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its-jaytothemee · 2 months

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Until I Met You - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Creche, Part 2

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 6,150

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

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Summary: Tav tries to confront Halsin about his past and his plans for the future, paving the way to learn more about Tav's past. The adventuring party makes their way back to the creche hoping to cure the tadpoles, but find an unpleasant surprise. Part 7 of the slow burn fic. Halsin and Tav POVs

Tags: Slow burn, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual love confessions, eventual smut, light angst, implied past rape/non-con and abuse, graphic description of injuries.

A/N: Part 2 of the creche before we go back to the Underdark. Everyone just needs a hug and some therapy. This chapter is a bit longer than the rest, hopefully it's worth it!

Tav watched as Halsin crept away into the woods, leaving her utterly confused. They kept having these warm, intimate moments followed by him darting away without warning. She couldn’t keep the disappointment from souring her expression.

“What’s wrong, soldier?” Karlach came and took the seat she had been saving for Halsin.

“I just can’t figure him out, Karlach.” Tav shook her head as Halsin disappeared behind the trees.

“What do you mean?” She shoved a large piece of cheese into her mouth.

Tav chewed her lip for a moment, thinking back on her conversation with Halsin. She told Karlach about it, emphasizing the last part when she was certain he was about to make a move. She decided to tell her about their conversation from the morning too. How relaxed he was with her, how flustered he got when he held her hand, how she purposefully took her time untangling bits of his hair to make everything last longer.

“Hmm.” Karlach watched the flames in front of them for a moment.

“Hmm? That’s all you have to say now?” Tav laughed lightly. “Earlier today you were trying to get my tadpole to spill the beans on my behalf, and now you just have ‘hmm’?”

“I dunno, Tav. It honestly sounds like he’s…sad.”

“I suppose.” She thought about his past few days, how he had been captured by goblins and given up his life at the grove.

“You know I’d love to see you two together, soldier. But maybe right now he just needs to have a friend.” She smiled softly at Tav. “And you’re a great friend to have.”

“Thanks. I guess I could give that a try. Something is just off about him, though. Like there’s something he’s hiding.” Tav set her small plate of food down as she watched the smoke from the fire swirl in front of her.

“We all have our secrets. I’m sure Halsin is no different.” Karlach continued snacking on her place of assorted foods they had found that day.

“Except your secrets aren’t taking us into a dark curse that corrupts everything it touches.” Tav whispered back.

“Then ask him. He seems like a reasonable enough guy. Maybe he just doesn’t want to pile more worry on top of everything else we’re dealing with right now.” She said through a mouthful of bread.

“You can be remarkably wise you know that?” Tav said, gently nudging her with one of her utensils.

“Imagine how wise I would be if I could live as long as you.” She flashed her friendly smile.

Tav laughed and excused herself, turning to follow after Halsin.

***

Halsin found a small clearing away from camp, far enough that he could concentrate and try to refocus himself. Shame was welling up inside of him for leading Tav on like that. The look on her face as he left her there waiting was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He sat on the ground and took a few deep, steadying breaths. He sat still, trying to listen to the sounds of nature around him. An owl was quietly hooting nearby, there was a stream somewhere close as well. The running water was a soothing melody mixed with the wind rustling through the trees. After a while, the sound of footsteps crunching among the fallen leaves and twigs were added to the mix.

“Halsin?” Tav’s voice was quiet behind him.

“Oh, hello Tav.” He responded quietly.

“What happened back there?” She asked, moving around to sit beside him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. I just realized that I perhaps needed some time alone to contemplate my next steps.”

“Your next steps?” Concern was growing in her voice. “Are you leaving?”

“No! Of course not. I just…” Halsin felt flustered trying to explain himself. Once again not wanting to give her false hope or toy with her emotions.

“I know you are all desperate to be rid of the tadpoles, most understandably. I had just hoped we would take the path to Moonrise sooner. That it would be the path you chose to look for a cure.” His voice was quiet and sadder than he meant it to be.

“Look, I understand wanting to help find this cult and keep them from infecting more people, from creating more mind flayers. What I don’t understand is why you’re so anxious to go back there for the shadow curse.” She was staring at him intently.

“I have a responsibility to banish those shadows.”

“But why? It’s not your fault that they came about, Halsin. No one here would be happier than me if we could rid the land of that curse but…” She trailed off, looking out into the woods. “You’re talking about taking on Shar, one of the most notoriously spiteful goddesses in the pantheon.”

“We don’t have to face Shar herself…” He cut himself off, not wanting to say any more about his plan. Tav picked up on his sudden anxiety.

“What do you know, Halsin?” She asked, obviously suspicious.

“Nothing for sure.” He responded. It wasn’t a total lie. There was no guarantee that his plan would work. “Put it from your mind for now, I’ll know more once we reach Moonrise.”

“Put it from my mind?” She asked, incredulous. “You’ve tasked us with entering one of the most dangerous places in Faerûn, and you want me to simply put it from my mind?”

Halsin sighed, how could he explain this to her in a way that made sense? In a way that wouldn’t get her hopes up?

“There could be a way, but I won’t know for sure until we arrive. I have spent years seeking Silvanus’s favor; I am confident that he will show me the way.”

“So, we’re going to go charging into the darkness of the shadow curse, armed with nothing but the hope that your god will lead us through it?” Tav’s tone had darkened.

“Yes.” He said plainly. There was little else to be said.

“Ugh!” She threw her hands up in frustration, standing up to pace in front of him. “The blind devotion you all have for your gods is bordering on insanity.” Her angry eyes pierced into him.

“I assure you, Tav, my devotion is not blind.” He could feel his temper rising as he stood up. “Just because you’ve lost all your faith in the gods does not give you the right to pass judgement on those of us who have not.”

She held her glare, nostrils flared and angry.

“I have all the proof I need that my faith is not one-sided, and I feel no obligation to explain myself to you.” He surprised himself with the anger in his words.

“Of course! Why would you feel the need to explain anything? We should just trust you given that you’re the all-knowing Archdruid. None of us could ever understand what it’s like to have regrets and grief and the weight of the entire fucking world on our shoulders!” Tav shouted back at him.

“Here you are, insisting that we must go to Moonrise, knowing as well as I do what that could entail. Yet you aren’t willing to share your plan for what we will do when we get there. You’re asking us to blindly follow you into the darkest magic I have ever experienced in my life. Surely you of all people can understand why I’m asking for a little more to go on!” Her fists were balled up at her side, her eyes never leaving his.

“You’re not in charge here, Halsin. We make these decisions together. We want to help you; I want to help you. But if you want us to follow you, you need to give us more than a prayer and a hope.” Her glare held steady.

“Then I’m afraid I have nothing more to offer you.” His voice was colder than he intended it to be, causing Tav to recoil slightly.

“The fact of the matter is, Tav, that we have only known each other a short time. You have proven a valuable ally and a good leader, but that does not mean you are owed information about my past and about my faith. And the way you’re acting now, I’m starting to wonder if I can actually trust you with this knowledge at all!” Halsin realized he was yelling now.

“Well…forgive me for misinterpreting our relationship.” Her lip quivered ever so slightly before she regained her composure.

“Master Halsin.” She gave an exaggerated bow before turning on her heels to go back to camp. He glared after her as she stormed off, muttering profanities under her breath the entire way.

Master Halsin.

There it was. Just like that, Tav saw him the same way the druids in the grove had. No longer seeing him as a peer, but as an authority figure. Why couldn’t he just tell her? He understood her worries all too well. All she asked for was some assurance that they wouldn’t be strolling blindly through the shadow cursed lands. The place that took her brother from her.

He let out a frustrated grunt as he fell back down on his knees, desperately trying to commune with Silvanus.

Oak Father…hear me, please. Guide me, help me see the way forward.

Nothing. It had been months since he was able to hear Silvanus speak with him. This wasn’t the longest time he had gone without hearing his voice, but every day they drew closer to Moonrise his worry grew. The worry that he was too late, that he missed his chance, that Thaniel was forever lost. That he failed…again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, reciting the ritual taught to him all those nights ago over and over in his mind until he eventually fell into a restless trance.

***

Tav didn’t rest well that night. Guilt churned in her gut, eating away at her insides. Memories of her life in Baldur’s Gate swarmed her dreams.

It was the night of the gala. One of the last galas she attended as Lady Mendelre. She was trying to find Tev before the festivities began. One of the new servants was arranging more food on a nearby table.

“Excuse me, have you seen Tev’aron?” Tav’ahria asked softly, not wanting to startle the young woman.

“No m’lady.” She kept her eyes fixed on the floor.

“If you do, could you send him to find me?” She smiled as she picked up one of the tiny pastries on the table and popped it in her mouth. The filling was sweet and creamy, with a slightly tart aftertaste.

“Um, yes. Yes of course.” Her eyes darted nervously around the room before she gave a small bow and scurried away.

That was strange…

“You’ll find no help from the staff tonight in locating your brother, Tav’ahria.” Her father’s voice was low and cold. She steeled herself before turning to face him. “They’ve been instructed to keep you two apart whenever possible. I told you, there will be no hiding away together this evening.”

“I only wished to speak to him for a moment before the guests arrived. Be assured my attention will not falter this evening.” Her voice was shaking slightly, she never was able to hide her fear from her father.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that, little flower. But just to be sure, allow me to give you a little extra incentive.” He walked up next to her and held out his arm. She draped hers around it and let him lead her from the room.

“You have done more for our house than you know, more than your brother ever has. I’m prepared to name you my sole heir should tonight go as planned.” He said the words as if they were meant to honor her, but they just made her feel sick.

“You would disown Tev, and have me solely inherit the Mendelre estate?” She asked in disbelief. Her father never realized that she didn’t covet wealth and power like he did. Did he truly believe she would abandon her brother all for a title?

“Tev’aron made his choice long ago.” There was enough venom in her father’s words to poison every ounce of food and beverage at this gathering.

“I know of his plan to run, to whisk you away from your home and family. That sort of dishonesty hardly befits the patron of our house. But I am offering you an alternative, my daughter. Attempt to run with him and face the consequences or stay here and claim your birthright.”

She stayed silent at his side; he kept her arm held tight against him so she couldn’t get away.

“Why tell me this?” She asked, silently begging the tears stinging her eyes to stay there.

“Because Tav’ahria, it is time for you to grow up. It is time for you to take your responsibilities seriously rather than wasting time playing soldier with Tev’aron. I indulged your combat training because it kept you quiet and entertained. Finesse with a bow is a time-honored elven skill, but it is time for you to become someone else. Imagine what you could accomplish if you did away with these distractions.”

“I’ll consider it, father. So long as you do not force Tev’aron away. He is still my brother, and he is very dear to me.” She surprised herself with her demanding tone.

“You’ll do more than consider it, little flower. As for Tev’aron…the choice will be up to him I suppose.” His words left little up for discussion.

“But should your brother continue to interfere, well, I would have no choice but to separate the two of you.” His expression darkened, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. “I have no doubt one of the great houses in Karsoluthiyl or Menzoberranzan would take a great interest in him. You do know how the matriarchs enjoy the novelty of surface-dwelling elves.”

It was at that moment that Tav’ahria knew she truly hated her father. Of course, she’d never let him ship Tev off to one of the great drow houses to be sold into slavery. Or worse. He knew this all too well. She could gamble with her brother’s life and freedom, or she could sacrifice her own. The choice was an easy one.

“That won’t be necessary.” Tav’ahria whispered back to her father. “My loyalty is yours – I will ensure he does not interfere.” One traitorous tear made its way down her face as he led her to the massive doors to their estate.

“Excellent. Now, do be a dear and dry your eyes. We don’t want to give Lord Sylvyre the wrong impression.” The corner of his mouth was drawn up into a smirk. He released his grip on her arm slightly as her mother joined her at her other side, ready to present their little flower to their guests.

She shot up out of her bedroll early in the morning, her entire body covered in a thin layer of sweat. Tears stung her eyes, even now when she had a bad dream, she still only wished to talk to Tev. Remembering that he wasn’t here, she realized there was someone else she wanted to talk to right now.

“Fuck.” She mumbled under her breath.

Tav quietly stepped outside of her tent hoping Halsin would be sitting by the fire like he was yesterday. Not finding him there, she started walking back into the woods thinking maybe he stayed out there all night.

She found him sitting exactly where she left him last night.

“Halsin? Are you awake?” She called out softly.

He turned his head slightly over his shoulder to look at her, but he didn’t say anything in response. She walked over next to him and knelt on the ground, sitting back on her legs.

Still nothing.

“I uh…” She quickly cleared the lump forming in her throat. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Halsin stayed still, staring at the ground in front of him, his hands resting on his lap.

“You were right. I have no right to your past. I know very well how difficult it can be to share painful memories. I had no right to expect that of you.”

Silence.

“I acted out like a child…I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Only quietness greeted her still.

“I wanted you to know that I’ve already come to enjoy your company a great deal. I know we’ve only known one another for a few days, but I trust you. More than I probably should.” She chuckled awkwardly.

No response.

“If you think we can make it through the shadow curse, if you really believe you can help guide us through…then I believe you. I may have lost my faith, but I’m willing to trust yours.”

Still no response

“I’m sorry, Halsin. Truly.” She slowly reached over and gently held one of his hands.

Nothing. Not that she could blame him.

“I’ll…I’ll leave you to your meditation.” She said quietly, feeling foolish now for pursuing him out here when he obviously wanted to be alone. She tried to stand up, but suddenly Halsin gripped her hand, nearly crushing it.

“Tav…” He started, his voice was soft and grief-stricken. “I want to tell you everything. But I can’t.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” She scooted around to be in front of him, keeping her voice calm.

“No…you don’t.” He whispered back. “I’ve studied the curse for years, yet I still can’t guarantee I can do anything about it. My words earlier were harsh, and I apologize for them.”

She watched him quietly.

“I also trust you, Tav. But this has been my focus for decades. If I lose that focus now…” Halsin looked away, seeming embarrassed, or ashamed. There was something here that she just couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Tav studied him for a moment, taking the time to really try and understand the look in his eyes. There was fear, anguish, anger, and guilt. So much guilt, like a deep sorrow that had likely plagued him for the decades he spent focusing on the curse. For the first time since they met, she could see how truly lonely Halsin was. She thought back to their conversation after she had been injured in the Underdark, how he hadn’t laughed in so long. She’d sort of thought it was an exaggeration, but now seeing the sadness in his eyes, her heart broke for him all over again.

He needed time to deal with whatever this was before he could confide in her. That was a pain she understood well. Wanting so desperately to share your grief but being unable to, for fear of judgement, fear of rejection, fear of retribution. How long had it taken her to share her pain with someone besides Tev?

Maybe right now he just needs to have a friend. She heard Karlach’s voice in the back of her mind.

Tav tentatively reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t move away from her touch, but he didn’t look at her either. Slowly, she brought her other arm up to wrap around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He tensed but didn’t pull away. Despite his size, he somehow felt so small in her arms right now. He didn’t hug her back yet, but he did release a couple of shaky breaths into her shoulder, relaxing slightly. She squeezed him tighter, refusing to let go until he gave her any indication that he wanted her to do so.

She could be patient with him, she could wait.

***

Halsin froze as Tav’s arms gently pulled him close to her, surprised by the gesture. He released his held breath, relaxing a little bit into her shoulder. She hugged him tighter, her hands digging into his back and neck. Her embrace was friendly and familiar, slowly soothing some of his anxiety away.

His chest ached again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t lust and desire, it was an overwhelming sense of relief and safety. A warm feeling that let him know that right here and now, someone cared about him.

Gods he didn’t realize how much he had missed hugs. There had been friendly, quick hugs with druids in the grove. Many of the animals in his care of course loved to be hugged and scratched and snuggled. But no one had ever really tried to seek him out and offer one to him. He was usually reaching out to others, often met with indifference or obligated acceptance. Even when he returned from the goblin camp, the friendliest gestures he received were handshakes and light pats on the back or arm. Nothing like this…

When was the last time he had been this close to someone? When was the last time someone held him like this?

His arms suddenly shot up to wrap around her waist, hugging her back and holding onto her as if his life depended on it. He knew how important it was to keep focused on his mission, but maybe this could be enough for now. Maybe it could be enough for them to be companions, to be friends.

“I’m sorry, Halsin. For everything.” She said, sniffling lightly. “I understand you need time. But I hope you know that I meant it when I said I already consider you a friend.”

“Thank you, Tav.” He pushed his face further into her shoulder. “I could really use a friend right now.”

She stayed there with him until the sun started to rise again, never once trying to move away from him. It must have been hours. Her hands didn’t wander outside of a gentle stroke on his shoulders every now and then. She just sat with him. Finally, he gained the strength to pull away from her, although she seemed reluctant to let him go.

“We should head back. It’s a potentially big day today.” She pulled him up off the ground with her.

“Yes, with any luck you’ll return tonight free of the threat of becoming illithid.” He took a deep breath as he stretched his stiff limbs.

“And then we’d be free to go on to Moonrise.” She said quietly. “If that’s something you still want.”

“It’s what needs to be done.” He said decisively.

“Very well. First, cure the tadpoles. Second, fight the shadows.” She smiled softly at him.

He followed her back to camp to sit by the fire. The others in camp weren’t stirring yet, giving him a few more precious moments with his friend. Thankful for her understanding and even more thankful for her company.

***

Tav let Lae’zel take the lead in the Creche. She had no intention of screwing up their chance at a cure by saying the wrong thing in front of the easily agitated githyanki. Their first encounter didn’t do much to reassure her. The first group of soldiers they spoke with immediately called for their deaths, but Lae’zel persuaded them otherwise.

“I don’t like this, soldier. Something doesn’t feel right.” Karlach whispered from her side.

“I don’t either, but Lae’zel seems confident, and they did direct us to the infirmary. We’ll follow her lead until someone here makes the first move.” Tav responded quietly so only they could hear.

“And if Lae’zel doesn’t follow us?” Karlach asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Tav decided, her eyes constantly darting around their surroundings.

Judging eyes followed them through the halls, whispers of why this strange group was permitted access to their Creche. She wanted to trust Lae’zel, but she was starting to worry that this was all a trap.

Pain ripped through Tav’s head as she merged her mind with Lae’zel’s. It was a searing splinter in her brain, threatening to split it in two. The alien device currently rifling through Lae’zel’s psyche was causing her pain unlike that of any she had ever known.

Surely this cannot be purification, there is no way her body can survive such a torment.

“Vlaakith tavki na’zin. Vlaakith tavki na’zin.” Lae’zel’s pained cries echoed off the walls.

Tav whipped around to the strange githyanki doctor watching the horrific scene.

“She’s in far too much pain, there is no way she will survive this. Get her out!” She yelled.

“The zaith’isk is working as intended.” The doctor assured her. Another piercing scream from Lae’zel rang in their ears.

Working as intended?

This was not purification, this was death. The githyanki cure for a mind flayer tadpole was of course, death.

“Get out of there, Lae’zel. You won’t survive this torment!” She begged her companion.

“My queen…hear me!” Lae’zel’s agony dripped off every syllable as she ignored Tav’s pleas.

“REMOVE HER! REMOVE HER NOW!” The dream visitor’s voice shouted into her mind.

The pain Tav was sharing with Lae’zel immobilized her. She tried to cut off the connection but fell to her knees from the effort. The others gathered around her, panic spreading between them. She was able to get one more look at Lae’zel before a blinding light took over her vision, followed by the sound of a loud explosion.

“Shka’keth!” She heard the doctor cry out as Lae’zel was thrown back over by Tav.

Her vision swam momentarily, her ears ringing from the blast. The zaith’isk was destroyed, and the ghustil was striding from the room as Lae’zel shouted what Tav could only assume were profanities after her.

This isn’t a good sign.

More githyanki soldiers.

Each room they entered came with another wave of skilled fighters.

“Do you remember when we used to get annoyed with Lae’zel for saying her people were so much better than us?” Tav yelled at Astarion as she shot another arrow through a young githyanki’s leg.

“Of course, darling. It was most rude of her.” He shouted back just before he sunk a bite into another one’s neck.

“I’m starting to think she was right!” Tav pushed another soldier off her, shoving them just far enough away to be able to shoot an arrow through their eye. A sword grazed her on the arm as she tried to fall back to higher ground. The cut stung, but it wasn’t too deep. She ran to climb a nearby ladder but was kicked down by an archer standing at the top of it.

Tav landed hard on her shoulder. When she got back up and tried to draw her bow, it protested heavily at the pain. She was able to get one arrow shot before her arm gave out, unable to withstand the tension of her bow.

Sword it is then.

She grabbed the small sword from her belt just in time to parry a swing from another githyanki that had run into the room. Astarion appeared beside her, stabbing one of his daggers into her attacker’s throat. They stood back-to-back as they furiously fought off the githyanki warriors that had descended on their party. Her arms were aching from the effort of their nonstop fighting.

In the chaos, she spared a look at Lae’zel. Their gith companion was in a complete rage, rivaling that of Karlach. She sliced through her kin turned enemies, tears staining her face and streaking the blood spattered there. Tav was thrown off by the absolute heartache the scene caused her. Lae’zel’s entire world had been upended today, forsaken by her queen and her fellow githyanki simply because she was unlucky enough to be kidnapped by mind flayers.

Tav turned her attention back to the assault at hand. There would be time for grieving later. For now, they just had to survive the Creche.

***

The sun was nearly set when Halsin finally saw his companions making their way back into camp. He was expecting happy, refreshed faces blessedly free of tadpoles. Maybe even some cheering or excited chatter. What he saw instead was seven utterly beaten and bloodied adventurers, dragging their feet and staggering back into camp.

Oak Father give me strength, what happened?

Tav and Wyll were helping support Lae’zel, who was limping in between them and now carrying a massive githyanki greatsword on her back. But something else was wrong, it almost seemed like a part of Lae’zel was missing. He went straight to Tav to try and figure out what had happened. As he moved in to help hold Lae’zel up, he quickly looked Tav over as well. Her face was bloodied and scratched up, but otherwise she seemed to be moving along just fine.

“Tav! What is going on here? You all look horrible.” Halsin gently moved her out of the way to help guide Lae’zel to a seat near the fire. She didn’t answer right away, her head was hung low, and her split lower lip was trembling. Seeing her face bruised made his blood run hot, blindly hating whoever did this to her.

“It was all a lie. The cure, purification…all of it.” Tav whispered, giving Lae’zel a pained look. For just a moment, Halsin was ready to turn his fury on Lae’zel, thinking that she had betrayed the group. But as soon as he looked into her eyes, it was plain to see that she had been lied to as well. Her proud face was now laced with agony and grief. Tav walked over behind her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Lae’zel. Truly, I am. Know that we’ll help you in any way we can. I hope you’ll continue with us to Moonrise.” Tav’s voice was soft and full of sadness.

“Chk.” Lae’zel responded indifferently, but Halsin did notice that she had slightly leaned into Tav’s touch.

“I’ll explain everything later. If you can help Lae’zel first, I think Shadowheart and I can manage the rest.” Tav mumbled towards him before slowly walking off towards the others.

He watched her walk away, feeling whiplash at the sudden change in the party’s demeanor. Tav and Shadowheart were working together to try and patch up the rest of their party. Lae’zel was by far the most injured, but some of her ailments were possibly even beyond his own talents.

“Lae’zel, what happened out there?” Halsin tried to keep his voice low and calm.

“The zaith’isk…it had been tampered with to lure infected gith to their deaths.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“I’m…I’m so sorry. To find such a deception after you were so sure of a cure...” He started slowly healing the cuts adorning her body. Her foot also appeared to have some broken bones in it.

“I am hshar’lak. No longer welcomed as a child of Vlaakith, there will be no ascension for me, no red dragon mount. I will be hunted by her faithful kith’raki for the rest of my days.” Lae’zel’s usual gruff voice was soft now, and Halsin swore he saw a tear escape one of her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lae’zel.” He started another healing spell before continuing. “Perhaps we’ll be able to find another solution at Moonrise Towers.”

Lae’zel said nothing in response. She sat still as he finished patching up her wounds. Once he was done, she shuffled away to her tent without another word. A small thorn of guilt stuck into his side from the relief he felt. The selfish part of him was glad that there was no cure, now he would have even more days in the company of this strange group. In the company of Tav. He looked over toward their other companions, trying to find her. Not seeing her among them, he walked over by Karlach.

“Where did Tav go?” He asked, still scanning the camp.

“She said she wanted to take a walk. Don’t worry though, she was all healed by the time she left. Her and Shadowheart patched us all up.” Karlach smiled halfheartedly at him.

“Ah, I see.” His heart sank a little, he had been hoping to hear more from her about what had happened today. The disappointment must have been evident on his face.

“She went that way.” She nodded her head to the side, her smile broadening a little. Halsin smiled back at her and went to take a step to go find Tav, but hesitated.

“It’s okay, Halsin. You can go after her. I’m sure she’d enjoy the company.” Karlach urged him, her smile growing with each passing second.

He let out a relieved sigh before nodding to her and heading off into the woods after Tav.

***

Tav found a secluded area nearby where a small stream cut through the trees. The soft sound of the rushing water was soothing. She took off her shoes and let her sore feet rest in the water, bringing her knees up so her chin could rest on them. Today weighed heavily on her. Part of her knew the miracle cure at the Creche was too good to be true, yet she brought everyone here anyway. Despite her reservations, she hoped that they could have been freed from the tadpoles. If she didn’t have to worry about the tadpole, it might be easier to join Halsin on his quest to Moonrise. She was beginning to think his reservations about her had something to do with the fact that she could transform into a mind flayer at any moment.

It was nights like tonight that she really missed Tev. He always had the answers when she couldn’t find them. He was the reason she was here now and not locked away from the world in her family’s estate. Even with the tadpole, she much preferred this life to the one he helped pull her from. Footsteps from behind her brought her away from the memories.

“Are you alright?” Halsin’s low, soothing voice called out to her.

“Never better.” Her eyes were fixed on the flowing stream in front of her. He kept walking until he was standing over her.

“May I?” He gestured to the ground next to her. Tav nodded, moving one of her shoes out of the way.

Halsin sat down and removed his sandals so he could also rest his feet in the water alongside her. His arms rested on the ground behind him.

“I hope you haven’t come here to tell me that your god has forsaken and turned on you as well. I think we’ve met our quota for that problem in our little adventuring party.” Tav turned her head to look at him, resting her cheek on her knees. He let out a light chuckle in response.

“So far as I am aware, Silvanus has no qualms with me. The Oak Father does tend to be much more forgiving than a deity such as Vlaakith though.”

Tav smiled lightly, turning her attention back to the cool water running over her toes.

“I thought you’d like to hear that Lae’zel will be fine, physically that is. Unfortunately, her mind may take some time to recover, she was put through a great ordeal today. I’m sure with support from all of you she will recuperate.”

“First Mystra, now Vlaakith…shall we make a bet on which god we’ll piss off next?” Tav asked.

“Well, if I have anything to say about it, Shar will likely be angry with us if we’re able to dispel the shadows surrounding Moonrise Towers.” Halsin was half joking, but obviously concerned about the fact that they may well be planning on screwing over a spiteful goddess.

“Oh good, while we’re at it why don’t we just go ahead and take on Bhaal as well? We can end up turned into bloody gore piles in some rotting temple. Actually, why stop there? Let’s add the rest of the Dead Fucking Three. You know, just to make it a challenge.” She threw herself backwards onto the ground, crossing her arms over her face. Halsin snickered at her childish display.

“What happened today? Lae’zel told me about something called a zaith’isk.”

Slowly, she uncovered her face and filled him in on their day fighting through the Creche. The ghustil, the zaith’isk, the inquisitor. Their brief, yet terrifying, encounter with Vlaakith. She told him all about their dream visitor that resided in the prism, how they could communicate with them via the tadpole. He listened to her intently, the new information about the dream visitor sinking in. She told him about the waves of githyanki fighters they faced and how they would likely be hunting them to the ends of Faerûn.

“At least we got the neat, ancient mace.” Tav rubbed her eyes, fighting off the tiredness trying to weigh them down. Halsin chuckled lightly.

“So, what now?” He asked as he fell back onto the ground to lay next to her.

“Now…Now it looks like we’re going back to the Underdark.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Then on to Moonrise.”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 fanfiction #halsin x tav #halsin fanfic #halsin silverbough #bg3 fluff #bg3 headcanons

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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👀 PLease tell us your thoughts about the Jedi babies re-growing up among different cultural contexts.

Oh fuck okay

Context: original post, chrono The specific post this ask is referencing: here

Summary of the AU: Disaster lineage got tossed back in time. Anakin stayed 21-ish, but Obi-Wan and Ahsoka got deaged, took new names for time-travel reasons (Ylliben and Sokanth, or Ben and Soka), are now staying with the True Mandalorians under Jaster Mereel because the Force said to, go back to the Temple after about a decade. They grabbed Shmi about three months after arriving.

So as far as the cultural background goes, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had similar upbringings. She spent a few years on Shili first, but both spent the majority of their childhoods up to age 13/14 being raised in the creche. So that's the basis that they would default to, in a vacuum.

Nobody is raised in a vacuum.

Along with the Jedi cultural background, they're being raised by Tatooine natives in a Mandalorian environment.

Shmi and Anakin are both former slaves who have desert survival baked into their bones. The longer Anakin spends around her, the more his accent slips, the more he talks about old folktales, the more he uses idioms that don't exist on a cityplanet like Coruscant. All the things that he tamped down to be a Jedi come floating back to the surface, and Shmi's never known anything else. Anakin's knowledge of slave customs make her feel more comfortable, which in turn makes him feel better, and so on.

Mandalore is just... the culture they're living in. You don't grow up in a new culture with a new language without picking up on it personally. (Source: I moved to the US when I was a little under two years old.)

I think the thing I'm going to focus on as an example is the way each of these cultures approaches family, and then maybe how they approach the keeping of peace/what peace means.

Jedi: Where you come from means little, only the legacy you leave behind in your students. Mandalore: You protect your clan and your children; adoption is a major cultural value, if not actually practiced consistently. Tatooine: You can lose your family at any time, so you value what you have in all its forms. You don’t forget where and who you came from, to family of blood and family of choice alike. You cling to your memories and what little you still have of them, to what your master cannot take away.

These are all valid ways to approach family, and each of these approaches can have significant meaning to different people. But they do all, to a certain degree, conflict with one another, despite all three being fairly communal cultures.

The Jedi have a culture, one that’s built on a shared ability and religion over thousands of years. It’s not just an organization, but a continuous community with legends and traditions and art and records. But it’s one that is built on new blood coming in from the outside, volunteers who join because the religion speaks to them (near literally, given the nature of Force Sensitivity), given up by families who couldn’t or wouldn’t teach them in a way that let their talents flourish instead of pushing it all down.

For the Jedi, a culture built on people coming together due to something they have in common intrinsically that their families of blood do not, it makes sense to put emphasis on letting go of that past when they can, and to place importance on teaching lineages. It’s not just the official master-padawan pairs, either, but that’s the most obvious and easily paralleled element. Moreover, a lot of the Jedi culture is about gaining knowledge, so obviously spreading it is good, and also on supporting the galaxy to make it a better place; to view the Jedi order as a heavily communal culture would make sense, since their values are all about selfless betterment of the universe, which on a larger scale is about the galactic conflicts, but on a smaller scale is about supporting their own community, the children and the ill and elderly.

So that is the specific culture that Obi-Wan and Ahsoka grew up in, one that holds blood family as relevant but not particularly crucial to one’s identity, but is structured so people leave behind legacies through education in a manner that often becomes adoptive family (depending on your definition, I guess). Jedi are encouraged to connect to their home cultures, if not their families, with practices like the coming of age hunt for Togruta leading to the young Jedi taking a trip out to Shili to engage in that cultural milestone. This can also be viewed as a way for the Jedi to maintain personal connections to the wider universe, a (not entirely successful, but certainly attempted) way of keeping them from becoming too isolated and insular from the universe at large, and losing touch from what the galaxy actually needs of them.

They’re now growing up with two cultures that do place emphasis on blood and found family.

Mandalore, as presented in The Mandalorian, has their traditional values set as being heavily associated with their armor, battle skills, and childcare. While that’s clearly a set of values that aren’t actually followed by everyone with full sincerity, we can assume that these stated cultural values do have at least some impact on the way the society is structured, since we do see more traditional characters (Jaster, Din) adopt orphaned children and then have the Mandalorian elements of their immediate circles support that claim.

(We’ll ignore Jango and the whole clone army thing because the amount of Sith influence is up for debate and also holy trauma, Batman.)

However, we also see that a lot of Mandalorian culture is built on their family histories. On the New Mandalorian side, we see emphasis placed on the fact that Satine is House Kryze and that she’s a duchess. Her bloodline is relevant, though not the most important thing about her. On the Death Watch side, we have Pre and Tor placing emphasis on the fact that they’re Clan Vizsla, descended from Tarre, that this is important to why they deserve what the darksaber represents, this is part of why they not only deserve to lead, but should for the good of Mandalore.

Bo-Katan’s armor is a family heirloom. Boba’s armor was Jango’s, but before being Jango’s, it was Jaster’s. Armor is important enough to pass to family, but the family can be adopted. This all tracks.

The resol’nare specifies loyalty and care for the clan/tribe among the six tenets.

These two elements seem relatively well-balanced: the importance of adoption and the importance of family as a larger unit on the level of a house or clan.

And then you have Tatooine, which also balances blood and adoption, but for entirely different reasons, that being this: it can always be taken from you.

For all that a Mandalorian could historically expect their family to die in battle, and a Jedi could expect to lose their master the same way if things went poorly, those were usually choices. A Mandalorian was raised to walk into battle, and then they could make that choice to do so. It wasn’t often much of a choice, but they could feasibly turn their back and choose to be a farmer or a doctor or something, and support the people who went out to do battle instead of being the one on the field themselves. A Jedi could choose to be a healer or an archivist or join one of the Corps.

A slave does not get that choice. A slave can be killed or sold on a whim from their master. It’s not a one-time trauma, but an ever-present fear. Your parent, your child, your sibling, your spouse, all of them can be separated from you at any time. You can always lose them, and you have no choice but to grin and bear it, or try to run and die before you reach freedom.

In a context like that, I imagine Tatooine places a very heavy emphasis on family, both of blood and of choice, and on treasuring what you have while you have it. A person is always aware that they can lose whoever they have in their life, and so they make the most of their times together, have clear and consistent ways of expressing that love (I imagine primarily direct verbal confirmations and physical contact, practical gifts like water and fruit). Childcare is important, elders are venerated. Those who survived that far have valuable wisdom, and the children are to be given what happiness they can have before reality wipes that ability from them.

The family ‘networks’ among Tatooine slaves are smaller and tighter knit. There’s less trust for outsiders, but once you’re in, you’re in until you are taken away. Still, families are torn apart regularly, and often can’t contact each other after being separated if they’re sold far enough away, so families stay small because they’re always being broken up. Unlike Mandalore’s tribe/clan system, or the Jedi’s wide, loosely-structured community, Tatooine’s slaves form smaller groups that cling for as long as they can, and try to support each other. (There are selfish ones, of course, especially the newbies, but... well. Most try.)

Tatooine is also much more likely to assign a familial role (e.g. referring to an elder as ‘grandmother’). It’s not uncommon in the others (multiple Jedi refer to their masters as a parent or sibling, like Anakin’s “you’re like a father to me” line), but it’s not as baked-in that such a role should be given.

So on a structural level, we have two people from a community culture with little emphasis on blood family or formal familial roles are now being raised in a community that has them asking “what can you do for the people around you first, and then the wider world?” by people who tell them “your family, blood and found, is the most important thing you have; never let anyone take more from you than they possibly can.”

And that shit has an effect.

For all that Sokanth and Ylliben were once raised with a knowledge that their duty, their goal, was to better the galaxy as a whole, they are now being told that the community that raises them asks their loyalty back, because societies are built on support networks, and if you support the tribe, it will support you. There are parallels to that kind of thinking among Jedi, because it is basic social theory, but it’s not presented as the same kind of cultural value. It’s not given as something to strive for, just a basic fact.

This, for instance, means that once they’re back at the Temple, they have a tendency towards suggesting study groups and other ways of supporting people in their immediate circle, often structured in very unfamiliar ways. Again, this isn’t uncommon among Jedi, but it’s not done in the same way, or with the same emphasis. The Jedi also often approach problem-solving in a different order, so the step of “meditate on it and you may find your solution” often comes before “gather information from people who know more about it than you do,” while Ben and Soka have by this point learned to do it the other way around, because that’s what the Mandalorian system taught them: rely on your family first.

Meanwhile, the Tatooine element of their upbringing has them being much more willing to just... casually refer to ‘my dad’ and ‘my sister’ and so on. They use those words. It’s not just “my master is like a father to me,” but “this is my father.” They don’t hesitate to talk about the family they had and still have in Mandalorian space. None of the Jedi begrudge them it, really, but it’s always a shock to hear for the first time, and between the Tatooine refusal to pretend the connection is gone and the Mandalorian tendency to err on the side of roughhousing as affection, they’re just... odd. It’s not like none of the other Jedi know family outside the Order--some of the old books had Obi-Wan visiting his brother on Stewjon once in a while--or like none of the active Jedi are loud or boisterous, but the specific manner in which Soka and Ben interact with the Order, especially when their dad is around, is very weird.

More Soka than Ben, really, but that’s mostly just because Ben’s a very quiet person until he gets a little older, so it’s harder to notice on him.

Point is, while they still hold to their duty to the wider galaxy and will continue to keep that duty above almost anything else in their lives, the way they talk and act about the subject of family, especially in private, is heavily influenced by their new cultures.

This is already very long but I promised I’d talk about peace so let’s go:

The Jedi seek peace as an absence of war and conflict in the portion of the galaxy under their purview, in hopes that they will prevent as much suffering and death as they can.

The Mandalorians are varied, but Jaster Mereel’s group (which is the community the Skywalkers are with) is likely to view peace as unrealistic to achieve in the long term. They do not seek war, but they know the world they live in, and are prepared to protect against violence as their first resort. They always expect an attack, even if they don’t seek it.

The Slaves of Tatooine view peace as the calm in a storm. It is the status quo. Nobody has escaped tonight, for the guards aren’t searching, but neither is anyone dead. The Master you have is in a good enough mood to not sell you, to not kill you, to not beat you. Peace as an absence of suffering is impossible, so you seek for your master to be peaceful, that is to say: not raging at you.

The scope of each of these narrows significantly. From the known galaxy, to the wars that meet Mandalorian space, to the household one serves.

A community like the Jedi can choose to address peace as something to be sought on a large scale as an absence of war. They primarily function within the borders of the Republic, which has its problems but is largely structured to prevent such things from occurring until the Sith interfere. The Jedi have a structure that allows them to address peace as an ideal to be sought, at least within the borders of the territory they serve.

Mandalore, meanwhile, has been at war on and off for... ever. When they are not at war with themselves, they’re at war with someone else. ‘Peace’ is just the time between wars, and they know that if they do not attack first, they will be forced to defend. Jaster Mereel was known as the Reformer, and part of that was that instituting a code of honor, one that was intended to prevent Mandalorian warriors from acting as raiders and brigands, but rather acting as honorable hired soldiers, or taking roles such as the Journeyman Protectors. Given that, I imagine that he views war as something inevitable, but also something that can be mitigated.

War doesn’t touch Tatooine.

Oh, it might raise taxes and import rates. It might prevent visitors who come for the races. It can do a lot of things.

But to a slave, these are nothing. The only thing war does is affect the master, the person who chooses when their slaves get water, when they get beaten, when they are no longer useful enough to keep around or keep alive.

The peace of a slave’s live is dictated by how much abuse they are subjected to by the person who owns them.

What this means for Soka and Ben is... well, they are viewed as war-hungry by the people who don’t know them very well. They have armor. They focus on fighting, both with and without their sabers. They know tactics better than most masters. They claim that war is coming, and don’t seem too sad about it.

(It is a fact to them. War will come. All they can do is meet it. They’ve already done their mourning once.)

They also... well, Shmi tells them things in hidden corners. How to duck their head to hide the hate or fear in their eyes. How to watch for the anger in the tendons of a hand. The laugh of someone who enjoys the pain they’ve caused, not just the adrenaline of a fight. She is free, and so are they, but she has not forgotten how to hide in the shadows until the master’s ire has turned elsewhere. How to be small and quiet and unseen until the danger passes.

A Jedi’s first resort is words. Their second is their saber. But the Jeedai hold their heads high, and the Mandalorians do the same.

“You rely on the Force, and you have your pride,” she tells them, her hands on their own. “But there will come a time when you will not be able to remind people that you are free. You will not be able to say that you are a person, that you deserve the respect of a living sentient. Perhaps it will be a politician who treats everyone like that. Perhaps you will be captured by an enemy. Perhaps you will be undercover. You will not be able to fight, with words or with weapons, and you will have to know how to survive.”

Tatooine does not have peace. Tatooine only has survival.

And while Jedi fight for the survival and peace of the universe, they are refined and composed. Mando’ade fight like warriors of old, and Tatooine slaves fight like cornered, rabid anooba.

The galaxy comes first, but when the chips are down and the Sith come out to play, Soka and Ben do not need refinement, because they know how to toss aside their pride and live.

#Tatooine #Mandalore #Jedi #culture clash #star wars #the clone wars #Anakin Skywalker #Shmi Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #Obi Wan Kenobi #Jaster Mereel #family #war #Phoenix Posts #Anakin and the Jedi Babies #Phoenix Answers Asks #I have no idea how accurate this is but it's what I'm working with

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criminalmindsgonewrong · 4 years

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Criminal Minds if it was Greys Anatomy AU

Welcome to Quantico Grace hospital.

Chief Surgeon Dr David Rossi is the chief of surgery. He’s been at the hospital the longest, he’s been a Dr the longest and he’s written several medical journals, which are often used to train interns and residents. He has an award named after him, which he annually funds, and which surgeons across the country fight for each year. It is intended to keep surgeons on their toes and to encourage surgeons who are already on top of their game to take it even further. As well as the honour, winners are awarded $200,000. “My staff are the best. They are of a calibre you couldn’t comprehend, each and every one of them. Don’t stand there and insult them in front of me.”

Dr Aaron ‘McDreamy’ Hotchner is the head of General surgery. He pretty much runs the rest of them and keeps them out of Rossi’s way wherever possible. Unlikely as they are to come to him with a problem, Dr Hotchner can sense one a mile away, and always seems to turn up at the most inopportune moment for his colleagues, including whenever they might be busy in an on-call room, which, of course, never happens in their very professional hospital. Dr Hotchner is the number 1 runner for Chief when Chief Rossi retires, though none of them can ever see that happening. Losing his own wife at the hospital after a massive car crash almost destroys him, but Dr Hotchner always comes back around; the hospital is his entire world. And JJ’s creche is the perfect place for Jack. “Could we please just go one day without one of you almost destroying your reputation, having a law suit filed against you or almost burning down the hospital? Please?”

Dr Emily ‘Cardio Goddess’ Prentiss is head of Cardiothoracic surgery, or the ‘Heart Goddess’. Emily has wanted to be a heart surgeon since he father died of heart disease when she was eight years old. She is desperate for a baby and is devastated when JJ, her best friend and Dr, tells her that she is infertile. Months later, a mother dies giving birth to her child in the hospital; that child is Amelia (Amy, for short) who Emily meets, fosters and eventually adopts, with the help of Dr Jareau. “I guess I can fix anybody’s heart, just not my own, huh?”

Dr Jennifer ‘JJ’ Jareau is head of Obstetrics and Paediatric surgery and is thought by many to be the best Paeds surgeon in the country. People bring their children from far and wide to Dr JJ, which is what she lets her patients call her. That, in itself, can be a lot of pressure, but JJ tries best as she can to take it in her stride. After JJ’s own son was born, she took some time off from the hospital, finding it difficult to be away from Henry. It was JJ who set up the creche within the hospital; given that the surgeons spent so much time there, and how many of them eventually had kids, it only made sense. “I am a mother, yes. But I am also a surgeon. Don’t try and ‘mommy track’ me. I’m among the best you’ve got, and we both know it.”

Dr Spencer ‘Brainbox’ Reid is head of Neurosurgery. He’s got the highest IQ in the hospital, which is rather ironic when you consider that he works almost exclusively with the brain. Almost, because Dr Reid has also specialised in Cardiothoracic surgery (which bothers Dr Prentiss more than she would ever care to admit, even though she is undeniably still the Cardio Goddess) and Plastics, just to spite Dr Morgan, because he once commented on how Reid didn’t have the aesthetic awareness needed to be a plastic surgeon. The fact that Morgan is still a better plastic surgeon is something that Reid will never tell him. “The brain is like a muscle. It needs to be worked or...it won’t work.”

Dr Derek ‘McSteamy’ Morgan is the head of Plastics. He’s the most beautiful man most of his patients have ever seen, and they’re always appropriately shocked and impressed when he tells them that he himself has never actually had plastic surgery. Morgan has quite the reputation around the hospital and is often told off by his fellow surgeons for scaring away nurses and interns. (“Stop sleeping with my students, Derek.”) However, when he eventually knocks up Nurse Savannah Hayes, Dr Morgan is forced to step up and face his responsibilities. And, dammit, if it isn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “Sometimes you know surgery isn’t going to end well, but you do it anyway, because it’s what the patient wants.”

Chief Nurse Penelope Garcia keeps the hospital running. She is on top of the OR board, she makes sure ER’s are ready and available and she makes sure her Drs have their interns when they need them. Nothing happens in the hospital that she doesn’t know about. She has been in love with Dr Morgan for as long as she’s known him. Everytime he calls her babygirl, her heart does a little flutter in her chest, but she’ll never tell him. And besides, there’s a new Ortho Dr that she’s interested in. What was his name again? Dr Alvez? She, JJ and Emily have all just taken to calling him the Bone Dr. For multiple obvious reasons. "I love you all very much - yes, even you, Hotch - but you’re all useless outside of an OR. Where would you be without me? I’d love to see it. You’re all very welcome.”

#greys isnt mine #criminal minds isnt mine #calm down x #this was so fun #i loved it #criminal minds #incorrect criminal minds quotes #criminal minds gone wrong #david rossi #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #derek morgan #penelope garcia #greys anatomy #au

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chaoticchickadee · 3 years

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Active Meditation

"Deep in her thoughts, Ahsoka almost didn’t see the event board as she passed by it. Most of the flyers were uninteresting-- some speeders for sale, a lost tooka notice, and war effort posters covered a majority of the board, however there was one advertisement in the corner that caught her eye. Free Beginner’s Pottery Class it read, in bold lettering at the top."

Or, Ahsoka discovers a new hobby after seeking help from Obi-Wan.

Read it here on AO3

Like her master, Ahsoka had always had a hard time meditating. She really tried, but especially after experiencing the “hurry up and wait” lifestyle necessary in the war, she found it difficult to just sit still and calm her mind. While Anakin was visiting Padme on Senatorial duty, she was using some of her precious alone time to practice meditation techniques, but it still didn’t come any easier to her. Sighing, Ahsoka flopped onto her back and tried to think of a solution. She knew if she went to Anakin with her troubles, he would understand, but he wouldn't be able to help her with this. Master Obi-Wan always had sage advice to offer when she asked, but the thought of revealing her vulnerability made her hesitate to reach out. However, Ahsoka couldn’t recall ever feeling judgment or disappointment when confiding him, so she reconsidered the option. Deciding that despite her fear of her grandmaster’s disappointment, he would be the most helpful for finding a solution. She slowly got up from the floor and headed for Obi-Wan’s quarters.

Once outside of Obi-Wan’s door, she raised her hand to knock, but paused right before her fist made contact. Guilt and trepidation settled in her gut and almost made her turn around and go back to her rooms. She swallowed and finally knocked, determined to go through with her plan. For a moment, she worried Obi-Wan was out, but then his door opened and Ahsoka was blinded by his bright, cheery smile. “Ahsoka! What a wonderful surprise! Please, come in, I’ll make some tea.” Ahsoka flashed him a tight smile and followed him into his small common area. “Is there something wrong, padawan?” Obi-Wan asked as he puttered about in the kitchenette. “Well, I was hoping that you might be able to help me with something. I’ve been having a really hard time meditating, and I can tell it's starting to affect me. No matter what I do, I just can’t get my mind to settle. Do you have any advice?” Ahsoka asked, nervously trailing off at the end. Obi-Wan hummed as he brought two steaming mugs into the common area, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Well, from what I remember with Anakin, he always seemed to do better when he had something to pour his excess energy into. It’s a little trick called ‘active meditation.’ Sometimes focusing the mind on an activity is what is needed to bring clarity. You could try finding a small, repetitive task that you enjoy to do while you meditate. I bought Anakin a beginner’s droid-building kit and it worked wonders. Not so challenging that it would take all of his concentration, but enough that he would have something to center himself. You could try something like drawing, or dance? Whatever feels right to you.”

Anakin had never told her about that, but after witnessing his restless energy over the course of her apprenticeship, Ahsoka supposed it made sense. She took a sip of her tea as she mulled over Obi-Wan’s advice. Ahsoka wasn’t totally convinced that it would work, but ultimately decided that, out of respect and trust in Obi-Wan, she would at least try it. “I don’t really know what I would do, but I guess I could try it, Master. I’ve never heard of this before, does it really work? Is it--” she paused, searching for the right word, “-- allowed? ” Obi-Wan smiled fondly, patient and understanding as he answered her questions. “Oh yes, in fact many knights and masters practice both active and traditional meditation, depending on their current needs and state of mind. Many practice katas, but others have found the arts conducive to achieving peace and mindfulness. I--” He was interrupted by the shrill beeping of his comm on the other side of the room. Obi-Wan excused himself for a moment and went to check the message, shoulders sagging as he read it. “I’m afraid an emergency meeting has been called by the council, I have to go. You’re a bright young woman, I’m sure you’ll find an activity that feels right. Please don’t hesitate to come to me if you have any trouble.” Ahsoka nodded and followed him out the door. They parted ways down the corridor, and Ahsoka changed course from her quarters toward the entrance to the temple, hoping a walk would help clear her head.

Ahsoka strolled through the streets of Coruscant, contemplating her grandmaster’s words. She did always excel when working with her hands. Learning mechanics and ship repair with Anakin had been easy, her deft fingers learning the intricacies of the movements with ease. The more she thought about it, the more Obi-Wan’s advice made sense to her. He’d clearly only wanted to help her, and his voice had held none of the judgement and disappointment she had feared when she first knocked on his door. If her grandmaster thought this… “active meditation” would help, then she would give it her best try.

She knew some of the clones had taken up a form of weaving, making small accessories like socks and helmet liners with just a couple of sticks and some yarn. When she’d asked about it, they’d told Ahsoka it relaxed them and that it was the process that was important, the finished product was just a bonus. It certainly had an appeal, but Ahsoka couldn’t see herself finding much enjoyment out of fiddling with some sticks and string. Her thoughts drifted to her master, who seemed to always be in reach of some half-finished mechanical heap. Often during long, boring meetings she had noticed him quietly building and taking apart small mechanical components. Ahsoka enjoyed mechanics plenty, but a lot of her duties in the GAR involved ship and droid repair, and she wanted her meditation to be an escape from her day-to-day life, not really an extension of it.

Deep in her thoughts, Ahsoka almost didn’t see the event board as she passed by it. Most of the flyers were uninteresting-- some speeders for sale, a lost tooka notice, and war effort posters covered a majority of the board, however there was one advertisement in the corner that caught her eye. Free Beginner’s Pottery Class it read, in bold lettering at the top. On the bottom of the page was a comm frequency and information on where and when the class would be held. Memories of wandering the temple halls as a youngling, soaking up the beautiful art and artifacts on display quickly came to the forefront of her mind. She remembered staring in awe at the intricate designs and shapes of the vases and statues, amazed at the detail. Ahsoka checked the date on the flyer, smiling when she noticed that the class would be during her leave. Snapping a quick holo of the relevant information, she turned away from the event board and made her way back to the temple.

Senior padawans were allowed to come and go as they pleased during their free time, so while Ahsoka wasn’t technically sneaking out, it sure did feel like she was. She opted to take one of the lesser known exits in the temple, the knowledge of which had been passed down in her lineage specifically for troublemaking. Logically, she knew no one would care if they found out where she was going, but Ahsoka wasn’t quite ready for anyone to know about her potential new hobby yet. Soon she reached the end of the corridor and stepped out into the cool Coruscant night.

The rec center hosting the pottery class was only a few blocks away from the temple, so it wasn’t long before Ahsoka entered the small, modest building. She followed the small signs indicating where to find room 137, where the class would be held. Pausing outside of the door, she could hear quiet, relaxed chatter coming from inside. Ahsoka gathered herself and opened the door, scanning the room for an open workbench. Ahsoka found one near the door and walked quickly over to it and waited patiently for the class to begin, hoping she looked more confident and at ease than she really felt.

A few minutes later, a friendly Rhodian woman made her way to the front of the classroom and cleared her throat. A hush fell over the students, eager to receive instruction. “Hello everyone, I see we have some new faces, welcome. I am Meeqkrik Vunu, your teacher for tonight. This week, we’ll be making mugs. They are pretty easy to do, a perfect opportunity to get creative with your design. Your work tables are already cleaned and set up for you, so go ahead and grab some clay from the cabinet to begin.” Meeqkrik’s soft voice instantly put Ahsoka at ease. She reminded her of the Creche Masters at the Jedi temple-- approachable, understanding, and patient, genuinely happy to be here teaching her students. Ahsoka followed the others to an open cabinet on the left wall of the room and scooped up a handful of clay. Once everyone had their clay and settled back at their work benches, Meeqkrik began her instructions. The soothing cadence of her words helped Ahsoka relax, and soon she found herself enjoying the process. It was easy to get creative and let loose in the calm atmosphere of the little classroom. As her hands performed the small, repetitive tasks, Ahsoka’s thoughts flowed freely and she let them go into Force with an ease she hadn’t had since she was a youngling. Smiling to herself, Ahsoka realized that once again, Master Obi-Wan’s advice had been spot-on.

Once she had the basic structure of the mug done, Ahsoka sat back and tried to come up with how she wanted to design the mug. She looked around the room, analyzing what her peers had chosen to do with their mugs. Most were carving small motifs on the side, some abstract, some familiar shapes, like the tooka the young human in front of her chose. A twi’lek towards the front of the room had made the body of his mug mimic a tree trunk and shaped the handle to look like a leaf, which Ahsoka thought was pretty cool. The unique design of the twi’lek’s mug gave Ahsoka an idea, and she quickly turned to work on her mug with renewed vigor.

An hour or so later, Ahsoka gingerly carried her mug to the front of the room where Meeqkrik was patiently waiting for their finished pieces. “Ah, an ambitious creation. Very well done, miss…?” “Oh, Ahsoka is fine Ms. Vunu, thank you. Where should I put it?” Ahsoka blushed at the compliment. “Just find an empty spot here in the kiln. We’ll have a painting session on Taungsday if you can make it.” Meeqkrik answered, gesturing to the large oven-like structure in the corner of the room. Ahsoka nodded her thanks, and carefully set her mug on the tray inside of the kiln. She then headed back to the temple, excited to finish her project on Taungsday.

The next morning, Obi-Wan joined her for breakfast in the cafeteria. “Good morning, Ahsoka. Have you had a chance to try active meditation yet?” he asked. She grinned, “Actually, I have. The rec center hosts free pottery classes, I went to one last night. It really helped, thank you. The creative outlet really was perfect for sorting through my thoughts” “That’s wonderful, Ahsoka. I’m glad it helped. What did you learn in the class?” Ahsoka could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke, and she told him about her exciting night out.

Ahsoka counted down the hours until she could return to the rec center, eager to paint her little mug. When Taungday evening finally came, she raced out the temple entrance, a stark contrast to her exit just a few days prior. She couldn’t quite hide the smile that crept up on her face when the rec center was in view, and quickly made her way back to room 137. Meeqkrik had their mugs on the counter up front, and a few other students were already working on theirs. “Good evening Ahsoka, welcome back. Your mug is here on the left, and the paints are over in the cabinet next to the clay. Take all of the colors and time you need, we have the room until closing.” Meeqkrik said quietly, and Ahsoka thanked her and went to gather her paint. She grabbed black, gray, blue, and a dash of red, then brought them to the nearest bench and set to work. It took Ahsoka almost until closing to finish painting, the finer details of her design taking patience she didn’t know she still had. When she was done, she brought it back to the kildn one last time to set the paint. Meeqkrik assured her she could swing by to pick it up at any time that ten-day, and soon Ahsoka was walking back to the temple, enjoying the brisk Coruscant night.

While Anakin was at the Senate building again, Ahsoka left to pick up her mug. It’s unique and familiar shape made it easy to pick out on the table set out for the pottery class. She gingerly secured it in the satchel she brought with her and sped back to the temple, hoping to make it there before her Master was due back. Relieved when she didn’t see his speeder parked outside, Ahsoka scurried back to their rooms. She made it just a few moments before she heard Anakin’s boisterous voice outside, most likely continuing his debate with Knight Secura about who had the better master. The door clicked open and Ahsoka heard Anakin step into the room. She tried not to fidget where she sat on the battered but comfortable couch, her excitement palpable. Anakin finally noticed her as he walked into the room. ”Hey Snips, do anything fun while I was out?” he asked cheerily. Ahsoka beamed, “Actually, yeah. I was having some trouble meditating, so I asked Master Obi-Wan for advice. He suggested I try something called ‘active meditation,’ and it worked! I took a free pottery class over at the rec center, and I made this!” she said, brandishing the mug from her bag. “Active meditation, huh? Well I’m glad it helped. You did a good job with the mug, the resemblance is uncanny.” he chuckled. Indeed, it was. Ahsoka had painstakingly painted every detail she could of their favorite astromech, down to the mismatching panels just above the right strut. “Thanks, Skyguy. I figured, since Rex keeps stealing your favorite mug by accident, you could use this one instead. It certainly can’t be mistaken for anyone else’s.” Anakin gently took the mug, looking it over with the biggest smile she had ever seen. “I love it. You’re the best padawan I could ever ask for.” He set his present down on the end table and swept her up in a bone-crushing hug, which Ahsoka enthusiastically returned. “Thanks, Master. I love you too.”

#pls reblog #sw #tcw #star wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars fic #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fic #star wars fanfiction #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #disaster lineage #found family #chick fic #original content

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ghostwriterofthemachine · 4 years

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Purest Expression of Grief {haj dai}

Order 66 happens.

Cal goes quiet, Kanan thinks too much, and Ahsoka can never go back.

(Or; three children and a dying language, after they've seen their people die.) (AO3 link!)

Cal knows the Empire can track people when they use the Force. He hears it whispered about on street corners, broadcasted over the holoscreens in bars.

He doesn’t know how they do it, though. And, more terrifyingly, doesn’t know what else they can track.

There is a screaming, hysterical place inside him, irrational but un-ignorable, which is convinced that the Empire can reach into people’s minds and tear thoughts right out of them. That, if he thinks the wrong thing too loud or too often, he will bring the Empire down onto him.

This is impossible, he tells himself. But then again, he also thought it was impossible to see his friends gun down his Master.

So Cal forces himself to only think in Basic.

It isn’t hard to talk only in Basic, though he misses the curl of his lips over his other tongue more than he thought possible. But to think only in Basic is a constant, conscious choice.

Sometimes he slips up, and he clamps down on his shields and moves away from where he was standing. His heart races in his chest.

The last words his Master said to him echo in his dreams and they are not in Basic. He doesn’t want to think about those words, either. He has other things he needs to worry about.

There are very few kind people, here. And Cal is small and alone.

(He wonders if his Master would have done the same thing he did, had he known there was no one left to rescue Cal. The last thought in his Master’s mind had been of the council sending someone to scoop Cal up, safe and sound, bundle him away someplace warm — Cal can feel that from his lightsaber. But there is no one left to rescue him, and Cal’s Master had thrown him someplace cold and rainy and unsafe. There’s no one left to take care of him, not that Cal needs much taking care of, anymore.)

(Would he have made the same decision, if he knew Cal would be alone?)

His Master’s last words haunt him, in that language-which-is-not-Basic. He doesn’t think about those, either. Doesn’t think about at all.

The alone part makes him vulnerable on this planet, but the small part makes him useful. He’s not old enough to be a full member of any guild, but there’s always plenty of pickup work for the mice, as they’re called, in a scrapyard. Narrow heads and shoulders to fit up into places no one else could fit.

It keeps him fed, and Cal keeps his head down. Days start to creep by.

Today, there's a new worker on their rotation, and his Basic is thickly accented.

And he says Cal’s name differently, rounds out the vowel — “Khal,” he calls, “Little mouse, you are small, come here, get up into tiny spaces, come on, up-up—”

And it freezes Cal where he stands because— that’s almost right. That’s almost how you’d say his name in not-Basic, in that other thing he refuses to think about.

He hears those last words from Master Tepal’s mouth — “ Padawan kat fehl, netana, paikawaji uu dai” — and for a sudden, dizzying moment, that is all he can hear.

He must freeze in place for a second too long, because someone calls to him again.

“Hey, Cal, buddy,” and Cal hates how he jumps. It’s Prauf, with the kind eyes, who seems to have decided that Cal needs looking after. “Cal, you okay there?”

Cal shakes his head to clear it. He can still hear the words whispering, but ignores them.

“Haj dai, Jaieh,” he says, going for reassuring, already moving towards where the new worker pointed him.

Prauf says, “What?” and he sounds so baffled that Cal turns back to him.

“What do you mean, what?”

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said ‘Yes, Prauf.’”

“No you didn’t. You said haz —” Prauf twists his mouth around the words, and then gives up on saying the rest. “And, yeah, you called me something, what’s Jai—”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Cal bites. He sounds strangled, even to his own ears. “I said ‘Yes, Prauf,’ that’s what I said.”

Prauf, to his credit, raises his hands in acquiescence. “Okay, okay kid, that’s what you said.”

The new worker, who Cal doubts understood much of the conversation, chimes in with a high voice and a wave of his arms. “Yes, yes, very good, we all talk Khal out, all friends now, so if little mouse pleases, could he climb up into tiny space?”

Cal turns away from Prauf and pretends his heart isn’t trying to escape his chest as he pulls himself up into the gap between a ship’s wall and what used to be part of the thrusters. He’s got pliers clutched in between his teeth, and is biting a little more than necessary.

He’s expecting troopers to grab his legs, yank him out, put a blaster to his head. He’s imagining the words floating up and dissolving into the Force, of his Jaieh tilting a disappointed eyebrow at him.

He bites down on his language, and schools his thoughts into Basic.

Kanan is working with a decent crew, right now. He signed on for a few milk run missions as general muscle and a gun, which should give him enough credits for basics and some wiggle room. They seem like a decent lot, and Kanan doesn’t mind working with them

Except.

Well, except the Pilot’s name is Caleb . And it is messing with Kanan’s head .

“Hey, pass this to Caleb up on the bridge?” says Maleek, their mechanic and general tech guy. They’re holding a holo chip of something, probably maps.

Kanan hates how much he falters, how his first instinct is to laugh and say, “I’m right here.”

“Sure thing.” He smiles and takes the chip, then starts making his way towards the front of the ship.

Honestly, he’s got no idea how this hasn’t happened sooner. “Caleb” isn’t an uncommon name. It’s one that’s used on so many planets that it doesn’t really have a planet of origin.

But it makes his body feel as if it’s peeling in two, future and past, twisting like soft dough, to hear it spoken in his presence like that.

“Agisti, ” says the laughing Padawan he has buried deep within him, “tumi mikah Caleb!”

“Kanan!” Pilot Caleb says, grinning as he spins around in his seat. “What can I do for you, buddy?”

“Take this off my hands.” He slumps himself into Kanan, gunslinger, wanderer, shit-talker. He flips the chip to the pilot whose name he didn’t want to think of, and ducks out of the cockpit as fast as possible.

The community on this ship is incredible. Or, maybe, it is average, and Kanan has been alone for long enough that it seems incredible.

And, even more surprising, they all seem to actually like him. Maleek fixes his blaster without being asked and Pilot Caleb keeps trying to get him into games of cards, the other guns and muscle jostle him in a friendly way when they pass him in the halls, and the captain says things about needing to help Kanan upgrade his armor, as if he’s going to stick around.

Kanan bites his tongue and pretends he doesn’t want to stick around. He can’t.

He can’t trust anyone. He can’t rely on anyone, can’t get comfortable anywhere. He needs to keep moving.

Trust is easily shattered. Nothing is certain.

He remembers his Master telling him about how important that was, how important it was to remember that nothing was certain, except the Force. That even their word for ‘yes,’ so concrete and decisive in Basic, gave room for ambiguity— “Force Wills,” the Jedi said.

He can hear the giggling of younglings in the creche — “Will you clean up the paint, little one?”

“Haj dai!” Force wills.

“So why aren’t you doing that now?” “Force says no!”

Then squealing laughter, as the child is picked up and hugged and tickled. For being clever enough to make that connection, but silly enough to not help.

Nothing is concrete, nothing is certain, except the Force. And now Kanan doesn’t even have that to believe in.

“Will I ever see you again?” he shouts to the woman in her dreams, who commands him to run, who saves him and condemns him and gives him his new name.

“Force wills,” she says, and it’s a lie and isn’t. Because she doesn’t say yes.

So Kanan cut his own braid and renamed himself and soldered ( ha ) on.

He needs to walk away from these people, he realizes. He can’t stay, no matter how much he wants to. He can’t bring danger on them. He can’t let them be killed because he is found.

In a ten-days time, the Pilot Caleb and Maleek and their caption will say, “Stay, Kanan.”

And he will want to say “ Yes .” Haj dai.

Force wills.

He will run away again.

(ibli kanan )

Ahsoka has gotten here too late.

There aren’t that many Jedi left to rescue, though that’s something Ahsoka tries not to think about too much. Most of the ones who escaped the initial purge were hunted down in the very, very early days of the Empire, before there was enough structure in the Rebellion to even think about helping them. Ahsoka survived it by not being a Jedi. Well. That and Rex.

They’re always too late, with Jedi, if they even know at all. The Empire and the Inquisitors, always a step ahead. Always.

As Fulcrum, Ahsoka’s jobs keep her away from the front lines. She works in intel. She works in running messages. She works with refugees.

She’d been closest, when they heard the distress call. And, though Ahsoka would never admit it, part of her jumped and stood upright at the idea of saving a Jedi. Seeing another Jedi. Speaking to them.

But she’s gotten here too late.

The crumpled form of a Duros is all that is left of the Inquisitors. A Duros with a hole through his chest, bleeding sluggishly, twitching the last bits of life out of himself.

The Force wraps around him and weeps. Ahsoka knows that feeling. That’s what the Force always does, when a Jedi dies.

Ahsoka falls to her knees next to the form. She cannot judge the age of this being, she thinks in a panic — she’s always been awful at judging age in Duros, Barriss used to tease her about it — but she’d guess a few years older or younger than herself. Ahsoka’s hands hover uselessly. There’s no healing this wound. She knows it.

Had she ever met him? In the Temple, all those years ago? Had they passed in the halls, handed each other food, shared friends?

Helpless to do anything else, Ahsoka gets the Doros’s head onto her lap. Off the ground. Some measure of comfort.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when his eyes slit themselves open. When he stares up at her, eyes hazy, barely coherent.

She nearly passes out when a rush of warmth and relief swells through the Force between them, and the Doros smiles at her.

“Jaieh Tabris ,” he breaths out. The name is spoken as if it is comfort given form. His voice is achingly soft. “Jesara, Jaiah. Henelru...foh keelak.”

Ahsoka goes cold, because she recognizes the name. It conjures an image so old she thought she’d forgotten it. A Togrutan Master, maybe 10 years older than Obi-Wan. A soft-spoken and gentle woman, who liked to help teach children how to read. A woman who now shared Ahsoka’s coloring and build almost exactly, from montreals to face markings.

She knows the tone of voice the Doros just spoke to her in. She used to use it every day. (Wishes, often, that she still could.)

She’s holding Master Tabris’s Padawan. He’s dying in her arms.

The relief in the Force twists a bit, and he repeats, “Jaieh?” with a little more uncertainty. The fear creeping back in. Of letting down your Master, letting down your people. Of dying alone.

What else is Ahsoka supposed to do?

(Because if it were her— if it were her and Anakin, she’d want— even if it were pretend, she’d want—)

“Haj dai, Padawan ,” she says. She keeps her voice soft and even. “ Tamah foh bika. ” The words fall off her tongue as if she never stopped speaking this.

His eyes focus a bit more on her face. He tries to smile. “Jaieh,” he says, actually to her this time. And Ahsoka—

Ahsoka—

Ahsoka remembers a time in her life when all she wanted was to hear someone call her that. Being 15 and imagining a future where she was doing the training, instead of being trained. Her head on Anakin’s knee and a campfire warm on her face, imagining a future in peacetime, Anakin cutting her silka beads off and her rising to her feet a Knight, embracing him while Obi-Wan embraced them both. She remembers the future she used to imagine for herself; solo missions, growing and improving, always returning home. Finally being taller than Anakin. Obi-Wan going easily, gracefully gray.

She remembers imagining bringing her own Padawan to their lineage dinners, Anakin teasing them both, Obi-Wan resting and smiling. Imagining being in a position, one day, when a little Light would be hers to teach, and look up at her and call her “Jaieh.”

But Ahsoka never got to grow into that title. She never even got to be a Knight. She left her home a Padawan, and never got to return enough to become anything more.

And now she never would.

But Ahsoka cups the face of the person on her lap, whose name she would never know, and lets them both pretend.

“ Rakaah foh wungak,” chokes the man on her lap. “Jaieh, sooah foh enoctak.”

“Leoah foh, Padawan. Leoah foh. Tamah foh bika, tamah foh bika.”

His hand, nearly vibrating in effort, moves up to grasp hers. Ahsoka covers it with her other hand. She can feel the pain coming off him in waves, but she can also feel the peace. The knowledge that he is safe, now.

And in some ways, Ahsoka thinks bitterly, she supposes he is. Even if he isn’t in the arms of his Jaieh . Perhaps he soon will be.

The fingers in hers tighten. The Padawan’s eyes close.

“Komlah foh keelak, Jaieh. Komlah foh…”

And he stops moving.

And Ahsoka doesn’t move for a long time.

TRANSLATION NOTES:

Padawan kat fehl, netana, paikawaji uu dai: My Padawan, remember, trust only in the Force. -"Kawaji" is "trust," in the future tense, and "pai" is our consequential prefix, which means that the action will have lasting consequences. This takes the place of the "only" for denouncing how important this piece of information is. -"Dai," the word for the Force, never has an article before it.

Haj dai, Jaieh: Yes, Master. -Haj dai literally translates to "Force Wills"

Agisti, tumi mikah Caleb!: Hello, I am called Caleb! -"Agisti" is a greeting you would give someone who has the same rank in the Order as you, who you are equals with-- Padawan to Padawan, for instance.

ibli kanan: Little runner

Jesara, Jaiah. Henelru...foh keelak: Hello, Master. I...missed you. -"Jersara" is a respectful greeting; Padawan to Master, Master to Council member, ect.

Tamah foh bika: I am here

Rakaah foh wungak. Jaieh, sooah foh enoctak: I feel pain. Master, I feel pain. -There are different words for feeling physically and feeling mentally, as well as different words for mental and physical pain. The first sentence is declaring he is physically feeling (raka, here in present tense) physical pain (wung, here in accusative case), and the second that he is mentally feeling (soo, here in present tense) mental pain (enoct, here in accusative case).

Leoah foh, Padawan. Leoah foh. Tamah foh bika, tamah foh bika: I know. I know, Padawan. I am here, I am here.

Komlah foh keelak, Jaieh. Komlah foh...: I love you, Master. I love... -"Koml" (komlah here, in present tense) refers specifically to familial/platonic love

#star wars #my fic #sw #conlang stuff #dai bendu #did you know that there are people who remember to put fic on tumblr right away?

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cilldaracailin · 3 years

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Save Me

Hello my Tumblr Lovelys!

Happy Weekend!

Thanks for all the love and reads and comments on the last story.

Here is the next part for you all :)

Suze xx

*Disclaimer - I don't know Taron and this is all just fiction*

*DISCLAIMER - This part contains content that may be upsetting to some such as trauma and aniexty*

“Your emotions make you human. Even the unpleasant ones have a purpose. Don't lock them away. If you ignore them, they just get louder and angrier.”

Opening the creche on Saturday morning for training was always a mood killer but this particular Saturday morning, Robyn’s hands were shaking so much, she set the alarm off and it took her five tries to get the right code in, the deafening nose of the alarm finally stopping. The blaring alarm had done nothing for her aching head and she pushed open the office door, dropping into her chair, her head going straight to her hands, her fingers digging into her scalp.

She was dreading this training, knew well it had to be done but it crept up on her so quickly and the thoughts of going through the first aid refresher course that she normally enjoyed was filling her with horror. She pulled her hands from her hair and the sleeves of Taron’s black jumper up over her trembling fingers, trying to get some warmth into them. Too big and so wonderfully comfortable, Robyn wanted to feel some sort of closeness to him, even more than ever today. She had even sprayed the jumper with his aftershave, using the bottle he had given her for her birthday to make the ribbed jumper smell like him but when it was supposed to calm her, the usual familiar scent was making everything just a little bit worse as behind her closed eyes all she could picture was a bleeding Taron unconscious under her hands.

She stood up quickly when the doorbell rang, her heart racing at the sudden interruption and walked to the front door to greet the first aid trainer. She was supposed to have arrived half an hour ago to set up the preschool room upstairs for the training but stood in her home trying to think of every excuse to avoid coming to the training and when she had come up with a decent one, realised it wouldn’t work in convincing her manager so drove to the creche late, giving her no time at all to prepare not only the creche but her head for the instructor.

“Aiden, hey come on in.”

“Robyn, lovely to see you again.”

“You too.” Aiden was the trainer who had always provided the first aid training for the staff in the creche since Robyn had been with the company and this was her sixth training with him, both greeting each other with hand shake. “I am running late this morning Aiden. So sorry. Give me five minutes to get upstairs set up for you.”

“No worries Robyn. I have to get the gear from the car anyway.”

“Just let me prop the door open with the door stop. It will make it easier for you.” Robyn quickly set the door open. “You can bring everything upstairs Aiden.”

“Thanks Robyn.”

They parted at the door and while Aiden went back out to his car to carry in the start of his first aid equipment, Robyn took the stairs two at a time, pulling open the door at the top of the stairs, making her way into the Preschool room, so glad she had asked the girls yesterday evening to move all the chairs and tables into the smaller room, leaving eight small chairs out in a semi-circle for the staff taking part in the training course. She opened all the windows and the fire exit door in the small room to let some fresh air circulate before heading back down the stairs to the kitchen. As she filled some jugs with water, Emma walked in.

“Good morning.”

Emma was bright and cheery, everything Robyn wasn’t feeling that morning but she turned and gave her best smile. “Good morning.” She replied with what he prayed was the right amount of enthusiasm for a Saturday morning course. “I am running a bit behind. Sorry.”

“No worries. Me too. Saturday mornings, right?” Emma came back into the kitchen after dropping her bag in the office. “What can I do for you?” Her eyes were immediately drawn to the black oversized jumper Robyn wore and it so obviously belonged to a man and Emma knew it would only take her one guess to figure which man it once belonged too, having lightly teased her about wearing Taron’s black jumper as she met her at their gate in the airport in Paris. As she stepped to stand beside Robyn, she also got the most gorgeous scent of an aftershave and Emma was very quickly putting two and two together of where Robyn’s mind set was already so early in the morning and was so thankful to have gotten a phone call from Taron himself twenty minutes ago to say he was getting in a car and would be in Kilcreen just after eleven, provided traffic was on his side. “Upstairs set up?”

“Yep, and I opened the windows. Just to let some air in.” Robyn was filling another jug.

“Great.”

“I figured we can close them later. A bit chilly this morning.” Robyn turned off the tap and moved to open one of the presses to take out some colourful plastic cups.

“That’s fine Robyn. Let me carry these up for you.” Emma lifted the two jugs from the counter.

“It’s ok. I can manage.”

“Well, I am going to help you anyway.” Emma walked away with one of the jugs, while Robyn took the other one. Emma turned into the hallway, Aiden stopping to let her pass, his hands full as he carried two mannequin bags but she stopped in her tracks when she heard a light crash and splash of water. “Robyn!”

Emma put her jugs on the bottom stair and quickly walked back to the kitchen door, a large puddle of water in the hallway, the plastic jug still spinning a little on the ground, the cups rolling around the kitchen floor, Robyn standing with her hands on her chest, her whole face filled with a look of alarm.

Aiden walking in with the two covered mannequins in his hands gave Robyn a fright and she was kicking herself for being so stupid, for jumping when her eyes went to the two bags he carried and she dropped the jug of water and cups straight on the floor. “Shit sorry!” She moved to the press to her left to pull out a towel, bending down to clean up the mess. “Sorry!” She apologised again as she mopped up the water. She felt Emma come to hunch down in front of her. “I am ok. The water jug slipped. Trying to carry too much.”

“Robyn…”

“I am fine Emma. It just slipped.” She looked to the older woman. “I am fine.”

“Robyn…”

“Emma, leave it.” Robyn hissed at her manager, scowling at her. She looked over Emma’s head to Aiden who was still stood waiting in the hallway. “Aiden, sorry. You just startled me.”

“Sorry Robyn.” The first aid trainer was nearly sure she had seen him coming in the door and was so surprised with her reaction.

“It’s ok Aiden. Head on up. I will clean this up.”

“Aiden watch the jug on the bottom step.” Emma warned as she walked around Robyn to get another towel from the press to help clean up the large water spill.

“Thanks Emma.”

Once she was sure the trainer was out of ear shot, Emma pulled Robyn to her feet by her two wrists. “Call him.”

Robyn yanked her arms from Emma’s hands, bending down to finish cleaning up the spill.

“Robyn Quinn you go and you call him now.”

“No Emma. I am fine.” Robyn felt herself being hauled back up so she was standing face to face with her manager.

“You are not fine and have not been fine for the last two days. Jumpy, pale and spacing out on me? You need to call Taron.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Robyn…”

“No Emma.” Robyn almost shouted, stepping back into the kitchen, her shoes kicking some of the cups on the floor. “I am not calling him. He is working and working long hours on a very difficult set. He is already up to his eye with his own stuff, he doesn’t need to hear about my trivial day of training.”

“You froze yesterday over a simple nose bleed. This course is not going to be easy for you and Taron is the only person who truly understands how you are feeling and please give that wonderful man a little more credit than that Robyn. He obviously doesn’t think your worries are trivial when he made you stay with him one more night at his home to make sure you slept after you had a nightmare about the training you are about to undertake, looking after you the whole time.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “You know right well Robyn that he deserves so much more than silence from you about this weekend.”

“This course is one for day and after four is finished. I am not calling him to worry him over something that is going to be done soon.”

“Robyn…”

“No Emma!” Robyn yelled, her hands scraping down her face. “Just no. I am not calling him. I dropped a jug of water. That is all.”

“Hey Emma, Robyn.” One of the other six staff members taking the course walked in through the open door.

“Hi Lisa.” Robyn walked towards the kitchen door and picked up the wet towel, completely ignoring Emma. “All set for today?”

“Just about.”

Robyn followed Lisa towards the small locker room, slipping in past her co-worker to get to the washing machine to put the wet towel in. She knew Emma was only looking out for her but she refused to drag Taron into her one-day issue. Her heart dropped as she added the powder to the drawer. She had been horrible to Emma and she deserved none of her attitude. “Fuck.” She muttered to herself, slamming the door of the washing machine closed. Her mood was spiralling out of control and now as well as feeling tense and apprehensive about the training, she was angry at herself for how she had spoken to one of her best friends.

“Robyn?” She looked up to see Lisa standing near her. “You ok?”

“Yeah sorry.”

“No need to say sorry. Today is going to be tough for you right? I can’t imagine how you are feeling having to re-train in the CPR after what you did for your friend.”

Robyn’s word caught in her throat. “Yeah… I mean… yeah hard.” She gave Lisa a nod. “I am just going to get this machine going. Preschool is ready to go for the training.”

“Guess I will make my way up.”

Robyn was left alone and she moved to hide in the little alcove under the stairs, hunching down, her hands going into her hair again. She could feel her heart starting to race and not in the way she was used to when she was around Taron. This time it was a horrible tightening feeling, her whole body taking deep wheezy breathes as she could feel a panic building around her. She was disgusted at her own behaviour, feeling completely ashamed of how she was treating her best friends, how she was treating Taron, regarding him with no respect for all the time he had told her to lean on him, to call him whenever she needed, to let him in.

But she just couldn’t bring herself to call him. Not right now.

“I know I would have called in sick if I was her. Imagine trying to do the CPR after already using it in real life. Not easy.”

“Robyn would never call in sick but I do think she is going to struggle with today.”

“Probably means the training is going to run later too. We will probably end up stopping and starting for her.”

“Jade!”

“I just mean because she is going to need lots of breaks.”

The busy and loud conversation of the staff attending the training, rolled out into the hallway and up the stairs and Robyn found herself sitting down with her head on her knees, a tear rolling down her cheek. She pulled her phone from her pocket and hoovered over number four on her speed dial, Taron’s number pre-programmed in but dropped her hand and phone onto the floor, her head still hung in shame. She couldn’t bring herself to call him, to interrupt his concentration. He was finally settled into his newest job, feeling so much more confident in the script, finding a way to leave his day on set so he wasn’t lugging heavy emotions home with him. She dragged her hands from her hair and to her temples, rubbing them hard, trying to push her headache away.

“Robyn?”

She felt a hand on her knee and looing up saw Emma crouched down beside her.

“I am sorry.” Robyn whispered. “So sorry.”

“Hey, it is ok.”

Robyn felt her body being tucked into a hug. “Emma…”

“I don’t mean to push you Robyn. Really, I don’t but I hate seeing you like this and I know how great Taron is with you, how he has this knack for helping you and he deserves to know what is going on. He can help you through it all.” Emma rubbed her friends back slowly, that wonderful fragrant aftershave filling her nose with every breath she took. “Robyn you don’t have to do the training today.”

“If I don’t do it today, I will never do it.” Robyn breathed.

“Would it really be such a big deal to call him?”

“I can’t Emma.”

With a sigh, the older woman nodded. She knew the young woman in her arms so well, knew how obstinate she could be and it was Robyn herself who would have to admit she needed the help but inside she as so glad she had already called Taron, spoke to him herself. It was so clear Robyn was not going to make it through the day in one piece “You leave whenever you need too. Just walk out and if it gets too hard and you can’t do it, I am not going to think any less of you. I can’t even imagine what you are feeling.”

“Thank you.” Robyn let Emma help her to her feet. “I am sorry for shouting at you in the kitchen.”

“Forget about it. I can’t imagine the stress you feel right now.”

“Just a tad but it still wasn’t right or fair on you. You didn’t deserve any of my frustrations about today.”

“It’s long forgotten.” Emma watched Robyn take some deep breaths. “Go and take five minutes to gather yourself. Maybe even text him? You don’t have to tell him about the training but at least to say good morning, wish him a good day? I will sort out the wash and get the girls settled in. Go outside, get some air and come upstairs in ten. Aiden will take a little while to finish setting up.”

“Ok. Thanks Emma.”

Without even looking at her manager, Robyn squeezed past her and made her way to the office, her bag still on the floor where she left it.

“Morning Robyn.”

The last staff member coming for the training walked by the door waving and Robyn did her best to acknowledge her as she dug in her bag for some tissues. She dropped her phone into the bag as she searched for the orange packet and once she found the tissues, Taron’s face stared at her from the pop socket still stuck on the back of her black case. She grabbed her phone too and headed out the front door, briskly walking over to her car and standing behind it, crouching down so she couldn’t be seen. She opened her phone with her fingerprint, a text from Taron waiting to be read from earlier that morning. She had seen it come through just before six when she was awake and was sure he sent it as he left for set. Opening it now, a simple heart emoji was all it read and it just enough for her head to fall forward. With trembling fingers, she sent back a love heart in return and locked her phone. It was all she could bring herself to do and stayed shivering outside for another fifteen minutes using the tissues to wipe falling years before she managed to pull herself together, changed her face to show no emotion, one she hadn’t had to use in such a long time and walked back towards the creche, punching in the code to let her in. She dropped her phone and packet of tissues back into her bag and took her glasses case out. With no sleep and tired eyes, she knew she was going to need her glasses for reading whatever materials Aiden was going to hand out for the course. Glasses in hand, she made her way up the stairs and to the preschool room.

All the staff were sitting chatting and when she strolled in, a silence fluttered in the room, Robyn taking her seat on the end of the row, the one nearest the door right beside Emma. She very much appreciated the little tap she felt on her leg from Emma’s leg, giving her own one back. Slipping her glasses on, she turned her attention the trainer at the top of the room.

“Right so let’s get started then.” Aiden went through the basic house rules, explaining how their day would run, promising to get finished on time, a little earlier if he could manage it. “So, you all probably noticed I am old school when it comes to training. I don’t go for projectors and laptops. I have given everybody a stapled handout which has all the course content from today and I will be working through it, giving practical examples as we go and then getting everyone to complete their own practical too. We will work in pairs for everything except the CPR which as you know from previous training, you have to complete by yourself. Now before we go on, I just need to double check for any medical reasons why anyone can’t do any part of the course.” When everyone shook their heads, Aiden continued. “And also, just to check has anyone had to use their first aid training before. Now I don’t mean a scraped knee or simple bump on the head as you find here in creche. Anything more serious.”

Robyn had been sitting with her legs crossed, Taron’s jumper pulled over her hands and she sat with her hands dug in between her knees, her eyes looking over Aiden’s head as he spoke. Without even looking to her left, she could feel every face turn her way one at a time, until seven pair of eyes stared at her. She glanced to Emma who gave her a very encouraging nod. Uncrossing her legs, she took her first look to the instructor, since she walked into the room.

“I erm…” She moved her hands to under her arms, trying to keep the heat in. “I well I…”

“Robyn?” Aiden used a soft voice to try and coax the clearly nervous woman in front of him. He knew from the moment he greeted her that morning that there was something very different about her, especially when she dropped the full jug of water in the hallway. Robyn always helped him set up his gear when he came to do the course at the creche in Kilcreen and was always full of chat but that morning she had been quiet, tense and very on edge. It seemed his instincts were correct as she stammered a nervy explanation.

“Last year, I got caught up in a shop robbery in Florida and helped out a man who had been shot with a bullet, using CPR to save his life before the paramedics arrived.”

“Wow.” Aiden didn’t really know how to response. Normally he got the answer of someone had been around when an arm was broken or been involved in a sports injury but it was so rare for some his trainees to have actually used the CPR that he taught. “What happened?”

“Wrong place wrong time.” Robyn shrugged, her eyes to the floor, her voice quiet. “Just happened to be in the store as it was held up by some men with guns, who had no problem in firing some shots off. The man, Taron…” Robyn offered up his name with some hesitation. “Taron had been hit by a rouge bullet and then a shelf full of glass candles collapsed on him.” She shuffled in her chair. “I went to help him and his friend. He had lost a lot of blood from the wound on his arm from the bullet, had some badly damaged ribs and many cuts and bruises caused from glass. He was pretty beaten up and as the time wore on, slowly deteriorated.” Robyn could have heard a pin drop in the room. Although she knew the staff of the creche had a vague idea of what she had done, none had ever really heard her spoken so open about what she had actually done. “We sat together for about nine hours before the paramedics actually arrived but just as they got to us, Taron lost consciousness, stopped breathing. It was pure adrenaline that got me through it.”

“How long did you have to do the CPR?” Aiden asked genuinely interested. As a trained paramedic too, he was always captivated by those who had been involved in such lifesaving instances.

“Not long. One full round, with breathes and then seven more compressions.” Robyn closed her eyes, trying to keep herself calm, breathing in that soothing scent from Taron’s jumper. “He came through right after that.”

“Any secondary injuries?” Aiden asked taking some steps closer to her.

Robyn shook her head. “Some bruising on his chest, my hands but nothing else.” She felt a hand on her knee and looked up to see Aiden crouched down in front of her.

“Remarkable thing CPR isn’t it?” He asked her with a very kind voice. “You just do what you have to do but it is only after that the reality of what happened sinks in and it is something that doesn’t just go away. It stays with you too and I hate to tell you this but always will.” He placed a second hand on knee. “And how was the man after? Tommy?”

“Taron.” Robyn corrected.

“Taron. How was he?”

“He was fine. Few days in hospital, few weeks of recovery but absolutely fine.”

“You still keep in contact with him?”

It was the first time since she started to explain about what happened that Robyn lifted her eyes to meet Aiden’s brown ones. “He is my best friend.” She whispered.

Aiden grinned a little. “Good to have you around then I guess.” He joked, so glad to see a small smile on her face. “How long since it happened?”

“It’s a year this August.”

“If you need a break, just go.” He said with pure seriousness in his voice. “No one will think any less of you if it gets too much. Let’s take one section at a time alright? It was my plan to do the CPR before lunch anyway so after there is a decent break. I don’t want you to rush into it and you are under no pressure to do it Robyn, alright? I know it is not easy. It is bloody hard and even being in this room after what you have done, is such an accomplishment.”

Feeling so thankful for the experience and understanding of the man in front of her, Robyn nodded. It was the kind of empathetic knowledge and consideration she desperately needed from the trainer.

“Does he know about the training today?” Aiden asked as gently as he could, looking to Emma as Robyn shook her head, her eyes darting to the floor again. “So, like I said, you need a break, just go. It won’t go against your cert at the end of the day.”

“Thanks Aiden.”

The instructor stood up and headed back to the top of the room. “That is why we do this.” He said the strength and serious returning to his voice. “What Robyn did is why we teach this course, why it is so important for us to learn these skills. I know we are under no obligation to use what we know and what we have learnt but Robyn is a prime example of why we should. She saved a man’s life and I can guarantee he is more than thankful for what she did. Now, let’s get started with what is first aid.”

Robyn tuned Aiden out for the first half an hour of the course, her eyes still on the floor, her hands pulling at a loose strand in the sleeve of Taron’s jumper. Shaking and with her stomach churning horribly with nerves, she hated having to speak out about what happened but knew it was needed for those around to understand why she might get up and leave and Aiden had been so considerate of her and she knew it was going to make her day a tiny bit easier. Only a tiny bit because everything else in front of her was terrifying. Trying to focus on the course and the facts Aiden was telling them about strokes, Robyn struggled so very hard to think about anything else except Taron, the CPR and upcoming skills she would have to show.

As the car passed over the Irish border, Taron wished he could stop his legs from shaking. They hopped up and down uncomfortably as he sat in the back of the blacked-out car. He had only been in the car for forty minutes but it felt so much longer and he was kicking himself for not following through with his own instincts and left Belfast earlier, arriving in Kilcreen before Robyn had even left her house. He had already given Emma a quick call to let her know he was on the way, but she hadn’t even seen Robyn yet so he had no idea how she was. The simple love heart emoji he got back in reply to his, lifted his spirits a little to know his Robyn was in there somewhere but he was still so overly concerned about her. Taron knew he should have been using the long car journey to sort his thoughts out, what he was going to say to her without causing an argument because he knew for certain that as soon as she saw him her defensives were going to go up but he prayed after everything they had been through, she would see why he came to her however he just didn’t know how he was going to start the conversation with her and his thoughts were so jumbled in his head and he was finding it so hard to not to go straight to those annoyances he was feeling.

He loved Robyn, there was no doubt in his mind about that but the way she shut him out was really frustrating him when he had opened nearly every part of him to her. Where he thought he was beginning to understand her, how she was opening up more to him, letting him in, sharing such horrid stories of her time with another man, the fact that she hadn’t told him about her first aid training when she knew about it was just ridiculous to him and he couldn’t his head around why. It was so clearly one of the reasons why she was having such sickening dreams again and surely talking to someone about what was going on her life would ease the pressure she constantly put on herself. He just needed to make sure he didn’t say the wrong thing, especially not when she had to complete the CPR training. He just wanted her to know he was there for her, no matter what her reaction would be to be, provided he found way to keep his own cool, even if fiery Robyn came out to him. Though at the same time, he needed her to understand that the way she had shut him out had really upset him.

“How long left?” He asked the driver in front of him.

“Maybe an hour? Depends on the traffic Taron.”

“Any chance…”

“I promised Matthew I would get you there safe Taron and am already going over the speed limit a tad.”

“Sorry.”

“I will get you there Taron but I will get your there unscathed and in one piece.”

“Thanks.”

Taron shuffled down in the seat, wrapping his arms around himself, his head resting on the back of the seat. His sleep had been restless, waking every ten to fifteen minutes as he clock watched just waiting for the alarm to go off but he was up and showered, ready and waiting to go before the alarm buzzed. Dressed in a black tank top, dark blue short sleeved summer checked shirt and black jeans, he felt a chill all over as he sat on the back seat. Probably not the best outfit to be wearing but he got dressed half asleep and was too nervous and jittery to change. He had managed to grab his hat and pair of sunglasses and slipped both on, the natural daylight hurting very tired eyes. Shivering, letting out a cold breath, he rubbed his bare arms up and down.

“Cold?” The driver asked. “Want me to turn on the heat for a while?”

“Please, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Typical Irish summer weather. Rain, rain and more rain.”

Taron nodded, hearing the whirl of the heater as it was turned on. It would take a couple of minutes before it reached him, before the car became warm, so he continued to rub his arms up and down trying to generate some self-made heat. He hadn’t brought a jumper with him and he didn’t even remember stuffing one in his pack, not too sure if he even put underwear in. It was such a rush, so late last night as he packed and he was so tired. Now as the car heated up, he could feel his eyes closing behind his sunglasses. His head tilted to the left so he was leaning a little against the window and the gentle noise of the car on the motorway and the increasing heat was comfortable and sleep crept into him.

He woke a little startled as the car jolted, the driver immediately apologising to Taron.

“Arsehole braked suddenly. Sorry Taron.”

“No worries. No harm done.” He pulled his sunglasses off, and rubbed his eyes, feeling a little worse after his sleep. “How long till we are in Kilcreen?” He asked slipping his glasses back on.

“Just there now.” The driver answered and Taron looked out the window immediately recognising the turn off that led to Robyn’s work, having walked down it in the blazing heat. He sat up straight in the seat, his previous chill replaced by a sudden sweat. The time he had hoped to use to prepare what he was going to say to Robyn had been spent sleeping and he was no more clear on what he wanted to say to her, starting to feel very anxious about turning up at her work once again without warning. Last time Robyn had welcomed him with open arms and wonderful tight hug but he wasn’t too sure that was the reception he was going to be met with his time.

The creche appeared in his eyeline as the car made its way toward the small car park in front and Robyn’s car was there parked up along with a many others, guessing the training was in full swing. Heart thumping and mind racing, Taron got out of the car, thanking the driver for bringing him to Robyn and waited for the car to pull away before he stepped up the door, his bag swung over his shoulder. Feeling a little de ja vu, he didn’t hesitate to press the doorbell. He had come to stand with Robyn and be her strong emotional support because he knew without a doubt she was going to need it whether she wanted to admit to it or not but in his heart he knew this time, Robyn needed to understand that her actions had most definitely burned him.

#Love #Friendship #Angst #Worries #Nervousness #CPR Training #Memories #Fear #Ignorance #Anger #Feelings #Emotions #Robyn and Taron

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ourladytamara · 3 years

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Chit-Chat

by Tamara 2021 - @_ourladytamara

cw for a lot of fucking cum and awkward social interaction. Also CNC and torture

---

Hoofsteps echoed off the silent walls of the relief chambers, alerting the blindfolded service-slaves. A visitor – but who? Qassara had always picked the quietest time of day to rest at the teeming pools of semen, and it’d been hours since the last had come and gone in more ways than one. The Demon was never one for company; with her hooves still in the pearlescent liquid, she turned towards the entrance with languid motion. The humans chained to the walls cooed in interest.

It was a much larger Demon. A full head taller than Qassara herself, the newcomer strode through the white and red-beaded curtain demarcating the relief pools from the relaxation pools, (a very important distinction, as far as plumbing and etiquette were concerned.) Huge, curled horns dominated her head, sweeping elegantly across her skull and contrasting her pale-red skin. She was nude, like Qassara, but what really caught her attention was the organ swinging between her muscular thighs. Easily two feet of Demonic cock bobbed freely, half-erect and leaking glue-thick pre from the tip with every subtle movement of its owner’s digitigrade legs. Balls the size of human skulls swung with it – and Qassara had seem some big skulls.

The pool which Qassara had chosen was one of the furthest back; the room was a grid of nine pools, arranged three by three. She’d taken the furthest-corner one, leaving all eight others both significantly closer to the door – and further from Qassara. That was the thought, at least; the Demon who’d left earlier chose the pool closest to the door to relieve herself, quickly finishing her business before tucking her three cocks back into her tunic.

This time, however, the second Demon was beelining directly towards Qassara, ignoring every other pool in the room before grabbing one of the service-slaves from its chains and sitting down beside the smaller occupant with a meaty thump. The human curled up, wiggling ineffectively as to make itself more enticing.

“Hey.” said the larger Demon, bassy voice echoing in the basalt hall.

No reply. They were sitting apart from one another, at opposite ends of the pool; Qassara sat with her cock in her hand, idly stroking herself, while the new Demon worked herself up in preparation for the service-slave. Inch by pulsating inch of cock began to grow turgid with blood, the tip flaring and the strand of pre at the tip beginning to come out a thicker white.

“I’m speaking to you, Sister.” the hulking Demon said

“I, uh, noticed. Hey.” Qassara replied, keeping her voice low as not to break the silence which lay shattered in a million pieces at the bottom of the sticky pools. “...did you come alo-”

Without a further word, the Demon opposite Qassara, now fully erect, gripped her service-slave and strode through the pool of cum which rose to her knees. Her determined grin was marred with an awkward tinge of exertion as she pushed through the glue-thick sludge, human in hand, before plopping down with a thud beside Qassara.

“Hush, Sister – check this out.” the larger one said, quieting the air to allow herself to loudly squish inside of the service-slave’s asshole. All the cum on her had made excellent lubrication, thankfully, and the resulting noise excellent still; but then the whimpers and the moans quieted as the larger Demon blew her first load deep inside the human’s intestines. Despite the rather-impressive distension of her stomach and the thick strands of virile Hellish seed leaking from her ass, the shock barely spent ten seconds in the slave’s well-trained mind before the sigils dulling her thoughts flashed red and returned her to docility.

Qassara blinked her six eyes in a wave. “Okay, uh – nice load, I guess, Sister.” she stammered, too out of it to keep stroking herself. Instead, she sat idly, hand on her dick. This wasn’t even the first time today that another Demon had tried to flex on her and failed – perhaps it was odd in the eyes of her faith, but Qassara found the simple, calming presence of the Empress more than satisfying enough. She got bullied a lot in the creches for being a prude, after all.

“Just thought you’d like to see one of the God-Empress’s most-deserving daughters show off a bit – trust me, I know what it’s like to be in the presence of your betters.” growled the larger woman

“It’s alright, I suppose,” Qassara interjected. “I kinda come here alone for a reaso-”

“Oh, afraid?” replied the stranger yet again, leaning in and exhaling her hot, bloody breath all over Qassara.

“No, the crowds are a hassle and I like the quiet.”

For a moment the larger woman paused. She adjusted her hips, further distending her slave’s guts.

“Oh.”

Neither said anything. By now both of them were covered in cum, the larger Demon moreso; she’d exploded so hard into the girl that it sprayed with some force from her asshole, splattering her lap and legs in the glue-thick liquid. Qassara’s cock, too, was well-lubricated with her own, hanging from the tip in a long strand as it drooped towards the homogenous pool of spunk beneath before breaking off and landing with a wet slap in the silent room.

The service-slave coughed up a strand of it.

“...so your day’s been pretty good, then?” spoke the larger Demon, the grit in her voice starting to fade. “Name’s Zahl, by the by.”

Qassara shrugged. “Qassara, likewise, Sister. I mean, it’s a day. I work in a slave reprocessing facility – usually coming in here is the only quiet I get, away from the screaming and crying and all that.”

“Ahh, yeah, I can imagine that.” Zahl remarked, her hulking shoulders beginning to relax a bit. “I’m on leave from the Qanae’dyan front – and to me, my time’s best spent showing off to the lessers in the hierarchy.”

“...at the public relief pools?”

“Yes, at the public relief pools – or wherever I feel like, really! I do what I want.” Zahl cracked her neck and smiled, finally comfortable on the basalt lip of the pool. Clearly, something about Qassara impressed her enough to drop her facade for a bit – perhaps blunt disinterest was an expression of will before the God-Empress, too?

Zahl extended a hand and wrapped its sandpapery grip around Qassara’s throat, tightening her grip just enough to make sure she felt it. She was clearly leaning into it, now, adjusting her posture on the stone floor to get more comfortable. By now the cum in the pools was uncomfortably cold, the mid-day rush confined comfortably to the past; usually this was about the time Qassara liked to leave.

“You’re not like the typical sluts I waste my time on around here. I like that about you, Sister Qassara.”

But social obligation was a shackle stronger than any Hellsteel, unfortunately, and with a much-stronger hand squeezing her vascular underflesh, it was difficult to turn down Zahl’s advances – you know, because of the implication. It began to dawn on Qassara that she hadn’t even relieved herself yet; this distraction had certainly messed up her day, and she began to feel it rather uncomfortably in her swelling balls.

“I-I appreciate that, Sister Zahl – would you mind?” the smaller Demon asked as she pulled her dominant hand out from under Zahl’s enormous ass.

“Oh, my bad.”

With a nod Qassara gripped her own cock again and gave it a satisfied, almost stretchlike tug. A thick bead of cum, like liquid sugar, oozed from her flared tip. It dropped into the sea of it beneath them, indistinguishable from the rest – it got her wondering, actually.

“Actually, Sister Zahl – where do you think all this cum even goes, anyways? It can’t just be sewage, can it? That’d be such a waste of Anguish,” Qassara remarked, eliciting a curious nod in reply from Zahl.

“Well, I do know one of my cliquemates used to work in plumbing…” began Zahl, trailing off. This was going to be a lengthy diversion; Qassara got herself comfortable.

…

Fluid drips from the ceiling and into itself in the pitch-blackness of the holding cell. In the center of the bone and basalt room, scarcely eight feet tall and half that lengthwise, hangs a human girl, her body suspended by Hellish leather bindings. She’s wrapped around a pole for support, limbs tied like knots – and that’s before mentioning the cum.

It pours from the ceiling. The holes above are small enough that the tension of the stuff keeps it at a steady, constant flow. Every nook and cranny in her entire world is soaked, saturated, in Demonic cum; when the sperm is active they wriggle aggressively against her sticky skin, and when it dries it hangs like corded ropes draped across her body. This place, more than anywhere else in the girl’s short and tortured life, was Hell – worse than the shelled and ruined husk of her hometown, worse than the sorting facilities and the head-shaving and branding. Semen. The dark and the strain of leather – God, how long had it been, down here? Months? Years?

Her addled mind could barely discern the distant chatter of two Demons through the liquid above.

#millennium penance

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cinna-wanroll · 4 years

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*Is not writing the Obitine novel since apparently Disney cant fit it into their schedule*

That was a lie, in case you hadn’t already guessed lol. Anywho, here’s an excerpt from the first chapter since I’ve been a bit slow on uploading any original content. Keep in mind that this is a first draft, so I’ll probably end up editing it later

“Hey, buddy,” Vos clapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically.

“Hello, Quin,” Obi-Wan offered the Kiffar a good-natured smile and continued his walk.

“Off to the races again already, I hear,” Quinlan continued, following his friend.

Obi-Wan cocked a suspicious brow, “Yes,” he kept his tone mild, almost adding ‘unfortunately’ to the end of his sentence, “who told you?”

Quin shrugged and turned, beginning to walk backwards casually, “Oh, you know, my usual informants. Word travels fast around these parts, especially if you’ve got connections.”

Obi-Wan grinned disbelievingly, “Mm.”

“So,” his friend gave him a little nudge as he pivoted back around, “who’s this lady you’re off to rescue, hmm?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Obi-Wan hated to admit it,, but Quinlan was actually quite charming, so he let the insinuation slide.

“The duchess of Mandalore.”

Vos’ eyebrows shot up in disbelief, “The duchess?” Quin repeated in shock, “Damn, Obi-Wan. Aren’t people like her, like, hardcore Jedi haters or somethin’?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “Not anymore, since the treaty of Kal’desh almost 82 years ago,” he cast a pointed gaze at the Kiffar who he’d obviously lost at the word ‘treaty’, “You’d know this if you’d paid any attention in Galactic History.

Quinlan grinned, “Hey, I passed that class.”

“Only because you bribed Bant with Gumbah pudding for a month and a half.”

“Whatever, man.”

Obi-Wan smiled adding, “Not to mention, she’s supposedly the leader of some pacifist group there. The New Mandalorians.”

Quinlan wrinkled his nose, “Sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me. Nothing ever got done by pacifist legions in the past- at least not anything that lasted longer than a couple of years. This galaxy needs structure, not some peaceful delusionists. Besides, how peaceful can a Mandalorian organization be?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and looked down, forced to admit he’d thought the same things. How peaceful was a group that’d managed to stay alive among even the harshest of cultural climates? Obi-Wan was guessing not very peaceful at all.

“I’m not sure, but Master Windu said that this mission is of utmost importance.”

Quinlan sniffed, “Yeah, to his paycheck, probably.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “Quinlan, you know Jedi don’t get paid.”

“Most Jedi. I’m just saying, those council members always seem to be a little concerned with issues outside the Republic, than with issues at home.”

Obi-Wan grimaced- he and Vos had never agreed on that particular subject, “We are defenders of the galaxy, Quin.”

His friend shrugged again, changing his tone immediately and smiling, “Yeah, well, just don’t fall too in love with her, mmkay? She might chop that pretty little head of yours off for peace”

“Isn’t that technically what we do sometimes?” Obi-Wan made a pained expression, despite the fact that he was willing to admit it. There was just something about it that made him feel guilty.

“Yeah, but at least we’re upfront about it.”

“And who’s to say they’re not?”

“Fair enough.”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

Although unlikely friends at first glance, Obi-Wan and Quinlan actually got along quite well. They were both calculated, witty, mischievous, and sarcastic fighters with a knack for getting themselves in trouble.

Except while Quinlan owned up to causing his antics, Obi-Wan was always the unfortunate person who could be convinced to join in for a cause when things were already taking a turn for the worst.

They stepped up to the entrance of the mess hall, which was bustling with masters and padawans alike cramming generous heapfuls of muja muffins and mist-pudding onto their trays.

“Mm-mm,” Quin rubbed his hands together, “I am starving!”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but nod eagerly in agreement, eyeing the tantalizing food as a group of creche students passed them.

He wasn’t surprised to spot Qui-Gon at the very front of the extensive line, on time for the food, of course. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Good morning, boys.”

Obi-Wan turned around towards the direction of the voice, lighting up.

A familiar emerald face greeted him, serene and kind.

Quin turned his head to her as well, “Mornin’ Luminara.”

Obi-Wan bowed and nodded towards the food line.

“Can you believe this?”

Luminara smiled faintly and sniffed, peering in, “On buffet day? Certainly.”

“Aka the only day they serve real food in this Force-forsaken place,” Vos chimed in.

Obi-Wan and Luminara shared a look, but inside Obi-Wan couldn’t help but agree.

The Temple was many things, but it definitely wasn’t a diner.

“What do you think our chances are of paying off some people at the front for their spots?” The Kiffar queried, gazing back at Obi-Wan and Luminara for suggestions.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help the sarcasm that snuck into his tone, “and with what credits do you intend to do that?”

“Dunno. I was thinking more… services,” Quin countered.

Just as Obi-Wan was about to ask what services Vos was implying, Luminara interjected, “At this point, I doubt we’d even get close enough to the masters at the front of the line without being taken away.”

Obi-Wan nodded as he followed her gaze to where a group of large, burly-looking masters stood glaring at the passerby. It looked like they hadn’t gotten their caff yet that morning. He gulped.

“Luminara’s right, Quin, we should forget it and wait until the line dies down.”

His friend glanced over at him, “Don’t you have to leave by then?”

Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath as Luminara frowned.

“What? You’re leaving again?”

He nodded, glaring daggers at Vos and refsing to look at Luminara.

“Yes, I was just notified about it this morning. Had I known sooner, I would’ve told you.”

“And yet Quin knows,” she quipped, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms indignantly.

“I’m tellin’ you people, I’ve got connections,” Vos emphasized, leaning against the entrance wall.

Ignoring the Kiffar, Luminara began, “They’re over-working you again.”

Obi-Wan threw Quinlan an accusatory look that was responded to with a simple ‘here we go again’ eyeroll.

“It’s not fair to you, or to the other padawans who want mission opportunities. They want and deserve experience too! I cannot understand why the council is doing this. My suggestion would be-” she was cut off by an approaching figure, which turned out to be her master.

Obi-Wan winced.

“Padawan Unduli, do you really think your time is best spent here, dawdling with these hooligans?”

Obi-Wan disregarded the snide comment, instead trying to throw an apologetic gaze at his friend. Although out of the corner of his eye he saw Quinlan bristle at the remark.

Luminara bowed and lowered her head, “No, master.”

“Then come along, it’s no wonder you’re always hungry.”

She followed obediently, but not before shooting Obi-Wan and Quinlan a sad, apologetic gaze as she left.

Quin snarled when they were out of earshot, “Now there’s someone I’d like to pay off. With a good kick in the-”

“Vos,” Obi-Wan chided sternly.

His friend huffed and glowered, “What?”

“Don’t be crass. At least, not this early in the morning.”

Quin shrugged and rolled his eyes, finally stepping away to look for an open table.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan added while following, “I’m pretty sure you’’l have plenty of chances to do that when I’m gone, and am unable to provide you with proper impulse control.”

Quin laughed.

“Nah, it’s not as much fun without someone there sassing me.”

He returned his friend's cheerful look, “That’s a fair point.”

Luckily for the pair, Obi-Wan spotted a good amount of free space beside Qui-Gon, mostly because his master had a reputation of being a messy eater- not to mention, he had taken two trays.

“Bingo,” Obi-Wan grinned at Vos.

The two padawans approached Jinn and sat beside him, Obi-Wan respectfully nodding while Quinlan eyed the food on the second tray.

“Hello, master,” Obi-Wan greeted.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied after swallowing a mouthful of food. He took a swig of blue milk and then turned to acknowledge Quin, “Padawan Vos.”

The Kiffar snapped his gaze away from the food, nodding quickly.

“So,” Obi-Wan began, “are there any other details I should be aware of during this mission?”

Jinn turned his full attention on Obi-Wan, “The duchess is young- about your age, I believe. She’s said to be stubborn but kind, with a deep passion for all living things… much like someone else I know.” A playful spark lit up Qui-Gon’s eyes, something about them very knowing.

Obi-Wan did his best to concentrate on what his master was saying instead of Vos’ waggling eyebrows and his hand, which swiped a biscuit from Qui-Gon’s tray. He nodded, encouraging his master to continue.

“She’s also just returned home from a political academy located here. But most importantly, she probably won’t take kindly to our help. This mission was administered by her advisor, not her. And, despite the current peace, I’m sure she hasn’t been brought up in an environment that is… encouraging of the Jedi.”

Point two, Quinlan grinned like a fool as he stole a piece of meat of Jinn’s tray.

“Not to mention,” Qui-Gon continued, oblivious, “her father was a warlord.”

Oh, Force. Suddenly, Obi-Wan was a whole lot less enthusiastic about this whole thing, and that wasn’t saying much considering his attitude towards it was already pretty negative.

He had to protect a war-monger’s daughter? Perfect.

“Wow,” Vos mused, “talk about impressing the father in-law,” he chuckled as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan turned to glare at him, “she better be really worth it Obi-Wan. Is she at least ho-”

He was interrupted by Qui-Gon’s harsh tone, “her father is dead, padawan Vos.”

“Oh,” Quinlan replied faintly, looking down, “my condolences.”

Qui-Gon shook his head and turned back to Obi-Wan, “All in all, our goal is to be an unseen protection service. After all, we don’t want her getting into more trouble just because we put her off.”

“Why is it that we don’t want her getting into any more trouble, master?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning slightly.

Qui-Gon mirrored his expression, “Because, padawan, she requested our help.”

“I thought her advisor was the one who requested our help,” Obi-Wan retorted under his breath, although he knew he shouldn't've. Although he was surprised to admit to himself that he didn’t quite care- after all, the burly masters in line weren’t the only ones who hadn’t had their caff yet.

Qui-Gon’s frown deepened, “She is her people’s last hope for peace and civility, Obi-Wan. And you will do best not to question her, our assignment, or the council again.”

Obi-Wan looked away dejectedly, “Yes, master.”

He left out any remarks he could’ve made about Qui-Gon doing both of the aforementioned things constantly.

“Now, just let me finish my-,” Qui-Gon turned to his practically empty tray, where Vos had mysteriously disappeared, and sighed.

Obi-Wan stifled a chuckle, leaving behind only a mischievous sparkle in his grey-blue eyes.

“Master?” He asked, encouraging Qui-Gon to wrap up his thought.

“Let’s just be on our way then, Obi-Wan.”

They rose and exited the mess hall, out into the long corridors and what would be a much more eventful trip than what young Obi-Wan was expecting.

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

The temple docking bay was huge, containing as large as a republic freighter to as small as a landspeeder.

Droids whizzed about everywhere, attending to some business or another. A few officials or Jedi stood out against the field of endless gleaming metal, but besides that there was nothing else living operating within the place.

Enormous ceilings towered over Obi-Wan’s head as his master led him through the maze of docking bays and landing platforms, until they finally reached a small doorway towards the back.

A droid met them there to provide them with a datapad of information on the ship; mostly a run-down of the controls and its condition.

Qui-Gon nodded in satisfaction, “Everything seems to be in order here.” He handed it back to the droid, who whisked it away immediately.

“How long will our journey be, master?” Obi-Wan inquired, hoping he didn’t sound whiny.

“Not very long. About six standard hours, providing there aren't any hyperspace issues.”

Obi-Wan nodded, stepping out of the doorway and into the bright light of Coruscant.

The ship was a pretty good size; a standard model with red stripes running along its sides.

The Trial, curious. Obi-Wan didn’t pay ship names much mind, but that was just rather odd.

Qui-Gon went to go check with the official while Obi-Wan spotted Quinlan leaning against a couple of crates near the door.

“Vos? How did you know this is where I’d be?”

“Relax man, I just came to say goodbye before you left to go out and find your true love or whatever.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Vos grinned and pulled him into a tight hug, Obi-Wan squirming beneath him.

“Stop that,” he said, finally managing to push his friend back.

“Was Qui-Gon pissed about his food?” Quin asked, gazing hopefully to where Obi-Wan’s master and the other man were still conversing.

“Probably, although not any more than me- I still haven’t had any food yet.” His stomach growled, as if to prove a point.

“Eh, you snooze you lose.”

Obi-Wan grimaced as Vos began to saunter away, his finally parting words being, “Later, buddy! Don’t, like, become a father or anything while you’re gone- I’d hate to miss that.”

Eyeroll. “Goodbye, Vos!”

He shook his head at the sound of his friend’s distant laughter, pacing over to Qui-Gon without so much as a glance backwards.

“Is everything alright, master?”

“Yes, just making conversation while you and Quinlan said your goodbyes.”

So he did know. Well, that showed Obi-Wan not to underestimate his master.

“Then lets away.”

Obi-Wan nodded to the man and walked up the ramp into the ship, glancing back at the gleaming building one last time before he took a seat in the cockpit, not even bothering to explore the rest of the ship. He already knew what this model’s interior looked like, and wanted to get this assignment over with as quickly as possible.

Later, Obi-Wan found irony in that wish as he sat in the exact same seat upon the departure of his mission, where the room and his heart had seemed a lot more empty.

Qui-Gon sat beside him, taking control and handing Obi-Wan the mission log from earlier.

“What am I to do with this?” He asked, frowning at the tablet-like device.

“Make notes of the journey,” Qui-Gon replied, “the council emphasized everything is to be included, and since I can’t ever seem to write it the way they want, I thought I’d have you do it.”

“But-”

“Do you have something more productive you could be doing, padawan?”

He shook his head and took the log obligingly without further complaint. It was light in his hands, and he placed it in his lap as he strapped himself in.

“Our belongings have already been loaded on, everything is in order,” Qui-Gon said, still fiddling with the ship’s settings.

“Do we have any food?” Obi-Wan asked hopefully.

Qui-Gon nodded, “It’s back in the kitchen area. Why didn’t you eat earlier?”

Obi-Wan scoffed, “You saw the line, right?”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “How about caff?”

Qui-Gon shook his head no, and Obi-Wan deflated.

“Something tells me that despite my hopes, this is going to be a very long couple of months,” Obi-Wan pouted, leaning his head back against the seat.

Qui-Gon smiled, “You’re such a pessimist, Obi-Wan. Ready?”

Obi-Wan nodded, “I suppose.”

“Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

The ship lifted off, soared out of the atmosphere and into space, and Obi-Wan made sure to note in his report that Qui-Gon forgot which lever to guide forward for hyperspace. When he did find it, darkness and impossibly bright specks of light blended together, and they rocketed forwards before coasting through space, towards destiny.

#obitine #obi wan kenobi #satine kryze #qui gon jinn #obi wan x satine #quinlan vos #luminara unduli #fanfic

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alizarin-ooh · 4 years

Text

before i lose this stuff: a fic about hammered dulcimers

A few years ago I got really caught up in the Vorkosigan Saga universe, by extension the prequel, by extension how playing violin in space would be ... a good reason to switch to hammered dulcimer, I guess?

She'd just not had much time to consider the practicalities – impracticalities? - of playing a violin in free-fall. She thought she'd done well, choosing the old-style instrument with its vat-gut strings; she'd thought the sticky rosin they required would better keep her from veiling herself in dust from the first moment the bow struck strings.

So she had to forgive herself for failing to consider the physics of actually playing.

"Maybe I could hold you in place?" Silver was moving with the last word she said, ducking under Ivy's flailing bow arm to grasp her waist, steadying her with her lower set of hands. "I can see where you're putting your fingers from here – I think,' she began confidently, but when she tried to lever herself up to see over Ivy's shoulder, it destabilized them both.

"Thank you, but – no, you really should have a better angle to watch from than that." Furthermore, Ivy suspected she'd end up knocking the poor girl's teeth loose the first time she tried to hold a long note. If they made it that long.

Silver let go. "We could have someone else hold you. Or ... maybe if we modified a sleep sack for you?" Floating back into view, she had a quizzical expression on that put Ivy more in mind of a scientist examining a strange specimen – or a mover trying to decide where to put a too-long sofa – than she might have liked.

Ivy sighed, then held out her instrument. "Perhaps you'll have a better chance to learn by doing ..." than by watching a woefully earthbound teacher flail, no matter how expertly.

With rails to grip, and hands to spare for the violin and bow, Silver settled into a fairly good beginner's posture – part instruction, part imitation – and tapped careful fingertips against the strings, seeming hestitant to press down, to make a sound before she had permission. Granted that, she tapped the bow down, squeaked a few short passes, and took a deep breath.

"Play while you breathe out, right?"

Ivy nodded.

Silver managed a more confident note, but her lower knuckles whitened against the rail to keep her – somewhat upright – against the force of her own movement.

It was a waste of good hands, that was all.

-----

Silver agreed – especially once the next jump and some very preliminary negotiations got her access to a certain number of galactic cultural enrichment vids – that there had to be a better fit. Other than the flute toots.

(If only she hadn't mentioned them in earshot of Mama Nilla. She'd rather not have made the creche mother cry, all in all.)

Well, wind instruments mightn't be the worst place to look, at that. But Ivy was a string player at heart, and even if their tentative new allies sent along an entire woodwinds section, she'd probably be less of an instructor than vids, noise, and experience for these kinds. And her fingers would itch. Her ears would be too thirsty for their sound, their flow.

Guitars had been tried, apparently. Very early in the age of space exploration, actually, before even the smallest colony had been made. Presumably they'd been abandoned for more reason than, say, storage considerations.

Climbing out of her refashioned sleep-sack after another disappointing practice attempt – she almost had the hang of leaving her violin to float, semi-steadily, while she freed her arms; it still felt quite bizarre – she paused to consider those ancient, clumsy guitarists. Any instrument held flush to the body should be more manageable – she grasped the violin's neck, tried out a tentative guitar-like hold – sure, particularly vigorous playing might spin her out of alignment, but it was an improvement. Could be, with the right instrument... especially one meant to be braced in the lap, that might suit a quaddie student better ...

Where to acquire one, though?

------

[the scene I was going to put here was going to get into how Quaddie self-determination would run up against any advanced world’s more brain-based assignation of adult status because they’re all still so young :( and it was awkward and I never wrote it and that’s why this has been sitting on a brave-but-weakening laptop’s hard drive for two years and never posted to my ao3. so far. anyway...]

----------

"Oh," Silver murmured. "That's not a dulcimer. Is it?"

Pramed, offended by the disappointment in her statement, looked up. "Of course it's a dulcimer! Listen -" and he plucked one of the strings to produce a note. Then winced. Was that even a note on a technicality? "Madame Minchenko is going to teach us how to tune it, obviously. But then it'll be fine!"

More than fine, in his opinion. The dulcimer was ingenious. He'd managed to talk Zara into surrendering the wood from her ill-begotten Station roller pallet – not too hard, she'd been saying it was too big (for what?) and she was more interested in the wheels anyway. He'd scrimmaged some decent wire options from storage, and presented them to Madame Minchenko's expert eye for selection. He'd even found a way to make spare strap-bolts work as tuning pegs. Probably. They looked like they'd work, anyway.

After all of that, and his nervous maneuvering under Instructor Graf's direction to both cut pieces of body of the instrument from the wood smoothly and to set none of it on fire by mistake ... he was proud of his work.

He thought the instructor had been, too – especially with how fast the Earth man's face fell at Silver's reaction.

"I mean ... are you sure you saw the right vids? The ones I saw were bigger, and shaped like -" Silver sketched a sort of lopsided square shape with all four hands. "And they were played with hammers, which I don't -" Silver interrupted herself, and looked relieved as Mme Minchenko drifted into the Clubhouse. "Ivy, there's been a problem -"

"What problem? Oh! You have finished it." Reassuringly, Mme Minchenko smiled at the strung wooden box Pramod was holding – clutching, actually, he realized, probably since Silver had brought hammers into the discussion. He loosened his grip, offering her a look. She nodded. "Our own bespoke dulcimer. What's wrong with it?"

Silver repeated her explanation, partway – would she stop mentioning hammers?? The woman could make a drum if she wanted to hit something so much. He'd help – while Instructor Graf pushed himself over to settle a comforting hand on Silver's shoulder, and Mme Minchenko began to nod again, pensively.

"That's also a dulcimer, you're right. Same name, different structure. Considering that it means something like 'sweet melody', I suppose we're lucky that's not the name given half the instruments ever invented." She smiled wryly, then dropped the expression. "I'm sorry, Silver. This is a much simpler instrument, but it didn't occur to me ... and simple seemed like the right place to start. Maybe in time – with -practice at it – we could make one of your dulcimers?"

Instructor Graf nodded enthusiastically. "Show me those vids, Silver. Once we have the supplies, and test out a few methods, I'm sure we could -" he halted there. So had everyone, as Mme Minchenko's reflexes won out and made her fingers pluck at the newly-built instrument's strings, experimentally. Those sounds ... would not be called "sweet" by any sane person, but Mme Minchenko only winced a little.

Still, Pramod was not amenable to working on one of the dulcimers Silver wanted built in any fashion until she had properly explained that she had seen them played with wooden hammers, not metal ones.

-------

"Pluck the D string, would you?" At the young jump pilot's baffled look, Ivy added, "Second thickest one. Over the fingerboard, please!"

That last instruction came a bit too late; Ti held up a forefinger to examine the bit of rosin residue the string had passed to it, and Ivy winced even as she held the sound of the violin's D in mind and checked the dulcimer's lowest string against it. Passable, if not exactly transcendent. With that done, she could manage the other strings by relative pitch, but she was still adjusting her ear to this new ... homemade instrument's vagaries.

A bit more tangibly, her hands were still adjusting to its improvised tuning pegs.

Oh, for a skilled woodworker. And enough wood to do something with. There were many benefits to the quaddies' developing diplomatic and trade relationships with Beta Colony, but even their technological prowess had not extended to making arboriculture work on their hellishly baked globe. Maybe the quaddies could build a floating forest habitat, here or wherever they end up. Wonder how trees grow in zero-G. Possibly they wouldn't. She'd have to ask that friend of Silver's – Claire? - the next time she could catch the woman using a spare moment for anything but a nap.

Ivy lifted – shifted, really, lifting really implied a fight against gravity's pull – the tuned dulcimer into position, instinctively braced it on her lap. No. Though a quaddie could easily brace it on her or his lower forearms, even secure it with their lower hands – it seemed like such a waste of potential. Even to use one hand that way. Maybe if we'd built a freefall harpsichord ....

"She's right," Ivy murmured.

"Hmm?" Ti, having pushed the violin aside to set his vid-viewer properly floating too close to his eyes, paused in the act of putting on his headset. "Who's right?"

"Silver is. She wanted a hammered dulcimer -" she'd need to think it through, but potentially, it would be a more optimized option. "Have you ever heard a piano played, Ti?"

He shrugged. "Maybe? I know some synth programmers still use keyboards that are old ... clunky things."

Ivy wanted to snort, but never had quite managed it. "Pianos are a keyboard's even clunkier ancestors, you could say. But very powerful, and very good accompanists for dance. They ... wouldn't work up here, but a hammered dulcimer ..."

Ti, perhaps because he had so little to do at the moment, looked precisely like someone trying to look interested in a subject he'd no context for. "Hmm. Dulcimer ... but not like that, like the one they were talking about making next, in the Clubhouse?" He paused, like a student being tested; Ivy nodded, and he nodded back – then scrambled to catch the headset he'd just sent slowly sailing away. "Assuming they ever get more wood."

"Assuming that." Ivy mulled it over. "Pianos rely on gravity – their hammers were built in, connected to their keys so they'd drop and hit the right string, weighted so they'd come back up when the key was released." Ivy tapped one of the dulcimer's strings to demonstrate. "The next dulcimer's hammers will be handheld, of course."

"because ... no gravity up here, but ..."

"No gravity, but plenty of hands. And with an instrument that could be strung on two opposite sides, and fastened in place on a third ..." Ivy would have had trouble believing such complex coordination of four different limbs was possible, before she saw the quaddies in action. Then, she was never much of a dancer, on planet.

Ti was watching his headset rotate, giving it an occasional tap of redirection. Changing spin, steadying it from both sides ...

They may not need to fasten it to anything.

She could only begin to imagine what the first quaddie compositions would be like.

#abandoned fic #vorkosigan saga #falling free #quaddies #it's not right but i still don't want to lose it #storage sort of

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lifeofclonewars · 4 years

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Drawsoka, Gladikin, and Saptain Rex

Part 2 of the Pun Wars, can be read alone, though. Read it on AO3 here.

"Skyguy!" Ahsoka exclaimed, bubbling with happiness, waving with her free hand carefully.

"Snips!" he called back. "What brings you to this part of the ship?" He set the droid and the tools aside, giving little Soka his full attention.

She tugged on Rex's blacks and he gently set her down. She half-skipped her way to the table, the scraped-together tiny-but-still-too-big blacks they’d had to hem for her somehow not tripping her. "I drew for you!" The necessary flimsi being on top of the pile, she separated it and shoved it towards her master.

“For me?” Skywalker questioned. “You shouldn’t have!”

In which a tiny Ahsoka draws some pictures that make Anakin glad and Captain Rex a bit sappy.

-----

The padawans had all been de-aged. Only the padawans, no knights, or masters. Not the little ones in the creche, not the younglings. Just the padawans.

A quick word with the Council had shown it hadn’t just been Ahsoka. No, it had happened to all padawans and only padawans across the galaxy. Whether in the temple or on the frontlines, there was a sudden increase in masters watching over six-year-olds. While the Council worked to reverse whatever happened, the Jedi were left to keep their tiny children safe and occupied.

Torrent Company, worried over how General Skywalker would handle this, met together and created their own caretaker rotation. The General was a part of said schedule, but whether he even realized there was a schedule or not was vague. Either way, so far, it had worked and it should work until this peculiar situation was resolved.

Apparently, keeping a six-year-old Jedi youngling occupied is much different than a 3-year-old cadet. Sure, there’s the start of basic lightsaber training but the level Ahsoka demonstrated was nowhere near the levels the vode had to be at that physical age. General Kenobi, who was asked for help since he’d dealt with a nine-year-old Skywalker and somehow didn’t completely lose his sanity, strictly banned blasters and most things Kaminoans had them do.

Hardcase, somewhat surprisingly, had become the source of Ahsoka’s current distraction. He’d given a collection of crayons and flimsi he’d somehow produced—how he did was being consciously ignored—that he’d been able to give to Ahsoka.

The kid loved it. She’d taken to drawing as many pictures as she could, humming absently while she doodled. With her preoccupied, Rex was able to work through some paperwork on a datapad. She’d tug on the sleeve of his blacks to proudly show off her work, but other than that, the two worked in relative silence.

“Rex!” she called out, climbing down from her chair. He looked up. “I wanna go pass them out now.”

From what he’d seen earlier, Ahsoka had taken to making drawings for each of the troopers she could remember the names of. An odd thing about the de-aging included the fact that, while she couldn’t remember being a Commander or being in combat, she could remember people, things she’d learned about them, and even some things she’d learned from them. Or, rather, she remembered some of the Mando’a she’d been beginning to learn. For example, on the flimsi for Kix, there was a roughly-written “baar'ur” above a crude medic symbol scattered among the doodles.

Rex set his datapad on the table. “Now?” Ahsoka nodded fervently. “Hmm. I guess we can do it now.”

A bright smile bloomed on the young togruta’s face. “Yay!” She grabbed a decent pile of flimsi as Rex stood up. Drawings in hand, she walked back over to him.

He offered his hand to her, reminding her of the ‘buddy-system’ the 501st had been trying to have her follow. She stared at it. “Ash-ully,” she started, hesitating, “can you pick me up?”

Rex raised an eyebrow but she merely started to make a too-cute pouting face. Oh, so she was learning to weaponize it. Maybe he should spread out Jesse’s watches more; he had to have been the one to teach her how. With a huff, Rex responded, “Fine. Climb on up, kid.” He crouched down, allowing Ahsoka to jump onto his back and wrap her arms around his neck. “Not too high. Don’t want me to choke, do you?” He tugged her arms farther down after standing; she giggled.

“Vor’e!” Ahsoka said into his ear, a little louder than he’d like. “Okay, I have Case first!”

“Hardcase first? Good thing I know just where to find him.”

With that, the duo took off, making their rounds around the Resolute. They passed a handful of troopers in every corner of the ship. Had this happened a few weeks ago, some people, not to name names, would have likely started up a badly-repressed giggle storm. As the situation was, they simply gave a kind smile to their tiny Commander and a nod to their Captain and continued on.

Ahsoka gave drawings to Hardcase, Kix, Jesse, Fives, Echo, Zeck, Feedback, and a handful of other brothers. Even with passing them out to all of them, she had a tiny stack of flimsi left.

“Okay,” she stated, bouncing up and down as much as Rex’s hold would allow. “Let’s go see Skyguy now!” De-aging hadn’t lost the nickname; if anything, it made her use of it increase.

Skywalker wasn't too hard to find. Fiddling with some droid or another, the Jedi looked up upon their entrance.

"Skyguy!" Ahsoka exclaimed, bubbling with happiness, waving with her free hand carefully.

"Snips!" he called back. "What brings you to this part of the ship?" He set the droid and the tools aside, giving little Soka his full attention.

“For me?” Skywalker questioned. “You shouldn’t have!” He glanced down and his eyes became suspiciously glassy.

This did not escape his padawan’s notice. “Are you crying?” She began to tear up herself. “Is it not good enough? I can make it better, I promise!”

“No, no, no,” the Jedi reassured. “It’s perfect, Snips. I’m not crying, your picture just made me really happy, that’s all.”

His answer satisfied her. “Oh, okay. That’s good!”

“C’mere, you little rascal.” The little Commander was scooped up into a bear hug. She hugged back as tight as she could before starting to wriggle.

“Okay, I’m done now.” Her comment made her master laugh.

“But I’m not.” He squeezed her one more time and let her go. “Thank you, Ahsoka.”

“You’re welcome!” She beamed, then bounded back over to Rex. “Okay, time to go again!” She put her hands up. With a chuckle, Rex scooped her up into a piggyback once again. “Bye, Skyguy!”

“Bye, Snips! Thanks, Rex, for watching over her. This whole situation isn’t something I ever expected.”

So he hadn’t figured out the schedule. “It’s my pleasure, General.” It really was. This little excursion had been more intriguing than he’d thought initially.

“See you guys!” Ahsoka waved with one hand as they left the room, smiling at the waves she got in return.

After the moment with Skywalker, Ahsoka passed out a handful of more pictures. Everyone reacted positively. Anywhere between a smile and thanks to hugging the little togruta, trapping her between Rex’s back and their chest. The few the kid levitated their pictures over to had the most enthusiasm by far.

With only two left, Ahsoka told Rex they could go back to the room they had originally been in. Once there, Rex set her down and kneeled in front of her, ready to discuss her final two pieces.

“This is Master Plo’s,” Ahsoka said, gesturing to one of the two drawings she had left.

Taking it from her hand carefully, Rex answered, “I’ll make sure it gets to him the next time we see him.” This drawing was two figures that roughly looked like General Koon and small Ahsoka hugging. He couldn’t stop the quirk of his lips, setting the flimsi next to his datapad. “Now, who’s that last one for?”

“You!” the little padawan blurted.

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” she repeated. Once the drawing was handed over, she toed at the ground, hands clasped behind her.

The picture was simple but clear. The background was a rough estimation of some part of the Resolute. A small, orange figure, dressed in black, with roughly drawn montrals stood proudly in the approximate center. A small label confirmed it to be Ahsoka’s attempt at drawing herself. Next to crayon-Ahsoka stood another figure, much taller than it. It wasn’t hard to conclude the figure, with its short blond hair and black clothing, was supposed to be Rex. Reading the label, Rex suddenly felt the need to blink a few times, a warmth settling in his chest.

The label said ori’vod.

“Your armor is too hard to draw. I tried,” Ahsoka admitted, beginning to draw circles with her foot.

“That’s okay, it is pretty hard. Thank you. I really like it.”

Looking up from toeing the ground, her eyes squinted at Rex. “Are you crying, too?”

He involuntarily sniffed once. “No, I’m not. This just made me happy, that’s all. It was really sweet of you to do this.”

She didn’t look convinced. “I don’t get adults,” she stated simply.

With a laugh, Rex pulled her in for a hug. She wrapped her short arms around him and that was that. After pulling away, she clambered back up into her chair. The next round of pieces began. Even with the amount they had passed out, a giant pile remained stacked. Hardly a dent had been made. Where did Hardcase get all of that?

Sitting down as well, Rex placed the picture down, swapping it with the datapad but keeping it in glancing sight. Moments later, the duo fell back into the working rhythm from before their little adventure, a new happiness thrumming in the air.

---

As soon as he was able after the watching-shifts changed, Rex was in his personal quarters. Cody, you better pick up your comm, you—

“Rex?” Cody answered the holo, helmet off. “What’s—”

“Can I adopt a Jedi?” Rex cut him off.

Cody had the gall to look amused. “Which one?” The quirk of his eyebrow screamed Please-not-Skywalker but Rex wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Commander Tano,” he responded instead. “She drew me this, Cody! Look at it!” He put the flimsi close enough to the holo that it was the only thing Cody could see.

“Ah, okay.” Rex lowered the drawing to see his brother’s reaction. Even through the holo, Cody’s eyes were shining, though it was hard to tell with what. "I see. That’s cute."

“I’m serious, Codes. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Cody nodded. “Yes, I know you’re serious. As I said, that’s a very cute drawing and I think you’ve been on the verge of asking this for a while, the drawing just sped up the process.” He paused, waiting to see if Rex would say anything else. When he didn’t, he said, “I’ll look into it.” Cody went to turn off the comm but paused, eyes narrowing. “Wait a second, are you crying?”

“No,” Rex replied, far too quickly.

A smirk broke across his brother’s face. “Sure, sure. I can’t wait to tell the other—”

“Don’t you dare!”

Thanks for reading!

Mando’a Translations:

Vode: Brothers. In this case, the clones as a whole

Baaur’ur: Medic

Vor’e!: Thanks!

Ori’vod: Big brother

#b writes #pun wars #ahsoka tano #captain rex #clone wars #star wars #sw: tcw #star wars clone wars #star wars the clone wars #plo koon #commander cody #hardcase #anakin skywalker

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a-whale-bone · 5 years

Text

When I was fighting with the last chapter of darkness, moonrise I wrote a bunch more of my Chirrut/Baze backstory instead. This thing really has taken on a life of its own, so at some point I’ll probably finish it and tidy it up to post properly.

The first bit is here.

Shyli settled when they were twelve, not long after both Chirrut and Baze had achieved the second duan. Chirrut had often wondered what settling would feel like, whether there would be an obvious sensation. Instead it was almost anti-climactic. They had been meditating, slowly getting better at sharing their senses, and when Chirrut had drifted back into his own body, blinking and sighing, Shyli had nudged him.

“Chirrut.”

“Mm?”

“I think this is it.”

He rubbed at his eyes to try and dissipate the almost permanent fog, a habit he knew he needed to break, and blinked down at her. “What’s it?”

She was in the form of a gecko, with blue-purple skin, golden stripes, and red eyes. He held a hand out to her and she crawled onto his palm. “This feels right,” she said.

He stared at her. “You’ve - you’ve settled? Just now?”

“I think so.”

He had expected it to happen soon enough; for the last few weeks Shyli had been oddly restless, flicking from form to form much more than usual. Nothing had felt comfortable, she’d tried to explain, like wearing clothes that didn’t fit properly. But part of him still hadn’t really believed that it would eventually come to pass - all dæmons settled, of course, but the idea of Shyli not changing was a strange one.

“Try and change?” he suggested. She closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head.

“Nothing. Huh.” She twisted to inspect herself, flicking her tail. “So I guess we’re a gecko. Didn’t guess that one.”

“No.” He lifted her closer so he could inspect her properly. “You’re all sorts of colours. I like it.”

“And at least I’m not a bat,” she said.

“Yeah, or a deep sea fish, like Baze said.” Holding her gently, Chirrut scrambled to his feet, suddenly excited. “Let’s go show him!”

After calling at the library, the kitchen, and the creche, Chirrut eventually tracked Baze down in the garden, where he was crouched in the dirt checking some of the new plant shoots. Patience was not something that came easily to Chirrut, but Baze seemed to have it in spades. He could spend hours and hours reading books or working in the garden or painting, where Chirrut would get bored after twenty minutes and start to fidget.

“Baze!” he called, skidding to a halt in front of him. “Baze!”

Baze looked up, clearly a little startled. Zin, who had been dozing cat-formed in a sunbeam, leapt to her feet. “Are you alright?” Baze asked, concern on his face.

Chirrut fell to his knees and thrust out his hands, displaying Shyli. “We settled!”

Baze blinked, and Chirrut watched as he digested this information. “Since this morning?”

“Just now! We were meditating, and when we stopped she was like this.”

Baze stared at Shyli for a moment, and a big, slow smile spread over his face. “That’s amazing,” he said. It had taken so long for Baze to crack even the smallest smile when he’d first arrived at the Temple, it had been almost surprising to find out that his actual smile was so big and bright. Chirrut was always thrilled when he could make Baze look like that.

Zin nudged at Shyli with her cat nose, careful to avoid brushing Chirrut’s skin. “What did it feel like?” she asked, and Shyli cocked her head.

“It’s hard to explain,” she said. “It just felt like it fit, like nothing has for a long time. Do you ever feel like some shapes aren’t right?”

“Not really,” said Zin. “Only sometimes.” Baze was several months older than Chirrut, but people could settle at any age from ten to fifteen, so it was hardly unusual that Zin was still changing at almost thirteen.

“I like it,” Baze told Chirrut. “It suits your lizardy face.”

Chirrut shoved him in the shoulder, and Baze laughed. “She’s a gecko, Baze. You should know that, you’re meant to be the clever one.”

“Alright,” said Baze, still grinning. “It suits your gecko face then.”

The masters were thrilled when they found out. Shyli settling meant that they were ready to start preparing for the third duan. Master Hara spent an afternoon with them, doing all sorts of tests and measurements and taking photograms. They had done these a few times before, as had other Temple kids, and Chirrut knew it was to see how much Dust was around them, and if it was changing as they grew and learned more. Sometimes the masters would do similar tests and measurements during lessons, or meditations, to see what changed. Dust gathered more strongly around people whose dæmons had settled, so Master Hara wanted to measure to see how quickly or slowly that happened. She always processed the photograms in a special solution that showed Dust. Chirrut was excited to think that more of the beautiful, golden substance would be gathered around him now. He hoped that Baze would settle soon too, so he could have more Dust around him, and they could practice for the third duan together.

In the end, it was almost another year before Baze and Zin settled. Chirrut woke up one summer morning and lay with his eyes closed, counting down from thirty before he opened them. He knew one day he’d wake up to darkness, and he was always scared that this would be the day.

“Chirrut?” Baze’s voice sounded wavery and uncertain, in a way Chirrut hadn’t heard for a while. He abandoned his countdown and opened his eyes: the shadows still pressed in at the edges of his vision, but he could see Baze sitting cross-legged on the bed opposite. His hair was sticking up at the back, his ears glowing in the morning light, and it suddenly occurred to Chirrut how broad Baze’s shoulders had become recently. He blinked.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

“I think we settled.”

Chirrut sat up, and Shyli crawled to his knee. “What?”

“I woke up about an hour ago and couldn’t get back to sleep. We just felt really weird and jittery, and now—” He held up Zin.

“It’s like you said,” said the little hedgehog dæmon. “It feels right, like nothing else did.”

Chirrut stared at them. Baze’s eyes were filled with worry. “That’s great!” he said, grinning and hoping Baze would follow suit.

“I guess so,” he said slowly, looking down at his dæmon, stroking her long ears with one finger and frowning. Chirrut watched him in concern: Baze was always so serious and thought about things too much; if he was unhappy with Zin’s form he would feel it deeply. Chirrut pushed down his instinct to tease and clambered out of bed to sit next to Baze, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“It is great,” he said reassuringly.

“You think so?” said Zin, the worry in her voice matching the expression on Baze’s face.

“Of course we do,” Shyli exclaimed. “Don’t you like it?”

“I do…” said Zin slowly. “I just… it’s not really a guardian form, is it?”

“Aw Baze, don’t,” said Chirrut, tightening his hold on Baze’s shoulders. His really very broad shoulders. “It doesn’t matter what your dæmon is, you can still be a guardian! You’re still the best student here, after all. Anyway, this just means you’re someone who knows how to protect themselves. And you’ll still be soppy old poetry-loving Baze underneath.”

That made Baze laugh his soft, rumbly laugh, and Chirrut beamed. “Thanks.”

“And now we both have nice, portable dæmons. Can you imagine if Zin was really big? She’d never be able to hide in your pocket.”

That made Baze laugh again. “That would be a disaster.”

“Yep. You’d have to have got new robes, with really big pockets.”

“I might need reinforced pockets now. She’s spiky.”

“I like the spikes,” said Zin. Baze put her down on the bed and Shyli went to inspect her, touching her quills with her nose. “And I don’t need to hide in pockets now, I can just do this—” She rolled herself up in a ball, and Shyli yelped as her nose was pricked. Chirrut winced, rubbing his own nose.

“See,” he said, “You’ll be a great guardian. Your dæmon is a weapon on her own.”

Baze and Zin seemed to get more comfortable with their new form over the next few weeks, which was a relief. Baze was smiling more, and he seemed to come out of his shell a little. He even beat Chirrut in sparring a few times, and Chirrut couldn’t even bring himself to care; he liked seeing Baze happy. He also didn’t especially mind Baze pinning him to the ground, which was something Chirrut tried not think about too much.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ ੯ू❛ัू >

They were fifteen, and most of the other boys at the Temple had started to talk a lot about girls. The girls at the Temple had also started to talk a lot about boys, and to cluster in laughing groups while they did it. Chirrut had noticed a fair few girls sending newly appreciative glances at Baze, who had grown even more in the last few months and filled out across the chest and shoulders. Every time another girl looked Baze up and down Chirrut felt an uncomfortable squirming sensation in his chest. Baze was, apparently, oblivious.

“It’s because you don’t want him to start spending time with some girl,” Shyli said reasonably one evening when they were meant to be meditating. “It would change things.”

It would, and Chirrut didn’t want things to change. He and Baze had been best friends for years, and they knew everything about one another. The idea of that being interrupted by Baze being interested in a girl was horrible.

“We’re meant to be thinking about girls,” Chirrut muttered. “Everyone else is.”

“Maybe we’re just a bit later than other people,” she said. “Besides, you think some girls are pretty.”

“Yeah, pretty, but that’s not the same as what everyone else is talking about.”

“Not everyone! A lot of people, but not everyone. Not Baze.”

That was true. The girls would look at Baze, but he didn’t seem to look back in the same way. Chirrut felt a bit better. “He’s too shy. He’d probably explode if he had to talk to a girl he liked.”

Later, he and Shyli lay in agonised silence and listened to Baze falling asleep. Their room even smelled like Baze, of old library books, soap, and fresh soil from the garden. It was the most comforting smell Chirrut knew. He couldn’t shake the tight feeling in his stomach. Things were going to change, and he was not ready. He wanted to stay at the Temple with Baze forever, but one day Baze would meet someone and then Chirrut wouldn’t be the most important person in Baze’s life any more. Maybe Baze would leave the Temple.

“Stop it,” Shyli whispered fiercely, but he couldn’t stop it. He lay awake and fretted for hours before finally drifting into unsettled dreams.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ ੯ू❛ัू >

Chirrut’s vision started to deteriorate even more rapidly, to the point that he eventually gave in and started using a cane to get around. It was more difficult than he’d anticipated, and he was often exhausted and frustrated. His sparring skills suffered, his classwork went downhill when he could barely read or write properly, and his head ached constantly. He was meant to be practicing for the fourth duan, meant to be studying anbaromagnetism, meant to be learning, creating, connecting, all of those wonderful things that generated precious Dust, but instead he was just miserable and frustrated. If there was such a thing as anti-Dust, that was what he was creating.

Baze had offered to spar with him as practice outside of the formal lessons, and he had agreed, which was something he sorely regretted very quickly. Baze was patient to a fault, and was clearly holding back his own speed and strength to account for Chirrut’s difficulties. It should have been reassuring, but instead Chirrut felt frustrated and patronised.

“Just fight me!” he yelled eventually, giving up on proper technique and just shoving Baze in the chest as hard as he could. Baze stumbled back, and Chirrut felt a nasty little thrill.

“Chirrut—” Baze began, and his voice was gentle. Chirrut did not want him to be gentle.

“Stop it!” he snapped. “If you’re not going to do it properly then don’t bother!”

Baze was silent for several moments, and Chirrut wished he could see the expression on his face. He could just make out the shadow of Baze’s form, the way his broad shoulders were drawn and uncertain, but he couldn’t see his face at all. He imagined his downturned mouth, his sad eyes, and it made him angry.

“I’m sorry,” Baze said eventually. “I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help,” Chirrut said furiously. He knew he was indulging the anger rippling under his skin, knew that he should attempt to tame it the way the Masters taught, but right then he didn’t care. He turned away from Baze and stormed away, stopping only to scoop up Shyli and pick up his stupid cane. Part of him wanted Baze to call after him but he didn’t.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ ੯ू❛ัू >

Baze stayed in the practice room after Chirrut had stormed out, feeling completely at sea. He knew he had hurt Chirrut, but he wasn’t sure how he had done it or how to fix it. Guilt sat like hot lead in his stomach, so he busied himself with tidying and sweeping until he felt a little less shaky. Zin curled up in his pocket, the way she always did when something was wrong.

Chirrut wasn’t in their room, or in the garden, or meditating. No one had seen him.

“Lost him, have you?” laughed Guardian Rena. “I thought you were practically his dæmon, Malbus.”

That was a common joke at the Temple, and Baze was never sure how to feel about it. Part of him, a part that he tried to keep locked up as tight as possible, was always a little pleased that people saw how close he and Chirrut were, how important Chirrut was to him. But it scared him a bit too, in ways he couldn’t quite describe.

Baze wasn’t stupid, or unobservant (people sometimes thought he was, mistaking being quiet and shy for being slow), and he knew that plenty of his classmates spent their time flirting with members of the opposite sex, sneaking away to kiss in hidden corners of the Temple and then bragging about it later. He also knew that a few girls had tried to flirt with him, that now they were older his height and breadth was appealing to some of them. “Strong and silent,” he’d heard one girl, Tana, laugh to her friend.

“Well, I don’t need him to speak,” her friend had said, tossing her hair and giving Baze a smile over her shoulder. Her cockatiel dæmon had preened his feathers, and Zin had curled up tighter in Baze’s pocket.

It all made his ears burn. Not because he liked it, particularly – he had never liked being the centre of attention – but because of how aware it made him of his own… deficiencies.

It wasn’t that he didn’t think about things like that, it was that it was all wrong for him. He knew, objectively, that Tana was very pretty, that her friend’s developing curves were subject to great admiration from other boys, but all he found himself dwelling on was the lean muscles of Chirrut’s arms and shoulders, his long, clever fingers, the brightness of his smile.

“We’re just muddled,” Zin had tried to reassure him. “Everyone’s all confused when they’re fifteen, you just can’t tell. It’s because we spend so much time with him.”

But Baze wanted to spend all his time with Chirrut. He wanted to be close to him all the time, and whenever they touched – which was often, even more often now that Chirrut was having to relearn how to navigate the world – it felt like someone had set a fire under his skin. He’d heard the way the others had talked about liking people, so how had he ended up so mixed up and wrong that he felt that way about Chirrut, and not a girl like normal?

Chirrut didn’t come to dinner. He wasn’t in the library, or in any of the workrooms. As darkness began to fall, Baze’s worry increased. Had Chirrut left the Temple? What if something had happened to him?

Normally Baze wouldn’t have been worried about anything happening to Chirrut – he could more than take care of himself, after all – but he had been so upset and angry lately, and struggling to adjust to his deteriorating eyesight. Baze had every faith that Chirrut would adapt in time, would once again be the fiercest and strongest in the whole Temple, but to see him fight against everything and everyone in the meantime was difficult.

“Looking for your shadow?” Guardian Tseng asked as Baze made yet another circuit of the Temple grounds, debating whether he should ask to go out into the city and look for Chirrut there.

“Have you seen him?”

The old guardian gave him an enigmatic smile and nodded towards the garden. “Look up,” he suggested.

The wall. Baze could have kicked himself for not checking the top of the wall. Chirrut had used to make him climb up there all the time when they were kids, even though Baze had been scared of heights and climbing had made him feel shaky and dizzy.

He wasn’t scared of heights any more, and he was strong enough to climb, but he still didn’t particularly like sitting on top of the wall with the great empty sky the only thing between you and the desert hundreds of feet below. With a sigh, Baze made his way to the gardens and yes, there was Chirrut, a small figure perched up on the wall looking out over the desert.

“What do you want?” Chirrut asked in a sullen voice, as Baze finally made it to the top of the wall to sit beside him. The wind was keen and cold up here, and Baze shivered.

“To talk to you.”

Chirrut didn’t say anything, just kicked his feet against the ancient stone. Shyli was perched on his head, staring out into the gathering darkness.

“I want to help,” Baze said helplessly. “But I don’t know how.”

“I don’t want help,” Chirrut said again, his voice low and angry. “I just want things to carry on as normal.”

“I want that too.” He did, so very badly. But things were changing anyway.

Chirrut wrapped his arms around himself, hunching over. “Just treat me the way you always do,” he said. “I hate it when you act like I’m going to break.”

“I don’t think you’re going to break.”

“Then why won’t you fight me properly?”

“Because – I just – Chirrut, you’ve always been better than me, we both know that! I didn’t want to take advantage when you’re getting used to – you know. And when you’re used to it you’ll knock me in the dirt again like always, I know you will.”

Chirrut snorted. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I’d rather you beat me in a fair fight than you let me win because you feel sorry for me.”

Privately Baze thought that it wasn’t a fair fight when he could see and Chirrut couldn’t, but he knew that would just make Chirrut angrier. “I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Yes you do!”

“I’m sad that you’re dealing with something really hard, and I know I can’t understand it. I know you’re angry and you’re scared. But I don’t pity you. You’re still a smart-mouth who always thinks he knows best.”

A very faint smile touched the corner of Chirrut’s mouth at that. “When did you get so clever?”

“I’ve always been the clever one.”

“Hah.” Chirrut unwrapped his arms with a sigh, resting his hands on the top of the wall. “So you’ll fight me properly tomorrow?”

“If you want.”

“Good.”

“I am still going to stop you walking into walls, though.”

“I can still see walls, Baze.”

“Barely.”

Chirrut did laugh then, and Baze grinned. He rested his own hands on the wall so he could lean back a little to look up at the emerging stars, and the little finger of his right hand rested against Chirrut’s. He froze, even that tiny point of contact making his heart thunder in his ears. He told himself to move away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He put his other hand in his pocket to touch Zin, found her half-curled up and nervous.

“What are the stars like tonight?” Chirrut asked.

“Bright,” Baze offered, and Chirrut sighed.

“No, describe them, Baze. You want to help? You need to get used to telling me what things look like.”

Baze tried again, tried to forget about the small point of warmth between Chirrut and himself. This was stupid, they touched all the time. He swallowed. “You can see the dragon’s tail, above those cliffs out there. The weaver girl is really bright tonight, she’s rising up over the desert now—”

Chirrut shuffled closer, leaning towards Baze’s voice. As he moved his fingers brushed over the back of Baze’s knuckles, and stayed there. Baze faltered for a moment, feeling his ears burning, before continuing on. He hoped his voice didn’t sound too shaky. He tightened his other hand around Zin, her sharp quills pricking his palm, and he tried to focus on that instead.

The next day, he couldn’t seem to shake off the feeling of Chirrut’s hand on his. He kept telling himself that it was stupid, but somehow it had felt different to every other time they’d touched, like Chirrut’s skin had branded him somehow. Chirrut didn’t appear to have noticed, so Baze tried to push it away and forget about it.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ ੯ू❛ัू

Shyli is a cave gecko, and Zin is a long-eared hedgehog

#Chirrut Imwe #Baze Malbus #spiritassassin #my fic #daemon AU #HDM AU #OTP: I don't need luck #and so we begin the hopeless pining and repression #my favourite

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mendesnecessary · 5 years

Text

When you’re ready - Shawn Mendes - Part.02

Word count: 1.770

A/n: Part two of cop!Shawn also we get to know a little about their dark pasts.

Summary: Y/n is a lawyer and someone break into her house at night so she had to calm down his son and call the police.

Part one

It was probably four in the morning when Y/n got up from the bed, she had barely slept, the whole night her job was looking for Sean breathe slowly and calm. She wore her silk robe just to make sure her body was covered since there’s a cop in her living room, which she thought it was Mccall cause he was the one she gave goodnight, but when the woman reaches the room it was his wild curls in her sofa.

It was officer Mendes.

He was sitting in some kind of half sleep half awake. Y/n could see closer when she gets in front of him to throw a blanket in his body, he had rosy cheeks and a little mark in his chin. He was beautiful, even sleeping, she thought.

When she throws the blanket in his body he was fast in wake up and hold her fists with strength. For a brief second, he thought it was the man that break in the house.

Y/n jump from his touch and after the shock he let her go.

“I’m sorry…” she starts, he got up.

“It’s okay…it’s just, I fell asleep somehow and when I felt someone close I thought it was the man…”

“Hard shift, huh?” She tries to put some better air and he smiles.

This time she was closer and could see the way his eyes get a little smaller when he did that.

“Night one is always the hardest one since I’m working since the other night.”

She drops her gaze to his hands in his uniform pocket. Black fits good in the Mendes guy.

“Oh…you shouldn’t be ending the shift then?!”

He chuckles, his cheeks got pinker. “I…uhm…I wanted to make sure everything was alright with you and the kid, I’ll change the shift in the morning.”

“Thank you…I guess.”

They both smile.

Y/n is feeling her face hot and her hands slightly shaking.

“So…something happened?” Mendes asks.

“No, I just could not sleep…” she looks back at his face, he is staring. “Uhm…I going to make some coffee…wanna join in, officer Mendes?”

She was trying so hard to go back to the professional part, cause somehow she felt that they had run away from this space with the smiles and stares. But then he does it again, he smiles.

“Yeah, I guess I really need some coffee. And…Y/n?” he called when they were already walking to the kitchen. She turns around, waiting for his words. “You can call me just Shawn.”

She nods, he appreciates how her hair falls with the action.

When y/n prepares the coffee, they headed to the balcony. The cold early morning air hitting their faces and shaking their hairs. She holds the cup with two hands looking for a hot spot that could warm her palm.

The silence envolving they both like the cuffs hanging in his belt

“Why do you decided to become a cop?” She asks suddenly, the need to know him better growing inside of her as much as was growing in him.

Shawn let go a sad smile and take a sip from his coffee.

“I’m sorry…that wasn’t…I guess I shouldn’t…I just…”

He reaches for her hand in the parapet, the unsure move that made her heart race just like the cars in Sean’s favorite movie.

“It’s okay…That’s a good question, but the answer isn’t though.”

“You don’t have to, I was just trying to break the silence…”

He ignores the possibility of not answering, somehow he felt like it was time for that topic came out more. He had to deal better with some of his dark stories. “I…I decided to become a cop because of my brother.”

“He was one too?” She asks, her fingers sliding with his. Their hands still together in the spot.

“Nah.” He let go a sight. “He was killed in a bank robbery, the cops take too long to get there. I decide I did not want others to lose family the way I lost, so I become a cop.”

All the time he kept his gaze in their hands, it was hard to talk about something so vivid in his mind. Y/n squeeze his hand trying to show that she was there somehow.

“And what about you?” He asks minutes before the cold silence. She furrows her eyes. “Why did you become a lawyer?”

It’s her turn to sight.

“I guess we both are hunted by dark stories in our careers.” She chuckles.

“You don’t have to tell yours, it’s okay.”

Just as he did, she does too ignoring the possibility of not telling.

“My uncle got accused by a crime he didn’t commit. I was a child at the time, almost a teenager. He was really close to me.” Shawn left his cup in the balcony so he had a free hand to put a lock of hair behind her ear, holding his hand in her chin for a brief second. It was a silent way of saying that it was okay suddenly stop the talk. But Y/n was a determined woman, she learned to deal with suffering and a lot of painful things along the time. “He got some years in prison, I remember how my family was terrified, mostly because we all know he was innocent, but before we could prove he did not take all the eyes on him like he was a criminal…so he committed suicide.”

Her eyes fluttering to the sky, the hard gasp, and the hand squeeze, Shawn captured every movement before sliding his fingers in her cheekbones. Her skin was cold and soft, somehow felt good in his.

Just when he was about to try some word of comfort the voice sounded in the entrance of the balcony.

“Mommy…” It was a sleepy Sean inside his Ben 10 pajamas.

Shawn and Y/n took a space realizing that they were much closer than the safe line.

“Yeah, baby?!” She bends down to his height and he approaches glancing at Shawn. “It’s not time to wake up yet.”

“I know, but I’m not sleepy anymore. Can we make breakfast?!” The tiny hands reaching for her hair in a sign of affection.

She nods taking him in her hips, Shawn smiles but Sean it’s not in the mood to a new friendship, especially when it was from a man that was close to his mother.

They headed to the inside of the apartment and Y/n gave Shawn a thankful smile, that talk just made her forget about the past troubles for a short period of time.

“You wanna join us in breakfast?” She asks.

He smiles but he got work to do at the police station and the shift was already over, just when they were talking.

“I’ll save this for another day, I have some work to do right now…” He bits his bottom lips, one step to send the work to hell and stay a little more with her. “But I’ll leave my number here and if you guys need anything you can call me anytime.”

He writes something in one of the pieces of paper that were in the coffee table.

“I surely will.”

“Mccall is in the hallway so you can be sure everything is under control and you’re safe for now.”

“Thank you one more time, Shawn”

Sean was just watching the strange man all smiles for his mother.

“Anytime.”

He waves politely and turns to the door. She sighs before to let the impulse take control.

“Shawn” she calls. He stops. “When your next shift starts?”

“At night.” She drops her gaze to his uniform, his hand in his belt. “I’ll come, don’t worry.” And with a smile, he left.

She never wished a day to be fast like she was wishing this time.

Y/n made breakfast for her and her son before getting ready for the day. Her heels making noise with each step and her blazer on the forearm.

“Momma, when are we going to see dad?” Sean asks from the back seat.

She was driving for his creche where today he had soccer class, is this the reason why he pleaded to wear his shirt from the Portugal national team.

“I don’t know, baby, but soon I guess. Your dad has been really busy lately.”

He sighs before his mother pull over in front of the creche. She opens his door and unblocks his seat belt.

“See you in lunch?” Y/n asks bending down.

“Yes, mommy.”

He got his backpack and starts his walk.

“Sean?”

“Yes, mommy?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She asks taping her finger in her own cheeks and waiting for the kiss. He runs back and hugs her before let a wet kiss in her cheeks. “Love you, baby boy, see you later.”

“Love you, mommy.”

He lets another kiss and runs to the inside of the place greeting the teacher at the entrance. Y/n waves at the woman and gets in the car heading to the office.

The morning was a little rush, a lot of new information about cases y/n were dealing was getting, but she managed to deal with then all letting some to the afternoon shift.

When the clocks point lunchtime she took her things and went to pick up Sean from class, they were going to had lunch out today just as the boy asked and then she would drop him in school.

But she waited at least thirty minutes in front of the creche, every child exiting the building even Sean friends but nothing about him. So she went to check with the teacher why he was taking so long. Maybe he got himself in some kind of trouble, although he was a really sweet and kind boy, that happens sometimes.

“You called me in the morning, asked for me to let him leave early…” was the answer Y/n got when she asked about her son.

“What?”

“A car just like yours was in the entrance so he just ran for that and leave”

“You’re saying that someone pretending to be me fake this all and took my son?”

The eyes of the teacher going wide.

“Fuck!” Y/n cursed feeling her heart sink. Someone was with her son.

Before the teacher could say more she exits the class, trying to control herself for screaming and blaming the woman for her son disappearance.

She enters the car and the tears start rolling down her face. She tapped in the fresh saved number of her phone.

Two rings before his voice sounded on the other side.

“Shawn…they took my son, they took Sean…”

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