

Erendor looked up at his son, and raised his eyebrow, “Go on.”

“My friend Brandon, also wants to go to this school, and well you know he’s a very skilled fighter, and as payment you could pay for his well schooling fee?” Sky explained, speedily.

“While that is a wonderful thought son,” Erendor started, voice dragging, “We’d much rather someone to be a decoy, unless, I suppose… show me a photo of him.”

Sky complied, rather embarrassed at the fact his father could not remember his best friend and the son of his quite frankly underpaid Captain of the Guard. He got a recent photo up, one Brandon’s mom had taken of them by a tree on a family outing they’d all been on.

His father closely inspected the photo, he then looked up at Sky, “This could work. He’d have to be tested and appointed to your Squire, if he does well. But he certainly could pass as a Prince, as well as your protector, if he fights like the brute he looks.”

Over the next few days, Brandon underwent many trials and had been appointed to Squire. Sky had never been more proud of his best friend, though he may have been slightly bitter over his friend’s ability to gain the approval of his parents, something he’d struggled with plenty.

Sky couldn't help but look on in amusement at the flirting between Brandon and Stella, that he’d gotten a few months off of, due to Stella’s expulsion. It was fun to tease the two of them. Or it had been last year. Not now, not now that he knew Brandon would tease him right back about Bloom. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to be thankful for the advice provided, Sky would just nod along in hopes to get his friend to shut up.

How Brandon could confidently flirt, he had no clue, maybe it was the fact he and Stella were a sure thing. Or maybe Brandon just really had insane amounts of confidence when it came to that sort of thing, which he would be jealous about if that were the case.

Everything had been revealed, the ‘truth’ given away by his own father, who had been the one to come up with this stupid plan. He felt numb. He felt guilty. He couldn’t do anything to change it. He couldn’t blame those who looked at him with hate.

He had flashes of the faces he saw when it happened: Bloom’s tear ridden faced, eyes red and puffy; Stella’s haunted face that got more hollow as he stared; Timmy’s face decorated with anger, something rarely displayed by him; Riven’s look of unsurprised surprise; Flora’s confused and quiet rage; Musa’s contrasting loud outrage; Tecna’s uncertainty and Brandon’s look of shame, embarrassment, mortification.

The girls seemed to disappear with a flash, Timmy and Riven walked away. Diaspro had long stormed off. Brandon was stationary, frozen, statuesque.

They’d gotten home, Timmy had already left, Riven too. It was just the Prince and Squire.

Brandon was silent, Sky tried, but conversation didn’t prevail. Sky tried to contact everyone to explain everything, yet no one listened, everyone had hung him up if he could call them, most who he’d had a friendship with had blocked him.

Brandon remained silent.

Sky knew exactly what Brandon was feeling but didn’t. He felt both. A lot of times he’d wished he could feel or experience what Brandon felt, he didn’t now, because he felt the same.

#winx sky #winx brandon #angst #oneshot #winx club #moonstream's stuff :)#hope you enjoy #sky angst #then a bit of Brandon angst

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boliv-jenta · 2 years

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When the West Was Wild

Masterlist

Silva x OFC (no description, a last name is given in later chapters)

Story summary: A women making her own way in the lawless West has her quiet night interrupted by a stranger in need. While helping him she finds a few unmet needs of her own.

Chapter summary: Some news brings some much needed clarity. Will they finally confess how they feel?

Warnings: light smut, pining, angst.

In one of her first articles about moving out west she had pushed the importance of communication in a relationship. Which was funny now since she had zero communication with her husband. Now hearing 'We need to talk' from Silva,it was the last thing she wanted to do.

The rolling of her stomach told her nothing good was going to come out of his mouth. The only things she wanted to talk to him about were things like how she adored the way he spoke in Spanish to himself when he was concentrating. Or how he silently repeated words that he liked from her books as she read them. Or how he always asked if she wanted help before taking over, even if she was struggling with something. He always respected her abilities. Respected her. She wanted to talk to him about him staying with her.

"It's not safe for me to stay." Her stomach lurched. The uneasy feeling that had been settled there since Silva arrived swelled. It had been ever present, worse when she lay in her lonely bed of a morning and wondered if today was the day he would leave. She tried to bury it in her work, her preparations for winter, she tried to fill the dark pit it created with food. All that got her was tighter clothes and a new sweet tooth.

As much as didn't want this day to come, she knew it had to. "I understand."

"You have been nothing but kind to me. I appreciate all the warmth you have afforded me but I've taken advantage of your hospitality too long. Now I've brought the law to your door. It don't matter to them if you're innocent or not they can hide behind that badge to take whatever they want. Not to be vulgar, but a pretty lady like you shouldn't be brought to their attention."

For all her thoughts of being the heroine of her story, she suddenly felt like the damsel. Her heart pounded at the hint of admiration from him. Pretty lady like you. Her mind wandered back to before Sheriff Rockwood knocked, when she thought he might have kissed her. Maybe she hadn't imagined it. Maybe he did have intentions toward her. Pretty lady like you.

"I will miss your companionship terribly but I should go. If you don't mind, I'll take a day or two to prepare. If there's anything I can do to help before I leave you let me know. Imma turn in for the night." With that he turned and retreated to his bedroom.

His bedroom. No longer a spare empty room. His room. His cot was there, with it's new mattress that she'd purchased for him. He had declined to take it at first. Protested at her wasting her money. She had brushed it off as a purchased she intended to make anyway, for any visitors from home. Next to his cot was a small table, his gift to her, made with his own hands. On top of it rested a few books that she had bought him, they contained the fundamentals of reading. When he said he couldn't read, he had simplified it. He could identify a lot of words by sight. It was new words he couldn't decode. She was helping him with that, they'd even started writing together. A small square of paper with her name written in his hand was always tucked into her apron, next to her gun.

Said apron hung was folded neatly on the chair. With the rest of her clothes now that she had turn in for the night too. Sleep eluded her, the dread of Silva's departure, the unanswered questions all kept her mind working over time. To her shame, the thing that was distracting her the most was the tingle between her legs. She had never been the most pious woman. She didn't believe that a god would deny her pleasure in this world. The shamed stemmed from the cause of the tingle. The warm, firm touch of Silva's hand on her waist was vivid in her mind. Those hands that had been proven to be capable of so much. As she slipped her hand under her nightdress, she thought about all the other things she would like to thing those hands were capable of. Biting down on her quilt to muffle the sound, her body shook with her peak soon after. Satisfaction rolled through her, temporary replacing the guilt of thinking about a gentleman in such a way. If she hadn't been so caught up in her own needs, she might have heard the soft grunt of Silva fulfilling his own needs in the room next door.

Breakfast was a quiet affair the next morning. They ate and tidied up quickly. Silva when up the trail to the Thomas's stables. He wanted to give his horses shoes a good clean before the journey. The autumn day was still quite mild, she enjoyed the sun's warmth on her back while she tidied the flower beds that boarder her yard. The trail beside it only lead out to the main road, the one that was much easier to access from town, or to Thomas and Mary's so it wasn't well travelled. That is why her warmth was suddenly ruined by the chill up her spine. A horse was galloping this way. It was moving so quickly she hardly had time to stand and turn before the horse and it's rider were upon her. Blinking against the sun, she eventually recognised the horse, a Smokey Black Missouri Fox Trotter. Annabelle. Jack, the post master's assistant sat atop of her. "Pardon me, Ma'am but this letter was marked urgent. I guess I got a little carried away with rushing to get here."

Annabelle nickered, clearly she enjoyed her run.

"No problem, Jack. Thank you for treating it with some urgency. Seem like Annabelle enjoyed stretching her legs. You be careful though." She patted the filly as Jack handed over the letter.

They wished each other a good day and Jack took off only slightly slower than he had arrived.

"Everything okay?" Silva panted beside her. His broad chest heaving as he caught his breath. Sweat dripping down his long next, which he dabbed with his bandana. The tingle between her legs competed with the flutter of her heart at the though of him running to see if she was alright.

"Just a letter. Jack got a little carried away with the urgency. You ran up here to check on me?" She eyed him coyly.

"Of course." He sounded shocked that she'd even think to ask that. Of course he had coming run. He would do anything for her.

"Let's get you some tea." A small reward in place of what she wanted to give him. Her hand. Her heart.

Sitting at the table across from Silva, she opened up the letter. "Oh my!"

Silva head shot up from his cup. "What is it?"

"My husband." She missed the scowl on his lips at the word. "He's missing. His father assumes he has ran off with one of his whores. He's asking me to take back what I said about my husband deserting me. If I claim that he is back with me, he is offering a substantial sum of money. He wants to save some face with his business partners."

Lying wasn't in her nature, too much time spend in circles where image was everything. Everyone lied about who they were, pretend to be someone they were not. Even not telling Silva the whole truth about her feelings was upsetting her. The money could come in very useful though. Her father had cut her off once she was married. It was her husbands job to provide for her. Her job paid well but it paid monthly. There were jobs than need to be done now. Thomas and Mary needed new fencing. Silva could use some money to take him wherever he needed to go to be safe.

Silva spoke up. "The way I see it people will make their own stories no matter what your words say. Why not take the money that rightfully should be yours anyway?"

He had a point. She turned the thought over in her mind for a long time. Silva had finished his tea and headed back out. Why shouldn't see take the money? She was long passed caring what those people thought. The realisation hit her so fast she was surprised it hadn't knocked her off her feet. She didn't care what they thought. She didn't care what they thought so what was stopping her courting Silva? Her husband was the one in the wrong. Breaking his vows the first chance he got. She had been waiting, secretly hoping he would woo her. That he would be the one to push for more to their relationship. For him to take the decision and part of the guilt from her. Why should she feel guilty for living her life? Back in New York, she fought for women's rights. Why was she now denying herself the right to be happy just because of some instilled sense of shame? A rush of excitement ran through her. When he came back, over dinner, she would tell him how she felt.

Silva removed his boots outside just like he had the night before, music was playing just like the night before, the only difference was the sound of her off key singing floating on the breeze. He suppressed a chuckle. She hadn't been wrong about her singing ability. Or about the fact that she enjoyed it. If he stood in just the right spot, he could see through a gap in the curtains. He would often stand there watching her cook, just for a moment, before entering. Those moments were special to him. He could imagine that he was coming home to his wife, to a lovingly prepared meal and her welcoming embrace. It held it to his heart before opening the door and letting it go. Each time it got harder to let it go.

He wasn't a good man but he tried to be. That should count for something. Shouldn't he be allowed a little happiness? The only people that should be concerned about whatever happened between them was them. For all he knew she felt the same as he did. Staying could be dangerous but he'd been here this long. No one knew who he was. No one knew about his crimes. He'd even kept them a secret from her. Much better for her to think him a murderer instead of a...he blinked the thought away, buried it as if she could hear it if he though it too loud. Murder could be justified out here, where it was every man for himself. He couldn't justify what he did. That was a part of him he had locked away. She would never need to see it, she could have the rest of him. He would give her everything else, do anything to prove his love.

Opening the door he was greeted with the scent of herbs and meat cooking. The taste replace his love confession on his tongue. "This smells amazing."

"Really? A new recipe for my readers. I thought we could try it." Her words were a little hurried with nerves. She took a breath. "Please, sit."

Walking towards her he had a better idea. "I was wondering if I could help? I've enjoyed you teaching me so far. I'm still not too good with chopping the herbs. Maybe you could...?" He'd already placed himself in front of the chopping board, standing just to the side of her. Some herbs were scattered across it. He picked up the knife.

"Like this?" He did his best to replicate her technique.

"Almost. Here." She took the knife to show him again.

"Oh. I see." Before she could pass the knife back his hand covered hers. His body pressed into her side. The muscles of his arm flexed against her as he repeated her motion. Her body relaxed into his. She needed to, her knees felt weak.

"Like this?" His voice was low, not that it needed to be loud. He was so close to her now, his breath ghosted the shell of her ear. When she turned to him, his nose brushed hers.

"Is this okay?" He breathed. Her head spun, did he mean his chopping, or him being so close? Was the stove on too high? It feels too warm in here. That was her last thought before everything went black.

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @quica-quica-quica

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #silva #silva x f!reader #strange way of life

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butterflies-and-blades · 10 months

Text

Session 8: Close Calls and the Briefest Brushes

My walk with Verca started quiet. The silence was heavy--it seemed we both had things we wanted to say, or at least knew there were things to say, and were hesitant to break that soundless wall.

Still feeling guilty about not asking Verca how his night had gone, I started by asking how he had slept. I had wanted to jump straight to whatever had happened when he grabbed my wrist, but it felt wrong to try breaking the tension with something that would likely only invite more. He said he slept fine. He also said that things were more intense than usual, which is an odd pair of sentiments to hold beside each other. Confused, I had asked what he meant by that, but he insisted it was nothing important. More of a disruption than anything. Unsure of what else to say about the dream, I reassured him that he can always talk to Talo and me if something is bothering him. I do not know how much he actually believed that, though; the best I can do is hope.

More silence wormed between us the way a persistent breeze separates the previously touching branches of nearby trees. That increasingly familiar ache at the top of my chest--tucked neatly behind my sternum, slid between my lungs--had returned.

Still trying to coax the words from my mouth, my struggle was interrupted when he spoke first, asking how I was doing.

The past day had been a series of heavy weights, one dropping down after another. With each addition, I felt less certain that I really knew myself. I was drowning in feelings, unable to even find the words to properly describe them. And I told Verca as much, which opened the door to ask what had happened before.

He initially tried to play it off as nothing, which was starting to resemble a familiar pattern. Keeping in line with the pattern, I kept pressing. I did not have any expectation of where the conversation would go, but I surely did not anticipate being asked if I had ever been aware of my heartbeat or pulse. Of course I had. I did not understand what that had to do anything, and he explained that he was surprised by how slow it had been--that he must be used to something faster because of being a tiefling. He said he had worried, but now that he knew it was normal for me, it was fine. Seeing my confusion, he took my hand and guided it to his wrist. Like when we first met and shook hands, his warmth was a pleasantly unexpected contrast to everything else.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. His heartbeat was the pounding hooves of a runaway horse beating against the ground. It sounded like he was on the verge of unraveling--like he might simply fall over any second. Waving away my worry, he pointed back to whatever went into his infernal constitution. And so we continued our walk.

Another handful of minutes later, as we were turning a corner and the fountain was peaking into sight, a frigid thought slid to the front of my mind. There were details surrounding John that had not made sense. As much as I hated entertaining the possibility, I could not look away from the nagging chance that John might have been involved in the orchestration of his uncle's death--whether that be as Rosi's employer or as her partner.

The day we arrived in Legen, John was there, telling Rosi to leave. He had said that they'd been through those motions before. But any time that we had pointed to that interaction, those details had always been failed to be acknowledged. What if that was all a setup to attract the attention of some group of fools like us?

Similarly, John had refused the logistical inconsistencies related to blaming us for the mayor's death. Initially, I thought it made sense to be dubious of a group who had been seen at the crime scene, but then Toma had agreed with us without needing the truth spell. Our points were right, but he would not hear them out. Perhaps because he needed to solidify someone to attract public attention outside of himself. Admittedly, it made his willingness to bring in Toma odd, but it likely would have been more suspicious if he had not.

And then there was the way Toma constantly ridiculed John. I would not be surprised if that kind of treatment came from more people than just the priest. What if he was tired of being treated like that? What if he wanted power?

I also was struggling to wrap my mind around John's lack of care regarding Rosi's fate. He lost his uncle. His family. If something happened to my fathers, I cannot imagine coming back from that. I am who I am because of them. Their love, their care. That's what family is.

Our first mistake upon coming to Legen had been being too trusting; what if we were repeating that mistake again?

I did my best to organize all these jumbled thoughts and laid them out to Verca, half expecting him to wave me off as paranoid. But he didn't. He listened, and we talked through our options, and determined we could not decide on any direction without Talo.

I was tired of all the not knowing. Now John was just another question added to that pile. I do not think I can handle feeling so far from myself much longer.

While we were waiting, Verca commented that he did not know much about his father. He barely knew the man and did not even know if he was simply gone or dead. He put his hand on my shoulder--again, that warmth--and said that he had always not known, but I had fallen into not knowing, losing the comfort that being blind to not knowing had carried. It was that loss of presumed stability that made him think my version of the experience was the worse of the two.

When Talo came back, we repeated the process. We tossed around a handful of ideas--each coming with their own downsides. In the end, we figured it would be best to be direct. We were set to leave Legen soon anyways, so if we ended up burning this bridge, maybe the fire would not hurt as bad. And for some reason Verca wanted us all in the area of the planned truth spell, anyways.

By the time we came up to the guards' quarters, John was the only one there. That buzzing feeling was back in my chest and the tips of my fingers. Looking at John, I felt a snake wrap itself around each of my ribs and squeeze.

From the start, I did my best to let him know how much I hated the conversation we were about to have and asked his permission to cast a truth spell--which he agreed to. Everyone present submitted themselves to the spell's effects without resisting.

And then I asked John if he was involved in the organization of his uncle's death, again emphasizing that we were not asking this terrible question lightly. And I do not think I can honestly say I was surprised when John avoided the question. We pressed, and he kept avoiding--up until he said he did not "hire" Rosi, leaving half of the question unaddressed, and moved to leave.

Verca pinned him to the wall with his two-pointed spear--one prong on either side of his neck--before he could make three steps.

So I asked again, practically pleading with John to be open with us, until he said that the mayor had been terrible. His uncle had treated John, his father, and his mother--the mayor's own sister--horribly. All of which culminated in John having reason to believe his uncle had his parents killed. So he had worked with Rosi to get rid of him, but he did not hire her. That was someone else's work.

The flood of information left me unsure how to proceed. He was involved in what happened, like we had suspected, but the pages of the story about the mayor had more going on than we had thought. The mayor we had met had seemed serious but kind enough; I cannot fathom how he--or anyone, really--could hurt their own family in such a terrible way like that.

I asked John if he had any intention of hurting anyone else, and he said no. That information, alongside a point Verca raised regarding the fact that Rosi was still the real threat to others' continued safety, made our decision to leave him be--rather than turning him into whatever other authorities existed in the city--much easier to stomach.

With that dealt with, Verca asked Talo what they were hiding. As the pattern goes, they avoided answering as long as they could, Verca kept pressing with the caveat that specifics were not needed, and eventually some level of information came out. At first Talo said it had to do with their identity, leading to a brief whirl of confusion until they clarified that they had promised not to say their last name.

I honestly did not understand what the big deal with something as simple as a last name was, but I appeared to have been in the minority in that stance. Both Talo and Verca were surprised to learn that neither my dad nor I had a last name. Verca asked if Da did, which he does, but it never came up enough at home for me to remember it.

They were also both surprised to learn that Dad and Da are not married or even vaguely romantically involved whatsoever. That is not to say Dad does not love Da--he is is his best friend; it's just not the kind of love that gets paraded around in stories.

With our time in the truth spell finished, we left Legen and began our trip into the desert to hopefully find Rosi. Partway through the trip, we went through the same forested oasis that had brought us here about five days ago. While the time there was brief, the return of dirt and roots beneath my feet--much more stable than slippery sand--was a relief. The only thing missing was the familiar dancing of butterflies in the air.

While going through the forest, Talo asked me to help them find some plants and herbs used for healing. I remembered a few flowers Dad had taught me about whose properties related to healing, but I wasn't able to find anything during our time there--instead too stuck in all the stress that was still sticking to my insides.

Back in the desert, we saw the massive dragon skeleton in the distance just as sunset was starting to color the sky. We estimated that we would be able to get there before it got too dark, which was good because we learned that Talo seemingly cannot see very well without an active light source.

Rosi had certainly been at the skeleton at some point given the papers we found at a desk carved into the last rib on the left side of the dragon. The first set of documents were written in nonsense symbols that none of us could read, but there was a drawer with a letter written in Common. The letter, addressed to Rosi--confirming that was likely her actual name and not an assumed or stolen one--detailed her assignment in Legen. It was all information that we already knew from living it, but it was at least evidence of her presence. The letter was signed, "Yours, Sala," which at the very least might be able to point us in the direction of her actual employer. I moved all of the papers into the Bag of Holding. Maybe they will be helpful in the future.

There was only a small amount of light left, and the clear horizon was enough to tell us that we would not be able to get to Greston within that window. Seeing a tent left behind near the remains of the tail, we decided to camp for the night, but before we could settle down, a cloud of white mist drifted down from the spine.

And then a large, shimmering, winged creature dropped down in front of us. The dragon's dark copper scales were the color of wet sand.

And once again, my memory of the resulting fight was blurred by the Mask. However, unlike other incident, I had flashes of coherency this time. The first time, I simply saw the scope of the scene spread out before me before hearing an aggressive voice yell, "NO!" before cutting me off.

The second time, I saw Verca diving between me and the dragon, trying to block an incoming attack.

When I woke up, he was with Talo. The two were close, talking and going over the details of something concerning the dragon. I was lightheaded and had fallen to my knees upon coming to--covered in a caky mixture of blood and sand--, so I wasn't sure of the intricate details.

As we came back together, I was surprised to hear from Verca that he had tried to stop the fight. While it was unexpected, I was proud of the attempt, even if it had not ultimately been successful. When the fight had started, I had told myself I would try talking to the dragon--hoping to appeal to it using Draconic--but I quickly was swept away in the combat. No one is perfect; we can only try our best. With all of the churning feelings writhing inside of me, constantly growing, the familiarity of fighting--returning to Da's years of lessons and the internal calm required to assess a situation--was one of the first substantial things to ease that sensation.

I was not ready to sleep, so I quickly volunteered to take the first shift of watch to delay the inevitable a little longer. Talo was scheduled for second watch and Verca third.

After they had gotten as comfortable as they could in the tent, leaving me alone to scan the surrounding dunes and trace butterfly-shaped lines into the sand at my feet, I realized that I probably should have let Talo watch first so that they would be able to see for a larger fraction of their watch, but it was too late to correct the error. The best thing I could do was search the campsite for anything to potentially make a fire for them.

Looking through the darkness that had draped itself over the desert, I didn't find anything useful for making a fire, though. Instead, I saw the distant silhouette of a tall, slender, feminine figure. And she was approaching the camp. She got closer, and the vague edges of her blurry outline became clear. Long black hair with pointed ears that peaked out from the sleek locks. A gentle expression that shone against sharp elven features.

She said she was looking for a friend whom she was meant to meet in Greston. I briefly worried that the dragon we killed had been the friend in question, but the body was still out in the open, and she did not comment on it, so that seemed unlikely.

I asked her name. Before she answered, she smiled and asked mine. I remembered Dad and Da once mentioned to be careful with names, so I told her she could call me Vesper, and she said she was Lana.

After I apologized for not being able to help her find her friend, the tone of the conversation shifted. She stepped closer, saying I was lovely and that she would not want me to be alone. That I was beautiful despite the marrings.

I am beautiful, but not despite my scars. They are a part of me and they are a part of my beauty.

Lana was beautiful, too, though. So I told her that.

She brought a hand up, touching the underside of my chin. I froze, eyes wide. I had never been touched like that before. Firm and soft, like the petals of a sturdy flower that could not be shaken by the elements.

She tilted my head up. I followed without resistance. There was a new buzzing bouncing around my stomach, unlike any of the pointed blurs from earlier in the day. This was different and made all of that tension slip away. Maybe for the first time that day, I could breathe without feeling like I was about to fall over if I took the wrong step.

Her hand moved to my cheek. I leaned into her touch, the most comfortable I had been in days.

She was so close. "I'd hate to waste an opportunity," she said, her thumb brushing over my cheek. It was like the rest of the massive desert was not there at all.

"Then let's not waste this opportunity," I said.

And then she kissed me, lips just as light and inviting as the hand on my face. Having never kissed anyone before, I had not expected it to be so blissful.

As Lana was preparing to leave, after saying that she hoped we see each other again in the future, her sweet goodbye--spoken with a smile and with glittering light in her eyes despite the night--used the fake name I had given her. A decision I had made before really getting to know her the way I did afterwards. I corrected her as she turned to go.

She looked back to me and said she understood why I had to be careful. Left with a simple "Good girl," those pleasant sparks were back in my gut long after she had disappeared from sight.

The mess of blood and sand on my body had been cleaned away at some point during it all.

With that, it was Talo's turn for watch. A fragment of me felt guilty for never getting to make that fire, but the regret was swiftly forgotten as I went to bed thinking how I hoped to see Lana in the streets of Greston soon.

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theartistknownaslymond · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 day 22

Toxic | Withdrawal | Allergic Reaction

As per the request by @stripedroseandsketchpads : Joleta?

You’ve got it! Joleta is Going Through it in the wake of her OD. Philippa’s doing her best, she really is, but Letty’s not making things easy.

CW: hospital recovery, references to drugs and drink and overdose. Two very different teenage girls get het up about their relationship. Suicidal ideation and withdrawal symptoms.

---

"Eurgh, Pippa I feel like shit..."

Philippa passed the box of tissues over to her friend in the hospital bed and offered to take the tub of ice cream away.

Joleta's hand tightened defensively on it though, and she scowled. "No...I didn't say I don't want to eat!"

She rubbed her nose with a tissue and made an irritated sound.

"It's not fair...I actually felt great that night, why do I have to feel so rotten now?"

Philippa peered at her, trying to ascertain whether or not Joleta was being serious. "I don't think you're meant to feel good after an overdose, Letty..."

Joleta rolled her eyes and tutted. She dropped the crumpled, soggy tissue on her bed sheets and dug vindictively into the ice cream with a spoon. "My stomach really hurts."

She made pronouncements like this regularly, and Philippa had learned that there was nothing she could offer that might actually help to alleviate any of the problems - Joleta was just going to whinge her way through every uncomfortable symptom of withdrawal. Every time Philippa tried to suggest a solution, or asked whether she should find a nurse to talk to, Joleta would just sigh dramatically.

"You don't understand, Pippa," she'd say. "I don't need to feel like this at all. If I could just get hold of some BMP I'd be fine."

Of course, Philippa had made the mistake of asking what the acronym meant.

Joleta looked suspiciously around the private ward and leaned forward to hiss: "Bolivian Marching Powder. Well, at school we called it Basler Musicians' Powder."

Philippa blinked, finding that she was none the wiser.

"Snow, Pippa! Charlie! Cocaine?" Joleta stared at her, her brows raised and eyes wide.

The mannerisms were as much a staged performance of adulthood as they'd always been, but cleansed of her make-up, Joleta looked more like the sixteen-year-old she was, and Philippa didn't find her arrogance as effective as before. Her lashes were pale, almost white without the staining of mascara, and her freckles spattered carelessly over apple-round cheeks absent of neatly shaded contouring. She didn't look like a magazine model or a Madonna wannabe anymore, just like a young woman whose shape was still half-formed and soft.

And she was adamant that she still wanted cocaine.

Philippa tried to distract her by reading from the book she was partway through, but Letty had no patience with the fantasy settings of Ursula K. Le Guin. She tried sharing new music with Letty through the headphones on her walkman, but Letty sighed and said it wasn't as fun when she couldn't play along. Philippa brought her a ukulele and came with her own tin whistle, but Joleta pronounced these too 'limited' and needled Philippa deliberately by saying she'd have to be desperate to want to play folk music. She asked for ice cream and complained it was too cold; she said she was hungry then fretted she would get fat if Philippa kept bringing her food; she misinterpreted nearly everything she could as an attack against her. Even more so than normal, she was intentionally difficult about everything, Philippa found. Nothing at all seemed to cheer her up, and it was exhausting being with her.

Of course Philippa tried her best anyway. The symptoms sounded miserable, and she guessed that Letty was more upset by her brother's hasty departure than she was letting on. There was, however, only so far an assertive young Geordie lass could be pushed herself, and Joleta really did seem determined to find Philippa's breaking point.

Gesturing grandly with her spoon, having chucked another used tissue on the side of the bed nearest to Philippa in the assumption Pippa would clear the small pile away, Joleta said airily: "You know, mouseburger, if you were a real friend, you'd go and find me some coke. Or at least smuggle me some vodka in here."

Philippa, who would happily have sat there in companionable silence, snapped her book shut between her palms and glared at Joleta.

"Will you stop saying that?!"

Joleta blinked at her. An angry blush began to seep into the skin of her pale, creamy cheeks.

"Excuse me?"

"Stop asking me to get you drugs!" Philippa said, more ashamed of the squeak in her voice than the volume she spoke at.

"Don't use that tone with me!" Joleta shook her spoon at Philippa. Her neck and cheeks were blotched all over with pink now. "Do you have any idea how this feels? Everything hurts! I'm constantly exhausted, but I can't sleep in this bloody hospital! There's... there's always someone about to die or something, you hear them all night coming and going. I'm hungry but I feel sick. My nose won't stop running, like I'm allergic to this place. I am dying for a drink, or for something to happen, or to know when I can go home, or even - just to know where the fuck home is, now!"

Philippa drew a sharp breath in and snatched the spoon away from Joleta.

"And drugs aren't going to help with any of that!"

Joleta laughed shrilly. "They actively will! If I feel shit because I'm withdrawing then the obvious thing to do is stop withdrawing!"

"No!" Philippa beat her knees with her fists.

Joleta's brows raised at the snarl in her voice.

"You didn't see what I saw, Letty. You nearly died. You were blue. You stopped breathing. Why on earth would you want to take something that might do that to you again?"

Joleta's nostrils flared and Philippa thought she'd say something hot and bitter again, but she balled her own hands into fists and shook her head silently.

Finally, in a much smaller voice than Philippa expected, she said, "So what? Who would miss me?" She shrugged and her eyes seemed even bigger, glassy with unshed tears. "Graham left. He hates me, I'm just a disappointment. Francis thinks I'm just some...stupid kid. He doesn't treat me seriously at all. You're mad at me because of him. And I don't have anyone else," round, fat tears welled over her eyelids and matted her lashes. "Where am I going to go, Pippa?"

Philippa put the spoon down and grabbed for Joleta's nearest hand, aghast. "I'm not mad, Letty!"

"You were mad!" she exclaimed wetly.

Philippa, exasperated to have this held against her after the days spent in the hospital worrying over her friend, fought down the urge to deny it. "I...ok, I was a bit mad. It's not something I would do, Letty. Mr Crawford...he's taken away other people I care about. I didn't want him to take you too."

"Oh?" Joleta sniffled and wiped at her nose with a fresh tissue. "I thought you were jealous..."

"Jealous?!" Philippa yelped. She'd gone red herself at the implication. "Certainly not! He might not be the...the devil I thought he was, but ew. Yuck. I don't think so, Letty!"

Joleta eyed her thoughtfully over the tissue, her eyes red-rimmed and wary.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter if I was mad," Philippa continued resolutely. "I'm not now. And I still didn't want you to die! I don't want you to die."

Joleta let the hand with the tissue drop to show her soggy smile, and she squeezed Philippa's fingers in her grip. "You're so sweet, Pippa." She sighed. "But it really would be easier for everyone."

"What? No!" Philippa had to repeat, confused that Joleta still hadn't got the message.

"Well I have no brother, no boyfriend, no money, no house..." Joleta shrugged.

"Come and stay with me!" Philippa blurted out. It wasn't really a future scenario that she dreamed of, but she would offer up her mother's hospitality before she'd see Joleta convince herself she was unloved.

Joleta snorted.

"No, really. You can stay at Flaw Valleys for as long as you need. You could go to school with me if you wanted? Mr Crawford will make sure you get paid for the recording at St Marys."

"Oh god..." Joleta laughed shakily, her tears falling faster again even as she smiled. "Flaw Valleys, Pippa? Sober? I'd...I'd get bullied by the ducks!"

"Geese," Philippa corrected her gently, smilingly. "Just until you get back on your feet, then. But you do have somewhere to go, and people who care."

Luckily, when the proposition was introduced to Kate later on that day, Philippa's mother was as happy to have Joleta ‘round as Philippa had imagined she would be. Only after checking it was really what Philippa wanted, though. And only after emphasising something that made Philippa simultaneously relieved and ashamed of her earlier argument with Letty: apparently one of the major symptoms of cocaine withdrawal was depression. Letty wasn't just being an asshole for the sake of it - all the joy the drug had simulated had been whisked away from her.

Next time she went in, Philippa brought along some things it would never have occurred to her previously to think of: a stack of teen magazines and Joleta's make-up bag. They sang Pogues songs together, Philippa sitting on Letty's bed and painting her nails messily. Joleta mocked Philippa's sloppy skills and Philippa poked fun at Joleta's posh pronunciation of Shane MacGowan's lyrics. All was well between them, and while Joleta didn't stop craving her old crutches, she did at least stop harassing Philippa to bring them to her.

#whumptober2022 #whumptober #every day i write the book #character: joleta reid malett #character: philippa somerville #band au: disorderly knights

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silverwings22 · 2 years

Text

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 27 You're Going Down: Sick Puppies

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter warnings: near kidnapping, Miria losing her temper, chronic illness

Translations: ori'vod: Special friend/older brother or sister

vod'ika: little brother/sister

ner kar'ta: my heart

cyare: beloved

Previous chapter:

Next chapter:

"We've got to do something about supplies." Hunter murmured tiredly. They'd gone through everything fresh they'd gotten from Cut and Suu, back to their rapidly dwindling ration bars.

"What's our credit situation look like?" Miria sat beside him in the floor of the cargo hold. She was looking into a box of rations, concerned with how low the line of neatly packaged bars fell inside.

"Not great. We've only got Republic credits, which we can only exchange with a chain code. Omega has one technically, but she's a kid. We can't send her alone."

"Perhaps Tech could reprogram it to me? It's never been used, and I could exchange the money?" She tapped her nails on the durasteel crate quietly.

"That gives the Empire a way to track you, and all of us. We're better off trading for Imperial credits with citizens who can exchange their own. And selling stuff." He shook his head. "You're brave, General, but I'm not letting you get yourself killed."

She smiled quietly. "I thought I was the commanding officer here?"

"War's over. No Republic, no Grand Army." He chuckled. "Technically I'm not even a sergeant anymore. We're just a group of brothers and sisters in a stolen ship."

She couldn't help but smile a little wider. "You consider me a sister?"

"Yeah. We all do." He didn't say what he knew she was thinking, that she'd been days away from really being their sister if she married Crosshair like she'd planned. That the end of the war could have been the beginning of her happy ending.

That if that hateful Order 66 had never gone out, she could have been his brother's wife right now.

She shook off her thoughts with a slight rock of her head. Sometimes you had to just shake the brain like an etch-a-sketch and start over. "That's sweet, ori'vod." She tested the Mando'a word for older brother and close friend carefully. Hunter just smiled.

"Pantora is the next closest place to get supplies. And Tech said something about scrambling our ships signature so we can't be tracked."

"That's a good idea. After Salucemi, they know what they're looking for." She nodded and sagged back against the wall, looking at her knees.

"You okay, vod'ika?" He murmured.

"It's just strange. To not want to be found." She said faintly. "I know it's the safest thing, and I'd never dream of endangering us… but I want so badly for him to find us and come home. It doesn't seem fair that I'm here with you and he's all alone. He loves you all, you know. It's just hard for him to show it."

"He tell you that?" He cocked a tattooed brow.

She nodded. "In his softer moments. He said you guys were the only people he felt like he could trust. Not command, not regs. They never felt like brothers, but you did."

"I wish he'd said something." Hunter sighed.

"You know how he is. It's hard for him to talk about feelings… that's why he wrote those letters. He said in one of them that any weakness when he was a cadet was exploited. He's used to protecting himself."

Hunter couldn't help but feel a little hopeful at the way she spoke. In the present tense, like Crosshair was somewhere on the ship and could walk in any moment to glare daggers in their skulls for daring to suggest he of all people cared about anything. Even when they all knew better. "I'll give him shit about him if he comes back."

"When. Not if." She said firmly. "But… I need you to promise me something. As a brother."

"Yeah?"

"If Crosshair doesn't return until after… if I'm already gone…" she bit her lip. "Just… no matter what happens, promise me that you won't give up on him. No matter what that chip makes him do, that when it's gone he'll still have his brothers to come home to. That you'll always take him back."

Hunter looked at her, her face set and determined. He finally nodded. "I promise."

Miria smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I just don't want him to be alone… he acts like it doesn't hurt him but it does."

He patted her back. "We'll figure it out."

"Yes… so, Pantora?" Miria pushed her smile back on her face. "I've never been, though I did hear some stories about a moon in the system from Anakin and Obi-wan…"

He nodded. "We'll set the coordinates. We're gonna have to probably bribe our way into a hangar to get the repairs done."

"I'll get the credits we can spare for a bribe together." Hoisting herself up, Miria took a deep breath and rubbed her left hip. "You get us heading the right way."

He nodded and took her offered hand up. While Hunter headed to the cockpit, Miria went to start collecting credits around the ship. She had a little stash in her footlocker she'd been saving to buy Crosshair a gift, she hoped it was enough to buy their safety.

"So where are we going?" Echo was in his hammock, Omega snuggled in next to him as they looked through his data pad together.

"Pantora. We need supplies." She chuckled. "But we'll have to park in a hangar and the only way to be sure we're not reported before Tech can scramble the signature…"

"Is a bribe." He mused. "Lemme up, 'Mega. I got some credits squirrelled away that might help."

The girl nodded cheerfully and climbed out of his arms, holding the hammock steady so he could get up without flipping. "Can I go on the supply run?"

"It won't be an exploration trip, sweetheart." Miria shook her head. "We're just getting supplies and scrambling the signal."

"Pleeeeeeease?" Those big brown eyes tugged the Jedis heart.

"Oh, alright. But if you're going, then three of us will go out to look after you."

Echo chuckled. "I'll come along. Tech's gonna need Wreckers muscles"

Omega nodded. "It'll be fun."

Miria smiled. "I suppose. Just stay close, okay?

The girl nodded. "Okay."

Omega headed out with Hunter, Echo, and Miria, delighted by the bustle of the city and the bright lights. They'd bribed the hell out of the hangar attendant with nearly everything they'd had, so it was imperative this worked.

Hunter was shrewd, selling off what they could afford to lose while Miria looked for supplies and Echo minded the girl. It was an effective team effort.

Miria glanced back to see Omega getting excited over a trooper doll at one of the shops. Echo was holding it out for her, dressed like a droid but still so kind and patient with their collective little sister. It made her heart ache for her lost sniper… he'd have been grouchy and sarcastic but she just knew he'd love Omega too. She could picture him here with them, dressed in plain clothes like Hunter, fiddling with his toothpick and staring down venders while she haggled but keeping Omega in the safety of his peripheral. And if they ever had a little one of their own…

Oh, Crosshair…

But there was little time to dwell. She had supplies to buy, and a precious few remaining credits that she was hoping to use to get Omega a little treat. The girl had been such a trooper during all this, never once complaining. She deserved something, even something small, to know she was appreciated.

Miria turned her back as Hunter started talking to another shopkeeper, looking at a little shop that sold pretty silks. She didn't have much money, but she stepped inside nonetheless.

"Hello miss." The shopkeeper was a pretty, golden eyed Pantoran with lavender hair. "Looking for something in particular?"

"Just a present for my… fiances little sister." She smiled. "She's had… a rough time."

The clerk gave a sympathetic nod. "Poor thing. At least the war is finally over, though. Things can get back to normal."

Miria pushed a smile, but felt her spine stiffen. The war wasn't over, not by a long shot. Not for her. And nothing would ever be back to normal. "I suppose."

"C'mere. It's sweet of you to be getting her something. I'll cut you a deal." The woman smiled. "How old is she?"

Thank the Maker Crosshair had taught her a sabacc face, because it occurred to Miria she actually had no clue how old Omega was. Or… any of the guys. And they aged differently anyway, but she'd have to guess…. "Ten."

"Aww. Watching her for your fiance?"

"Yes… we're here with his brothers too, but they're grown. She's the youngest… a surprise blessing."

"I can already tell you love her. Here." She offered Miria a gorgeous silk, one of the big ones you could tie into anything from a scarf to a dress, in a delicate blue and white mandala pattern.

"Oh, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't afford this. It's beautiful, but I-"

Her answer was a smile. "No charge. I know what it's like to want to do something for your family when times are tough. And there's a lot of war orphans… but you're taking care of one little girl who needs you."

"Are you quite sure? This is so kind of you…"

The shopkeeper chuckled. "My husband's got a little sister too. She moved in with us after their parents died. Go on, make her smile."

"Thank you, ma'am." Miria tried not to tear up as ther shopkeeper shooed her out kindly.

She tucked the silk into her bag and headed back to where she spotted the red of Hunters bandana, coming out of the other shop and tucking credits into his bag. "There you are." He chuckled.

"How'd we make out?" She smiled.

"They didn't offer much for ther equipment, but they thought Echo was a droid and paid three thousand credits for him."

Miria stared at him. "You sold Echo?"

"Relax. He's just gonna walk out when we comm him. No harm, no foul."

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Hunter…"

"We need the credits. Where'd you take Omega?"

That got her attention. "I left her right here with you and Echo?"

He blanched under his tattoo. "Shit. She's wandered off."

"Start tracking. We'll find her." Her voice was firm, the general returning. "We should have gotten her a comm before we left the ship."

"Lesson learned." He turned and started doing what Hunter did best. Hunting.

Miria followed behind, arms stiff at her sides as she tried to search the Force for the little girls bright energy. It was exhausting even to try, but this was her family. Crosshairs family. She couldn't let anything stop her, even the heavy feeling in her chest.

"Here." Hunter murmured, picking up the doll Omega had been playing with. "We're not far behind."

Miria nodded, stifling a cough. "I sense her nearby. She's on the move, and with someone."

"That good or bad?"

"I can't tell."

They followed the trail, finally coming down a mostly empty street. Sure enough, Omega was walking with a woman carrying an orange helmet and with the other arm draped over the girls shoulders. Both adults instantly stiffened. Hunter could see the blaster half hidden under the womans tunic. Miria could feel the energy radiating from her.

Bounty hunter.

"Omega!" Miria called.

The girl spun around cheerfully and waved. "Oh, there they are. I was just telling my new friend about you guys. She was helping me look for you."

"Get away from her." Hunter said firmly.

Omega blinked, looking up at the woman still beside her. "But… she was helping me…"

"We were just getting to know each other." The woman had a smooth voice, and slipped her helmet on casually as she spoke. Hunter's fingers inched towards his knife at the same measured speed as Miria did the same. Before either of them could make contact though, the bounty hunter had pulled her blaster and was firing.

Omega yelped and tried to grab the womans arm, but she shook her off roughly. Hunter threw his knife, which ended up embedded in a trash can lid the bounty hunter had grabbed as a shield. She wrenched it out, now doubly armed, and putting Hunter on the defensive.

Miria threw caution to the wind and tackled her, locking both arms and legs around the womans torso and hips from behind as they rolled into the street in a tangle of limbs. Hunter was right behind her. "Omega, run!"

The frightened little sister took the order and darted off as Hunter forced both weapons from his opponents hands by squeezing her wrists furiously. With both hands occupied, however, he had no defense against the helmeted headbutt that knocked him clean unconscious.

Miria hissed, a punch laced with the Force lifting the now very confused enemy off her feet and into the nearest building like she'd been hit by a truck. The Jedi scooped Hunter under the arms and dragged him out of the alley as the police showed up.

She tucked her dazed but waking partner against a building wall. "Tech, we've got trouble. Someone has attacked us, and they're after Omega. She's run ahead, and Hunter got knocked out."

"I am able to get into the city traffic cameras, but if you've made noise we're going to have bigger trouble… the ship is disassembled. I would need a team of droids to get it operating before you get back."

"On it." Echo chimed in. "Gimme a few minutes."

Miria nodded to herself. "Alright. Tech, if you can get eyes on Omega, we'll get her. Send Wrecker to help, Echo can help you with the ship. But we have to hurry, this bounty hunter is highly trained. We can't let her get Omega."

"Dunno what they want a little kid for." Wrecker grumbled.

"Nor do I. But I'm not willing to wait around and find out. She's one of us now." She murmured, looking at Hunter. "How's your head, dear?"

"Hurts like a sonafabitch, ma'am." He groaned. "C'mon, we gotta find the kid."

She nodded, helping him up. "We'll find her. We're her family, we always find each other."

"General, I've got eyes on Omega. She's out of the maintenance tunnels and hanging from a tower in the lower division. Wrecker isn't coming in from the tunnels where he engaged the ounty hunter."

Miria gritted her teeth. "Thank you, Tech." She looked at Hunter. "She's halfway across the city."

"Guess we're getting creative. We're good at that." His eyes locked onto a man parking a speeder bike in front of some storefront behind her. The Jedi glanced back and sighed.

"We've broken enough laws today. Might as well." She flicked her fingertips and the keys snatched themselves out of the driver's pocket as they hopped onto the bike. "My apologies, family emergency!"

Hunter gunned the engine as she clung to him from behind. "Which way, Tech?" He growled into his comm.

Tech guided them, just in time to spot the bounty hunter toss Omega into the back of a truck laden with bales of Maker-knows-what. Behind them, Hunter heard police sirens and huffed out a furious breath.

Miria hissed when the bounty hunter took a couple shots at them, pulling the blaster off Hunters belt to shoot back. "Sorry, dear. Needs must."

"Damn, Miri. At least buy me dinner first."

She rolled her eyes, spotting a lever in the truck bed. She threw a hand up, yanking with the force. "Omega, brace! "

The back of the truck dumped its contents, including the hunter, and Omega grabbed a trailing rope to hold herself on while Hunter maneuvered them closer.

He reached out for the girl when their opposition decided to ram their speeder with the hijacked airspeeder she'd been dumped onto and promptly stolen. While they recovered, she shot the police speeders and caused them to crash into each other.

Collateral damage. Miria Halcyons one big rule.

"I've had quite enough." Miria hissed, turning around backwards in her seat. "Hold us steady, Hunter." His blaster was jammed back into his holster.

Miria summoned every ounce of strength she had and grabbed the airspeeder with the Force, wrenching the engines off like tearing confetti. She got a quick glimpse of startled brown eyes as the hunter realized she had fucked about and found out with a Jedi, before the airspeeder dropped altitude and she had to bail or crash. Miria didn't bother to see which choice she made, spinning back around as Hunter grabbed Omega when she lost her grip on the rope.

The girl clung to Hunter's chest in a frantic scramble, relief painted on every inch of her face. "Hang on, 'Mega. We're not clear yet." Hunter murmured.

Miria hacked into her elbow behind him, other arm around his middle weaker than before. Even over the engine and city racing by, he heard her heart rate stutter faintly. "B- back to the ship." She finally muttered, getting her comm up. "Tech, are we mobile? We're coming in hot."

"Just finished, General. Wrecker isn't back yet, but he's on the way."

"Good." She sounded awful, but he decided not to comment yet.

They tore into the hangar and Hunter carried Omega back onto the Havoc Marauder as Miria stumbled in after. Wrecker was running in behind them. "Let's get out of here." He whooped.

Tech was already in the cockpit and took off post haste.

Hunter sat on the hold floor with Omega, letting her cling to him and patting her back lightly. "Easy, you're okay now. You're safe. We'd never let anyone take you away." He murmured softly as she settled from crying to hiccups.

Miria lay on her back beside him, eyes half closed as she tried to get a handle on her breathing. "You okay, Miri?" Echos voice was somewhere nearby, but it sounded like she was underwater.

"Mm okay…" she mumbled, wiping her bloody nose haphazardly. She only succeeded in smearing crimson across her face.

Omega finally calmed down enough to crawl over to the downed Jedi worriedly and move her head to rest more comfortably in the girl's lap. "You don't look so good…"

Miria smiled fondly. "It's okay. You're safe, that's what matters…" her eyes didn't quite focus right now, but she could tell Omega was there and okay. She could live with a little double vision.

"Who was that?" Omega whispered.

"A bounty hunter." Hunter sighed.

When Omega looked confused, Echo put a hand on her shoulder. "They catch people and turn them in for money."

Omega frowned. "They… sell them? Sell people?"

Tech nodded, coming down from the cockpit. "And it seems you are the target."

"Don't scare her, Tech." Wrecker grumbled, rubbing the side of his head. It was killing him from where he'd smacked into a pipe in the maintenance tunnels.

"We need to find out who she was and who sent her." Hunter put a hand over Omega's. "We're not going to let her get you. Promise."

Omega just looked worried.

Miria closed her eyes so the room stopped spinning. "Ord Mantell."

"What's that, Miri?" Echo leaned over.

"We should go to Ord Mantell. There was a contact there my master mentioned… Cid, in a bar called Cid's Parlor in Ord Mantell City. Master Plo said they always had good information…" She made herself sit up, Omega putting an arm around her to steady her.

Hunter nodded. "You heard the General."

"Let's get you to your bunk, and I'll get the treatment apparatus." Tech murmured, helping her up. "You've overdone it."

"Probably…" She mumbled tiredly, leaning against his shoulder. "But worth it. Family…"

Ner kar'ta.

You're sick again. You're running a fever so high I can feel it with your head on my chest. I should have known, I guess, when we landed on Ryloth and you saw the refugee kids that you'd go full force into the mission. And I've got to admit, it was pretty badass to see you lift an entire building and crush clankers with your weird Jedi powers.

I keep meaning to ask you how those work. I want to know how you see the galaxy, and what force there is out there that always has you seeing the best in people. Like you saw the best in me, even when I'm mostly just an asshole with a toothpick.

I admire that about you. How you always are willing to trust someone, because it seems so foriegn to me. I don't trust anyone but my brothers and you. And even then I catch myself second guessing every order. I picked that up on Kamino, probably. Everything had a catch there, no one was really what they seemed. They tell you you're going to learn the most amazing skills, but not that they're going to half kill you to make them stick. Take interrogation resistance for example. They teach you how to avoid being cracked under torture, by demonstrating the methods with you as the test dummy.

You'd hate hearing that story. You can't stand to think of anyone getting hurt, especially me. I like that you care so much, but I don't want to see you cry if I tell you about it. You already cried enough over me when I told you about my first batch. I'd rather see you smile, you've got this little chip in your front tooth and it makes your smile just a little crooked and cute. I notice details like that, call it a sniper's perception. Right now there's an eyelash on your cheek while you sleep, and I can't brush it off without waking you up.

Tano told me once that people make wishes on fallen eyelashes. I thought it was stupid kid stuff, but now I wonder what you wish for when you get little moments like that. I know what I'd wish for, if wishes mean anything at all.

I'd wish for you, cyare. Every damn time.

Crosshair

#eventual smut #explict #original character #crosshair #crosshair smut #clone force 99 #caught in the crosshairs

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