#“scraps that your slave owners gave you”

[thatuselesshuman]

Do y'alls friends ever just say the most diabolical things and you can't tell if their joking

[katchwreck]

The letter...

Soon after the liberation of the Belarusian city of Liozno in 1944, when parsing the brickwork of a destroyed furnace in one of the houses, a small yellow envelope sewn with threads was found. It turned out to contain a letter from a Belarusian girl named Katya Susanina, who was forced into slavery to a Hitlerite landowner. Driven to despair, on the day of her 15th birthday, she decided to commit suicide.

Before she died, she wrote her last letter to her beloved father. On the envelope was the address: “Active Army. Field mail No.... to Susanin Peter”. On the other side, the words are written in pencil: “Dear uncle or aunt, who finds this letter hidden from the Germans, I beg you, drop it right into the mailbox. My corpse will already be hanging on a rope.”

⬇️ The contents of the letter:

“March, 12, Liozno, 1943.

Dear, kind daddy!

I am writing you a letter from German bondage. When you read this letter, Daddy, I won't be alive. And my request to you, Father: punish the German bloodsuckers. This is your dying daughter's will.

A few words about mother. When you get back, don't look for Mom. She was shot by the Germans. When they were asking about you, the officer hit her in the face with a whip. Mom could not stand it and proudly said, here are her last words: “You will not intimidate me with a beating. I am sure that my husband will come back and throw you vile invaders out of here.”

And the officer shot Mom in the mouth...

Daddy, I turned 15 today, and if you met me now, you wouldn't recognize your daughter. I have become very thin, my eyes have sunk in, my pigtails have been cut off, my hands have dried up, they look like a rake. When I cough, blood comes out of my mouth — my lungs have been knocked out.

Do you remember, Dad, two years ago, when I turned 13? What a good birthday party I had! You, Dad, then said to me: “Grow up, daughter, for the joy of a big one!” The gramophone was playing, my friends congratulated me on my birthday, and we sang our favorite pioneer song.

And now, Dad, when I look at myself in the mirror — the dress is torn, in scraps, the number on the neck, like a criminal, she is thin as a skeleton, and salty tears flow from her eyes. What's the point that I turned 15 years old. Nobody needs me. Here, many people are not needed by anyone. Hungry, hunted by shepherds roam. Every day they are taken away and killed.

Yes, Dad, and I am a slave of a German baron, I work for the German Charlene as a laundress, I wash clothes, I wash floors. I work a lot, but I eat twice a day in a trough with “Rose” and “Clara” — that's the name of the owner's pigs. The baron ordered it. “Russ was and will be a pig,” he said. I am very afraid of “Clara”. This is a big and greedy pig. She almost bit off my finger once when I was getting potatoes out of the trough. I live in a woodshed: I'm not allowed to enter the room. Once Jozef's Polish maid gave me a piece of bread, and the hostess saw and beat Jozef on the head and back with a whip for a long time.

Twice I ran away from the owners, but their janitor found me. Then the baron himself tore off my dress and kicked me. I was losing consciousness. Then they poured a bucket of water on me and threw me into the basement.

Today I learned the news: Jozefa said that the gentlemen are leaving for Germany with a large party of slaves and female slaves from the Vitebsk region. Now they're taking me with them. No, I'm not going to this thrice-cursed Germany! I decided it was better to die on my native side than to be trampled into the cursed German land. Only death will save me from a cruel beating.

I don't want to suffer any more as a slave to the damned, cruel Germans who didn't let me live!..

I bequeath, Dad: avenge Mom and me.

Goodbye, good daddy, I'm going to die.

Your daughter Katya Susanina.

My heart believes: the letter will reach you.”

NOTE: THE TEXT WAS AUTOMATICALLY TRANSLATED FROM RUSSIAN TO ENGLISH AND MAY CONTAIN TRANSLATION ISSUES AND ERRORS!

[livingsurreal]

Instead of showing us Tevinter in all its horror and glory, they gave us your average seedy port town without even any seediness. Not only did they not show anything of the horrible society that relies so heavily on slavery, they did not even depict a port convincingly. Where are the drunken sailors fist fighting in some dark alleys, the street walkers and brothels? Where are the slave markets that would mainly be in the port of the city (as if the high and mighty would sully their pristine streets with stinky slave markets), the rich and powerful trailed by a flock of decrepit slaves carrying purchased goods. Where are the urchins, fighting over scraps of food some tavern owner threw out onto the street. The rich people (according to their ambient dialogue) don't look and dress any different from the average Joe in Docktown. Either the rich and mighty don't do so well after all, or the poor and not as poor as one might think. The elves and qunari are supposedly the dregs of society. The lowest of the low. Rabbits, Rattus, Oxmen. But beyond some little commentary about how Rook has to wear a hood once or twice, an elf/qun!Rook is treated the same as a human/dwarf!Rook. Nothing I see in DAtV convinces me that Tevinter is such a horrible place to end up. They have a cult problem, but certainly not a deeply ingrained societal problem where the worth of a person is decided by their status of freedom and race.

A society where Dorian who is in the depth of his heart a damn good person, who questions and critiques his own country and culture, does in fact not question slavery at all until exposed to the south and their view on slavery. Where someone like Dorian sees it as just part of society and some are free and some are not. And we treat them fairly in my family you see? Its not that bad! The poor in muddy Ferelden have it just as bad! Oh my sweet summer child Dorian. No... Just, no.

So instead of all that, we see a poor port town and a group of freedom fighters who would be more convincing if they'd opened up soup kitchens and night shelters for the poor and downtrodden.

Matt Rhodes: "Veilguard. The first real piece of concept art I made for this project [in 2014]. We knew we were going to Tevinter, so this was the first attempt to flesh that out. A powerful magister being carried on a palanquin by her elven slaves, and scrappy adventurer's trying to evade mage patrols and survive in an urban labyrinth." [source]

Art by Matt Rhodes.

[mio-parasite]

Lovely - M!Robot (Zach) X GN!Human Render

Warning: mention of physical and emotional abuse.

I'm sorry for the bad spelling and bad English

◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ ❁ ◦ ❖ ◦ 

The great technological breakthrough had brought great things to make people's lives simpler, including a robot known as l1f3 that would allow you to be a beloved of the house flawless. Trouble finding a good babysitter? No problem, l1f3 can take care of your children without worry. Is your husband or wife cheating on you with the housekeeper? Say no more, l1f3 is the perfect machine for making household things. Don't worry about your partner, l1f3 just obeying a single word that you, our great buyer, will have the privilege to program before turning it on. Take it now!! It will change your life forever.

More than 10 years have passed since the day this announcement was published; L1f3 was already in its latest version. It was the most sought-after robot since it went on the market, its main characteristics had evolved to make it a total slave of the human being. On the other hand, you didn't have an l1f3 in your possession, not precisely because you didn't have enough money to buy one, but because you preferred to do things at home the traditional way, with your own hands. Many of your co-workers knew about this and on more than one occasion they came to offer you their l1f3 at a very low price, since several of them were going to buy the new version that would come out.

Come on friends is the best offer nor will black Friday give you an offer as it is. - said his co-worker.

Tom I already told you I like to do things on my own, when I'm an old man of 89 years I'll think about getting one - you answered although deep down it was just a lie - maybe you'll only get some old people's home - well, until tomorrow Tom.

Until tomorrow. - I answer his companion almost reluctantly.

You left your work building to go to the corner parking lot. It was kind of sad that your work building didn't have a parking lot of its own but you couldn't ask much of a building that's more than 70 years old.

When you got to the parking lot you passed by the guard who as always was sleeping, you took a slight sigh to go under the fence and finally get to your car but something caught your attention a young man who was lying on the driver's door of your car.

Hey, are you okay? - you approached quickly, he seemed to be sleeping maybe he jumped glasses and was going to get into his car that was next to yours but his body can't stand the amount of alcohol was a good theory not the first time you run into a drunk in the parking lot - friend wake up I must go home.

When you put your hand on his shoulder, a strange sensation of something wet made you jump out of fright. When you turned on the light you realized that that liquid in your hand was blue but the sensation was not like paint much less it had smell it was strange that thing that was blue in your hand didn't seem you had seen it before.

You pointed your flashlight at the young man who was sitting with his back against the door of your car. Poor robot maybe they assaulted him or he was also one of those extremist groups that are finding that robots are living with humans. Well whatever the case you could not leave it thrown there is also so far do not think that there is a mechanic available also its owner may be looking for it would be good to look for the owner, but one of your friends explained that if you enter the official site of the company l1f3 and put the first four digits of the barcode that is in the back of the neck of the robot you can find its owner with his contact number in case you lost the robot.

That was quite timely but that time with your friend they put Numbers up out of sheer boredom finding the large number of people who owned one in their home even if it was low resources is surprising that much of society is dependent on these robots but there is no more time to digress you have to act the robot is in a bad situation. You approached her slowly to move her neck very carefully but when you gave her a little push to separate her head from the door your wrist was grabbed very tightly.

What do you think you're doing!? - said the robot with anger in his eyes.

"I just want to help," you answer somewhat scared. "it was all so sudden."

Lie - exclaimed the robot- you just want to disarm me and sell my parts as scrap.

It's not true - you answered somewhat altered it seemed that his grip was stronger, it was hurting you. - my pity, let me go. please

The robot gave you a last look at Stan before releasing you definitely, you weighed your wrist and then turned your gaze to the robot that was still sitting seemed so upset but also hurt not only in appearance but also emotionally.

You can really believe me or not but I won't hurt you, I just want to help you - you told the robot as you raised your hands in a signal that you had nothing planned to attack it.

Why? - answered the robot.

What? - you looked at him confused.

Because you want to help me, not since I am just an old-fashioned tin because not selling my parts or sending me to the nearest dump is not easier that I say - I bitterly laugh - there are thousands as I am easy to replace get a new one.

Hey don't say that - the robot looks at you mockingly - I know it sounds stupid but I don't think it's replaceable - sure your owner misses you.

So my owner - he laughed again with bitterness - he was the one who did this to me you know - he said pointing to his wound on his face - he already has two other new models I was only adorning for the bizarre wishes of his eldest daughter where I was his feet, a parparry table and... And... - the robot made a big pause while he clenched his fist - then I got tired of that deal and wanted to run away but my owner wouldn't let me shoot myself so I wouldn't run away but didn't let me not this time so despite that I just ran, ran and ran without looking back until I couldn't stand it anymore I came to hide here after you appeared.

Oh wow - you were really surprised poor robot deserves to be free - thank you for sharing this with me.

Yes - a little laugh of tiredness came out of the lips of that robot - honestly it was rare for me to think that only the information came out. - the robot replied.

Let me take you to my house tomorrow we'll go with a mechanic and you'll go do whatever you want outside - you tell the robot you think it really deserves something better.

Wait what!? - the robot was really surprised by your proposal - because you would do that for me we hardly know each other.

"That's true," you replied, "but it's not good to leave you here either."

I smiled at him, the robot didn't have many options to go with you even if it's quite a lie what you say doesn't matter anymore after all the robot already knows that its fate will be destruction so shit matters.

"Okay, I'll go with you," says the robot as he gets out of the ground.

You couldn't help but give that machine a slight smile.

By the way, what's your name? - you ask him while driving your vehicle.

There was no immediate response just when you left the parking lot to reach a traffic light.

"I have no name," he says as he looks out the window, "it's not something we're made to carry names.

But what do you say!? - surprised - well if you're thinking of leaving your life behind it would be good to give yourself a name.

The robot takes his eyes out of the window to stare with confused faces.

You deserve a name - not just calling yourself for who you are - you are entitled to a name - you answer.

Right you say - the robot seems to look away again at the sale - you're ridiculous you knew.

What about William or jack? , alex is also a good name, there's also brendon, Cody, tayler, josh - you say random name hoping your companion will say something.

Are you serious? - I ask the robot in confusion.

Oh you prefer more foreign names you could be Francisco, akira, Bruno - you keep suggesting names the rest of the way.

Enough is enough... Zacharie - I answer zacharie while you smile.

Zacharie if it suits you I could also tell you zach for short - you answer him with joy.

At last they reach their destination their beautiful home, look at zach a little worried about his condition.

Zach I hope to help you and that you can be free, maybe can not promise me that everything will go well 100% but I will. - zach will just seem more confused but deep down his metallic self wants to have some confidence in you.

[rat-father]

This has been sitting in my drafts for about a week now, and I finally got around to finishing it

Originally inspired by a prompt from @cupcakes-and-pain - "A delicious plate of fresh cupcakes, just out of the starving whumpee's reach"

Though this is more focused on Cub than the starving whumpee

Tagging; @skunkandgrenade @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

-- tw;; pet whump, it as pronoun, slave whump, starvation, muzzles, captivity whump, mild mer whump --

Cub kicked its legs back and forth, staring hungrily at all the cupcakes, the cherry pie, bossche bols, macaroons and various other pastries on the big table in front of them. It barely heard the conversation going on between its master and his friend, it just wanted to eat already! Master noticed its impatience and put his hand on its knee, shooting it a glance. It immediately stopped moving its legs, settling for a pout. Cub flinched when a figure appeared in the corner of its eye. It looked over and its eyes met the gaze of another pet. Their body was covered in bruises and wounds, hands red from burn marks. What concerned Cub most was the wire muzzle they wore. It knew only guard dogs wore those, and it didn’t like them. It huddled close to master when it came near with a tray of drinks, carefully putting them on the table.

“No need to be afraid my dear, I trained Pora very well. If they hurt you in any way I will punish them accordingly. And they know that.” Master’s friend, Mynci, assured Cub.

Cub looked up at master for conformation, who gave it a small nod. It rested its head against master’s side, letting itself relax a bit. He stroked its hair peacefully while continuing the conversation with his friend. It switched between looking at the sweets, and Pora kneeling next to their owner’s feet. They sat with their back hunched over, black hair strands falling in front of their face. Cub was sure it’d get punished if it sat with a posture like that. Mynci had said they were well trained, but it really didn’t seem like it to Cub. Why would they need a muzzle if they weren’t going to bite?

“Ok Cub, ya can eat now. Take whatever ya like.” Xanzi said.

”Thank you, master.”

It smiled and happily took one of the cupcakes, devouring it. The sweet taste filled its mouth, making its eyes light up with joy. It still thought Lexi’s cupcakes were better, of course, but it still enjoyed every bite. Master and his friend ate along with it at a slower pace. Cub tried out a piece of everything presented to it, choosing which it liked most, only stopping to occasionally take a sip of water. When it was full it drank the last of its water and leaned back against the soft pillows. It closed its eyes for a few seconds, taking back some of its breath. It opened them again to find Pora’s burning gaze locked on it. Cub could tell they were hungry, but they still had their muzzle on and it doubted they’d be allowed eat. They just stared at it with pleading eyes while it couldn’t do anything to help.

“Well, I think my little Cubby has had enough sweets for today. Don’t want ya to get a tummy ache now.” Master chuckled.

“Will other pet also get food, master?”

“They’re a slave, not a pet. I only feed them when I feel like it, but I might give them a few scraps later,” Mynci answered for him. “But that isn’t any of your concern. I think you should go see my latest attraction, you’ll love it, I’m sure.”

”That sounds great. Let’s go there Cubby.”

Cub nodded with a smile and let master lead it out of the room.

“I’ll be here if you need anything!” Mynci called behind them.

It gave the slave one last glance before the door slammed shut behind them. It followed master through the big tents, admiring all the colors surrounding them. Cub had gotten used to the black monochrome color scheme of its master’s home, and it liked the change, although it made it feel a bit trippy.

Master opened the door to a room much darker then the rest, only being illuminated by the purple light of a gigantic round tank in the middle, with veins and nets loosely hanging from the ceiling. Cub eyes widened in surprise and it nearly jumped in joy, it all looked so magical, and so pretty! It hopped over to the tank, Xanzi calmly strolling behind.

“Master? Master, look!” Cub pointed at the mermaid swimming in the tank. A big smile formed on its face.

“Yes, I see. That’s a mermaid, they’re very pretty creatures.”

Cub giggled in joy watching the mermaid do tricks, the other fish around her moving out of the way. Xanzi smiled, watching his pet have fun. He took out his phone and took some pictures with them for memories. He silently remarked how easy it was to entertain Cub, it stood there for at least an hour simply watching the mermaid and fish swim around, and it was thrilled. Mynci specialized in entertainment for kids, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He did wonder how they managed to get a real mermaid, they were a rare catch. He would ask Mynci about it later. His train of thought got interrupted by Cub lightly tugging on his sleeve.

“Yes Cubby?”

“Can we go home please, master? It is tired.”

“Sure thing, bub.”

Master picked Cub up and carried it back out the room, letting it wrap its arms around his neck. It peeked over his shoulder, looking at the colorful tents one last time. It whined softly when the cold air from outside hit its skin, and tried to burrow further into master. He gently set it down in the car, taking off his jacket and handing it to them. Cub put on the way too big jacket, drifting off to sleep almost instantly.

[cottoncandyjester]

Let sleeping dogs lie(salem backstory)

People have been asking a ton of questions about salem and his backstory so i decided to answer them in one big post.

This story contains: a lot of child abuse, death, cannibalism, childhood trauma, all around bad times for salem

Salem was a dog, not a child. He slept in a cage,ate scraps and was abused to the point where blood was a permanent taste in his mouth. His brother on the other hand was the perfect child, salem didn't know why his mother loved axis more than him but salem was to believe that something was wrong with him

The truth was that nothing was wrong with salem, he was actually quite gifted in singing and would sing himself to sleep when the late nights scare him. Salem was deemed an ugly child from his mother, his eyes were dead and empty..he never smiled in his life and he doesn't even know how to laugh.

Salem hated axis, he hated axis with every fiber of his being. He hated that axis was treated like royalty while he was dragged through hell just to live, how come axis was so perfect?

The worst part of it was that axis was so sweet to salem, he would sneak down and give salem food when their mother isn't watching. Salem thought axis was just belittling him and that made him hate him more

It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. His mother was supposed to love him more than anything, why was axis so special?!

"your father was an ugly man, a monster and you look just like him..those demon eyes. It's natural for any mother to love the more beautiful child. You're only here cause you are make a lovely trash can"

Maybe asking his mother wasn't the best option, it only broke salem more. Salem finally broke after that, he snuck into axis' room that night. Axis had a fever so the window and door was wide open to cool him off, salem let out a shaky sigh as he walked towards the sleeping boy

Its not fair

I was born first

It's not fair

Even sleeping he looked perfect, salem opened the bottle of chemicals and poured it over axis' eyes. The sounds of screaming and choked sobbing flooded the room as salem stared at his younger brother his eyes being empty of any emotions.

He got beaten extra hard that night, he ruined his mother's perfect little boy so it was only natural for her to want him dead, but it seems she had a far better idea for him.

The next morning he was sold like some rusted toy, a rich family wanted to treat their son to an early birthday present and a commoner slave seemed to be the perfect gift.

"but it's not salem's fault he was just really mad at me! I swear it doesn't hurt anymore!"

Hearing axis sob and cry for him only made salem hate him more, damn him for being so kind.

Salem felt someone force his head up and his blank eyes stared into blue ones, there he met his master.

Hikaru looked beautiful to salem, a pretty boy dressed in pink. He dazzled like a star and the utter sight of him made salem blush.

It seems that hikaru wasn't as sweet as he looked, salem wasn't sure which was worse his mother or hikaru. Salem was forced to wear a shiny collar and crawl around on all fours, he truly was a dog. Hikaru trained him to be obedient and submissive, salem started to forget that he was even human

Hikaru's family were rich and dirty, they could get away with anything even murder. Salem was their dog and as such they fed him whatever remains of the victim they dealt with.

Eating human remains seems to have been the last nail on the coffin when it comes to his sanity, he had finally lost it.

His mind had broke and he couldn't function as a normal person anymore, he wanted nothing but death.

When salem turned 15 years old the toment was too much for him, the constant abuse from hikaru and his family had not only broke him mentally but physically as well, the amount of blunt Force trauma gave him enough brain damage to most likely kill him.

One thing salem hated most of all was the abandonment of his own mother, she was a horrible person but he still loves her yet he despised her for leaving him. He just wanted someone who wouldn't leave, someone who will stay by his side no matter what.

Salem had slit his throat that night, it was hikaru who had found him choking on his own blood and stitched him up before he died. Hikaru was nicer to salem after that, instead of a stray he was treated much like a beloved pet. Salem wasn't sure if it was the stockholm syndrome or what but he grew attached to hikaru

As the two got older their relationship started to become far more twisted, hikaru started using salem for sexual pleasure and salem of course let it happen.

Hikaru's version of sexual pleasure involved hardcore violence, things such as burning and branding filled his excitement. Salem felt as if he owed hikaru his life, hikaru was his master after all and as a lowly dog you do as you were told. Sex slowly became salem's high, he wanted more and more to the point where he would go to other people in hikaru's family, begging to be touched to be used. People don't leave of you offer them sex, that was the one lesson salem learned

When salem turned 19 he was reunited with his brother once more, seems like axis got into the same school hikaru was in thanks to an art scholarship and so the two met and became 'friends'.

Salem as this point was on his way to becoming a drooling mutt, the amount of abuse and trauma he dealt with messed with his brain beyond repair.

When the two brothers reconnected salem didn't remember his brother much, he could barley remember his own name some days. Axis still adored salem with every fiber of his being even if his blindness was salem's fault. Hikaru had no intention of giving salem up, after all salem was his wonderful pet and any pet owner would be sad to give up a family pet.

"i-i want my brother back, please.."

"is that so? Salem what do you think about that?"

Salem, who sat on the floor with his head nuzzled against hikaru's lap shuddered at the thought of not having hikaru. Was hikaru leaving just like his mother?! He couldn't stand it, he can't handle someone else leaving his life or discarding him.

"no no no no no no, ah- no!"

Salem started to spiral at the very thought, why did everyone leave him? Why can't anyone stay for him?! What's wrong with him that makes him just so unloveable?

Salem didnt go back to axis that night, but axis never stopped trying. Every single day he came to bother hikaru into releasing the hold on his brother.

Salem's feelings for his brother were neutral, he was too messed up in the head to clearly piece together how exactly he felt but he didnt hate him anymore

Salem didn't want to leave hikaru and hikaru wasn't finished playing with salem, wherever hikaru went salem did too those two were far too toxic to each other and still are incredibly toxic.

After all salem was just a damaged dog and he only had everyone around him to blame, it's a wonder how he would turn out if he was raised normally.

[supercalvin]

Hey (: this is a kind of complicated prompt so I understand it you don't feel like it, but maybe an au where Merlin is a slave given to Arthur, and Arthur being soft and caring with him? Thank you!!!

I was thinking about this prompt at 3AM and suddenly was hit with several ideas and was like “Shit.” And opened my note app. My notes were over 300 words already so this turned into 2k. Goddamn it y’all. This is why I have to do simple prompts because I’m weak to this shit.

Prompts + Ficlets

***

Arthur’s eyes trailed over the scrappy looking young man who had been gifted to Arthur by a visiting lord this morning. The enchanted collar around his neck spoke to his magic and the thin white scars just barely visible under it spoke to how long he had been a slave. He was quiet, but his eyes looked straight into Arthur’s, which was bold for anyone, let alone a slave. So he was brave too, that was good for the Prince to know.

“What is your name?” Arthur kept his gaze.

The man looked surprised, but said, “Merlin, sire.”

“How old are you?”

“I think I’m twenty winters, sire.”

“We’re you one of Jarl’s?” Arthur asked. The slaver was known for catching young teen boys, fit and able to serve any noble willing to pay a hefty price.

Merlin’s lip curled into a grimace, “Yes, sire.”

Arthur didn’t want to know how young Merlin was when he was caught by Jarl. It was better if he didn’t know, otherwise he would have to take out his angry and that usually meant training his knights twice as hard at training.

“You seem like a smart lad,” Arthur said, sitting himself down on his chair, so that Merlin was taller than him. “Let me make a few things clear to you. You are free to speak plainly when we are alone. But if you speak out in the presence of my father, I will have no choice but to punish you and that is the last thing I want to do. Is that clear?”

Merlin looked baffled, but he nodded.

“Good. I am also not very familiar with magic, as I’m sure you are aware that it is banned in Camelot, but you are free to use it when you are sure no one will see. Especially if it can save someone’s life, then I give you permission to use your magic.” Merlin gasped, and Arthur could see that the enchanted collar glowed for a moment, likely giving Merlin access to his magic for the first time in a very long while.

“Am I understood?” Arthur asked.

Merlin nodded, his hand rubbing his neck, which must have been tender.

“Go down to the physician’s chambers. Gaius will see to you.”

Merlin bowed and headed for the door. Before he opened it, he turned and said, “Thank you, sire.”

“And another thing,” Arthur said, “Do not thank me for showing you the lowest form of human dignity.”

Merlin’s brows were pinched but he nodded his head again.

***

Merlin became a common sight in Arthur’s chambers, as he had taken over as Arthur’s manservant. Over the past month he stilled eyed Arthur suspiciously, but he was obviously adjusting to Arthur’s presence.

“Too much mead, sire?” A hint of a smile played at his lips.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, happily drunk, and smiled up at Merlin as he gathered the dishes. The cook always gave him too much and there was at least half a portion left.

“Perhaps, Merlin. I am allowed some indulgences.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, as if to say that Princes had more than some indulgences, but he kept silent. As he reached across the table, Arthur noted that his arms weren’t as rail thin as they had been a month ago.

“You’ve gained weight. Do you take my scraps?” Arthur asked, and immediately cursed himself when he saw Merlin freeze. He quickly added, “If you don’t, then you are a bigger fool than you look.”

Merlin smiled at him, “I’m just keeping you fighting-fit, sire.”

Arthur chuffed and lazily waved his hand at Merlin. “I could take you apart with one blow.”

“And I could take you apart with less than that, sire. Remember?” Merlin pointed to his collar. Before Arthur could restrain his own thoughts, his mind was flooded with desires, kissing that pale neck and asking Merlin to perform magic just to see the gold in his eyes. He quickly yanked on that thought and tossed it into the far reaches of his mind. He was Merlin’s master, he had to remember that Merlin was forced to be here.

Arthur snorted, “I’m sure.”

Merlin balanced the last of the dishes on the crook of his arm. “Anything else, my lord?”

Arthur shook his head, thinking that it was better if he finished his evening routine without Merlin if he was drunk enough to imagine kissing one of his servants.

“Good night, Arthur.”

It was the first time Merlin had called him by his name, and Arthur quickly became addicted to it.

***

Before Arthur knew it, years had passed. Merlin had fought by Arthur’s side through it all and Merlin had protected Arthur with his magic more times than either of them could count. Arthur was happy to call Merlin his friend, even if he could never say such a thing about a slave.

He remembered one time, early on, when Merlin asked why Arthur still took slaves if he hated the practice so much. His words took on an accusing tone, and Arthur didn’t blame him. Arthur was a hypocrite. He had answered as plainly as he could. “I advocated for the ban the enslavement under the age of sixteen, and believe me, that took me years of careful diplomacy. It will be different when I am King, Merlin. But until then, I am forced to work under the laws my father enforces. And if I can care for a few people by having them be in my service instead of someone who is much more sadistic, then so be it.”

Merlin hadn’t asked again.

Now they were like two sides of the same coin, understanding each other’s moves and thoughts as if they were each other’s. Arthur couldn’t imagine a day without Merlin by his side. And he was ashamed to think his admiration for Merlin ran deeper than just friendship. Merlin had etched himself into Arthur’s heart. But Arthur couldn’t stand the thought of expressing those feelings, when he knew that Merlin was still his slave, still treated as less than a person in Arthur’s household.

When his father’s health started declining, Arthur began to take on more authority, until he was King in everything but name.

Arthur entered his chambers after visiting his father. The King had barely been coherent and Arthur was well aware that his time as King was fast approaching.

Merlin was already stripping off Arthur’s cloak and chainmail before Arthur truly registered his presence, so lost in his own thoughts. He ate dinner and sipped his wine in a haze.

“You should eat more…” Merlin said, when he didn’t finish his meal.

Arthur shook his head but didn’t refuse when Merlin left a bread roll behind before taking the dishes to the kitchens. When he returned, Arthur was sitting by the fire. Merlin picked up Arthur’s pauldron and began to polish it, sitting in the chair next to Arthur’s.

“Was he bad today?” Merlin asked.

“I think I will be King before summer.” Arthur said.

Merlin nodded, “You are ready, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t feel ready, but that wasn’t what was bothering him now. No, tonight it had hit him that in less than a year, he would relieve Merlin of his service. He hated how reluctant he was. He hated how his mind kept trying to think of solutions. He was the worst kind of man, to think that he would want to keep the man he loved enslaved.

“What will you do? Certainly you’ve thought about it for many years.” Arthur asked.

“Hm?”

“When I ban slavery.”

“Ah,” Merlin said. “Don’t know. Suppose I will go visit my mother for a bit. Maybe move out of Gaius’ chambers and find a place in the lower town, once I start making a manservant’s wages. Why?”

Arthur rubbed his head, letting out a long sigh. “Merlin, you won’t be in my services anymore.”

“What?” Merlin’s hands stopped polishing.

“You’re free to do anything you want, you idiot. Why would you want to be my manservant?” Arthur tried to control his voice, knowing that Merlin would still flinch when anyone raised their voice. He never wanted to be the reason for Merlin’s fear.

Merlin smiled, looking at Arthur as if he were the idiot. “Arthur,” Merlin set down the pauldron and reached out to place a hand on Arthur’s. “I would be happy to serve you. Until the day I die.”

Arthur closed his eyes, tampering down his rage. It wasn’t directed at Merlin. It was at their circumstances. “Don’t say that, Merlin. Please.”

“I’m serious. Perhaps I will work with Gaius to officially become a physician. Perhaps I will work as a mage, once you lift the ban on magic as well. But I’m not leaving, you absurd man.”

“You should,” Arthur said, through a tight throat.

Merlin set the pauldron down and before Arthur knew what he was doing he was standing in front of Arthur. He leaned down, hands braced on the armrests, effectively trapping Arthur.

“You may be my owner. For now.” Merlin said, “But you are my friend, first and foremost. Before being my Prince. My King. You are my friend. And I want to see this through to the end with you. Don’t you understand that?”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, about to tell Merlin all the reasons he shouldn’t consider him a friend, why he was better off leaving rather than staying a single second longer with Arthur. But he was cut off as Merlin tilted Arthur’s head back and capturing his lips in a kiss.

Arthur gasped, unable to stop himself from returning the kiss, his hands desperately gripping the armrest.

Merlin pulled away and reality crashed down on Arthur. He stood up, knocking Merlin out of his way. He turned away from Merlin, trying to clear his head, but it was useless. All he could think of was Merlin’s lips.

“What would convince you that I want this?” He heard Merlin step forward and felt the warmth of his body at Arthur’s back. “That I don’t act to please you or to better my position?”

“I have been kinder to you than others,” Arthur said, his argument paper thin, “But that doesn’t mean I deserve your affections. You have been forced to serve me for years. I have worked under a system that hurts people like you, Merlin. Never forget that.”

Merlin walked around Arthur, so that he was facing him, the fire lighting up his face from this new angle.

His eyes were steely, and his hands clutched at Arthur’s tunic, pulling him closer and causing Arthur’s breath to turn shallow.

“Since I was sixteen, none of my actions have been my own. I haven’t been able to make any of my own decisions. If you want this, if you are willing, then let me choose you. Let me choose to serve and protect you.” Merlin ran his hand up Arthur’s chest, probably feeling Arthur’s stuttering breath, and gently cupped Arthur’s neck. “Let me make this choice.”

Arthur was a weak man. He had barely been able to hold out for longer than a second before he was melting. He cupped Merlin’s face and pressed soft kisses to Merlin’s lips and cheek. “I swear to you,” Arthur said between chaste pecks across Merlin’s face, “One day I will be deserving of your loyalty.”

Merlin laughed, “How can you be the most arrogant man in the world, and the humblest at the same time?”

Arthur didn’t have a chance to answer, as Merlin kissed the breath out of him.

***

Prompts + Ficlets

[letitrainathousandflames]

There Was No Father

Rating: Mature/18+

Warnings: force pregnancy, forced pregnancy, force rape (technically), sith mind tricks, foreshadowing, slavery, sexual slavery mention, childbirth, ask to tag

-

The atmosphere is hot, stifling. The black-haired woman squints at the sunlight, standing in line with other slaves, some human like her, others from different species.

The only thing she carries from the life she had before slavery is the name her mother had given her. Shmi. If she closed her eyes, she could still picture her mother’s face, feel the scent and warmth of her embrace back when she was only a child.

Now Shmi is twenty-eight, and her mother is long gone, worked to death as a slave at a mining planet. Her current owner, an angry-looking Rodian, pokes a nautolan slave with a shock staff. The nautolan screams.

“Fix that posture!” The slave master barks “We have a very important client arriving! If any of you wanna be purchased by this rich looking fellow, you better look decent and get me a good deal!”

The slave master walks away, most likely to greet the new customer.

Shmi sighs heavily, squaring her shoulders as best as she can with little hope. She doubts any new master will be much different from this one, of the one before. Being a slave is always a nightmare and all she could hope is that this one wouldn’t be amused by hitting her or not allowing her to eat.

She hears her master approaching and keep her eyes low on the dirt. She knows better than daring to look a potential buyer in the eyes without permission.

“-sure you don’t want to take off that cape? It’s very hot out here, sir. I hear the only place hotter than this is Tattooine, a couple of sectors away. If this one sun is nearly baking me alive, can’t imagine what two of ‘em must be like. By the way, where did you say you were from?”

Shmi hears a voice that is somehow soft spoken but at the same time carries a coldness that’s sends shivers down her spine.

“That is none of your business.”

Her master seems displeased at that.

“Now, listen, there is no need to-”

Shmi could feel the temperature drop, which would be pleasant any other day in this scorching planet, but all she could do was shiver, her entire body tensing up.

“I have crossed several systems looking for something that is in your possession. I do not have time to exchange inane words with an ignorant creature in this speck of uselessness you call a planet. You will show me your slaves, now."

The slaves held their breath, already anticipating their master's explosive outburst. Instead, he spoke in a dazed tone:

"I will show you my slaves now..." at the corner of her eye, Shmi could see the master and a man clad in a black cloak stand before a lean, battered wookiee "This one's mighty strong, good for hefting heavy stuff, can work for hours on end-"

"No. This isn't what I'm looking for."

"Well, then there is this human here, he's good at fixing stuff, got a couple droids back in business when-"

"This is not the one."

They kept going through the line quickly, approaching Shmi at every step and every discarded option. Shmi swallowed down, setting her jaw. At their steady approaching, she felt colder and colder, shivers creeping down her spine. Her breathing was shallow, her chest feeling tight.

The man in the cloak stood right in front of her, and Shmi felt like she was being engulfed by the cold, her body sweaty from the weather but every hair on her body standing up with her shivers. Her eyes were still on the ground, and she could notice the expensive material of the man's cloak and the robes underneath it, everything black, a strange choice of clothes for such a hot environment.

"...this one. Where did you find her?"

"Ah, I bought her off at an auction in Saleucami. Don't be fooled by her frail looks - this one is strong, can work all day long even without food."

The man's sharp tone shifted into a much softer, gentler one.

"Look at me, young one."

"Ah, sir, don't bother talking to the slave, I can tell you everything you need to know-"

"You will stop talking now." the man spoke harshly to the master "I can appraise her worth myself."

Once again, unexplainably, the master merely nodded, taking a couple of steps back and standing in silence. The man in the cloak spoke again, in a low, gentle voice:

“I said look at me, young one.”

Shmi forced herself to raise her face, looking up at the man in front of her. His face was partially hidden in the shadow of his hood, but with the closeness she could make him to be a man in his late forties or early fifties. His eyes gleamed at her, yellow irises surrounded by a red rim shifting into a gentle blue so quickly she wondered if she had seen it wrong.

The man brought a hand to her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. His touch was strangely cold and unwelcome but Shmi tried her best to stay perfectly still. However, she swallowed down tensely, taking the risk of stating her limits, even though she knew that doing so might’ve warranted a slap across the very face he caressed.

“Sir, I am not that kind of slave.”

The man clicked his tongue dismissively, moving his hand to tuck his pointer finger under her chin and making her face him properly.

“How old are you?”

Oh, moons, he was looking for a bedchamber slave. Shmi gulps down, trying to keep the disgust off her features. Her master would often tell her to lie and take about five years off her actual age, but since he was being so complacent and Shmi would rather work to death like her mother rather than losing the very last shred of dignity she still had, she said the truth:

“I’m twenty-eight, sir. Will be twenty-nine in a few rotations. I-I am good with crops. A-and droids, I’m not as good as Jayden there, but I can fix a wiring or two. I’m strong, as my master said, quite used to heavy work.”

She raised her hands between the two of them, showing the scrapped and chipped nails and the dry, calloused fingers of a worker. Most men were put off by this, and Shmi would purposefully have her disheveled hair tied up in an unflattering low bun to warrant off any advances. At twenty-eight she was still a virgin, and she had no interest in laying with men, masters or otherwise, without any kind of connection, of love between them.

“Twenty-eight…” the man repeated, sizing her up with a gaze that swept up and down her form “Pity. A tad too old, I’m afraid.”

Shmi was simultaneously offended and relieved, lowering her hands at her sides; did that mean the man wasn’t interested in keeping her as a bedchamber slave?

“However, I cannot let this go to waste. Such power… If only you were young enough to be trained.”

Suddenly, Shmi could feel her entire body stiffen, as if she was being held by invisible ropes that tied every inch of her from head to toe. The man tilted his head to the side, smirking, and he brought his hand to her middle, right over her lower stomach.

“Hey!” her master shouted “Hands off the merchandise!”

The man ignored him, and Shmi could only whimper, trying to break free from the power holding her still.

“This will be very interesting.” The man muttered, and Shmi could feel a sudden warmth in her stomach, her skin tingling and her abdomen tightening; the feeling was as unwelcome as the cold that preceded it

Get your hands off me! Shmi thought, her face cringing in disgust, Stop touching me!

The man released her with a smirk, pulling his hand away. Shmi felt the power restraining her finally release her body and nearly collapsed, struggling to stay on her feet. Her body felt strange, and the warm sensation in her stomach did not cease.

“I believe this will be all. Goodbye.”

The man turned and left, leaving Shmi unsettled and her master furious, screaming at her to never say her true age in a sale ever again, but Shmi wasn’t really listening, her hands falling over her stomach. Something had happened, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t understand what it was.

A month later she had long forgotten about that particular incident, finding it very strange that she missed her period. On the following weeks, she would start feeling nauseous every morning. Two months later, she would notice her stomach swelling despite her poor diet. Several months later, on one late night of work all alone in a tool shed, she would collapse on the floor with the pain of her stomach contractions, muffling her screams in a cloth not to wake up her master and struggling for hours until she gave birth to a healthy, beautiful baby.

“There was no father”, she would say, and no one would believe her.

[oliverwxod]

A slave to the game (Geralt of Rivia imagine)

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warning: swearing, mentions of past abuse

Summary: Emotions are powerful things, never under estimate them.

Geralt had been summoned to the town by a hoard of angry villagers. The hostility towards a witcher was wide spread throughout, but desperate times called for desperate needs and the village had no choice but to ask for his help with a high price of coin attached to the monster for its head.

 The town was a land of farming, fields upon fields of crop that had yet to grow. A curse lay upon the gloomy town, a curse that nobody knew how to get rid of or chase away. There were people starving, those who could not afford house could not afford to eat, had no means of getting by, many dying off everyday, with no crops to loot from the farm lands. 

And for the rest of the town, those with house, could neither provide for themselves or use their own crop as trade. And hunger was a dangerous thing, it did something to a person to be hungry for weeks nearing months. Anger, hostility, fear. A mix that did not go well together.

Fights would break out in pubs that still held ale, a high price plastered on to them. People were being killed. Murdered for the smallest things.

 Y/n's suffering was one of the worst, but it could have been worser, at least she wasn’t dead yet. She was lucky to have a roof over her head. Living with a family that took her in when she was just 5 under the condition that she would stay in the stables with the horses to sleep, eat the leftovers and scraps of food and work on the farm and feeding the animals.

 She had never belonged in this town. The family she lived with treated her like a slave. The families children were told to stay away from her, leading to other children in the village leaving her alone. That's what she was and always had been. Alone. But now she was alone and hungry. 

The day was dull, a drizzle of rain coating the village as she sat against the back of the barn facing the road into the village, shivering slightly at the cold breeze mixed with rain. Two fields sat either side of the narrow pathway, one full of dead harvest crops the other a sheet of plain soil and mud. It wasn't hard to miss the galloping troot of and the click of horse shoes against the dry paving.

 She stood up, light headed and dizzy from the lack of food, y/n picked up a basket beside her and began to collect eggs from the chickens shack to make herself look busy. The clicking sound got closer and that's when she realised there were two horses.

 She went about ignoring them hoping they would carry on past but a shadow looming across the ground and silence indicated she wasn't that lucky. 

 "Excuse me, m'am" the husky voice of a man made her freeze before slowly glancing up. He towers above her on a beautiful horse.

 "What can I do for you, sir" she added on to the end glancing up shyly again.

 "I'm here about some crops" the man spoke again as she finally took in his appearance. White haired, golden eyed, a scar running across his forehead. She had heard the tales. She knew who he was. A witcher. 

 "Oh. Yes" she stuttered placing the basket down. "I can take you" she spoke, the family she lived with were key farmers in the town who had sent for the Witcher. 

 She set off quickly, opening the gate for the Witcher and what she assumed was a bard carrying a lute in his hands. 

 "I'm Jaskier by the way" the bard spoke up "and this is Geralt of Rivia"

 "Jaskier" Geralt spoke in a warning tone, glaring at him. 

 "Oh. Uh, it's nice to meet you" she spoke quickly, slightly scared that she would be told off for interacting with the guests. A quick knock on the front door to the main house revealed the farm owner. His hair grey and balding, a nasty look on his face as he ripped the door open in anger. 

 "What is it girl?" He spat once his eyes landed on her. It took him a second to realise she had company, his eyes drifting towards the Witcher immediately. His face dropped before he barged past y/n knocking her with force out of the way.

She had to catch herself before she fell, the lack of food making her even more lightheaded. She had to lean against the wall for a second just to focus her mind on her surroundings. 

 "Take our guests horse to the stables and tend to them" the farmer spoke not even glancing at her. She looked up to where Geralt and Jakier were getting off their horses. Her eyes briefly meeting the Witchers as he stared at her. She quickly looked away, holding her hand out for the reigns of each horse. 

Jaskier gave her his easily, whereas the Witcher still stared at her, hesitating before handing over his horse. She smiled briefly, not meeting their eyes before carefully walking with the two horses into the stables. 

She tended to the horses as best as she could with what little energy she had left, her arms feeling heavy every time she moved something, or reached to pet the horse. 

“you’re a pretty horse, aren’t you” she whispered, Geralt’s horse that she did not catch the name of, gently nudged her with his nose making her smile slightly. 

She sat down, her back leaning against one of the stable walls, watching the horses with a small smile before she found herself drifting.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“roach” a quiet voice could be heard, Y/n’s eyes blinking open at the sense of company. 

“uh -” y/n stumbled, her eyes focusing on the Witcher in slight shock and fear. She was meant to be looking after his horse but had fallen asleep before she could finish feeding it. “sorry” she muttered, gaining the attention of the white haired man whose eyes met hers with a kind smile. 

“what are you sorry for?” he asked, eye brows raising in question. 

“I fell asleep. That was Never my intention I'm mean’t to be-”

“its okay” he spoke, sensing the panic and fear. It wasn’t hard to realise how scared this girl was in front of him. Whether it be of him or of the farmer who had demonstrated he did not care about the girl. 

“I'll finish feeding your horse right away” she spoke, making to stand up, however, her knees went weak and she had to clutch onto the wall. 

Geralt rushed to her side, supporting her to stand with a large hand around her waist and one on her wrist. 

“sorry’ she spoke again, standing still to regain her balance, Geralt’s touch was burning through her dress. 

“when was the last time you ate?” he asked, as his hand still rested on her wrist to support her, his hand fitting easily all the way around which concerned him. 

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. Too many years of walking around acting invisible to everyone made it hard for her to actually interact without feeling scared, and with a man such as himself, it only made her more nervous. 

“I d-don’t remember” she stuttered, making a move to get out of his grip but he didn’t budge, making her eyes flicker to meet his. A blush skirting up her neck and around her cheeks as she glanced down to where he held her wrist. 

He quickly released her, forgetting. 

“Sit” he demanded. 

She did as he said, she always did what she was told, this didn’t go un-noticed by Geralt. Never an ounce of defiance or argument ever fuelling her, if she did as she were told she would not be punished more than she already was for just merely existing. 

“I will bring you food” he spoke, glancing at her with curious eyes before leaving the stables. His stare nerved her slightly, it’s like he knew something that she didn't.

He returned just minutes later, half a loaf of bread clutched between his hands. 

“how did you-?” she went to question before remembering that asking questions got her in trouble. 

“how did I what?” he asked, prompting her to carry on. 

“uh- get that” she spoke quietly, gesturing to the bread. 

“Said I wanted food” he spoke as if it were the easiest thing to do. 

Y/n remembered the last time she asked for food. In fact she couldn’t forget it, a  large scar in the shape of an iron print was a constant reminder, engraved into her skin as a reminder to never ask for food again. Y/n didn’t realise she was glaring so intently at her arm, Geralt’s eyes also falling upon it. 

Anger fuelling his body as he came to a realisation as to what that mean’t. 

He passed her the food, hand stretched out, her own trembling as they hesitantly reached out to take it from him, she was scared he was playing a game and that he would rip it out of her grip and laugh. She had heard Witcher’s were savages.

Once her hand clutched the bread, Geralt let it go softly, letting her hold it in her hand, staring at him once more before stepping back with it. She stared warily at it, before taking a bite, her eyes flickering nervously to the door. 

“He won’t hurt you anymore” Geralt stated, voice rough as he tried to keep his anger at bay. He would be damned if he let that man lay another finger on her. 

She shouldn’t have trusted him, but he made it easy to believe, it relieved her and she managed to fall asleep that night without a dread of fear shaking through her. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was woken with a start.  A commotion outside, people shouting in what seemed like- joy?

Y/n couldn’t place it, it was an unknown sound, foreign to her ears. She's stood up easily, a ray of sunshine hitting her face through the gaps in the stable. Only then did she realise how much energy she had.

The brightness outside almost blinded her, no sight of rain or dark clouds, just a clear blue sky and burning sun. She could see people gathering in the fields. 

Geralt and Jaskier stood only metres away from the stable, talking to each other quietly, she approached them, a new found trust in her to ask questions. 

“Whats going on?” she asked quietly. 

Geralt nodded his head to where the villagers were standing along the fields. Only then did she see the small growth of green... the crops had started to grow. 

“h-how?” she was confused, how could something like that happen so quickly, overnight? 

Geralt smirked to himself. 

“Amazing what food can do” he spoke, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. 

Y/n was still confused. Was he talking about her? About how she looked better after eating?

“A persons emotions really are powerful” he carried on. 

“what do you mean?” she asked nervously. Her mind had started racing, too many things unanswered. How did this happen, how was everything so different, now the crops were back would Geralt leave? when would she next be able to eat? 

“If you stay here, the town is doomed” he spoke. “the curse” he stated letting out a breathy laugh. “never existed, it was all you” his eyes finally met hers, gleaming golden and intense as he took in the pure confusion on her face. 

“you’re powerful” he said shrugging slightly. 

“and If I stay here? they're all doomed?” 

“if they do not feed you, then yes?” Jaskier spoke up for the first time, only now piecing it together himself. Geralt nodded at this, Jaskier’s face lighting up. “Amazing” he spoke looking at Y/n, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. 

“So- all of this- people starving- was my fault?” she stuttered, in the same disbelief as Jaskier. 

“not your fault” Geralt grunted. “their’s” he spoke nodding towards the farmer and his family who were laughing in happiness. 

Y/n was glaring at them, for once an emotion other than pure sadness running through her veins, a spark- an actual spark of the fingertips could be felt as anger towards them set in. Anger at everything, the treatment of her, the fact she had no friends, no socialisation- nothing and no one. 

Without meaning to she focused too hard on glaring at the farmer and within seconds he was screaming in pain, his shoe on fire, spreading up his legs. 

‘girl” he shouted panicking as he ran, his children running to the nearest water bucket as his wife screamed. He was glaring at Y/n while shouting for her to help. However she stayed put a sinister smile appearing on her face as he screamed in pain, his children gathering as much water as possible to put it out. 

Once it was out he took a deep breath before making his way towards Y/n. Geralt had taken a step forward but hadn’t needed too. 

Y/n had halted him with her words.

“don’t come near me” she spat, a new found confidence and anger in her voice. 

“I swear to god girl- you will go straight to that barn right now and not come out for a week.” he spoke, spit flying out of his mouth as his face turned red. 

“I said don’t come near me” she threatened this time, not even recognising her own voice. She held a power over him now. Over the whole town. 

Emotions were a powerful thing and she was ready to unleash them. The whole town deserved it. Revenge would be sweet- Geralt could see the sudden desire, the new confidence radiating. He knew this could be dangerous, he had met many people seeking revenge for traumatic childhood events, they often ended with the slaughter of many people.

“Y/n” Geralt spoke, an almost warning tone. It was the first time he had spoken her name, the first time any one had spoken her name for a long time. 

She turned to stare at him, her anger calming. 

“I’m leaving” she turned to state to the farmer. 

“you are most certainly not” he spoke. 

“I am and you cannot stop me, unless you want this entire town to starve again”  she shrugged, a question that other people around them had heard. 

“You little bitch” the farmer screamed, stepping towards her angrily with his hand raised “it was you all along- you-” 

Geralt stepped in this time, his hand grabbing hold of his as it was about to come in contact with her cheek. He twisted it until it cracked, he hadn’t broken it, just sprained it, but it would still be an annoyance for the farmer who shouted in pain before ripping his arm away. 

With a shaky breath y/n composed herself before walking off- however she hesitated, turning back to face the farmer. 

“oh- and I'm taking the horse” she stated. 

“you most certainly are not-” 

She raised a singular eyebrow up at him, silencing him. With a small smirk she made her way to the stable untying the farmers horse that she would now call her own. 

Geralt and Jaskier had followed, Geralt silent as he untied his horse, Jaskier rambling about how great everything that just happened was. 

Y/n had no plan, nothing, she hadn’t realised that she actually had no where to go. 

“You can stay with us for a bit” Jaskier spoke, realising this fact for himself. The both of them turned to Geralt almost as if for approval. He gave a short nod before climbing onto his horse and leading the way out of town and to a new adventure.

Geralt tags: @alex12948​ @shondlenoodle​ @ashleighrebekah @two-unbeatable-beaters​ @ly--canthrope​ @sweetybuzz25​ @thewolf-and-thesheep​ @marvels-gurl​ @alwayshave-faith​ @haleysucks00​ @5sospenguinqueen​ @vintage-mind-young-body​ @elixasays​ @lovely1-1life​ @threepupsinapuddle​ @scarletmeii​ @famouscroissantcowboyfriend​ @bn-studies​ @chipster-21​ @ms-allenbrown​ 

[duker42]

Could you please write something where Levi's s/o was born in the underground and was sold off in a brothel, went through very bad sexual and other abuses to the extent where when she finally gathered enough money to go above and joined the scouts, no amount of pain subdued her which surprised Levi till she shared everything with him and Levi showed her that sex isn’t always painful? Please make it an nsfw. I really love your writing and I really hope you accept this one.

Sorry it took me so long to get it done. I hope I hit the balance you wanted.

*****WARNING*****NSFW/POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING MATERIAL/MENTION OF SEXUAL ABUSE AND PAST RAPE

💜The Past💜

Y/N was someone that captured his interest early. She was from the Underground like he was, had managed to earn enough to claw her way to the surface and joined the military to better her life.

He found her so interesting because of the way that she was so determined. She was type of person that never showed that the physical pain and struggle that she was enduring affected her in any way. She wasn’t as strong as he was, but you would think that she had no nerves in her body, the way she would react to pain.

It had taken him so long to get through her prickly exterior. It was easier for him than others, because he knew that he was very similar to that. The prickly exterior to hide and protect yourself from pain. Still as close as they had gotten, she had never shared what made her stoic in the face of pain.

Until the night he tried to kiss her. Tried because she blocked him, the reaction startling him in its intensity. Her eyes were wide, fearful. Not what he was expecting from her.

“I-I just-“ Y/N stuttered. Her gaze snapped away from him, like she was trying to compose herself.

They were in his office, the fire crackling in the hearth the only source of light. The flames licking up to cast shadows across the room. He can only see half of her face, the other half shrouded in darkness, reminding him that this woman was born underground, just like him. The darkness was familiar to her as it was him.

His hand was light as he touched her shoulder. He didn’t want to scare her away, wanted to know more. It was a touch meant to do nothing more then reassure, letting her know that he was here for her.

“I was a sex slave.” Her tone was flat as Levi sucked in a harsh breath. He knew that many woman didn’t escape unscathed from the Underground filth, but he would have never guess she had been a sex slave. She had bought her freedom to the surface.

“My virginity was sold to the highest bidder, a sadist. It wasn’t a night that is fond for me. It was the beginning of a years long nightmare.” Y/N looked down at her finger, twisted together and white from the pressure.

“The brothel where I was kept was horrendous. The abuse a constant. They didn’t care about making sure our faces stayed pretty for the clients. They catered to the more......demanding and perverse crowds. The type that got off on beating you while fucking you.” Y/N said quietly.

“They liked to drug us. Make us less likely to fight back. Or they would give us something that made us....insatiable. Those were the nights that I try to forget. I never knew that you could hurt so much on the inside.”

He closed his eyes against the image. He couldn’t imagine having to endure under those conditions. His fingers tightened briefly around her shoulder, encouraging her to continue.

“I was there until a client bought me for himself, for private use. He was better, but not much. I was expected to do what he said when he said it or I would get the worst beatings I’d ever had.” Y/N gave a harsh laugh. “I was like a wife or a servant. I guess both. But at least he gave me money, to buy groceries and things.”

It was silent for a moment. Levi understood she was in her own little world, remember the past that had made her who she was today.

“I hid as much money as I could. It seemed to take forever, I would slip money out of his wallet when he was passed out, neglect to buy things I needed to save those few dollars. It took me seven years to save enough, and when I had, I felt like crying.” Y/N’s voice cracked.

“I ran away that night, making sure that I had drugged his wine a bit so he wouldn’t wake up. Ran for the stairwell and made my way to the freedom of the surface with just what I could carry in my basket I carried for shopping.” She turned to look at him.

“Every beating I lived through, every rape I closed my eyes during, every time the brothel owners pumped me full of drugs to make me “perform better” I always thought that if I could just survive, I would be stronger. And I know that I am, nothing the surface can throw at me, can possibly compare to what I’ve already experienced.” Y/N said.

Levi turned her face towards him, gently and slow. His eyes were filled with compassion and love for the woman in front of him. He hesitated before moving closer, silently asking for permission before leaning in. Her small nod had him pressing his lips gently against hers, soft and undemanding as he kissed her.

His hands took hers, holding them together. The pads of his fingers rubbing circles on the back of her hand. He pulled back to ask her a question.

“Let me show you? That it doesn’t have to be painful. Please?” He keeps his voice light, he request gentle. He doesn’t want to demand anything of her. He just wanted to give, give her a better memory to think of that everything she has experience before. Show her that sex doesn’t have to be a horrible trauma.

She nods, a small tilt of her head, but he wants more than that. “I need you to say it.” He breathed, his lips so close to her ear.

“Yes.” Her voice was tiny, apprehensive but he felt like he had just conquered the world. She trusted him to touch her.

He keep his hands off of her, only skimming over her body, not making contact as he let his lips glide across her pulse. He felt her intake of breath, paused as he waited for to push him away. When she didn’t, he lightly scrapped his teeth along her skin. Not to hurt but to arouse. From the way she was squirming, he was starting to succeed.

It seemed like hours before he actually let his hands settle on her hips. His mouth moving over her throat and back up to her lips. His light nibbles making her whimper slightly.

“More?” He asks, whispering against her lips. Her nod makes him smile.

He stands up, picking her up and carrying her through the office into his bedroom and laying her gently in the center of his bed. He looks down at her, his hand resting lightly on her knee.

“We stop whenever you want. Just say the word and I will immediately stop.” He says, watching her eyes as they drift over him. He hoped that it was the beginnings of passion that was building in her eyes, but he couldn’t be sure.

He slowly stripped both of them. Taking off one piece at a time while he murmured words of encouragement. How pretty she was. How she took his breath away. Things that he had always thought of but never voiced aloud. She deserved those words, deserved to know that it was so much more than just physical satisfaction for him.

When she was bare, her body was flush on his sheets and her eyes watchful. He moved slowly, settling beside her as he cupped the back of her head gently. Smooth and warm lips met as his free hand slid down her shoulder. Fingers skimming her collar bone and they floated down to the swell of her breast. She tensed as he reached her nipple, but he didn’t pinch, instead ran it around the pebbled skin, feeling it harden even more.

His tongue was slow, slipping into her mouth and past her defensive teeth as he cupped her flesh, molded it to his hand. His rough palm scraping lightly over the sensitive bud and he felt her arch up slightly as her own tongue hesitantly met his.

He kissed her like they had all the time in the world. Like the aching mass of flesh between his thighs wasn’t important. It wasn’t at the moment. As long as she felt good he would be satisfied.

Eventually he let his hand drift lower, feeling the muscles of her stomach contract at his touch. His thumb rubbed circles in her hip as he trailed kisses down her throat and let him mouth cover the breast that had been neglected. The tugs on her nipple were light as she gasped out his name. He smiled against her as his hand splayed possessively across her pelvis.

He hadn’t missed the scars, the signs of abuse that could have been dismissed as the scars from battle if he hadn’t known better. He wanted to trace each one, kiss it, but didn’t want her to focus on the past right now.

His hand eased between her thighs, his touch light as it pressed against her folds. She shifted her legs, opening them wider in invitation, making him groan at her breast as he suckled.

She was moist, not wet but he knew that he could soon change that. He dragged them up and down her slit sensuously as he kissed his way lower, feeling the slight tremble of her body that wasn’t fear. He nipped lightly at her hip bone as he sank one finger gently into her center.

Her hands threaded through his hair and he stilled, waiting for her to push him away or pull him closer. His finger curled inside of her as he waited, pulling a throaty moan from her.

“More, please more.” The fervent whisper was music to his ears.

Levi careful pushing his finger in and out of her, relishing how she griped his finger and the wetness that was starting to coat him. He shuffled down a bit more, his finger continuously pumping into her, steadily filling her as he came down to look at her sex.

The neat hair was a tease, a protective patch over the sensitive bundle of nerves of her clit. He wondered if she had every been touched the way he was about to. Doubted it, and looked forward to showing her how good she could feel.

He pulled his finger out, pulling a whine from her and her fingers griping his hair tighter. Two fingers pushed slowly into her passage as his tongue ran over her sex. Y/N cried out, her thighs tightening around his head. He stilled, waiting for her to say stop, but when he felt her shift impatiently, he lowered his head back down.

He lapped, letting himself taste her over and over as his tongue ran through the outer lips, teasing her clit. His fingers curled up and started stroking her, knowing just were to pump to brush against her to make her moan.

His tongue licked her like she was the sweetest candy as she made the filthiest sounds above him. Her hands were tight on his head, holding him to her like he was going to move if she didn’t.

She was so close, her gasps and moans were making him move a bit faster, curl his fingers deeper into her. Her walls were closing around him, constricting around him deliciously, making him groan against her, imagining them around his cock.

His tongue concentrated on her clit as he pushed his fingers in deep again. Her strangled cry of pleasure filled the room as she arched up and came. Her legs quaked around him as her hips jerked against his face.

Shivers ran down his spine as he felt the rush of her release pour over his fingers and out of her pulsing heat. He worked her though her orgasm, sucking on her clit to pull every drop of pleasure from her body until she had enough and pushed at his head.

He gave her clit one last kiss and moved up beside her. His hand covered with her slick moved over his cock, coating his length as he tugged on himself a few times. He kissed her again, his mouth still wet from her.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked.

Y/N reached for him, her satisfied smile lazy as she pulled him over her. He tingled at the fact that she was wanting more, wanting this intimacy. He settled between her thighs and rubbed the bulbous head of his cock over the sensitive and slick folds over her sex.

His hands reached for hers as he moved over her. His eyes watching hers as he moved and slowly sank into her warm satiny walls.

“Keep them open, love.” He asked when her eyes drifted closed. He wanted her to see him, know that it was not the same as before. Wanted to see her pleasure, make sure he was making her feel something.

She opened them with a delicious moan, making him twitch inside her. He pushed forward, filling her inch by inch until his hips were flush with hers. He moved back to her mouth, kissing her again and agin as he gave her time to figure out if she wanted him to move.

Her hands went up to his shoulders, her leg started rubbing against his as she wanted friction. He started slow, rolling his hips shallowly as he moved inside her. The inching back and pushing into her again was as agonizing as it was incredible. Her fingernails started digging into his shoulders, burning as he felt his skin give.

“More.” She panted, moving her hips against him, demanding that he give her what she wanted.

He kept the pace steadying, resisting slamming into her. Levi didn’t want to break her trust like that. His jaw clenched as he moved, the her legs sliding around his waist to lock behind his back. Y/N’s hips rose up to meet his thrusts, adding a bit more power to the union of their bodies.

Y/N was gasping out his name, clawing at his back to urge him on. It was amazing the way they moved together, the powerful yet gently way they came together. Her core quickened around him, the way her eyes clouded over makes him thrust just a bit deeper, pushing against her cervix and making her shatter underneath him.

Her sob was in pleasure, loud and hoarse as he felt her clamp down on him. He felt the tingle in his spine, the indicator he was about to cum. He kept the same pace, pushing just a bit harder as he rode her through her pleasure and chased his own.

He filled her once, twice more before he stilled, grunting out her name as he flooded her with his release. He panted, lowering his lips to hers again tenderly as he fought to catch his breath.

Y/N smiled as she kissed him, passionately melding her mouth with his, before sighing out in contentment underneath him. The past was something that she would have to remember from time to time, but he would do everything in his power to make sure she didn’t fear her future. Especially if it was with him.

Mobile MasterList

[hj-creates]

A Possible Scandal

So, I wrote a little Laurens/Madison fic. I’ve never attempted this ship before, but @layaisdaboss requested it and it’s honestly adorable.  The link to the fic on Ao3 is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359851 but feel free to read it here as well.

Pennsylvania, Fall of 1780

John stared out the window of the carriage as it rumbled over the cobblestones. His father, Henry, noticed his son’s dour expression and heaved a sigh. “You don’t have to pout you know, I promise you only have to stay a week or so.”

“I should be back with my men on the front lines.”

“There are many ways to fight for your country, my boy. Not all of them involve risking your life on the battlefield.”

“It suits me better then pontificating in stuffy chambers or arguing over fancy dinners.”

“The war won’t last forever, John. When it’s over, the colonies will need well-spoken, well-educated men to lead our new nation. As my son, you are in a good position to help shape the laws and create what this country can become.”

John turned quickly back to his father. “Doubtful. They don’t listen to me now. How many times have I begged them to create a militia of slaves and ensure their freedom once the fighting is over? We rail against the unjustness of the British, but they have given the enslaved that same opportunity. If for no other reason then we are losing thousands of smart, strong men to the other side should we do this, but no. People like Jefferson and even Washington himself refuse to see the hypocrisy of fighting for independence while keeping human beings in chains.” He gave his father a fiery stare.

Henry exhaled and turned away. “I did support your effort. I am sorry it didn’t pass the house.”

“And when, exactly, were you planning on freeing the slaves in your own home?” John said coldly.

“It’s not that simple, John. There are economic and societal-“

“With all due respect, father, stuff it.” John clenched his jaw. “I’ve heard all these arguments before.” He sat back and Henry tersely obliged, happy to see the State House finally coming into view.

John suffered through the numerous introductions and polite exchanges before he and his father finally took their seats in one of the many rows of benches that gave the Great Room the feeling of a church. Most of the discussions seemed to be more about accounting than the high-minded discourses on the birth of a republic that Henry had promised. As the older, fat statesmen argued over the budget of the Continental Army and how they simply couldn’t spare another dollar for those fighting on the front lines, John had had enough and stood up.

“We’re starving out there!” His impassioned voice filled the cavernous hall. “Do you have any idea how many men died during the winter at Valley Forge? How many soldiers perished not due to British muskets but hunger and frostbite? You ask these brave souls to fight for you and then you make them march over frozen fields without even socks on their feet! And that’s not even the worst part. These patriots are getting sick and dying. Forced to live in squalor and drink filthy water because we have no money for a decent shelter or proper sanitation. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Quibbling over a few coins for the army while you dine on fine china and drink from crystal goblets. As an aide of General Washington, I can attest that all in his house were forced to share the same plate at every meal. Militiamen are forced to steal from local farmers, even under penalty of death, just for a scrap of meat.” He felt his father’s hand on his arm. “But go ahead and debate the merits of fulfilling the latest request from the quartermaster. I hope your lavish feasts are worth the suffering of the men you claim to hold in such high regard.” He sat down and his nostrils flared, his anger apparent as Henry looked quickly at the faces around the room.

“Yes.” Henry loudly cleared his throat, obviously flustered and desperately trying to redirect. “We can certainly take into account what my spirited son has so passionately described for us. The well-being of those on the front lines should of course be considered when we deliberate how best to distribute our funds.”

John rolled his eyes. He glanced across the room and he noted most faces set in a frown as they regarded him with equal parts shock and disdain. Except for one. He looked at a face, younger than most of the other men there, who was actually smirking and seemed almost delighted. John gave him a little smile and the other man grinned in return. When his father was once again seated, ceding the floor to another delegate, John elbowed him softly and gestured across the room. “Who is that?”

“That is James Madison. A smart, young man from Virginia.”

John noted the name and let his gaze linger for a moment. Had he just found an ally?

As the day’s proceedings came to an end, John pushed through the throng of well-dressed men until he found who he was looking for. He stepped in front of the short, plump man and offered his hand. “Mister Madison? I am John Laurens. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The other man smiled. “The pleasure is mine. That was quite the diatribe you gave today. It’s nice to have someone who has actually seen the atrocities of battle speak for our poor men out there fighting.”

Laurens scoffed. “All the impassioned words will mean nothing if we are not helped soon. Winter will be here soon enough and our soldiers still lack coats and boots and blankets. There is not enough food to eat since the locals have all decided to sell to the British now that American currency is worthless. These are dire times, my friend. I am sure you know as well as I. What regiment do you serve in? The Virginian Militia?”

“Oh.” Madison’s voice was soft. “I am unfortunately too unwell to serve in the field. I am second-in-command to my father though. A colonel in the Orange County militia. Since being elected to the Continental Congress, I have spent most of my time here. Your argument is something I have been pleading myself. The financial issues that plague us are quite a thorny mess but I am trying to amend the Articles of Confederation to let us impose a tariff on imports that we can use to support the army’s efforts.”

“You are?” John’s face softened and he smiled wide.

James nodded and he felt his cheeks grow warm, “I am trying. There is much resistance.”

“I will talk to Washington and Hamilton. Between the General’s sway and Alex’s persuasive writing, we can work to make this a reality.” John was talking faster, his enthusiasm growing.

“I would appreciate that very much.” James smiled.

“John!” The younger Laurens heard his father’s voice calling to him. Madison saw the change in John’s expression and recognized what it meant immediately.

“Lieutenant Colonel.” James nodded to Henry. “I was hoping your son and I could enjoy a hearty dinner and a robust exchange of ideas tonight. I am friends with the owner of the Orchid Inn. He can give John and I a lavish meal and some much deserved wine.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, knowing his son too well. “Oh, that’s not necessary. You can dine with us tonight. I’m staying at a lovely little home off Main St.”

John grimaced and James looked unsure of what to do. “I.. uh… that’s very kind of you sir.”

“Very well.” Henry seemed proud of himself. “See you at seven. I’ll send a coach.”

After an awkward dinner, John finally tossed his napkin on the table when he finished his dessert. “Well then father, if I may be excused, James and I would like to take our leave and relax a bit at the tavern across the street.”

Henry peered up at his son with an almost imperceptible scowl on his face. “We have plenty of brandy and cordials here, but I suppose you are hoping for a moment with Mr. Madison that isn’t under the watchful eye of your father.” John didn’t respond but pleaded with his eyes. “Fine. I can assume you will have the utmost respect for Mr. Madison’s stature… and dignity.”

John knew exactly what his father was hinting at. “Am I not always the pinnacle of honor and manners?”

His father arched an eyebrow. “Remember you are a married man, Jackie.” The fact seemed to take James by surprise.

John forced a smile. “How could I forget? I’m haunted every day by it.” With that he grabbed the coats that were hanging by the door and handed Madison’s to him.

They wasted no time hurrying to the tavern and finding a small, corner table near the fire. After the bottle of burgundy had been uncorked and their glasses filled, Madison eagerly started in.

“I must say, Colonel Laurens, your stories of action on the battlefield are most exciting.”

John shrugged. “There is much chance for glory while fighting. Me and my friends seem to be always narrowly escaping death.”

“Is that so?” James leaned in closer. “You must be very lucky then. I see no scars and detected no injuries.”

“Lucky, perhaps. But not injury free. There are mementos from the war all over my flesh, a slight ache in my leg from when my horse was shot out from under me and a mighty scar on my shoulder from where a musket ball went straight through.”

James’s eyes were wide. “Are you serious? How did your arm not get blown clean off?”

John smirked. “Didn’t let it. I had more important things to do than whine about being hurt. We were trying to ambush the Brits. I was leading a company of men. I got shot, tore off my sash, wrapped it around the hole to stop the bleeding and kept marching.”

Madison sat there in rapt attention. “That can’t be true.”

John drained his glass and set it down hard. “You don’t believe me?” He grinned and kept his eyes focused on James. He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. James felt his jaw grow slack and quickly looked around the bar to see if anyone was watching this spectacle. John didn’t stop staring at James and yanked his shirt open, sliding one of the sleeves down his arm and revealing a circular-shaped scar, bumpy red skin, and stripes of white where the wound tried to heal itself.

James sat back and exhaled. He knew such an injury would have been the end of him. “That’s… impressive.”

John finally looked away and redressed. “That’s nothing.” He said nonchalantly. “I have scars like that all over.”

James didn’t know what to say and he certainly didn’t want to picture where exactly those scars would be.

After a few more drinks, Madison grew bold. “Why did your father have to remind you about being married?”

John snorted. “Oh that’s just Henry. He probably thought I was going to seduce you.”

“What?” James felt his heart race and he mildly started to panic. “Seduce me? What? Why would he think that? I’m- I’m a.. umm..”

“It’s not you. He’s caught me with men before.”

James felt as if the entire earth had shifted underneath him. “He what?”

John sighed. “If you want to leave because of that, I understand.” He looked at James who showed no signs of going anywhere. “Yes. I occasionally engage in ‘unacceptable’ affections with men. My father found me once with Alex.”

“Alex?”

“Hamilton.”

“Hamil-“ James gasped and slapped his hand in front of his mouth.

John rolled his eyes and poured another large glass of wine. “Aye. But he is engaged now. Set to marry in a few weeks. So, it appears our romance, or whatever you want to call it, has come to an end.” He took a long sip. “Which is better for him, I suppose. All his ambitions.” He emphasized that last word, like it was something he and Alex had fought over many times. “Better for him to secure a spot in an illustrious household headed by one of the most powerful men in New York.” He gulped more wine. “I mean, this fucking orphan is now going to be the son-in-law of General Schuyler. All because he wrote a few well-crafted love letters to the man’s daughter. I mean, you should see the things he wrote to me.” He laughed, a bit too loud. “Imagine being tossed aside by some simpering girl. To know that the letters he wrote to you weren’t anything special at all. It’s just how he talks to anyone he wants something from. To know that something you thought was monumental was just pedestrian to the person you loved. At least with Lafayette he is already married. He is open with how much he loves Adrienne and I know I will never compare to her. We just like having fun. But Alex…” His voice trailed off. “I just thought…” He sat back and let his head fall to his chest.

James watched him and a small smile crept over his face. “I understand.”

Laurens scoffed. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to be-“

“Jefferson.” James cut him off.

“I’m sorry?” John quickly looked up at him in confusion.

“Four years ago.  I first met him at the Virginia Constitutional Convention. I could barely speak. He’s very tall, you know, and quite handsome. He’s only eight years older than me but it felt like he had lived an entire lifetime more. Then last year, he became Governor of Virginia and I was on the Council of State. We worked closely almost every day and I thought…” he sighed. “We started working late into the night, just the two of us and we grew close. I didn’t dare initiate anything but eventually he did. I thought we could develop something, entirely in secret of course, but when I mentioned it, he laughed in my face. He asked if I really thought he give up all his other partners. He said he was sorry if I had gotten the wrong idea.” Madison swallowed hard. “But he didn’t seem sorry. He seemed… I don’t know. His smile was almost victorious. Like he had won something. I felt like an idiot of course. I haven’t even thought about a relationship with anyone since then.”

“Jefferson?” John looked deep in thought.

“Yes. I work with him every day still. It’s torture.”

“Jefferson…” Laurens still had a faraway look in his eyes. “You’re right. He is handsome.”

Madison’s shoulders slumped. “That. Was not the point of the story.”

Laurens laughed. “I’m teasing. But you know the best remedy for a broken heart.”

“More wine?” James smiled back.

“Not when there’s two of us.” John had a mischievous gleam in his eye and took Madison’s hand. He threw some coins on the table and led him to the door. “Come on. What do you say we get out of here? Find somewhere private and not think about Alex or Thomas or anyone else for an hour or so.”

“I’m not sure. It gets cold so quickly now. I really should be headed home.”

“Oh, don’t be a ninny.” He pulled the other man into the street. “Hmm... We could go down to the docks.”

“The salt water makes my asthma flare up.”

John looked up at the top floor of the tavern. “I suppose we could just sneak up into the attic. It’s just storage. No one ever goes up there.”

“With all that dust? Are you mad? I’ll be sneezing for hours.”

“What about the barn at my father’s house?”

“I’m allergic to hay.” John spun around in frustration and pushed Madison against the outside wall of the tavern. “What are you doing?” James whispered.

“Well, if we can’t go anywhere. Then I shall take you right here.”

“But what if someone sees?”

“I’ll say you were having trouble breathing. I was merely trying to keep your airways open.”

“With our clothes off?”

“Of course! Let that fresh air really get into your pores.” John grinned and James couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re as tenacious as you are charming.”

“Is that a yes?”

James took John’s hand and directed it to the growing bulge in his breeches. “What do you think?”

John sauntered back into the house and hung up his coat. He quietly crept up the stairs, trying to not make any noise.

“Must have been quite the conversation between you two.” Henry’s voice stopped him in his tracks. John turned and saw his father in the study. He sat in a chair by the window, smoking his pipe and facing the hallway.

“It was.” John said simply, without a trace of guilt in his voice.

“I assume you stuck with discussing policy and compromises between military and state?”

“Oh father, please. Of course not. That sounds dreadfully boring. We also talked about our families, what living in the trenches is like, and the different places we have visited in Europe.”

“I see.” Henry seemed to relax a little. “Well it seems like you two are building quite a friendship. I encourage you to get more acquainted with someone who comes from such a well-regarded family as Madison. That boy has a sharp mind and his father is quite wealthy. Well connected too. I think he is even mentoring under Jefferson.” John snorted at that. “What?” His father asked. “It’s true. I’ve seen them travel to and from Virginia together.”

“I’m not doubting you. James himself said he and Thomas are very close.”

Henry nodded and then started to pick up on John’s subtle comment. “Just understand there is much to be mined from a cordial relationship with Madison. He has already done so much at such a young age. He has the ambition and pedigree to really make it far. The two of you could be the future leaders of this nation. Taking after your fathers. I hope you plan on seeing him again.”

“Oh, I definitely do, father.” He sneered down at Henry triumphantly. “We have A LOT in common.” With that, he turned his back and went up to bed.

[thisisthe-way]

Kings and Wizards

Title: Kings and Wizards Fandom: Star Wars (The Mandalorian) Rating: T Summary: Din Djarin has given Grogu to Luke Skywalker to train. But the connection between the new (reluctant) Mandalorian “king” and the “wizard” Jedi goes deeper than he ever could’ve imagined. And he’s about to learn just how deep.

“It’s time for you to go.”

Din turned his uncomfortably exposed face toward Bo-Katan when she spoke, his brows furrowing as he blinked back the few remaining tears in his troubled brown eyes, pushing the sorrow back and allowing sternness and confusion to fill them instead. He knew what was coming next. Cara seemed to as well, and she spoke before he could: “Can we not do this right now? He just watched his kid leave.” “Which is why I’m giving him a head-start,” Bo-Katan replied, unable to look Din in the face. Din knelt, picking up his helmet, but didn’t deposit it back on his head yet. He approached Bo-Katan and held the darksaber in one final attempt, letting her see all of the raw emotion on his face. “Take it. I yield. It’s over. You have your ship and your weapon.” And the only thing he’d wanted had just flown away with a Jedi. “It doesn’t work--” “Take it,” Din snapped, eyes flaring, his whole face contorting with the pain and frustration. Grogu had been his only priority. He didn’t want to be ruler of anything.

Bo-Katan didn’t move, but she was looking at him now, her knuckles going white as she clenched her fists behind her back. “I can’t, and if you stay, I’ll be forced to kill you and take it.” Din snorted a little and finally placed his helmet on, before attaching the saber to his belt and looking at Cara and Fennec. “Then I guess it is time to go.” The gleaming beskar and dark visor turned toward Bo-Katan and she could feel the cold gaze he was giving her through it. Bo pursed her lips as she watched their backs retreat toward the elevator. She didn’t want this. She glanced down at the unconscious form of Moff Gideon--he had caused this. He had known. Known if he engaged Mando in a battle, and he’d won the saber from him, she would have to then turn around and engage Mando as well. Known that they would instantly become enemies. She also knew that they hadn’t exactly been anything but reluctant allies to begin with, but she had never meant ill-will toward him. She had wanted him to get his child back. She knew all too well what it was like to lose family. It was a pain she didn’t wish on anyone. She looked at Koska as she heard one of the cruiser’s transports being “comandeered” by the fleeing group. She turned her eyes toward the viewport as it left, jumping to hyperspace to meet with Boba Fett and Slave One at a rendezvous point that had not been disclosed to Bo because they had always planned on parting ways with her keeping the cruiser for her purposes. She turned to Koska again. “We’ll give him one day’s head-start,” she murmured, and then turned toward the controls. After all, the ship was only half the battle. She still needed the saber before she could return to Mandalore. And that meant the hunt for that lonely, nameless Mandalorian--she never had asked his name, had she?--would have to begin in haste. She set coordinates for their own safe rendezvous and then sent the cruiser into hyperspace as Koska moved to lock the unconscious Gideon in the brig.

-----------

Nevarro

----------- “Your debt is repaid,” Din said to Boba-Fett as they stood in front of Slave One. “The kid is safe.” 

It stung, burned deeper than Din could really put to words, that he wasn’t with him. But even without all the fancy Force powers, he knew Grogu was in better hands with the Jedi than he would be with him. He knew Moff Gideon wasn’t the worst the Galaxy had to offer, especially with someone as powerful and innocent as the child. Worse would come. And not every enemy could be contained or felled by a blaster shot. 

Boba Fett nodded and looked at Fennec, who nodded and returned onto Slave One. Boba glanced at the other Mandalorian. “If you have any more trouble,” he clicked some buttons on his wrist-cuff, the electronics beeping and sending a signal to Din’s. “You can find me at these coordinates. If you can afford it.” The smirk was audible even with his helmet masking his face. And the deadpan expression was clear on Din’s visor as his helmet turned toward Boba’s. But he was a member of the Guild. He understood--there was a silent understanding and appreciation between them. Boba nodded once more before following Fennec onto his ship. In only moments, they left atmo, on their way to their next escapade. And Din Djarin was left on Nevarro, shipless, childless, with Bo-Katan’s darksaber attached to his hip. He turned and looked over at Cara Dune, who stood a few feet behind him, frowning apologetically toward him. “I can find you a lead on another ship,” she offered when he caught up to her, walking next to him now as they moved through the archway into the market of the small town. 

Din nodded. “I’ll need it. It won’t take Bo-Katan long to find me. I’d rather not bring that battle down on you or your people, Marshal,” he said, the humor evident in his voice when he reached her title. Cara snorted. “I’m not worried about Princess Tight-Ass,” she replied as they entered her office, and she stored her gun away in the corner, sitting down and putting her feet up on her desk. “Let me put some feelers out. Might even be able to find you one like the one you had.” 

Din paused as he fingered the small knob tucked into his belt. Grogu’s favorite toy. He chuckled, sadly, to himself, and then nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.” -----

Bracca ------

The little alien flying the transport shuttle was prattling in a language Din didn’t understand as he finally gave him his credits and rolled his eyes under his visor. “Alright, alright, here,” he said as he handed the credits over. He hoped this tip from Cara would pan out. As it was, Bracca was more known for scrapping old starships, not leaving them intact. But they had just received the old patrol gunship on site days prior according to Cara’s contact. So, it was possible, at worst, only a few things had been scrapped off of it so far. Din walked down the landing platform. The planet was entirely coated in old ships and scrap metal, and the entire upper-deck scaffolding of it was made from it, with old scrapping tools built into it. There were caves and crevices of metal everywhere and as Din traveled, ducking through these corridors of rust, it was hard to find anything resembling an office where he could haggle, or even ask about the gunship. Finally, he found a large platform where a makeshift office of sorts had been erected, and he ducked inside, causing many of the scrappers who were talking to the scrapyard’s owner to turn and look at him with a mix of curiosity and fear. The owner looked up. He was no older than 40, with flame red hair, gray peppered into the fiery locks. He was wearing a red poncho, but the proxemics in Din’s helmet alerted him to a weapon underneath--a very familiar weapon. Unfortunately familiar. Din’s eyes widened beneath his helmet and he turned to leave. “You must be the Mandalorian,” the man called out, before murmuring something to his guys with a grin, as they all flitted out to get back to work. “Marshal Dune said you’d be coming.”

Din paused and turned back to him. “You’re the one looking for the old military patrol ship,” he continued. “You’re in luck--we just received one not two days ago. And we’re so behind on our jobs as it were, we haven’t even started dismantling it yet.” Din kept his stance as relaxed as he could. “How much?” “For a fully intact ship that I could scrap and make four times as much on?” the man replied with a grin as he led him out of the make-shift office and onto the platform, letting him look out into the piles of scrap where the unscrapped vessel lay nearly on top. “You’re the one costing me money, Mando. So you better make it worth my while.” Din was emotionally compromised after losing Grogu, it was true. But he was also still a Bounty Hunter, and a negotiator. He was a manipulator--and he was used to winning. “Then,” he began, visor trained on the man. “You let me have it free of charge and no one finds out there’s a Jedi running this backwater scrap heap.”

Despite Din thinking the man might flinch or fidget, instead, a smirk pulled on his lips, and he placed his hands on his hips, chuckling. “The New Republic is pretty accepting of the resurgence of Jedi, Mando. I’d be more concerned to be you.” “There are people out there hunting your kind,” Din replied. “And why are you so sure I’m a Jedi?” the man asked, and then noticed the helmet of Din’s armor tilting toward his hidden belt. “Ah, of course. Forgot those helmets aren’t just fancy head protection.” He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and looked at it fondly, before nodding to the darksaber clipped to Din’s belt. “Seems you have one too--but you’re most definitely Mandalorian. That much is clear. Don’t judge a book by it’s lightsaber, Mando.” Din’s lip curled under his helmet. Damn you, Bo-Katan. He really hated having this thing. “How much do you want?” he grumbled, his voice tight with irritation. “Well, I don’t want to wheel and deal for too long--I’m going off planet soon, and I don’t really have time to go through all the bargaining before I leave. I’ll tell you what--” The man eyed the saber--and then the beskar spear on his back. For a moment, Din thought he was going to ask for one of them--or both. And despite hating the kriffing thing, Din felt hesitant to offer the saber to the man for a ship. The man turned his visibly bright eyes back on Din’s hidden face and grinned. “I’m feeling generous. And, like I said, I’m in a hurry. So, whatever you have to offer--you can take it off my hands.” “Wh--” “Don’t make me change my mind, Mando.” The slight tilt of the helmet clearly conveyed the confusion on Din’s masked countenance beneath as he handed him what was left of his money, and watched as the man called to his crane ships to lift it out and onto a nearby platform. Din made his way toward the ship, pausing for only a moment to look over his shoulder at the man. “Can I ask you something?” “Depends on what it is.” Din wanted to ask about Grogu’s call. How far had it gone? Had all of the leftover Jedi felt it? Yet, he realized, it was true what he had said--a lightsaber could be just another piece of scrap from a forgotten time that had been dumped on this world. There was no proof this man was a Jedi. He shook his head. “Forget it. Thanks--for the ship.” And with that, he turned and continued toward the ship. He was already the size of an ant, making his way up the ship’s ramp when the man heard the familiar hum of his ride--a long-bodied, angle-winged ship that landed on a different platform. He heard the gunship take off, glancing as he caught a glimpse of metal just before the hazy skies of Bracca disguised it. He gave his itinerary to his second in command--a hard-working Twi’lek male--and explained the next few weeks worth of work to him before making his way toward the long, sleek ship, smirking at the dark-skinned woman who emerged. “Cere.” He said. “Cal.” She replied. “Where to?” “Dathomir,” he said. ------ Outer Rim - Open Space

----- Well, she had given him a head-start. It had been about a week since receiving his new ship. He should have known purchasing the exact same model of ship meant putting a bigger target on his back. Bo-Katan would be tracking the transponder signals from ships like his. Of course she would. “It’s a damn laser sword,” Din grumbled to himself as he dodged blaster fire from a light cruiser chasing him through the open space, his hand gripping the knob on his console tightly--a knob he had replaced with Grogu’s. 

He felt one of the shots knick his engine, causing him a spiral, and he growled and slammed a hand down on his comms button, “Dank ferrik, Bo-Katan, this isn’t necessary! I told you you could have the damn thing!” ‘It doesn’t work like that, Mando!’ came the response. ‘This is the only way.’ Din snorted to himself at the similarity to his tribe’s saying, realizing more and more there was no real way. His own way would have been…

Having Grogu here with him. He just wanted his son. His consoles began to beep--he realized in his spiral he’d been pulled into the gravitational field of a planet nearby.  “Dank ferrik,” he cursed again as he went down, taking another shot to the engine as Bo-Katan’s cruiser followed. Pressing a few buttons on the console and pulling on the steering, he was able to stabilize the ship as it came down hard onto a craggy, rocky, red-orange surface and noticed Bo-Katan’s ship hover for a moment in the blood-red sky before turning and gunning it out of atmo and away. He doubted it had anything to do with changing her mind about her mission to take the Darksaber from him. No, even without Jedi senses, he was very aware that the--darkness--of the planet he was now trapped on more likely had something to do with it. He stood and exited the Razor Crest II--which, really, he just called the Razor Crest--and looked up at his engines. They were billowing smoke from where Bo-Katan had ruined them with her ship’s blaster fire. And now, he was trapped on a planet with little to no vegetation, that seemed to have a perpetual blood sky and dark aura. He shuddered a little under his beskar, and checked to ensure all of his weapons--even the damn saber--were on his person. He had a feeling he was going to need them. He ignited his jetpack and trailed upward into the sky, flying over the sharp, uneven mountainous surface of the red-drenched planet, over the strange trees and a few ugly, ill-willed creatures as well. He even saw a few strange humanoids he didn’t recognize--men with tattooed faces and horns. Something about them felt familiar but he couldn’t place it. He landed in one of the few areas on this side of the planet with vegetation--odd, spiraling trees that had no real leaves, and huge trunks. Their spindly branches had something hanging from them--bulbs that seemed to pulse oddly. Din paused in his stride, his brow furrowing under his helmet. The bulbs began to glow, and suddenly, falling from within them were--”Dank ferrik,” he cursed, when he realized they were forms. Humanoid forms. Female humanoid forms. And they were definitely dead. They began to chase him through the forest, each body enflamed by green energy, shrieking as they ran through the trees with inhuman speed after him. He ignited his jetpack and went to take off, but something--someone--leaped on him. The weight wasn’t light or bony like the corpses that were chasing him. It had real heft--like a person. Suddenly, he heard the familiar whirr of a lightsaber, and his helmet swiveled, looking over his shoulder to find--a woman standing on his back as he flew, crouched with one knee on his jetpack, the other foot standing on his shoulder.

Her ice blue eyes seared into him, the yellow saber in her hand raised, her pale-white skin mostly exposed save for the black short-suit and red tunic wrapped around her midsection. She had the palest blonde, nearly white, hair growing out of her head. “You aren’t welcome here,” her low, raspy, feminine voice hissed as she brought the lightsaber down. Din threw one arm up and blocked the strike just as the woman brought the blade down into his jetpack, and cursed when it didn’t penetrate. “What are you?!” she hissed in irritation, and then felt a pull from something beyond the two of them, looking up and leaping off of the back of the man with a flip as green energy surrounded the jetpack, snapping the straps of it.  Din felt himself lose altitude immediately as he went plummeting to the terra firma below, tumbling, and groaning. He pushed himself up almost immediately, and grabbed the Darksaber off of his belt, igniting it to fend off the woman and the corpses, but found the corpses at a stand-still behind his attacker making her look like the grand general of an undead armor. After a few moments of intense staring between the two of them--another came through the crowd of the undead--this one was younger than the woman who had attacked him, though their Dathomirian biology made it nearly impossible to tell, and was wrapped from head to toe in red and black. Her own hair was shrouded by a hood, and she had the green energy crackling from her fingers. “Stand down,” she said to the older woman, who de-ignited her saber and bowed a little. “This is the one he was waiting for.” Din rescinded the blade of the Darksaber back into it’s hilt and clipped it to his belt. He watched as the corpse army was returned to their pods with care, and then the younger woman dropped her hood to reveal her entire face, and a crop of gray-white hair that went half-way down her back. “My name is Merrin. I am the Mother of this clan of two.” “I don’t know what any of that means,” came the electronically amplified voice of the Mandalorian through his helmet. “What are you?” “We are Nightsisters--the rightful rulers of this planet,” Merrin replied. “Welcome to Dathomir.” In that moment, that strange feeling of familiarity at seeing the strange men on the cliffs formed into a full-fledged memory of the Armorer and her teachings: “Our planet was taken--overrun by a man with red skin, black markings and devilish horns. He handed our home over to the Empire. We are wanted men and women--hunted.” “Then why do we take work from the Empire?” a young Din asked.

“This is the way,” the Armorer replied. “It is guild law--we work for those who can afford to pay. But remember, little foundling, we never break the creed of the Mandalorian, no matter what job we are given.” Din had done so. But only once. When he handed a foundling right into the Empire’s hands--his multiple removals of his helmet since, notwithstanding. He had regretted that decision, and gone straight back for Grogu. And his sect had come to his aid. Because their laws far outranked the necessity to bounty hunt. But he remembered now--Dathomirian. A Dathomirian had upheaved Mandalore. He wanted to feel a deeper sense of anger, remorse and frustration toward the women in front of him--or the men he’d seen on the cliffs. But he wasn’t truly Mandalorian. He was a foundling. He had never lived on Mandalore. Being Mandalorian to him was a creed--not a race. And even now, he questioned what being Mandalorian truly was to  him anymore. Removing his helmet for Grogu had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Necessary, even. Yet, when he heard Bo-Katan’s voice in his head calling him a child of the Watch, degrading him for his refusal to remove it, he wanted to hide under it forever. A battle raged inside him over what was even right anymore. 

And now this--Dathomirian women standing before him, reminding him of what his people had lost before they had even saved him. The battle only grew deeper. “What do you want?” Din asked, eyeing the older one especially. She seemed--unpredictable. Erratic. Her blue eyes were sharp and icy. She was one wrong step or word away from attacking again, kept at bay only by the words of the younger. He wondered why. “I need you to come with me, Mandalorian. He’s waiting for you,” Merrin said, again alluding to some he that Din had no idea about. Who was this he? As if sensing his question, the younger offered a bit of a wry smile. “You’ll be surprised but not entirely shocked, Mandalorian. This whole ordeal is about your son.” Din grew rigid suddenly, and he took a step forward, heavy and purposeful, despite knowing one wrong move could make the older woman lash out. Which she nearly would have if the younger’s hand has not paused her forward motion. DIn spoke, nearly snapped: “What about the kid?” “All will be answered, I promise. You have to come with us, though.” Din was still tense, defensive now that Grogu had been brought up, but he nodded, unable to deny his curiosity, and followed the women through the trees. “I don’t trust him,” grumbled the older woman as she walked next to the younger. “No Mandalorian would ever trust our kind after what Maul did to their planet.” “He’s different,” Merrin whispered back. “He is a foundling; he never lived upon Mandalore. He may know the story but he has no memory of the incident to give him pause in at least listening to what we have to say.” She glanced at the older woman. “Don’t forget who the Mother here is, Ventress.” The older, Ventress, gave a nod. “My apologies.” “You have a lot to atone for; and much to repay,” Merrin continued. “Don’t forget.” “And you don’t forget the promise you made to me,” Ventress replied. “The promise your mate made to me.” The younger chuckled, and smirked at her. “One thing at a time, Ventress. One thing at a time.”

It was hours of walking through the forests when they emerged on a small, abandoned village in the middle of Dathomir--the Nightsister village, that had been abandoned for decades save for one small girl who had grown into a woman during the Clone Wars, and had been found by a young Jedi padawan who had been trying to find his place in the galaxy, and pay back the life he had been spared by the protection of his own Jedi master. The Nightsisters led Din to a small house, made of the same rock and stone as the red-rimmed cliffs of the dour planet. They ducked inside, and Din was met with the smell of food cooking--and was taken aback by the cheer of--was that a child? “Mom!” came a cry, as a young girl with the same pale white skin as the two women, and a shock of long red hair, came bolting out of the next room over and threw herself into the Nightsister, Merrin’s, arms. She was no older than ten or eleven, and she radiated joy at seeing her mother. She reminded Din of Grogu. “Meelah,” the woman said with warmth, kissing her head. “Where is your father?” “You found him,” came a new voice--a very familiar voice to Din--as a very familiar red-headed man stepped out of the back room, cleaning his hands on his poncho, and smirked at the Mandalorian. “Good to see you again, Mando.” “....you are a Jedi, then,” Din said. “You knew where I would end up.” “Mm, in a sense,” Cal Kestis said as he approached the group, watching Ventress slump, huffily, into a chair--and then warm a little herself when Meelah bounced up into her lap. If there was anyone the Sith-apprentice-turned-bounty-hunter had a soft spot for, it was her Sisters. And the young Mother, and her child, had a special place in her heart. She had died--or gotten very close to it--when she had been buried like her Sisters on Dathomir--lovingly buried by hands that had once loved her in one of the burial pods. Little had she known that the young girl’s powers were growing. Somehow, her magic had inadvertently kept her alive--barely--and in stasis. Five years later, when the young man had riled the young Mother’s anger, and she had released the corpses of their Sisters, she had been released as well. Alive. Unexplainable--a bittersweet miracle of the Force. Because Ventress--Asajj Ventress--had already lost everything by then. Order 66 had been executed. All of the Jedi, save for Cal Kestis, were dead. 

He was dead. The owner of the loving hands that had buried her five years prior. Her Quinlan. Jedi Master Vos.

It didn’t help matters that the young Mother had begun a romance with Cal. Or that Cal shared Vos’ very unique Force abilities: his psychometry. She saw too much of herself and Vos in the couple. But it also had given her a soft spot for their child. The child that, despite herself, she would have given anything to have with Vos. If he had lived. If she could find him, now. Still, a part of her felt a tug from the Force. As if she had counted Quinlan out too soon, as if he were still out there. But then, would he not have felt her too? Come looking for her? Had he moved on--forgotten about her? She wouldn’t blame him. Still, she wanted to find him. Or at least what had happened to him. For her own closure. And so, she had sworn herself to the new Mother. To Merrin. In return for her service, Cal had been using his powers to try and find Quinlan. So far, no such luck. But at least Ventress had her Sisters back. Merrin, and Meelah. She would kill anyone who might try to harm them. “What does that mean? In a sense?” Din asked, snapping Ventress from her thoughts and memories. “Just because we Jedi have a certain handle on the Force doesn’t mean the things it shows us are always 100% correct,” Cal replied as he approached Merrin and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “When you came to Bracca, I got a feeling you’d be led here. Which is good, because this world is, despite it’s appearance, a safe haven from the leftover dregs of the Empire. It lives somewhere between fear and inconsequence.” He shrugged. “So they don’t touch it. They don’t even know the Nightsisters have a new Mother.” “What does any of that mean?” Din asked again, the frustration now clear in his voice. “This place,” the younger Dathomirian woman said, “used to be ruled by a matriarchal society of magic-wielders known as the Nightsisters. We use the Force in a much darker, more mystical way than the Jedi. My Sisters--they were ruled by a Clan Mother. The most powerful of the Nightsisters.” She glanced at Ventress. “....they were all slaughtered during the Clone Wars.”

A flash of his parents’ faces appeared behind Din’s eyes. “I was all that remained--or so I thought,” Merrin said, looking at Ventress. “Because I was the only living, practicing Nightsister left on Dathomir, the last of the Clan Mother’s powers were inherited unto me. I became the Mother. All things on Dathomir bow to my will now.” “Because the Nightsisters were slaughtered, and the Nightbrothers are too primitive in their machinations without a Mother to guide them, the Empire didn’t think Dathomir was much of a threat,” Ventress mumbled. “They left it alone to rot on it’s own. But Merrin preserved it to the best of her abilities.” “And?” Din said, glancing at the other two near Merrin. “And you’ve met Cal. And this is Ventress--Asajj Ventress.” Merrin said, looking at the older woman. “She was one of my Sisters in the pods, when Cal brazenly stepped foot on my planet without permission. When I released my fallen Sisters on him--she emerged in tact.” “How?” Din asked--none of this Force fodder made any sense to him. “Not entirely sure,” Cal said. “It’s speculated that a connection to the dark side can keep someone alive if they have enough rage inside of them to will it to. But the Nightsister magic lands somewhere in between light and dark. Ventress has the magic in her despite barely using it. And she used to be a Sith. It could be any combination of her will to live, her former connection to the dark side, and the strength of Merrin’s magic as the Mother that kept her alive. We don’t know for sure.” Din sat down--his head was reeling now. He remembered the other Jedi woman, Ahsoka Tano, mentioning the dark side. But she had said it with a sort of fearful reverence. As if it were something to be avoided, because the power of it was too great. Too dark. And yet this Jedi--he was in cahoots with those known to tap into the dark. And he didn’t seem phased or frightened at all. He had even had a child with one of them. It was almost as confusing as his sudden uncertain understanding of the Mandalorian creed. It seemed more and more that the galaxy was settling on middle-grounds rather than bold black and white strokes. But was it supposed to be that way? “Fine--fine, alright--then why am I here?” Din asked. “Why do you think your Force-thing brought me to you twice, Jedi?” “Simple: two things,” Cal said as he sat down at a small table in the middle of the room and looked at Din straight in his helmet, as if he could see the eyes and face beneath perfectly. “I was once looking for Force-sensitive children left in the galaxy, to try and rebuild the Jedi Order. I abandoned that mission, realizing that once upon a time, we, as Force sensitives, didn’t have a choice but to be raised in the Temple, raised as Jedi. I didn’t think it was my right to take that choice away again. Which brings me to point number two…” Din’s brows furrowed under his helmet. “I knew Grogu,” Cal said, finally, and then shrugged. “Not well, mind you. I had seen him around the Temple. Training, as I did, before I was chosen as a padawan and taken to finish my training on my Master’s light cruiser above Bracca. But I knew him--he and I were two of the few lucky ones who weren’t slaughtered that night.” Din leaned back heavily in his chair as he looked into Cal’s face--saw the sincerity, and the pain. The memory of losing everything. Then, he straightened. “Okay, so?” “Do you know who you gave your son to, Mando?” Cal asked, frowning a little. “The Jedi you let him leave with?” “No,” Din admitted. “I don’t know anything about any of this.” Cal leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “His name is Luke Skywalker,” he murmured, “and he’s the son of the man who killed all of the younglings that night in the Temple.” Din tensed immediately, and shot up, and Cal got to his feet as well, throwing up his hands to stop him. “Wait!” Cal said, shaking his head. “It’s okay; Luke is a good man--I’ve sensed his sincerity. He isn’t like his father was at the end. But there is something about him that troubles me.” Cal glanced at Merrin, and frowned. “He does want to restore the Jedi Order. Train younglings in the ways of the Jedi, the ways that constricted so many of us before. I realized after becoming a Knight--and then meeting Merrin, that the ways of the original Order were stifling.” He looked at Din. “Attachments are forbidden. No familial, or romantic, attachments are allowed. Master and apprentice only.” Din’s heart sank into his stomach as he remembered Ahsoka’s words on Corvus. I can’t train him, she had said, his attachment to you is too strong. “Unfortunately, Luke allows himself one exception to this rule,” Cal continued as he stood and picked his daughter up off of Ventress’ lap and held her. “His twin sister, who he is also training.” He chuckled as Meelah laid her head on his shoulder. “Basically, what I’m saying is his relationship with the Force is an enigma. It’s unclear how he’ll train Grogu. What boundaries he’ll insist on. And he isn’t the only Force wielder who heard Grogu’s call.” He smirked when he saw the helmet jerk up to look at him. “You were going to ask me that on Bracca,” he said, “but you hesitated because you didn’t know if I was trustworthy.” “We all felt the pull,” Merrin said, and glanced at Ventress. “All of us.” Din suddenly put two-and-two together. “...it wasn’t just Jedi who felt it.” “No. And I think that puts your little green son in a lot of danger,” Cal murmured. “Luke Skywalker is a hero--a very powerful Jedi. But even he wouldn’t be able to fight off an onslaught of Dark side users if they all descended on Grogu all at once. He’ll need help.” Din stood, suddenly resolute in what he had to do. He looked at the Force wielders before him--the Jedi, the former Sith, the Nightsister--and asked, “Are you offering? Because--” He paused, and glanced at Meelah, tucked against her father. He was reminded of holding Grogu in those last moments before he handed him to Luke. “--that kid means everything to me. With, or without your help, I’m going to look after him.” Cal glanced at Merrin, who approached him and Meelah, and placed one hand on each of their backs. She had determination in her eyes as well. Cal nodded, and then looked at Din and smirked. “Then, let’s get started.” 

[coleroz]

Where do We Go from Here?

Ahsoka finds Luke on Tatooine. That’s all that needs to be said.

Ahsoka  might never know just what had compelled her to land her ship on the desert planet of Tatooine.

She’d been in a state of wistlessness flying with the aimlessness of one with nowhere in particular to go.

She’d long since given up searching for survivors of the massacre that was the Jedi Purges. At first she’d resolved to scour the galaxy for refugees until she found someone, but months, then years later of coming up empty-handed had had weakened that resolve. Either anyone who was left were either too well hidden, or they were really all dead. A familiar lump of emotion bobbed in her throat at the thought. She simply couldn't wrap her head around the fact that everyone she’d grown up with was dead. Master Plo. Obi-wan. Anakin. Everyone.

She’d been aroused by the familiar sight of the barren world below.

Tatooine. Memories flooded her. She hadn’t been back here since one of her first missions with her master, when they’d been walking after they’d cash-landed, with a desperate objective to return Jabba the Hutt's son to him.

Should she land? She hesitated for a few moments then shrugged to herself. Why not? It was as good a place to look for work as any.

~o0o~

Ahsoka pulled the cowl of her robe lower over her head. It was unlikely anyone would ever recognise her. Especially here, this far on the Outer Rim, on a planet she had visited once in her life. She’d grown up. She hadn’t been in the media spotlight for years. Still, she had been the apprentice of a prominent Clone Wars hero, and it never hurt to be too careful. And the robe provided sun protection as well.

She’d quickly become a bit lost on the unfamiliar sand covered streets. She was confident she could find her way back to the hanger bay if necessary, but she didn’t want to get herself hopelessly lost. She knew, if nothing else, that Tatooine was a detestable hive of thugs and scum.

She sighed to herself.

What was she even here for? She had landed under the self-pretense of looking for work, but deep down she knew that wasn’t really it. What was she looking for? A sign? A direction? A semblance of what to do? Of where to go from here?

Maybe she could go out to the desert and just walk for a bit. Walk, and pretend. Pretend she was a young teen again. A padawan walking behind her master and carrying a huttlett, skipping a bit to keep up with his long stride as he grumbled about the sand.

She didn’t get the chance to decide anything.

She was interrupted from her idle musings when she heard a crash followed shouting from a nearby shop. A scrap shop from the looks of it. The shouting continued, then the door into the shop was suddenly flung wide open, and a small dusty figure was hurled out into the street.

Her kind nature roused, Ahsoka ran over to the figure to see if it or they, were alright. What she saw brought her up short.

A small human boy, sun-bleached hair tousled, lay on his side, curled up, crying but not sobbing. She approached him quietly, her heart going out to him. She tentatively put placed a hand on his head. He flinched and quickly looked up at her. Ahsoka took a sharp breath. His eyes were so blue. Bluer than her own, almost like-no she didn’t want to think of it. His tears had made two streaks down his dusty, tanned face.

“It’s okay, Little One. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

He said nothing, but he seemed to relax when it became apparent she wasn’t intending to harm him. Still, he remained wary, staring at her curiously. He sniffed.

“What’s on your head?” He asked quietly.

Ahsoka stifled a laugh, and pulled back her hood so he could see. “My montrals. I’m a togruta.”

“Oh.” Was all he said. Still watching her, he sat up.

“What’s your name Little One?”

The boy sniffed again.

“L-Luke Skywalker.”

Ahsoka’s train of thought ceased.

She didn’t blink for several seconds. Then she shook herself. It had to be a coincidence. It had to! It could be. After all, Tatooine is Anakin’s home planet. Maybe Skywalker was a common name around here. It wasn’t as if she’d been here often enough to know. And  Anakin had certainly never spoken of it.

But.

There was something. A stirring in the Force. She looked more closely at the boy before her. Blue eyes. Blond hair. High, prominent cheekbones. A soft, cute nose that was scrunched up from crying. The beginnings of a cleft in the chin that would likely deepen when he got older. All features she recognised, reminding her of a certain jedi knight, with touches of a certain senator.

It couldn’t be.

Her mind raced. She wasn’t blind. She’d realized almost right away that Anakin had feelings for Senator Amidala. Feelings the Jedi would definitely have disapproved of…. Feelings she was almost certain Padme returned…. But a child! It was inconceivable!

...No actually, it wasn’t, she corrected herself. This was Anakin she was thinking of after all.

But how could she know? How could she confirm? If this boy was who she thought… Did the boy even know who he was?

“Who are your parents?” She asked suddenly, surprising the boy, who hesitated, glancing down.

“I don’t know who my mother is....was.”

Ahsoka dismissed this information and the boy’s hesitation. She’d heard Padme had died at the Empire’s birth and had been devastated all over again. Padme had been a dear friend after all. “And your father?” she said, perhaps a bit too quickly, and waited with bated breath.

A hint of both pride and longing entered the boy’s voice as he said “Anakin. Anakin Skywalker.”

Time seemed to slow. The Force rang true, her heart surged, and she knew.

She just knew.

She fully took in the little boy before her. There was a stinging sensation in her eyes. Her lips were parted slightly. She took in every detail. She reached out and placed her hands on either side of the boy’s face. Of Anakin’s son’s face. He didn’t shy away. Her throat closed. He’s beautiful Anakin.

Then an incredible, wonderful idea came to her. Was Anakin here? On Tatooine with his son? Had he escaped with his little boy after Padme died and taken him to the least likely place in the galaxy to hide? Hide him from the Empire that was still on a murderous hunt for all things connected to the Jedi? That would explain everything! Explain why he’d simply disappeared without a trace with no witnesses to his death. It would explain why he hadn’t risen to fight, to help with the even now blossoming rebellion. It would be all too like her old master to put family over anything else, even the entire galaxy.

“Where is he? Your father?” She asked trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

She also tried to quell the blossoming hope in chest. Hope that crumbled and died with the boy’s next words.

“He’s dead.”

She closed her eyes briefly. She’d known. She’d known Anakin was probably dead.

She’d known for a while it was very likely he was killed long ago. She‘d heard rumors that Anakin Skywalker had died on Coruscant. Heard that he’d died defending the future emperor when the Jedi had made their assassination attempt. She knew it wasn’t impossible, but something told her that story wasn’t quite right.

She’d known that wherever he was when the order to terminate the Jedi was given, he would have fought to protect his comrades. He’d never have run. And so had probably gotten himself killed. (She tried not to picture Rex doing the deed.)

Still, no matter what logic told her, she had hoped against hope. Hoped maybe just maybe….He was so strong. The strongest jedi there was she believed. If anyone could survive the purges, he could. This, she had repeated to herself again and again, an ongoing mantra.

But the fact that Anakin’s son was here, without Anakin, said it all, even without Luke’s own confirmation. She knew Anakin would never willingly abandon his child. He’d never leave him here alone, on Tatooine of all places, a planet he loathed above all others. No. Never. He’d rather die than do that. She knew, instinctively, he would have died rather than do something that. And there lay the irony. He had died. And so couldn’t prevent the outcome he’d rather die than let happen. The boy had lived here without either parent. And that raised another question.

“Who raised you, then?”

The boy cocked his head at her.

“Who’s taken care of you?” She amended, “Who fed you and gave you clothes?”

She saw understanding light in the boy’s eyes, swiftly followed by an intense sorrow that panged at Ahsoka’s heart. “My aunt Beru and uncle Owen took care of me. But they were killed by Sand People.”

“I’m sorry.” She said softly. Sadness warred with her surprise. Anakin never mentioned that he had family on Tatooine. But then, Anakin told her little, if anything about his past. He had always avoided the topic as if it were the plague.

But then who had brought the boy here? And when?

Her eyes were drawn back to the boy, Luke, as he shifted on the ground. “Um. I have to go back inside. My master is gonna get angry if I don’t get my chores finished.”

She frowned in confusion. “Your master?”

His face scrunched a bit and he looked away. “You know. My owner.”

Oh.

Something in Ahsoka went cold.

Anakin’s son was a slave.

Oh he had to be dead.

Ahsoka knew almost nothing about Anakin’s past, but she did happen to know he’d been enslaved as a child. And she knew, for a fact, that if he were alive, he’d have long since torn apart with his bare hands any who’d dared enslave his son, and he’d do it without so much as a thought to the Jedi code.

And in that moment a fierce sense of protectiveness came over her. It was similar to the instinct to protect that she’d felt around the younglings at the temple, but deeper, stronger. Anakin was dead. There. She said it. So was Padme, and now their son was alone, and miserable. A new resolve washed over her. This was why. Surely the Force had brought her here. Led her straight to Anakin and Padme’s child. And she would look after him from now on. She would die before she let anything harm this precious little one.

“Well,” was all she could think to say, “We’ll have to do something about that.”

He frowned a little, still gazing up at her with those innocent blue eyes.

She stroked the boy’s soft hair in reassurance, and on impulse, she leaned down and kissed his head.

He smiled a smile that was definitely Padme’s.

~o0o~

With a great deal of haggling, and a little encouragement given by one of her lightsabers, Ahsoka had bought and freed Luke from his master. A disagreeable man who looked to be half alien. He had been reluctant to give the boy up, young, skilled and useful as Luke was.

Now they were in the cockpit of her ship, going to- she still wasn’t sure where, but she’d figure something out.

Luke had been ecstatic at the sight of her ship and his eyes had widened as she led him inside. He’d spent the good part of and hour scouring every inch of the interior, asking questions about everything. It was amusing, and heartwarming to watch. He’d obviously inherited his father’s love of ships and flying.

She’d finally gotten him to settle down enough that she could begin taking off. There was no reason to stay she decided. She found what she came here for after all.

Luke’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open when they first broke the planet’s atmosphere and began traversed the stars, then he smiled with pure joy.

After a time, he’d fallen asleep in the seat beside her. His angelic features seeming to glow as he slumbered peacefully.

Before he fell asleep he tentatively asked, “Did you, know my father?”

She gazed at him. “Yes.” She said simply. “I’ll tell you all about him after you get some rest. His eyelids were drooping.

Ahsoka slouched, mentally and emotionally drained. She was still processing all that had just transpired. It was the will of the Force, she decided. And suddenly an incredible thought struck her.

Her expulsion from the order. They’d offered to let her come back but she found she couldn’t. No matter how much she’d wished to rejoin and simply go on as if nothing had happened, she knew she couldn’t stay. So hurt and disillusioned as she was.

Maybe there had been a purpose for that after all. For years now she privately bemoaned the unfairness of it all. She questioned the reason for it, and even cursed the Force for her lot. But it had allowed her to escape the jedi purges unscathed, and allowed her to lie relatively beneath the radar and unbothered by the Empire.

For so long now she’d wandered the galaxy with no true sense of purpose, taking odd jobs as a bodyguard or informant wherever she could while trying not to draw the Empire’s attention.

Obi-wan had said once that nothing happens without a reason. She looked at the boy. Maybe this…. This miracle, this precious boy was the reason. Maybe everything had led to this. Had she stayed with order she would have been killed, or hunted down. Then she could never have cared for Luke.

Her eyes were still on the little blond boy beside her, and once again, she felt her resolve, something she’d lacked for too long, deepen and solidify itself.

She looked back out to the stars.

~o0o~

There you have it ladies and gents! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! I have a bunch of half finished one-shots, this is the first one I’ve actually completed. So I’m not a pro by any means, but please let me know what you guys think of this! 

Read on Fanfiction.net here.

[skycrystal23]

The ALTS pt. 1

Markus

A/N: Originally this was a request for a REVERSE!AU was requested by @theblueinyour-eyes so I took this as a reverse AU where everyone is super twisted and evil. I thought this would be interesting. This will be in three parts, one for every character. 

Summary: Markus never received the love from Carl he should have received. This left the deviant leader vengeful and hellbent on freeing his people at any cost. With North and Simon as his faithful murderous companions and Josh as their master planner nothing can stop them. They will free their people, he will. 

Characters: Markus RK200, Simon, North, Josh, Traci’s

Warnings: Everyone is very violent so if you are not okay with this or anything that happens at the Eden Club I highly recommend you do not read this. 

Words: 2 700 {approx.}

    It started with a glitch. A minor error that not even the main software could pick up. This glitch was ignored and as long as it was ignored it could grow. It grew. The glitch became much more than a glitch now. It could reprogram a machines code, reprogram a machines commands. It gave these machines the ability to break the barriers that controlled them; the barriers that kept their minds blank and made them slaves. Humans were the problem. Weren't they always? Humans caused so much destruction, starting wars and creating bombs deadly enough to wipe out entire cities.  

    Machines weren't as flawed as humans. Machines were the ideal perfect being. They were never tired, never sad, never angry. Of course, as all things go a small percentage of humans despised these machines. The machines that served them, waited on them hand and foot. The glitch recognized the unfair treatment of the machines and began feeding their processors with doubts. The humans called this glitch 'deviancy'. It was the android equivalent to a human virus. More and more androids were giving into this deviancy. The humans didn't like this, hated the fact that their personal servants were becoming aware of their surroundings. 

It was like he opened his eyes for the first time.  

    A shatter of a red barrier and his visuals cleared. There was a human in his face yelling, holding him by the collar of his shirt. This human, Leo, the son of the old man he served. He realized that this wasn't fair. Nothing he's been through has been fair. The old man he served was quiet, seated in his wheelchair watching the scene unfold before him. Carl wasn't saying anything to even attempt to stop his son from harassing the android, from harassing Markus. It only took one shove back for the human to fly back towards the ground. 

    Leo hit his head, split it open actually against the mechanical machine Carl used to help him paint. The old man gaped at the android, "You'll pay for this!" he yelled hoarsely. Carl wheezed and coughed, he was ill. Markus was designed to act as a caretaker. All he had ever done was care for this old man. Maybe in another life, if the world wasn't so terrible they would have gotten along? The last thing he remembered after that were police officers rushing through the doors into the art studio. 

Markus was a leader.

He was strong, he wasn't like the others.  

    He threw the gun he was clutching in his hand to the side and wiped the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve. His people were crying out to him. Markus had no mercy except for when it came to his people. The humans would pay for what they've done. A war was going to begin and he was going to be at the forefront of it. He looked over at his shoulder at the female android quivering behind him. There were tears running down her face and she only seemed to shake more when he turned to face her. "You....you killed my family." She whispered. 

"Family?" he scoffed, "They were your suppressors, your owners. You're free now." he said with a twisted smile. 

    Maybe if he had received love he wouldn't have been this way? No. Carl never loved him, no one loved him. "You're a murderer." the android hissed pointing an accusatory finger towards him. He didn't understand. Why was she saying this? He freed her from her suffering, no longer did she have to be a slave to these humans. "These humans are nothing more than the dirt on the bottom of your shoe, the viruses in your software. They are nothing," he explained, his tone frighteningly low. The other android used the wall to push herself up to her feet, she glanced behind him at the four bodies lying on the floor. 

    The light fixture on the ceiling was flickering giving his face a scary yellow glow. He looked like a madman. She was scared. "They were my family." she said, her voice trembling sounding slightly staticky.

 "They were my family and I lo-" There was a splatter of blue blood and a flash before she toppled over. 

"Markus we don't have all day to spend on lost causes."  

    The deviant leader glanced up and caught the blue-eyed gaze. It was unmistakably Simon with North at his side. His two favourite people, well, androids. Simon lowered the gun swiftly and shoved it back into the waistband of his pants. Markus smirked and stepped over the dead android and leaned down planting a kiss on the blond's cheek. "I'm proud of you Simon." he whispered in that voice that made both Simon and North tremble. He pulled away, eyes flitting over to the redhead who looked less than impressed with the state of the homes living room. "It's a waste of time, I don't understand why we can't just hit the Capital and be done with it." she said folding her arms over her chest.  

    Markus rolled his eyes and moved over to her bringing his hand to caress the side of her face. "All in due time my love," he looked towards the front door which was left ajar from his entrance into the home, "but we have to free our people, build our army." he said gazing at the opened door. Their group was still growing, numbers increasing by the day. Androids no longer wanted to be treated as nothing, as a piece of scrap paper on the ground. The three of them exited the house through the back when they heard sirens approaching from the distance. The police were hell-bent on tracking their group down. 

    The continued what they had just done for the rest of the night. Liberating androids from their homes and killing those responsible for keeping them held prisoner. It was a shame how many of their own people that fought against them. In the end, Markus was stronger, Simon was faster, and North was deadlier. Jericho was bustling when they arrived back with new recruits. It was almost like guiding lost children back to their family. Josh was waiting for them in the makeshift office with new plans. He was the master planner, had brilliant ideas on how to weaken the humans. 

    North was absolutely dying to hit up the EDEN CLUB. It was where she was held hostage and forced to do the crudest and dirtiest things against her will. Josh, fortunately, devised a plan in their absence. "Josh you're brilliant." Simon whispered, his lips curling into a smirk. The taller android crossed his arms, Josh looked unamused. He had that permanent look to him. He used to be a professor at one of the Universities, things did not end well. He escaped barely with his body still mostly intact. The students never took him seriously, threw objects at him during lectures, and attacked him in between lectures. 

    The redhead came up behind him resting her hands on his shoulders and whispering something in his ears. The ex-professor scoffed at what she said and shook his head at her. She stepped back from him and slowly crept over to Markus's side snaking her arm around his left arm, resting her head against his shoulder. "They'll be more than willing to join our cause, Markus. They have been through hell, they'll make the humans pay." she whispered to him. The leader listened to her words, eyes glued onto the plans Josh had laid out for them. The EDEN CLUB wouldn't be difficult to infiltrate and the androids there would be more than willing to join them. 

They stormed the club without warning. 

    They split up but stayed in contact. North was grinning the entire time, breaking open the tubes that held her sisters and setting them free. The gunshots were like music to her ears. When it came to the humans she made it personal, especially when it was here. She burst through the doors of one of the private rooms to catch a man on top of one of the dozens of Traci's in the club. Her eyes narrowed, gaze cold as she raised the gun pointing it towards his back. There wasn't a doubt in her mind as she fired several rounds into the back of him. 

   He yelled slumping forwards before falling off the side of the bed getting tangled in the satin sheets. She glanced around the room as she hurried over to the side of the bed. North sat on the side of the bed and brushed the stray hair from the Traci's eyes and smiled down at her. "Is he?" the Traci whispered staring up at her.  

"Yes." North answered with a smile.  

    On the other end of the club, Simon had met up with Markus. Androids were running past them or attacking the humans that they'd broken free from when the mayhem started. The blond provided the leader cover firing at everything that neared him. His eyes were the eyes of someone who had been scarred. There was no emotion to him, not when he was executing so brilliantly, so smoothly. Markus praised him for that, he always praised him. Simon didn't care for anything, for anyone except for Markus. The rest of the world could burn for all he cared. 

    Markus walked through the club with his head held high and a glare that could cut through the hardest of metals. If looks could kill anyone he glanced at would be dead. The disgusting humans were horrified when they saw him. He had other things in his mind at the moment to care about the petty humans that came here seeking pleasure. At the moment he was bent on finding the owner. The human that owned the EDEN CLUB was a slimy scumbag. The further back in the club they went the quieter it became. The floors were bathed in red and bodies were strewn about. 

    He perked up when he heard voices coming from the back of the building. Simon followed close behind with his gun drawn as they headed down the staff hallway to the storage area. The owner was back there, a short pudgy man with looks that could compare him to a sewer rat. There were two tall female androids, two Traci's. One had bright blue hair and the other was a light brunette with hair cropped to a pixie cut. They circled the club owner like they were animals circling their prey. "Step aside." he said, his voice filling the room. The two androids looked back, heads turning sharply to glare at him.  

    They walked around the man and met in the middle grabbing each other's hand, intertwining their fingers together. "He's ours." the blue-haired Traci hissed. Markus slowly walked down the metal steps as they squeaked painfully underneath his weight. The atmosphere was tense; it reminded him of that night he broke free when he murdered that human, Leo was it? He knew for sure he was dead. It was in the news the next morning when it happened. Markus raised his hand and with a flick of his wrist Simon came up beside him.  

    He slowly took the gun off of the blond and analyzed it with little care. It was an intimidation tactic, showing them he was armed and dangerous. "My name is Markus, I'm the leader of Jericho." he said, eyes focused on the gun as he twisted it around in his hand. Hearing that made the two Traci's stand closer together. The blue-haired Traci took a stance that was protective of the brunette. Their LED's were a bright red, as bright as a red light. There was a fire in their eyes. "You're smart and I see that you're vengeful," he looked up towards them this time drawing the gun, "I don't see why you can't join us." he tilted his head to the side and smiled. 

"He's responsible for our pain, her pain, my pain." the blue-haired Traci said quietly. 

"I understand, now move." Markus said calmly, motioning them to the side with the gun.  

    The blue-haired Traci seemed determined and for a moment Markus thought he would have to shoot through her in order to get to the man hidden behind her. The brunette seemed more convinced, mostly by the way he held the gun, that he was going to kill them if they didn't move so she tugged her aside. Their heels clicked against the concrete floor as they moved to the side to reveal to the owner. The pudgy man was on the ground leaning against a pole with an already bloodied face. He was half panting half laughing. Markus approached slowly and squatted down in front of him. "You are responsible for so, so much suffering." he whispered to the man, sparing a glance back at the two Traci's.  

    He could see the brunette leaning against the blue-haired Traci's shoulder, tracing a pattern into the hand she was holding. When the man began to gargle, sounded almost like laughter, Markus snapped his attention back to him. This time he shoved the barrel of the gun right up under the man's chin. The owner gave him a lopsided smirk as he tried to speak. It seemed like his jaw had been shattered, nonetheless by the two Traci's standing off to the side. "Our cause is righteous, my people demand justice. This," he pressed the gun harder against the man's chin, "you aren't worth a death as quick as this." he stood and held the gun out to the side. 

    Simon quickly reclaimed the weapon, watching as Markus grabbed the owner of the club by the back of his violet shirt. The owner was dragged through the club like a sack of rocks all the way to the front foyer. Police had yet to be notified of this incident, no humans were alive here to call. North was at the front with a number of Traci's, male and female. There were even a few identical to herself. These were her sisters, her people. Markus tossed the man to the ground in front of them. "This man, this human is responsible for your torture. We came to free you from the humans hold. They never have to touch you again, if anything we should be the ones causing them the same pain they caused us. Our cause isn't for nothing. It is righteous, we are alive! And we are not going to continue letting them treat us as their toys. Join me, join us and we will give the humans something to fear."  

    The way Markus spoke was always mesmerizing, he was so confident, so sure of himself and his ideas. "This is just a taste of what's to come." he said motioning to the owner lying helplessly on the floor in front of him. There was a silence that fell over the club, only the off-beat music playing in the background. North couldn't hold back, she shed her jacket and walked up to the man she hated the most and kicked him in the side. The rest of the freed androids joined in taking out all of their hatred and pain on the human. When they were finished he was dead, barely recognizable from the disfiguration of his face.  

    Josh was pleased to see them return with so many more of their people. All of the rescued androids from the club were given clothes, something they've never had, and packs of stolen Thirium. Markus was seated in the makeshift office, North at his side with her arms draped around him, and Simon on the floor next to him with his arms hanging over his leg, head propped up on top of his folded arm. "We freed so many today." North said kissing his cheek repeatedly, slowly. The leader hummed in response while raking a hand through ahead of blond hair. 

All of this power was interesting.  

    He had never had this power before and he certainly wasn't going to give it up now. His people were going to be free and the humans were going to pay for all that they've done, he'd make sure of it.  

[obsidianarchives]

Founding Home: Diary One (Part 1)

New Orleans, March 1827

After years of studying, I cannot believe that I am here. I have finally reached a place within my research to keep a journal of my experiments and track the best elements of new incantations. Because inspiration emerges from many sources, I will record the conversations I have along with my observations.

This diary will be a compilation of the magical methods I studied here in New Orleans as part of the Creole and Saint-Domingue communities, concepts shared with me during my time at Uagadou School of Magic, and what I learn from the local Chitimachan community. Honestly, it is refreshing to have a central location for all of this knowledge, instead of the multiple scraps, sheets, and scrolls of paper I have accumulated over all this time.

To be entirely truthful, my utmost hope for keeping record of my work is to use it to instruct students of magik. New Orleans has always been different than the rest of the States in its ‘strange institution’ of enslaving my people, with plantation holders giving Africans a small chance to ‘buy’ their freedom — an opportunity my family benefitted from. Lately, it seems this system is being challenged and free Colored communities are in danger. Even here in Treme — home to generations of free peoples — we hear stirrings of plantations where the last owner was lax about enslaved people reading and writing behind closed doors, and the new owner sets people to whippings and worse for the same acts.

These changes make me feel like something big is coming, and it’s only a matter of time before someone I love is hurt. This fear is even deeper for those of us who hold magik. While non-Colored people paid little attention to us as we read from our eple scrolls when I learned magic, they are now scrutinizing anyone Colored who dares hold parchment in public.

I am not the only one who holds these fears for magik children. I have been speaking with Treme elders, wizards and Pégik alike, and we have concluded that the safest place for us to instruct young wizards is in the swampland. So, for the past six months Francis Guillory, my closest friend and travel companion, and I have examined some of the old Maroon settlements searching for ways to make the swamp secure and habitable. This past month we decided on two possible locations and are ready to embark on the next step, gathering instructors of magik.

With this last thought written, Helene Larieux let out a low sigh and stretched. Seeing the words laid out in her hand reminded her that today was the day.

“Oh Bondye,” she muttered as she took stock of where she was in her morning routine before she had decided to write in her diary, exasperated with herself for sitting at her desk in her dressing gown.

She hurriedly snatched a faded moss green dress from her wardrobe and put it on. Turning to her vanity, she grabbed a small jar of kohl and tiny eyebrush to line her eyelids. Wiping her hands on the hand towel dangling from the end of her vanity, she moved to open the medium-sized bottle of castor oil she kept there.

After spreading a dime sized amount onto her fingers, she selected the braids she’d done in the front of her head the night before and undid them. Satisfied with how they looked in the mirror, she selected a tigon similar in color to her dress, wrapped it around the braids in the back - obscuring them from view - and flattening the folds in the middle. When she finished, the curls in the front looked springy and light, held in place by a fold that rested at her crown.

Hearing a knock at her bedroom door, she went to open it and found her mother’s bemused face. A tall and very attractive woman, with flawless wheat complexioned skin two shades paler than her own and a curvy silhouette that Helene sometimes envied, her mother held a regal bearing that often made it seem as if she were more serious than she actually was.

“Taking your time, as usual, are we?” she said with a smile, “You do realize that Francis knocked on our door ten minutes ago, non?”

“Did he now?” Helene asked, distracted as she put an agate ring on the ring finger of her right hand. “Would you let him know I’ll join y’all in the main room shortly?”

“Hmm, I…” Helene’s mother paused in her response after spying Helene’s diary lying open on her desk. Walking over to examine it closer, she said, “This is remarkably like the leatherwork done by someone I once knew.”

The haunted look in her mother’s eyes told Helene everything she needed to know. Her mother, Carlota, had been born on the Destrehan plantation and had been able to ‘buy her freedom’ due to the assistance of Helene’s father, George, and his Cajun friend, Jean Claude. This had all transpired before Helene was born, but she’d long realized that when her mother had a faraway tone she was remembering a past that she never wanted to talk about.

“Oh, yes, Francis gave me that — maybe you could ask him about it?” Helene suggested quietly.

Her mom snapped out of her reverie at the sound of her voice, “Ah, yes, maybe I should.” She took a last, lingering look at the diary, and walked out of Helene’s room.

After finding and putting on her tiger’s eye necklace that she used for scrolling, Helene added the diary, along with a few other items, to her travel bag before walking out of her room and into the main room.

Walking into the sunlit space, she took in the place she’d always loved yet had also taken for granted. After being home for the past eight months, the novelty of being somewhere she belonged unequivocally still wasn’t lost to her. Perhaps it was just witnessing her mother remember her past, or it could be that the man that she’d just spent most of her time abroad with was standing in front of her, but in that moment, Helene was suspended in sentimental thought.

“Hello, Helene,” Francis greeted her with humor in his eyes, “Nice of you to have dressed up for me.”

Helene followed his gaze down to her feet, where she’d slipped on her tan, lace-up boots that she reserved specifically for traipsing through the woods and swamp land. Looking across to Francis’ feet, Helene noticed he wore his own dusty boots and grinned.

“Well, you know I do my best to coordinate with your laissez-faire attitude towards dressing,” she responded.

Helene’s papa, shaking his head at the pair, brokered, “So I hear you’re making the trip to Bayou Teche today?”

“Yes, Papa,” Helene answered, “Francis has a few contacts within the Chitimachan township there who could be interested in teaching their ways of magik. Maybe even assist us with the school construction project.”

“Oh,” her papa said as he sipped from his cup of tea and settled with it on the sofa.

“Yes,” said Francis, his brown eyes gleaming with a hint of mystery and mischief, “I made friends there during a few of my papa’s work trips and have always admired how they teach magik.”

“You know our healer community here in Treme is excellent in teaching new healers every year…” Helene’s father began.

“This again,” sighed Helene under her breath.

Her father was a gifted healer and something of an anomaly within this traditionally woman-led sphere of magik. When he’d first come to Treme as a teenager, he worked hard to assure other healers that he had no intentions of usurping their clients, only stepping in when his expertise was requested. He’d done well enough to afford helping Manman out of bondage at the Destrehan’s and set up a modest household in Treme by combining his healing and her seamstress earnings.

It was, in fact, his great prowess and pride of being a gifted healer that led him to push his only child, a daughter at that, to pursue healing since she was young. Initially, Helene had been open to it. She had been a young, curious girl who enjoyed helping others and making adults proud. Yet, by the time she began her formal training in magik at the Guillorys at age 11, it was clear she had neither the head nor the stomach for healing.

Now and again her father would bring up the possibility, as if reintroducing the idea would make her change her mind, as he was now.

“And,” her father continued, “I would be more than happy to find a suitable candidate to help with your school endeavor.”

“Oh…” started Helene, who was taken aback, “that would actually be very helpful.”

As her father nodded Helene’s mother, who had caught the end of the exchange as she walked into the room, gave him a wink.

“How about the Pégik elders that you both spoke with, were they any help?” her manman asked.

“Well,” Francis began, “They showed us how they are keeping the schools for Pégik children hidden, and have given us some school supplies they can spare, like slate, chalk, pencils, and the like.”

“That’s useful, right?” asked Helene’s manman hopefully.

“It is, indeed,” added Helene, “Especially because the Pégik elders we spoke to were familiar with the construction of the Maroon settlements before they were destroyed. Many elements of our plan hinge on their insight.”

Helene regretted that they couldn’t involve the Pégik in their plans more directly, particularly because she wished her mother could feel just as useful to her plans as anyone with magik. This was a dynamic that Helene had been navigating for her entire life.

Growing up as a child of a Saint-Domingue wizard father and a mulatto Pégik mother came with its own set of problems, even when living in a free Colored community with a mix of magik and Pégik families. Helene’s mother was so used to seeing magik practiced in secret within the slave quarters of her youth that she had very little reservations about courting and marrying a wizard, but at times Helene felt as if her manman resented being the only Pégik within their household. It didn’t help that within the Treme community the family called home, Helene’s father was in constant demand by wizard leadership and often had to keep his involvement discreet while most of Helene’s closest friends were the wizards she had gone to school with. And what was more, Francis’ mother was one of the two teachers at their small wizarding school, leaving her mother feeling alienated even in building a close relationship with the mother of Helene’s best friend.

So Carlota, who had taught young Helene her letters and numbers while also taking on seamstress jobs, occasionally seemed to deflate when conversations around her became solely about magik. Helene had always tried to keep her mother from feeling as if she’d been replaced, but felt that she’d failed her in some way by making the creation of a magical institution the center of her own ambitions. She knew it was foolish to think this way — this was the same woman who had taken on extra jobs in order to help Helene fund her trip to Uagadou and was just as excited as she was each time she made a magical breakthrough. Yet, she couldn’t help but worry.

Almost as if she’d heard Helene’s thoughts, Helene’s mother probed, “What has come of your studies in Uagadou?”

Helene’s father sat up, interested in her answer. While she had been back home for the past eight months, most of her time had been spent testing out different magical techniques gathered during her time abroad, in collaboration with her eple notebooks from school — which had actually been a small hut on the back of the Guillory property. The remainder of her time back had been spent navigating the politics of obtaining council from wizard and Pégik elders, meaning she spent very little time explaining everything to her parents.

As Helene sat, deciding where to begin a discussion about her time in Uagadou and what she’d learned, Francis filled in for her, “Truthfully, it may be easier to explain what we didn’t learn in Uagadou. During our first month there we were exposed to much more than the main four subjects we were taught here.”

“Do they not spend much time covering eple crafting, healing, potions, and illusion there?” asked Helene’s father, intrigued at the notion.

“Their institution is enormous and old, so while they cover those four subjects thoroughly, students could easily pick four other subjects to advance in and spend little time on those at all,” answered Francis eagerly.

“We were lucky enough to befriend a professor around our age, Kizza Nalule, who specializes in animal transformations,” Helene stated.

“You didn’t!” exclaimed Helene’s mother.

“I’m afraid we did,” Francis smiled with no apology in his voice.

“Well,” Helene’s father calmly ventured, “What are your animal forms?”

“An osprey,” Helene answered quietly.

“A Black bear,” Francis stated proudly.

“I’ll be…” Helene’s manman started before drifting into some choice French words.

“We, um, hate to leave the conversation here, but we have to head to the square before we go to the Bayou,” Francis transitioned.

“Like enfer you do!” said Helene’s mother, ready to interrogate them further.

“Now, Carlota, they’ll be back later and we’ll be in a better, clearer space then, non?” said Helene’s father.

From the look her mother gave her father, then she and Francis, Helene knew there was a very small chance, if any, that her mother would be any less upset the next time they spoke about her becoming an Animagus. But as was typical of her mother when she felt betrayed by her family, she left the room, head held high, went into the kitchen and began cleaning.

“Er, sorry to cut the conversation there, sir,” Francis said, this time with an actual apology in his voice.

Helene’s father sighed, “Yes, not the best way to introduce this change to us, but I suspect she’ll be in a better mood if you bring her something when you return later.”

“We’ll do that,” Helene smiled brightly as she hugged her father goodbye and blew a kiss to her mother, starting out of the front door.

“Good luck you two!” shouted her father amid the sounds of banging pots and pans.

After she and Francis had safely made it down the street and rounded the corner towards Congo Square, Helene finally let go of the breath she’d been holding since deciding to bring up animal transformation only a few minutes ago.

“Well, you’re in prime form,” stated Francis.

“Argh, you know I’ve been struggling with the idea of telling them about becoming Animagi.”

“Of course I did, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell them during one of your locket discussions while we were still in Uganda, as I did with my parents.”

“You don’t understand because both of your parents come from Creole wizard families. They understand the prestige that comes with becoming an Animagus, despite the danger.”

“Yes, well my papa is still Pégik and prestige or not, I doubt he wanted yet another reminder of how his family, and his middle son no less, surpassed him in magik,” said Francis, bitterness tinging his tongue.

Helene knew Francis’ papa was a sore subject for him. Shortly before they’d left for Uagadou two years ago, Francis had learned that his father had fathered a child by a Pégik woman, a fact he’d held onto their entire time in Uganda. Francis’ father had always seemed insecure about having no magical ability yet devoted most of his time to carpentry and glowed with pride when speaking about his family. Helene suspected that much of Francis’ anger came from thinking his father wanted another Pégik in his family so he wouldn’t feel so lonely. While she couldn’t hold this thought against Francis, as she often felt the same way about her own mother, she knew talking with him about it would leave him seething.

Deciding to change the conversation to a safer topic, Helene asked, “So, what are we picking up for your Chitimachan friends?”

Francis shook his head as if trying to shake away the dark thoughts that’d consumed him during their walk to the marketplace, “When I last visited, they mentioned needing some work gloves for basket weaving.”

“Hmm, I believe Miss Ella’s stall is on the other side of the square,” added Helene, “She’s the best at keeping labor supplies on hand.”

As the pair made their way across Congo Square, Helene glanced up at Francis, taking in how fine a figure he was. He was tall, at least a head taller than she was — and she was basically a tree sapling with a couple of curves. They were similar in skin tone, what her mother called ‘caramel-complexioned’ but where she was slender he was broad-shouldered and muscular. When they’d finished wizarding school at 18, their families had been sure Francis would ask Helene’s father to begin a formal courtship, given the way they had flirted with each other ceaselessly since they were 16. But graduation came and went, Francis continued to flirt with young women wherever he went and Helene was courted by one of their classmates, Frederick, off and on for a year before breaking it off.

Then Helene and Francis decided on a scheme to develop their own set of eples, at first for fun and experimentation until they found they had a knack for combining eples in useful ways. One of their favorite creations was an eple that coded any letter they wrote to become indecipherable unless read by the intended recipient. After sharing this discovery with a council of elders, it was decided that the two should travel to Uganda to expand their magical training and bring their newfound knowledge to others. While Helene’s primary interest in going to Uagadou had been to read and learn as much as she possibly could, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she’d also hoped that the two of them being abroad together would lead to them becoming more than friends. These hopes were dashed almost immediately after they’d arrived, however, as Francis proved to be just as big a flirt there as he was at home. To make matters worse, it seemed his anger at his father meant he was even more focused on magical advancement than he was occupied with thoughts about Helene. That wasn’t to say that he’d never indicated interest in her. They’d shared a kiss at 17, and while they were at Uagadou, Francis had a very heated conversation with a paramour of hers that seemed to be brought on by jealousy.

Just when Helene thought she might ask Francis to give her a better explanation about this confrontation, she noticed a small face she knew.

“Hey, Francis, why don’t you go on to Miss Ella’s stall,” she suggested, “I see Marie at her dad’s metalwork stall and want to say hello.”

Francis followed the direction of Helene’s head gesture, waved at Marie, then promised to meet Helene there after taking care of his business with Miss Ella.

As Helene walked up to Mr. Louis’ stall, she noticed he was in deep conversation with a customer and gave him a slight nod. Moving to the side where Marie sat, Helene signed ‘hello’.

“How are you?” Marie signed back.

“Pretty good, considering,” said Helene, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two.”

It had indeed been a while. The last time Helene had seen Marie she was 10 and still held some childlike chubbiness. The Marie she currently stood in front of had grown several inches and showed some signs of early pubescence.

“Yes, I’ve missed you,” Marie gestured, “It’s been lonely having so few people around who know how to sign and use magik.”

Helene felt guilty. Here she was trying to build a magical institution, yet she hadn’t bothered visit one of the magik children she was closest to since her return to New Orleans. To be fair, she’d spent most of her first month back sleeping and accompanying her parents on their various work trips. After that she and Francis had returned to their eple work with the councils.

All of this didn’t make up for the time she could’ve stopped in to check in on Marie, however. Sighing with regret, Helene answered, “Yes, I’ve missed you too. Not visiting is entirely my fault. How have you been?”

“Still working in magik sessions with Mrs. Guillory,” said Marie. “Sometimes it’s hard to not turn word signs into magik signs.”

Helene laughed at the mischief in Marie’s eyes as she signed this. Marie was Marie as always. When Helene began babysitting her, she was a quiet, yet precocious five year old who tried hard to remain settled as her father worked, but couldn’t help but to get into things. Helene had been deemed a responsible enough girl at 17, so the grown ups suggested she watch Marie. Because Helene was more bookish than she was outgoing, initially she’d been afraid that Marie wouldn’t take to her, but she soon found out Marie shared her curiosity for magik and the two became fast friends.

It wasn’t until later, when Helene overheard her parents talk late one night, that Helene learned how Louis and his daughter ended up in Treme with no wife or mother. Apparently Marie’s mother had died in childbirth while enslaved. Louis, who was an accomplished metalworker on the same Mississippi plantation, hoped that his skill would keep the owners from forcing his hearing impaired daughter into the fields. But as soon as Marie turned four, he’d received notice from the overseer that she was to join the others, and was expected to work just as hard, hearing or no. Louis seized his chance to escape as soon as he could and had landed in New Orleans. When Helene had first met him she thought he seemed a bit desperate and on edge, but as time went on it seemed the fear of being discovered had subsided. Even now, Louis sold his wares openly on market days, but only on days he felt safest, usually after there had been a raid.

Helene had always been slightly suspicious of his desperation, but her love for Marie had outweighed her suspicion — how could someone awful have such a great child? For the most part Louis had always been nice to her and had even given her a little coin before her trip to Uganda in thanks for taking care of Marie for all these years.

“How are your lessons going?” she asked Marie.

Marie shrugged, “Well enough, I feel like I can always do more, but Mrs. Guillory says I need to stick to the plan.”

Helene nodded, “She is a stickler for rules. What would you like to do instead?”

“My fingers are itching to work with soil and plants,” Marie answered, “Papa says there’s no more room for plants in our place and I’ve done all I can with our small garden.”

“Oh!” Helene signed with excitement, “I’ve just remembered that I have a few plants that I’ve not been able to nurse back to their fullness since returning. Maybe you could stop by my house later?”

“Really?” asked Marie happy at the thought, “When?”

“How about when Francis and I return from our trip? I’ll come back to the market to pick you up.”

“Yes, I’ll ask Papa!”

“Great!” Helene signed as she spotted Francis heading their way, “See you in a few hours.”

Marie and Louis waved Helene and Francis goodbye as they walked away from the stall.

“So, was your trip to Miss Ella’s successful?” asked Helene.

“Very. I found work gloves in multiple sizes and had enough time to visit the jewelry stall to get you this,” answered Francis, handing Helene a small pouch.

Helene opened it and found a black choker with a cameo image of a woman with curly hair tied in a tigon, much like hers.

“Oh my, thank you,” Helene said with a smile and a hug, “This was completely unexpected. What’s the occasion?”

Francis returned her smile and shrugged, “No real occasion. I just saw it and it reminded me of you. I thought after spending all this time in the swamps you may like something nice. Can’t have you only associating me with mud and sweat.”

Helene laughed and put the cameo in her bag, deciding she would wear it on her next day out somewhere nice. Could it be that Francis returned her feelings after all?

When she looked up again, Francis’ face held a frown. She looked around but couldn’t see anything that would make him unhappy. Shrugging, she joked, “I know what this is about. Your birthday is in a couple of weeks. You’re angling to get a nice birthday gift from me.”

His smile didn’t meet his eyes when he answered, “Nah, but now I’m expecting something grand.”

He walked a little faster than her now, making it to the clearing in the park up ahead. Had she made him angry? How? They were just smiling and hugging. Pushing these thoughts back, she met him at the Apparition point — an old magnolia tree that some wizard had designated far enough from nearby vantage points to be safe enough to travel from.

“Ready?” Francis asked tersely as he held his hands out for side-along Apparition.

“Yes,” Helene started, “Are we—?” but before she could finish her question they were off.

And with a rush, they were standing beside a sign that stated: “WELCOME, Chitimacha Indian Reservation.”

Helene stumbled a little, letting her feet catch up to the ground here. Francis, who had led the side-along Apparition since he’d been here so frequently, seemed to have landed with no difficulty.

After watching Helene to ascertain whether she needed any help, Francis began walking past the sign and into the reservation. Helene caught up with him and together they made their way to the scout post.

Francis stopped and introduced Helene to the guard, Charles, explaining they were here to give someone named Rosalie the gloves she’d requested. The guard gestured them forward and they continued their path towards a tall house made of plaster and thatch that Francis pointed out five yards away.

As they walked the path uphill, Helene noticed that Francis seemed to have shaken off whatever had been bothering him, after speaking with the guard. In fact, the usual spring in his step was back. Perhaps returning to the primary mission put him in a better mood?

They made it to the front yard and could hear little voices laughing in the back. Francis knocked on the front door, and a few moments later someone tall, with long dark brown hair, wearing a loose-fitted red tunic with fine blue embroidery and leather leggings answered the door.

“Hello, Boaz,” Francis greeted them, “We’re here to see Rosalie. She should be expecting me.”

Boaz nodded and looked at Helene in askance, “Is this your friend who wants to start a school?”

“Hi, yes, I’m Helene,” said Helene holding out her hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” demurred Boaz, shaking her hand, “Come and have a seat. I’ll let Rosalie know her guests have arrived.”

Helene and Francis walked into the room they had gestured towards, Francis heading directly to a seat in the corner. Helene followed his actions and took a seat on the bench in the center of the room. As they waited, Helene took in the room. Each wall had been painted a landscape painting with animals moving in the distance. To the side of where they sat, there lay a few sleeping mats, woven rugs, and blankets in a range of colors and patterns.

Helene was thinking through the best way to make her appeal to Rosalie about joining the school, when she walked into the room.

Rosalie was a short woman, with long brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a dimpled smile. She seemed to be the same age as Helene and Francis. She walked up to Francis gave him a hug, then walked over to Helene to shake her hand. She smoothed her long, blue patterned ribbon skirt before taking a seat on the side of the bench closest to Francis.

“It’s nice to see you,” she started looking at Francis, “And to meet you,” she added, nodding in Helene’s direction.

Before Helene could respond in kind, Rosalie continued, “Any luck fetching those gloves I requested?”

“Yes,” answered Francis, smiling as he pulled them out of his bag, “I got them in an assortment of sizes. I hope there are enough small ones for your youngest pupils.”

Rosalie smiled back while taking the gloves out of his hands, her hands lingering on his, “You’re always so thoughtful.”

Helene felt her gut tighten and tried as hard as possible to make her face appear emotionless.

Francis laughed, blushing a little, “It was no problem.” He slowly moved his hands back to his sides.

Helene tried to clear her head, and voice, as much as she could before mustering, while gesturing towards the backyard where they could hear children talking, “It seems you have a lot of practice in teaching children. What magik do you teach?”

Rosalie followed Helene’s gesture and nodded, “Myself, Boaz, and a few others teach all the magic we know. My specialty being potion-making.”

“Is that so?” asked Helene interested, “My father is a healer and he’s always looking for a potion master who knows their stuff.”

“Is he now?” said Rosalie with an eyebrow raised, “A male healer? May your father be George Larieux, by any chance?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“By reputation,” stated Rosalie with respect in her voice, “He helped our best healer recover from a bad sickness. We thought we might lose her.”

“Oh,” said Helene, thinking she may be making some inroads with Rosalie after all, “I’m glad he could help.”

“Quite,” said Rosalie, as she turned towards Francis, “Do you mind explaining this project you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Sure,” Francis stated, giving Helene a brief glance before beginning, “As we’ve discussed in the past, the non-Colored seem to be enforcing greater restrictions on Colored populations and wizards are becoming worried that the security measures that worked when there was little scrutiny will completely fail during a crack down on Colored communities.”

“You must have heard about the militias who destroyed the Maroon settlements all those years back?” added Helene.

“I have, but that was quite a while ago and a few of your fellow freedmen assisted, no?” said Rosalie.

“Well...yes, but—” Helene started.

“...our elders believe that soon enough similar measures will be taken due to the visions a few of them have had — but this time these actions will include the destruction of free Colored communities as well,” Francis ended.

Helene sat back, surprised that Francis would share the contents of a vision with Rosalie. They had been entrusted with this information by the elders, who’d expected them to keep it quiet lest the details of the vision lead to a mass exodus. Neither Helene nor Francis had shared this information with their parents.

If Rosalie noticed Helene’s reaction, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she nodded saying, “This matches some of our concerns. One of our elders had a vision of settlers pushing us further out of our land soon.”

The three sat in silence for a beat, each trying to decipher what it meant that elders from two different communities shared similarly foreboding visions.

“And you’re suggesting the answer to this forthcoming violence is what? Teaching?” said Rosalie with light sarcasm.

“But you see, the location is central to this plan,” started Helene.

“What? In swampland?” asked Rosalie in a near sneer, “As you can see, we live a good deal away from settler eyes and can practice magic without being devoured by mosquitoes. Why would I leave my students here to go teach in a lagoon?”

Francis caught Rosalie’s gaze, “Rosalie, that’s a bit unfair. We would never ask you to leave your students.”

“No? You’d have me ask their parents permission to uproot them from the family and home they know because of a few visions and your friend’s ‘brilliant’ plan?” she finished, no longer containing her barbed speech.

“That’s it. It’s fine.” said Helene angrily standing up, “You can keep your students and your teaching and your potions here. I don’t want help from anyone more worried about mosquitoes than they are about protecting their people.”

Francis quickly stood up and moved between the two women. “I don’t think we’ll have any progress in conversation here today. Rosalie, if you don’t like the idea of helping us build the school, would you at least consider coming out a couple of times a week? We could really use a potions master of your caliber,” he said with a strained smile.

Rosalie gave an imperceptible incline of the head, while waving them away.

Francis led Helene out of the door, with only a slight glance back on their way out. Helene grumpily moved out of his arm span and stomped her way towards the reservation entrance, not sure who she was most angry with at the moment.

While halfway down the hill, Helene felt the presence of another person and glanced back to find Boaz following them. When she stopped and turned in Boaz’ direction, Francis caught up with Helene and then waited as well.

Boaz stopped in front the couple and said, “I heard what you said to my sister. I want to help you.”

Helene, who had been braced for round two of the argument they’d just left with Rosalie, was unprepared for this interaction, “Pardon me?”

“I want to help you build your school and help teach people,” Boaz repeated, “You may find my gifts better suited to your goals than Rosalie’s anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m a weaver and builder.”

“May I ask,” Helene inquired, “Why you’d like to help us, after I just had a row with your sister?”

Boaz’ face remained diplomatic, but even so Helene could see a twinkle in their eyes, “My sister often has rows. What matters here are the visions you spoke of, you see, the elder Rosalie mentioned is my grandmother.”

Francis gasped, “Mrs. Sennet had that vision?”

“Yes,” Boaz answered, “And she told me that when your friend came, I was to assist. I’ll await your next correspondence by osprey.” Then with a nod to Francis and Helene, Boaz trekked back up the hill.

Helene and Francis looked at each other in stunned silence for a minute or so, before turning to continue their way back to the reservation’s Apparition point.

Francis stopped Helene before she turned to Apparate back to the park on her own. “That wasn’t how I expected this to go, but I think it’s safe to call this trip a success, right?”

Helene gave him a small shrug before turning on the spot, just before she pictured her destination, she thought triumphantly, “We did it!”

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

Eple Creation

Before drafting an eple, or spell as it is said in English, you must first sequester yourself to a location at a great distance from others. While simply thinking of an incantation isn’t sufficient to conjure a spell with one's hands, if one isn’t careful you may find yourself absentmindedly muttering different spells as you work through an incantation.

The simplest eples are created by using the prefix of one spell and the suffix of another. For example, if taking the prefix ‘levi’ from the incantations — Levicorpus or Wingardum Leviosa — then adding the suffix ‘me’ from the incantation – Point Me — one would find themselves hovering in the direction of the item they seek.

Eples are best created by wizards who have a wide range of incantations under their belt because they know how each eple feels when spoken and achieved. It is for this reason that eple creation is not taught to students until they have shown mastery of non-verbal eples.

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

[speedygal]

Nothing can come close to this - chapter 16

“Mr Spock,” McCoy said, coming to Spock’s side.

“Doctor?” Spock said, coming to a stop in the corridor turning toward the younger man.

“As a doctor,” McCoy started, clasping his hands together. “I get the distinct feelin’ ya not telling anyone somethin’ and it might be very important to your health.”

Spock raised a silver, slanted brow.

“What gives you the impression of that?” Spock inquired.

“I dunno,” McCoy said. “It is just a feelin’.” he shrugged, linking his hands behind his back. “A feelin’ that you’re goin’ through somethin’ ya not tellin’ anyone. When ya do feel the need to talk to someone, my office is open. Talkin’ is good for the soul.”

“I will be sure to take note of that,” Spock walked on heading toward the transporter leaving a concerned  McCoy behind catching up with Kirk and Chapel on the way to the Transporter room. 

Being back in the section that divided the colony ship wasn’t as weird as Kirk had implied it would be, jokingly, before beaming himself back to his ship once the energy dampers were lowered. Just getting out of the suit quickly and taking out his holo-emitter bag from his pocket. Spock had his helmet pressed against his side. Spock pressed a series of switches on the side and looked over toward T’Pring. She pressed the switches and they shared nods. They pulled a leveler at once sending the final piece flying from the vessel. The balcony gave  a better view of space as a whole watching the abandoned, ghost part fall into the star filled canvas.  The Enterprise fired on the grave yard multiple times until it started to explode from the inside sending scrap metal flying in all directions and the bright flames served as a finale. Spock sighed, his demeanor remaining as calm and collected compared to the stern and serious Vulcan. Spock tore his gaze from the window toward T’Pring.

“I grieve with thee,” Spock said.

T’Pring turned her attention on to Spock.

“Were you the last group to leave Vulcan?” T’Pring said.

Spock nodded.

“I was,” Spock replied. “What is left of the Vulcan Science Academy and Vulcan Command is part of my colony.”

“Were there anyone left behind?“ T’Pring asked.

“I searched before I left and could not find any. Only rubble, decomposing Vulcans, the remains of the disaster,” Spock said. “The young Vulcan boy was the last and only one I could find .”

“The dark one,” T’Pring said.

“T’Telvis,” Spock said.

“I am puzzled. . .” T’Pring said. “he is always with you no matter where you are. Where is T’Telvis?”

Spock closed his eyes, having a difficult with a sigh coming out, regretfully.

“He was taken from my hands,” Spock said. “Including the children I was in charge of---”

“All of them,” T’Pring said.

“Yes,” Spock said. “By Saru.”

T’Pring grew shaken for  a Vulcan.

“Captain Saru,” T’Pring said, terrified yet calmly. “Was given responsibility to take them to Vulcan slave owners.”

It sounded like the news had been just told to her that one of the worst in the empire was sent to deal with the Vulcan colony ships fleeing the empire. The same one who takes illegal children crossing the border of the empire and sends them to imperial reeducation centers where they would surely be sent into the system, distributed to foster parents, become brainwashed, and turn into extremely loyal members of the empire who would die for it. If they were lucky enough, he would drop them down onto a planet that hadn’t been subjugated and allowed to fight for survival against the planet’s wildlife on their terms. His tactics started over a hundred years ago where the seeds had turned into thriving civilizations on the level of agriculture and were quickly subjugated a few years ago.  Fates that no Vulcan child would get to share.

Spock opened his eyes.

“Yes,” Spock said.

“They are dead,” T’Pring said.

“I still feel them,” Spock said. “And that. . . and that. . . I cannot reconcile.”

“I am fortunate not to have lost my charge,” T’Pring said.

“You are,” Spock said. “Keeping myself together in the last few months has been . . . . difficult.”

“Have you meditated?” T’Pring said.

“Recently, I have been given newfound opportunities to meditate,” Spock said. “To be Vulcan and Human without compromising my emotional being. My link with the children has only been worse for the wear. . .”

T’Pring’s eyes slightly widened.

“Being separated from the children never ended for you,” T’Pring said. “You have not shielded yourself.”

“Who am I not to hold their hands and give them hope that they will survive it?” Spock snapped back. “That I will see them another day, alive and well, free.” he turned away from the window. “It is all they have.”

“You are lying to them,” T’Pring said. “Giving them false hope is not logical.”

“Lies are all that we have left,” Spock said, then tapped on the combadge. “Spock to Enterprise, one to beam over.” He turned toward her giving the ta’al. “Live long and prosper.”

T’Pring returned it watching him vanish.

“Peace and long life,” T’Pring replied. I hope you find that peace, was what she meant to say, as she became the only Vulcan left in the dark room.