#Phantom Rose II | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

n3on-graveston3s-calling · 1 year ago

Text

No Plan [ The Still of Your Hand ]

Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman ( Briefly ), Reader Rating: E Word Count: 4,874 Warnings / Tags: Medical trauma (brief), phantom limb syndrome, medical talk, Reader is the ship's doctor, Dom!Reader (surprise), Shanks needs a break Author's Note: This is 13 pages of smut with some plot. I hope you enjoy. Also, my requests are open if y'all want anything... Specific. MDNI: THIS IS 18+ CONTENT.

Part II of the Think I Need Someone Older series [ Part I: Mihawk ] ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sweetheart, give me a hand, yeah?” Shanks called out, drawing your attention away from the journal you’d been writing in- tracking your progress in logs as you sailed with the infamous Red Hair Pirates. You weren’t necessarily a permanent part of the crew- moreso, they were a means to your end. You abandoned your journal for the time being, rising from your seat on the deck of the ship to cross over to the captain. Restocking from the last port you’d docked at; he’d opened up a box of medical supplies.

Another reason you were here- to play temporary doctor while their own was laid up.

“Sure, sure. Make me do all the hard work,” you teased, grabbing hold of the box of rubbing alcohol- ten glass bottles. He’d paid a pretty price for these supplies, you noted. “‘S like you got a mini hospital runnin’ on this ship.”

“I like to be prepared, love.” He shrugged, lips curving into a wide grin. It’s not a big surprise, really; after what he’d gone through over the years, of course he’d want to be prepared. You never know when a Neptunian is going to rise out of the water and take a bite out of you.

You turned, shuffling your way into the small room that was used as a med bay as he followed after, a box tucked against his side. You could hear Roux laughing through the wall; the kitchen was on the other side. No doubt, he was bothering Benn while cooking up the crew’s dinner for the evening. You’d never tasted better cooking than what Lucky Roux could make. “Are we expecting to be overrun?” You couldn’t help but joke, drawing a laugh out of the other. “I mean, granted- your supplies were low when I joined you.”

“We’re not the best at keeping up with supplies-”

“-that aren’t liquor? Yeah, I’ve noticed.” A roll of the eyes as you lean over at the waist, sliding the remaining bottles into a cabinet.

Shanks paused, hand raised, sterile cloth clutched in hand as he watched you. He couldn’t deny the lust that coursed through him when he thought of you; the way you’d bite back at the comments from the crew with no hesitation. How you’d stood up to Benn when he’d questioned your decision regarding the treatment of Yasopp’s latest injury. How you hadn’t minced your words when talking to himself. You had a spine of steel and a bite to match. And by the Gods, he liked that. Not to mention the view you were giving right now. His gaze traced over the dip in your spine, the way you stretched forward, how your thighs spread-

You rose.

His gaze averted quickly, placing the sterilized cloth in a container. “We like to drink.” He mumbled, a feeling of almost shame washing over him. It was broken though by a phantom pain racing through where his left arm would have been. A gasp spills free from between clenched teeth, his brows drawing inward as he drops the box, grasping at the stub that remained. He could swear he could feel his hand in that moment- or what it would feel like, clenched into a tight fist.

“Shanks-” You murmured, reaching out to settle a hand on his remaining arm, brows raised in alarm and worry. “Shanks, sit down- you’re pale.”

“‘M fine,” he tried to argue, yet allowed you to lead him to sit on the edge of the cot. It took your hand against his chest for him to lay back, drawing shallow breaths in. This was… Not normal, necessarily. Sure, he’d gotten phantom pains on occasion, but it had been months since the last occurrence. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know. But it’s also time to change out those bandages, right?” You offered a small, disarming smile. The bandages prevented the skin from growing agitated and raw due to the salt in the air- and the water. “C’mon, old man. Let me see.”

“Old man?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he let the coat fall from his shoulders. “I’m not that much older than you… Am I?” His lips pursed into a frown as he considered his age. He’d only just turned thirty-eight, he wasn’t that old. Hell, by the standards of the men on his ship- and the men and women he’d sailed with in the past- he was still young!

“You’ve got a good few years on me,” you hummed, winking playfully as you turned your attention to the tied sleeve. Without thinking, you reached forward, gripping the edges of his shirt- only to have his hand reach out quickly, grasping your wrist. You looked up, meeting a playful crimson gaze and a slowly growing smirk.

“Now, if ye wanted me out of my clothes that badly, all ye needed to do was ask.” Shanks teased, a soft edge of a growl to his voice that had your heart skipping a beat. Oh. Oh, you totally understood how men and women alike fell under him with ease.

“That’s not-” You argued, only to huff and tug his shirt up- and over his head, covering his face. “Smother.”

“Oy, oy!” He laughed loudly, reaching up to tug the shirt the rest of the way over his head. Torso revealed, he leaned back against the inclined bed casually, grin spread across his lips. “Happy, Doc?”

“You’re insufferable.” You rolled your eyes before setting to removing the old bandages. You’d heard the story about how he had lost the arm, but it was still riveting to think of. A Neptunian- and he survived. Whoever had handled the care when it occurred had done a damn good job. “Are you still having the phantom pain now?”

“No.” Shanks sighed, looking over to study your hands. “Not now that I can-... Well, see.”

“Right.” You hummed, careful with your touches. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Why’s that?”

“... Anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes?”

“Yep. Tons.” You grinned cheekily as you began to rewrap the amputated appendage. “Though, I’ll gladly hear it from you more often, if you’d be so kind.”

“Did you paint your nails?” His question caught you off guard.

You tied off the knot before pulling your hands back to study. You had painted them the night before, a vivid shade of ruby. You showed your hands to your Captain, who watched your every movement like a hawk. How… Curious. “I did. Do you like them?”

He reached up, grasping one to draw it closer- before he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I think the color is… Very flattering.” He spoke against your knuckles, the rasp of his voice stirring the coals of want. Your voice felt stuck in your throat as his stubble scraped gently against your fingers. “Such beautiful hands…”

The sound of footsteps broke you both apart, Shanks not dropping your hand but sitting upright. You, however, pulled your hand back as Benn appeared, a brow raised as he studied you. “Logs?”

“Ah, shite.” Shanks sighed, grabbing hold of his shirt to tug back on, followed by the coat. “Fine, fine. I dunno what I’d do without you, Benn.”

“Be in trouble.” Benn commented with a knowing smirk, meeting your gaze over Shanks’ head. “Yasopp also wants to know where the box is with his ammo.”

“It’s a box. Marked ammunition.” You grumbled, tossing the scraps of bandage into the trash, hiding the way your cheeks had flushed at being caught. But nothing had happened. Nothing- except for Shanks holding your hand to his lips, except for the needy rasp in his voice, except for the way he’d looked at you as if he wanted to devour you on the spot.

Your captain wanted you.

You wanted him.

What a dangerous game.

You ducked out after Benn, crossing over to the forecastle deck, retrieving your journal and inkwell from the box you’d set them in- to save them from sliding about deck. You couldn’t remember what you had been writing, too flustered over what had just occurred. Swallowing roughly, you focused instead on the horizon- on the gathering clouds. A storm? The wind had shifted, rain cooled. It would be a rough night, it seemed, unless the ship was able to skirt the storm.

It was a storm. A nasty one that had all hands on deck. You yelled over to Yasopp, only for your voice to be drowned out in the sound of waves crashing onto the deck. You cursed as you grabbed onto the railing. Even on the edges of it, the sea had turned against you for the night. Shanks stood at the wheel, shouting commands as he steered the ship into the angered waves. Roux grabbed your arm and dragged you below deck; there was only so much you yourself could do in this situation. It was better to stay below and wait it out with a few others of the crew.

You felt the bow rise high, watched as barrels rolled and boxes slid or fully toppled over, before the bow crashed and the stern rose. Into the waves, Shanks had said. That was the safest way to ride this out. If they went with the waves, the keel would break, and everyone would drown.

You weren’t sure how long it was until the ocean settled. Long enough that you had managed to find a space where you wouldn’t fall over with each rock of the ship. You rose to your feet, stretching with a grimace as you wandered from your hiding spot. Something was tugging at the back of your mind, leading you through the ship. You found your destination in the form of the Captain’s Quarters. A glance behind you showed that the sun hadn’t risen yet; the moon was still in the sky, though steadily falling towards the horizon. But light spilled from beneath the door, signifying that Shanks was still awake. You knocked, waiting-

“Enter!” He called, voice muffled by the heavy wood.

You opened the door, stepping in before closing it behind yourself. “You’re still awake.”

“Unfortunately.” He offered a weary smile; the shadows beneath his gaze showing just how exhausted he was. He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Wanted to make sure we’d be clear of the storm.”

“It’s to our southeast now,” you made your way over, leaning your hip against the desk. “You need to rest, Cap.”

“Too wound up, now.” A vague gesture about; you understood that. Adrenaline in the system weaned away, leaving nothing but anxiety and muscles tensed too tightly to relax.

Your fingers tapped upon the wood, drawing his attention once more. You didn’t notice at first, until he didn’t say anything else. No followup quip. Head tilting, you studied Shanks as he watched your hand, enraptured by the movement of your fingers. An idea came to mind, one wicked enough to prompt blood to rush to the surface of your cheeks, to have your thighs squeezing together at the mere thought.

“Let me help you.”

“Pardon?” He pulled his gaze away, watching as you moved around the edge of the desk, stepping closer to him. He pushed his seat back, gaze roving over your form, drinking in how you looked in the golden light of the oil lamp. Hair slightly mused from the little sleep you’d gotten, bottom lip swollen from you biting it. “How?”

“You need to… Relax, yes?” You didn’t settle on his lap like he’d been expecting- but rather, you stood behind him, hands resting upon his shoulders. “Let me help you relax. Take away some of this awful tension you’ve been keeping.” Your fingers dug into the muscle beneath, drawing out a pleased groan as his head dropped forward. “Gods, Shanks- you’ve got more knots than the ratlines.”

A humored chuckle escaped, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he straightened up a touch, leaning into your touch more as your thumbs dug into his shoulders, drifting closer to his neck. He exhaled slowly, the subtle rumble of a groan coloring the sound. The sound drew a shudder across your skin; this was dangerous. But you couldn’t stop, even as one of your hands settled around his throat, the other under his chin, prompting his head to tilt back. Auburn tresses shifted back with the movement, baring the scars that laid across his eye- and the hunger within his gaze, pupils blown. You squeezed against his throat for a moment, pressing in at the sides rather down against the windpipe-

He moaned.

Eyes falling shut, mouth dropping open, the sound spilling forth like music to your ears.

“I can reach better in bed.” Your voice was barely above a murmur as you retracted your hands, watching as his gaze snapped open at the loss of touch. “If you want more.”

“Please.” He breathed, rising slowly to turn towards you. Shanks was a tall man, towering over your form. He reached out, cupping your cheek as he leaned down. His lips met yours in a slow, languid kiss; no rush to it, but the heat had your knees buckling, reaching up to take hold of his shoulders. “Please,” he repeated into the kiss, backing you against the window frames, pressing into you. He hungered for you, you realized: his kiss was full of the same kind of greed a man starved would harbor. You pulled back, only to graze his lower lip with your teeth.

“Go,” you whispered, watching the way he grinned, turning away to saunter into his room. His shirt was tugged off and tossed to the side carelessly. You didn’t undress, not yet- though, you did unlace your boots and kick them aside before following. You had a plan for this- a plan to help your beloved captain relax.

To release the tension that ate at him.

“On the bed.” You ordered, watching as he paused. “Did I stutter?”

“No.” He answered quickly, shaking his head as he made his way to the bed. It was certainly fit for a captain- large enough to fit four, with bedsheets that you were certain cost more than you had on your person. Shanks grinned as he climbed onto the bed, settling on his knees in the center. “Aren’t you going to undress?”

“Not yet,” you smiled sweetly as you approached, steps slow- measured. He was already nearly bursting at the seams- quite literally, you noticed by the way his trousers strained at the front. “I have an idea. You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?” Your lip fell into a subtle pout as you reached out, cupping his cheeks as he shuffled closer, leaning into your touch as it trailed from his cheeks, to his jaw, to the base of his throat. “You’ll let me ease your worries, yes?”

“Yes,” he breathed, lips parting as your hands smoothed over his chest, taking a moment to massage his pecs. His lips titled up in a smile.

“You’ll let me,” you began, hands settling on his hips, offering a gentle yet firm squeeze before one hand drifted forward, drifting across the bulge that sat prettily for you. He shuddered, eyes falling shut at your touch. “Take away your stress?”

“Yes, please. Please,” oh, he nearly whined as you undid the button of his trousers before tugging them down. You weren’t shocked to see a lack of underwear. Of course not. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

“That’s my boy. Look at you- already hard just from a massage and a kiss. You poor thing!” Cooing, your fingers traced along the prominent vein that sat upon the underside of his cock. Shanks shuddered at the light touch, his eyes falling shut as he shuddered. You couldn’t resist, leaning into pepper kisses along his jawline as you continued your featherlight touches, feeling the way he twitched at the teasing feeling.

His hand reached out almost hesitantly, grasping at the front of your shirt, pulling hard enough on accident to send you both toppling onto the bed. A bark of laughter escaped as he sprawled on his back with you atop him. “Not what I planned, but I like this, too,” he grinned up at you as you pushed yourself up to hover over him. With his red hair splayed out about the sheets, your breath caught in your chest.

Shanks was a remarkable sight. Skin tanned to a warm tone, gaze bright despite the lust that clung to him, the faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, unable to hold yourself back. An appreciative sigh spilled from Shanks as he reached up, cupping the back of your head, holding you closer to deepen the kiss. Teeth nipped at your bottom lip, stirring the heat that had already begun to spread through you.

No- no, he wouldn’t get the upper hand here. You returned the nip in a harsher manner, pulling free a startled gasp from your lover as you pulled back, licking at your kiss bruised lips. “Be a good boy- take off your shirt,” as you spoke, you moved, turning to face the headboard. You adjusted the pillows, stacking them to offer your back respite as you settled down with a sigh. Better, much better.

Shanks rushed as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it to Gods know where before turning to face you. His cheeks flushed, a breathless smile curving his lips as he sat upon his knees proudly.

“Pants, too.”

“Bossy,” he muttered as he took a moment to wiggle out of his trousers, letting them slide off the side of the bed to the floor below. They’ll be fine down there, you decided as you beckoned him closer. His smile turned dangerous as he shuffled closer-

“No, no. Not like that, sweetheart,” you shook your head, watching in amusement as he paused, visibly confused. “Come, lay back against my chest.”

“Lay- oh. Oh!” Realization dawned as he understood your plan, coming to settle his back against your chest, his head resting on your right shoulder. “What about you?” He asked, turning his head to press lingering kisses along your throat. “When do I get a taste of you?”

“Later. This is about you, Captain,” your hand smoothed down his side, nails digging into tanned skin, drawing forth soft red lines along his pelvis. His hips jerked at the pain, a hiss of breath sucked in between clenched teeth. A living work of art, you thought to yourself as your hand smoothed upwards, pausing to tweak a nipple. Another hiss, another shift of his hips into open air. “How often do you get treated like this?”

“Not… Often,” came the soft admittance as he busied himself with sucking bruises into your throat, bound and determined to try to get you as worked up as he was. “Usually, I’m the one in charge.”

A soft moan slipped past your lips at the feeling of his teeth sinking in; that would certainly leave a pretty bruise come morning. “What a shame. I know that must get so tiring for you, yes?” Your fingers settled on his jaw, tilting his head away from your neck. You shifted slightly, adjusting to get a better view as you tapped your fingers against his lips. “Open for me, darling.” Not a request.

Shanks obeyed. His lips parted, allowing your fingers entry before he closed his lips around the digits, eyes falling shut in tandem as his tongue laved at your fingers. You could imagine- rather vividly- what else that sinful mouth could do with the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his tongue curved around your fingers, coating them liberally. Sure, you could have been crude and spat in your palm- but this was better, far better than you could have ever imagined.

Especially as your free hand settled on his chest, massaging his pec slowly, squeezing the sensitive muscle. Fingers traced his nipple, watching as it hardened beneath your touch, as goosebumps broke across his skin. It was almost cute, you thought to yourself- how sensitive, how receptive Shanks was to your touch. You withdrew your fingers, though he wasn’t satisfied yet- reaching up to grasp your wrist, tongue laving along your palm.

You squeaked.

“That should do it, eh, treasure?” Shanks rasped, grinning up at you as you shook your head in disbelief. He knew your plan, the bastard. He reached over to the bedside table, tugging the drawer open to pull out a small glass vial. “Though, this might work a touch better.”

“Said the man who was just giving my fingers essential fellatio.” You quipped, cheeks flushed as he laughed, watching you wipe your fingers clean. “Give it.”

“Here,” he settled it in your palm, though took your momentary distraction to sweep in, stealing another kiss from you. You gripped the bottle in one hand while the other swept upwards, cupping his cheek. The angle was a tad awkward, but that didn’t matter- not with the way Shanks seemed bound and determined to get a reaction out of you from a kiss alone.

And a reaction, he got, as his hand settled on your waist, smoothed down to palm between your thighs. You gasped raggedly into the kiss, pulling back from him to frown. “You’re an ass- now lay back, for Gods’ sakes.”

“Can’t help it. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you- wanted this. To touch you,” his back settled against your chest once more. Your arms wound around his middle as you worked the cork out of the bottle, using the lube to slick up your fingers and palm. “How many nights I’ve spent in this bed, thinking of what it’d be like to have you here.”

“That so?” You hummed, listening to the hitch in his breath as your hand settled around him, dragging upwards slowly- base to tip, back down again. “What did you picture? Tell me your fantasies, Shanks,” your free hand settled at the base of his throat once more as his head tilted back, brows drawn inwards. “Did you picture me under you? Begging for your touch?”

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips shifting to slowly grind into your touch, thighs tensing at the subtle scrape of your nails along the sensitive skin of his cock. “Yes- yes, of that. Of how your mouth would feel around my cock. How- oh- how I’d love to watch you take every inch of me.”

“Every inch?” He twitched in your grasp as you circled the head. Curiosity got the better of you as your palm smoothed over the tip- and oh, what a reaction that garnered! His hips stuttered upwards, his words failed as he moaned loudly, hand flying up to grab at your wrist.

“Shit!” He gasped out a laugh, eyes hazy as he shook his head. “How- yer a little minx,” his accent had grown thicker as he fell beneath the waves of arousal that crashed over him. “Don’t stop.”

“Keep your hand to yourself, and I won’t.” It was interesting- to be in control of this situation. Shanks huffed, but reached up, taking hold of your free hand to lace your fingers together. Such an intimate gesture… You smiled to yourself before regaining your pace. Faster, now- eagerly jerking him off as he continued to moan and writhe beneath your touch. How precum leaked from his tip, aiding in the glide of your palm. You broke your pattern, reaching down to fondle his balls, offering the barest hint of a squeeze.

Shanks nearly sobbed out at the feeling. “Close- close, dear Gods I’m so close, don’t stop!” He pleaded with you, turning his head to tuck in against your throat.

Your fingers circled his base- and squeezed.

“Oh, you BASTARD.” He gasped, panting against your throat as you staved off his impending orgasm.

“Did you really think I’d let you cum that easily?” You grinned as you began to touch lightly once more- as you did in the beginning. “I told you I’d be taking care of you, didn’t I, Captain?”

“I didn’t think it’d be… Oh- ha- like this,” he mumbled against you, his hips twitching up into your touch. You hummed, your grip tightening and holding still, letting Shanks rut up into the warm squeeze. “Oh, my treasure- please, please-”

“Please what? Don’t tell me you’re close again already!”

“Can’t help- can’t help it!” He whined- and oh, how that was music to your ears as he fucked in earnest into your grip. “Please!”

“No.” You drew your hand away completely, listening to the frustrated groan that escaped Shanks. “You can wait a little longer, yes?”

“You’re evil.”

“But, baby,” you murmured, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. Hazy- hard for him to focus. He wasn’t one who dabbled in edging often, you noted; he truly wouldn’t last beyond one more round, not unless you wished to deal with consequences. That was a boundary yet to be discussed. “Tell me it doesn’t feel good. Tell me you don’t feel like pure lightning right now.” Shanks sighed, drawing in a calming breath. “Good boy, just like that. I promise I’ll let you cum this time-”

“Oh, thank Gods-”

“If you beg.”

“Beg?” He blinked, the haze clearing from his gaze for a moment. Beg? That’s all he had to do? Oh, he could beg. His grin sharpened as he settled back down, your hand pressing against his chest, pulling him down. “Beg for ye?”

“Beg for me to let you cum.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Then suffer.” You grinned, palm smoothing over the head of his cock, fingers curving down as you rotated your wrist, stimulating the glands in ways he didn’t know was possible.

He jolted against your hold, a hoarse cry escaping his lips. “Sweet Eros!” He sobbed to the God of Pleasure, stomach tensing up as your hand began to stroke in earnest.

You leaned your head down, your lips caressing his ear. “I’ll be nice- you don’t need to beg this time. Next time, you will, but this time? I want you to cum, Shanks. I want you to cum for me. I wanna hear you cry for me. Can you do that? Can you be a good boy and cry for me? Let everyone know who’s gotten you to this point?”

Your words, the way your hand was twisting, it was all too much for the Captain. His head fell back against your shoulder as he moaned out your name- long, loud, repeating it like a mantra as he spilled over your hand, onto his stomach, making a mess. You pressed kiss after kiss his temple as he shuddered through it until his hand gently pushed at your wrist; the overstimulation too much for him.

Your- now dirtied- hand settled to the side while your clean hand smoothed over his chest, feeling the way his breathing gradually evened out over the next few minutes. “You did so good,” you murmured, pressing another kiss to his temple as he sighed, stretching. “I expected no less from my Captain.”

“You must be a siren,” he decided as he sat up, looking at you over his shoulder. “Here, I’ll get a-”

“Nope.” You had already clambered out of the bed and made your way to his private bathroom. “Stay. I’m grabbing a towel!” You called back, though you took a moment to study the marks he’d left on your throat. Five of them. Five. On one side. And one was certainly a visible bite mark, the dog. You returned with a warmed wash cloth to see Shanks lazing on the bed, arm behind his head, his gaze tracking your movements like a cat of prey.

This was far from over, you thought distantly.

“How do you feel?” You asked as you wiped his stomach clean, taking a moment to teasing lick a spot clean just to hear the way he’d hissed.

“Relaxed,” came the admittance as he reached out, taking your hand to pull you in. You tossed the rag aside, climbing into bed beside him. His arm wrapped around you, holding you in against his side. “You didn’t-”

“Wasn’t about me.”

“... Do you want to?”

You turned your head, pressing gentle kisses along his jawline. “Later, you can make it up to me. For now, you should rest. That was a lot- more than what you’re normally used to, right?”

“Mm. Normally the one edging others, not being edged.”

“Exactly.” You grabbed the blankets- blessedly unsoiled- and tugged them up, covering your legs. “Get a few hours of sleep. Ben can handle the morning, can’t he?”

Shanks didn’t argue, shuffling down beneath the blankets. He sighed deeply as you settled against his side, arm tossed over his stomach, leg over his hip. “Could get used to this, yeknow,” he mumbled, sleep already starting to drag him under.

“So could I,” you whispered, listening to the pleased hum that rumbled in his chest. You smiled to yourself as Shanks fell asleep, your own eyes closing. A few hours of sleep could do you both good.

You’d need it, for what he had planned in retaliation.

#one piece #shanks smut #shanks x reader #one piece smut #shanks x you #one piece imagines #think i need someone older #kanon's writings #TW: medical trauma #TW: phantom limb syndrome #yeah that's all I can think of enjoy

327 notes · View notes

where-dreamers-go · 3 months ago

Text

"Sparks Of Rebels" Ezra Bridger x Reader — Part One

(A/N: This takes place during season four in this soulmate au; after episode four. For the sake of storytelling, I made up two planets and some Imperial officers. Warnings: minor angst, canon violence, and use of (Y/F/N) for your first name, (Y/L/N) for your last name, and (Y/N) for your name. Word Count: 7,870 words)

~~~

The galaxy was wide and spacious with systems varying from livable ecosystems to the most uninhabitable. Even in some cities it seemed a difficult place to live lately.

You did your part to help those who needed it. A load of food portions in one town, a crate of medicine for another, and so on. Such was living in the Galactic Empire.

Each trip to a system managed to be calm enough. No suspicious glances your way. No raised alarms.

Your luck turned sour on a Mid Rim planet. Apparently Imperial forces were thorough and extremely present.

Just a simple questioning, you thought as you clenched your hands together in front of you. We’re not even in an office or anything. Places to run and hide. Troopers everywhere though.

You watched as a pair of stormtroopers shoved a civilian away. Free to go it seemed.

“Next.” A stoic Imperial officer announced without glancing up from his datapad.

You stepped forward.

I’m guessing I shouldn’t say ‘hello’.

“ID.”

Reaching into a secure pocket, you managed to slip out your ID card without fumbling.

Another officer, a woman with dark eyes, snatched the card from you. “Commandant, sir.”

A few seconds passed and you knew they were seeing every public file on you. Not just a little never-wracking.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

“You’re a long way from home,” the Commandant said. “Found business out here?”

“The culinary HoloNet has too many recommendations for me to pass by…sir.” You said in as light a tone as you could.

Being calm wouldn’t be good enough, it only made you suspicious.

“There’s this dessert pie that more than a dozen people showed just this week. It has an added layer of dark ch—”

He rose his hand, “That’s enough.”

You nodded.

Eager to please makes some uncomfortable. That’s safe.

“We’ve been having trouble with insurgents entering systems and causing unprovoked chaos in our Imperial cities. We must catch any insurgents before they hurt any citizens.”

Sure, you thought.

He met your gaze. “I will not let any pass into my city.”

“More systems should add these security measures.” You said politely without gagging. An added smile for good measure framed your face.

“Indeed.” The Commandant straightened his back and after a moment made a gesture to the lower ranking officer.

She took back your ID and headed to you once more.

“Then,” continued the man, “you will approve of our new precautions.”

A shiver of cold warning went through your veins.

New precautions?

Gingerly, you retrieved your ID card, but in the same moment the woman grabbed your left wrist in a vice grip. You took a step back.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

She pulled back your jacket’s sleeve.

“It’s all for the good of our beloved Empire,” promised the Commandant. “Let’s see if you can be of service.” He walked over to the pair of you.

Reaching to her hip, the woman pulled out a large sensor you hated to see in the hands of an Imperial. She scanned over a group of unique symbols on your forearm. Unreadable to some.

Kriff. Why would they need to know my soulmate’s name? You thought as anxiety built in your stomach. They can’t read it.

By the surprised expressions on their faces that quickly morphed into sickening grins, you knew it was only good news for them.

Ezra Bridger, what have you done?

. . .

Sitting in the Phantom II, Ezra gazed into the blue sky of Yavin IV in need of peace.

Sure, he was in a growing rebellion, but he required time to sort out his thoughts. His feelings lately that didn’t match his surroundings.

“You want to talk about it?” Kanan asked from behind him as he entered the small ship.

“It doesn’t add up,” Ezra sighed. “Everyone’s safe. No one is even on a mission and I feel like — like something’s wrong.” He turned to Kanan, the man appeared contemplative even while wearing an eye shield mask.

“True, from your perspective. If the Force is trying to tell you something, you need to be more open to listen.”

“More listening,” Ezra scratched his left forearm lightly. “All right.”

“You have to be willing to listen…even if it might not make sense at the time,” Kanan added.

Right. Willing to listen, Ezra thought as he closed his eyes.

Breath evening and deepening, the Jedi opened his mind. All thoughts quieted just as the ship he sat in.

Sitting with his padawan, Kanan joined in the meditation.

In moments of uncertainty, Ezra was grateful to have the members of the Ghost crew. His family. People he cared for who cared for him in return. A closeness that reminded Ezra that he wasn’t alone.

An image flashed through Ezra’s mind and hit him with anxiety.

He gasped.

“What did you see?” Kanan asked.

“Something unexpected. Someone I don’t—no—I know who they are,” Ezra turned to Kanan. “They’re in trouble. I didn’t see their face, but they’re scared. Maybe trapped.”

“Someone from Lothal?”

“No.”

This could be worse, he thought.

Before either Jedi could discuss further, Zeb rushed in through the hatch.

“Hey kid, there’s, uh,” Zeb rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “There’s some intel you should probably know. Hera just got it in.” He pointed behind him.

“Lead the way,” said Kanan as he stood up. “I have a feeling we’ll need to hear this.”

“Right.” Zeb offered Ezra a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Maybe the news won’t be too bad. If it’s about them.

The three rebels fast-walked, practically trotted, to a briefing room within the ancient building. When they walked in, only Hera, Sabine, and Chopper were present.

What kind of intel is it? Ezra wondered as he noted the lack of people normally occupying the space.

“Ezra,” Hera said softly.

His stomach twisted and Ezra asked, “What happened?”

She exhaled slowly as the crew gathered around the holotable.

No one looked him in the eye and it only made him worry to think of the image he saw. A movement of someone’s arm with ancient symbols, soulmate language. Difficult to read if it wasn’t your own name or of your soulmate.

Is my soulmate in trouble? He almost asked out loud.

“The Empire has been mentioning your name increasingly, Ezra,” Hera announced as she stood near him, “but not because of your last mission.”

He swallowed.

“The Empire has your soulmate, Ezra.”

“Karabast.” Zeb groaned.

Heart sinking, Ezra asked quietly, “How would they even know?”

“The Empire has its ways.” Kanan crossed his arms over his chest. “This is new, even for them.”

“Unfortunately,” Sabine stepped in, “they’ve also acquired some expensive tech.” She pressed a button and a hologram of a bulky datapad-looking device with a scanner displayed itself. “It scans, translates, and inputs soulmate symbols. They could be storing the information for blackmail.”

“When did they get shipments in?” Kanan asked.

“That’s the thing. The Empire doesn’t have any record of purchasing or designing the scanners. No plans. No prototypes. Nothing.”

“Do we know where they have (Y/F/N)?” Ezra inquired, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach as he spoke your name in front of everyone.

“Marvis Three. Mid Rim system,” Hera answered. “Comandant Irfon Dawes has been holding (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) for nearly a week.”

“A week?”

“Probably this Commandant is looking for a promotion.” Zeb growled. “A dirty way to try to catch us.”

“It’s clever, I’ll give him that.” Hera said before glancing to Ezra. “I’m sorry, Ezra.”

“Me too,” the young Jedi murmured.

Placing a hand on Ezra’s shoulder, Kanan asked an important question. “When are we heading out?”

. . .

Kicking your feet in the air above the terrible excuse for a bed, you spent your time away. The dimly lit cell reminded you more and more of how hallow the Empire was. No warmth. No emotion. Lacking creativity.

No entertainment or actual respect for someone being used as bait!

Such was your eighth day locked up in an Imperial building. Not even a prison.

How many Imperial facilities and whatnot have cells? You thought from your odd position on the floor. That’s really messed up. They could throw stormtroopers in on slow days or for messing up on patrols. They’re rotten like that.

Each day, each hour, had you mainly by yourself. Except for specific times of they day when you were given food or escorted to use the refresher. They wanted you alive. Comfort wasn’t in the Empire’s vocabulary or manual. Not for anyone of a lower rank.

Bait remains hidden, you thought, a tease for the true prey. Disgusting. You rolled over and sat up. Would it be so awful if my soulmate came to the rescue? Commandant Dawes would be thrilled. To capture Ezra and the other rebels. You threw your head back. He shouldn’t have to. I’m just one person. What are the odds of me escaping on my own?

How many hours had you stared at the same gray walls imagining great escapes and exciting introductions?

You had nothing better to do.

The worst of those thoughts were ones where your soulmate never showed or the greedy Commandant got exactly what he wanted. Either way, you were sunk. Using your personal guarantee to know who your soulmate was for their own gains sent a fire through you.

Down with the Empire.

. . .

Ezra Bridger was many things and being someone’s soulmate was one he rarely allowed himself to identify with. Years of being alone on Lothal, he didn’t want to give himself false hopes of meeting someone who was lightyears away. It was easier then to ignore his soulmate’s name on his forearm.

Being a Jedi in a rebellion against the Galactic Empire gave Ezra more moments to hope. To dream. To imagine a better future for others as well as himself. Together, much more was possible.

He still wanted to return to Lothal to help. Ezra couldn’t just leave his home in trouble, especially when the danger was the Empire. They’d find a way, he knew that. Their own way not Saw Gerrera’s way of rebelling.

Ezra had to be patient. At least his soulmate didn’t have to be. Every second counted.

Saving you from the hands of Imperials in the middle of what was obviously a trap could be possible. They had more difficult missions in the past.

At least there shouldn’t be an Inquisitors where we’re going, Ezra thought in mild relief. Unless this Dawes guy has been blabbing to show off his plan.

The Ghost was still in hyperspace as Ezra sat on the floor of his shared room. The mission was not merely personal. Marvis Three held large transmitter and data logs for Imperial movement in that sector. Plus any saved soulmate names. A double mission.

Ezra feared there wouldn’t had been an agreement to use resources on a rescue mission for someone unknown in regards to fighting against the Empire.

(Y/F/N) isn’t no one and if the Empire wants them, Ezra thought of his words he used on Yavin Four, we need to save them.

They would save you. Ezra knew that and would hold onto that until you were safely aboard the Ghost. Then the Empire would hopefully take a hint.

And stopping any more Imperials from trying to bait people with their soulmates wouldn’t be bad either.

He exhaled slowly.

Who knew being a rebel meant a lot of waiting?

The door in front of him slid open to reveal Kanan.

“How are you holding up?” The Jedi asked as he stepped into the room. “People usually find their soulmate on their own.”

“We’re talking about soulmates now?”

“If you want.” Kanan shrugged.

Blue eyes peered down to the flooring.

It’s a lot.

“I figured if I ever met my soulmate,” Ezra explained, “it would be a surprise.”

“Too bad the Empire ruined the surprise, huh?”

“Yeah!” Ezra gestured widely. “What if (Y/F/N) ends up hating me because of all this?”

“Hey,” he said reassuringly, “this isn’t your fault. I’m sure they’ll understand. Not to forget, we don’t even know what your soulmate was doing when the Empire grabbed them. Maybe they’ve been rebelling in their own way.”

Ezra’s shoulders lowered. “I haven’t thought of that. The fighting against the Empire part.”

They could be doing anything.

“Do you… Do you think my soulmate would support the rebellion? Everything we’re doing?”

“Only one way to find out.” Kanan said confidently. “And make sure to make a good first impression.”

Squinting up at the Jedi, Ezra said, “I’ll be breaking them out of a cell. That’s kind of a big first impression.”

“No,” he put a hand on his hip, “I meant introduction. Like, what are you going to say when you first meet them?”

“My name…”

Confused by Kanan’s words on what Ezra considered the easy part, the young Jedi stood up.

“Were you trying to give me soulmate advice?” Ezra asked.

“You’ll be fine,” he turned to leave.

“Wait. Did you embarrass yourself when you first met Hera?”

“Forget it.”

Laughing, Ezra followed after Kanan with every intention of questioning Hera later.

But entertaining stories had to wait. Daydreams of introducing you to the whole Ghost crew had to be set aside.

All spirits had to focus.

“Arriving at Marvis Three,” called Hera over the ship’s comm system.

. . .

Not good. Not good. You mentally repeated as two stormtroopers lead you down another hall on a completely different level than the cell you had been bunking in. What else are they planning?

Despite having walked a good distance and a cramped ride on an elevator, you had not seen one view outside. Not even a resemblance of an exit. Even so, the binders on your wrists hindered comfortable walking.

Being moved out of a cell can’t be good. You thought as you continued to follow one trooper as the second walked behind you, both armed with a standard blaster. It’s not like I know anything useful for them.

At the end of the hall two stormtroopers stood guard by a door. Once the three of you reached it, nods were exchanged. If they talked inside of their helmets you didn’t hear.

I’m still bait, right?

The door slid open and you almost groaned.

“Ah. There you are, said the Commandant Dawes clapping his hands together once. “Bring them in. You’re my guest of honor.”

Your two stormtrooper escorts urged you forward into what must be Dawes’ office.

“Should I expect appetizers or a sho?” You questioned rather dryly.

He picked up a tall glass and took a sip before replying, “The show’s just beginning.” With a flick of a finger he deactivated the shade of a long viewport behind his desk.

Outside, backdropped by a blue sky, a small group of ships bobbed and weaved between TIE Fighters. Firing was exchanged as much as they grew closer to the building you stood in.

You took a step closer to the desk.

“Your rebels have come for you. They are mot predictable. Always wanting to try outsmarting the Empire.” Dawes grinned. “They haven’t met me yet.”

They did come, you thought as you couldn’t ear your gaze from the sight in the skies. They are rebels. My soulmate stands against the Empire.

Over the course of the week, Dawes had filled random evenings with cautionary tales about your soulmate and his associates. He found them dull and childish given their lack of loyalty to his beloved Empire.

At the time of Dawes’ little talks, you weren’t sure what information to believe. You were starting to have many rapid realizations as you saw a light freighter going after TIE Fighters.

“Eventually they’ll have to land as per our instructions,” the Commandant took another sip of his drink, “after all this frivolous business is over with. Then I’ll be making the call to Lord Vader. Like to see a grand admiral do that.”

A cold, sickening feeling filled your stomach and sunk to your legs.

“I have over thirty stormtroopers ready by Landing Pad Two. If they want to land here, they must cooperate.”

“What will you do with them?”

“Capture them,” he assured you with a smile. “Announced and deliver the rebels to Lord Vader—or the Emperor himself. After heavy interrogation of course. Can’t leave other criminals out there.”

Your gaze hardened on the man.

Loyal to the Empire all right.

“What’s in it for you?” You questioned, voice stronger.

“Full of questions today, aren’t you? Just watch the fun. I’ll let you see your soulmate eventually. Maybe during interrogation. You can tell Ezra Bridger all about those culinary holos. How’s that sound?” Dawes taunted.

“Fantastic,” you answered sarcastically.

“Let’s make this more exciting, shall we?”

. . .

“Let’s make it fast,” Kanan ordered into his comms, “they’re giving Phoenix Squadron a warm welcome.”

“Roger that, Spectre-One,” came Sabine’s voice.

“You got it?”

“Almost,” Ezra announced before successfully slicing open a door.

Both Jedi ducked inside the Imperial building fully alert.

On the opposite side fo the large building, Zeb and Sabine left the Phantom Two with Chopper under the ledge of a lower part of the multi-sided building. They were to download and erase data from Dawes’ operation. Too personal for his rank.

Ezra and Kanan on the other hand were making their way down to the lower cell block. For all the sides the building had, its layout was pretty straight forward. Like a stack of grids or how the Empire usually stores crates. Nothing exciting.

With more attention being held by Hera and the few volunteers from Phoenix Squadron, the Jedi hoped to slip in before security realized their breach.

“This is totally a trap, right?” Ezra asked in a near whisper.

“Yeah.” Kanan answered as they came to a stop at an interior door. “Probably heavily armored.”

“A dozen or more bucketheads.”

They opened the door and were instantly met with an intersection. No stormtroopers in sight. Yet.

“Yeah. This is definitely a trap,” Kanan muttered.

Closing his eyes, Ezra reached out into the Force. Most of the cells were empty, but only one had multiple being stationed there.

“Right hall. Plenty of bucketheads.”

“Got it.”

Taking point, Kanan passed the threshold and turned where Ezra indicated.

Both Jedi grabbed their individual lightsaber as the next door they approached slid open.

No less than eight Imperial stormtroopers.

Huh, Ezra thought, I thought they’d have more down here to stop us.

“Jedi?” One stormtrooper shouted from the back of the group as they took offensive positions.

Surprise!

“It will be a lot easier on you guys if you just s—”

PEW PEW PEW

Blaster fire lit up the dull hallway and the Jedi all ready had their lightsabers moving. Block, redirecting, and deflecting each bolt that came too close. Blurs of red, green, and blue. All movements and a scene similar to other moments of fighting back against the Empire.

This was different. Personal on a level Ezra had never known. Members of the Ghost crew had been captive and prisoners before, most in the hands of Imperials. This time the Empire was playing dirty. They had Ezra’s soulmate.

Ezra hadn’t even met you yet and some Imperial had the nerve to use you to lure them in? The Imperial’s motive were clear. Why else ‘leak’ information such as a name and location of Ezra Bridger’s soulmate?

The rebels needed to save you and destroy any saved data on citizens’ soulmates. Annoying an Imperial officer in the process would be a bonus.

“Ahh!”

Using the Force, Ezra had pushed three stormtroopers against the wall as well as one another.

A flourish of blue light and a red blaster bolt had a stormtrooper dropping a blaster. Kanan pushed that trooper further down the hall.

Four more to go, Ezra thought a millisecond before he leapt up to the wall and pushed off towards the closest white armored being. In a blink of an eye and a breath, that stormtrooper cushioned Ezra’s landing.

Offensive position compromised and barely hanging on, one would think the Imperials might surrender. These few didn’t. Their next minute of trying to overpower the two Jedi was commendable, but ended with possible concussions.

“All right,” Kanan said. “Deep breath.”

No time, Ezra thought as he busied himself unlocking the cell door. I can be nervous about what to say to (Y/N) later.

A hiss of the door sounded and Ezra about tripped into the cell trying to get inside fast enough. Luckily his lightsaber was clipped to his belt.

Karabast, he thought as he caught himself and looked to the person sitting on the flat cot with crossed arms.

The person wore an orange Imperial prisoner jumpsuit, black shoes, and an impatient expression on their face.

“Hey, we came to get you out of here.” Ezra announced. “I’m Ezra and,” he gestured behind him, “that’s Kanan.”

“(Y/N).” They said plainly as they stood up. “You took care of the Imperial stormtroopers?”

“Yeah and there will probably be more. Let’s go.” Kanan urged.

“Right.” Ezra shook his thoughts clear. There was a mission still to finish and he couldn’t keep looking at his possibly tired soulmate. He couldn’t blame them with the situation they were in.

Before Ezra could add any commentary, (Y/N) had walked passed him.

The warmth and excited sparks of meeting his soulmate dropped as they didn’t so much as glance at him.

We need to leave. It’s fine, he told himself. Not everyone smiles during a rescue. With those thoughts in mind, he followed after them.

Leading the way with determined steps, (Y/N) left the prisoner area and started towards an elevator.

At least they know where they’re going.

“If we hurry we can get out of here before they bring out surprises.” Kanan said before the lift door opened.

Without a word, (Y/N) walked in and turned to the control panel. Their fingers hit for level six.

“Actually,” Ezra announced politely, “we need to go to level three for a pick-up.”

“Level six is better,” they insisted in a curtly tone. Their body blocked the controls.

“Why would it be better?” Asked Kanan. Clearly he was just as confused as Ezra in that moment.

They just really want to leave, I guess.

“I have heard Imperials talk about it. Low security this time of day.”

How would they know what time it is?

“You heard them while in your cell?” Kanan crossed his arms.

“They were loud in that echoing hallway.”

“Okay…” Ezra sensed something was off as he finally said something. He glanced down to the light reflecting off of their black boots.

“But we’re still going to level three,” Kanan stated firmly. “We have a plan.”

“No. This is the way out,” they countered with tension in their jaw. “I’ve been here long enough to know that, Jedi.”

Kanan stepped forward and hit a button. The elevator stopped smoothly.

“How would you know the way out if you’ve been in a cell this whole time?” Ezra asked uncomfortably. Fear of deception crept up on him.

Something was wrong. The disconnect he felt between himself and (Y/N). Their tidiness and aloofness despite being a prisoner.

Ezra rolled up his left sleeve forcefully and displayed his arm to the stranger. “Does this mean anything to you?”

They only glanced at the soulmate mark before a frown appeared on their face.

“So,” said Kanan, “is the real trap on level six?”

. . .

Viewing spaceships battling from one of the top floors of the building gave almost too good of height advantage. No other structure near by blocked the sights.

Indoors the view wasn’t much better. Not wen it was Imperial.

“Are all troopers in position?” Commandant Dawes inquired over a comm. His other hand picked from a cheese board that had been brought in to his office earlier. “Excellent. I’m sure those pesky rebels are on their way. Keep me updated.”

Why are people like this? You wondered in confused disgust. And he’s enjoying it like a special event.

The Commandant leaned back in his chair behind his desk. It wouldn’t surprise you if he rested his feet up either. Overly confident imperials were good at making themselves comfortable it seemed. An annoying trait.

At least me refusing to sit in a chair annoys him. You shifted from one foot to the other. Who can sit while watching all of this? Who could smile when you don’t know the outcome of this mess? Your shoulders dropped. None of this would’ve happened if I stayed home or went somewhere else.

You peered up to the half-eaten cheeses and frowned.

“What did you mean by the rebels being on their way? Their ships are right there.” You gestured to the window.

He chuckled.

Please stop.

“My dear (Y/N).”

You grimaced and fought the urge to gag.

“You don’t know much about these rebels, do you? They’re traitors for one. You should know that much.” He paused for your response, but you only blinked. “Now, these radically dangerous rebels are capable of much destruction. These in particular,” he pointed towards the light freighter, “of the Ghost are highly sought after.”

“They’re a prize to you?” You fumed and took a step closer to the desk. “They’re people.”

“They are traitors of the Galactic Empire,” he chided. “You would do well not to join them.”

“It’s hard to do anything inside of a cell against my will.”

Sitting up straighter, Dawes gave you a hard look. One that reminded you that two stormtroopers stood guard just about twenty feet behind you at the door. A reminder that you were the only one wearing the binders as prisoner. Authority in an office for overseeing the city. A threat to everything you knew.

I’m not walking out of here if he wins.

If you had lost your appetite walking into the office, you sure didn’t have one with those thoughts.

Renewed with his smugness, Commandant Dawes relaxed with another bite of cheese. He activated his comms again.

“Did you capture the rebels in the data storage?”

Silence.

He sat up and repeated himself.

Data? Are they stealing intel?

Dawes fiddled with his comm and asked in a strained voice, “Have you detained the rebels on level six?”

Nothing on that channel came in response.

Panic lit in his beady eyes.

Behind him, you had a glimpse of the spaceships. More specifically, the sheer lack of TIE fighters.

Hope blossomed in your chest.

Whoa. Rebels mean business, you thought with a smirk. No wonder the Empire takes them seriously.

“Oh, wipe that smile off your face. If your soulmate is somewhere in here, Ezra Bridger will be t—”

Muffled blaster fire made both of you jump.

You turned and the sounds only continued as the stormtroopers by the door had their blasters aimed at the closed door.

“So…,” you started to ask, “was having stormtroopers stationed outside your office meant to prevent rebels from finding it?”

“No!” Dawes growled.

Breathe, you reminded yourself as your heartbeat sped up its rhythm. Cautious as a civilian, you moved to stand a couple of steps away from the side of Dawes’ desk. Please be the rebels. You can do it! Come on.

Blaster fire ceased beyond the door.

The amount of adrenaline pumping through you left you trembling slightly. Anticipation of anything in the next few moments.

Please.

Again, you jumped, startled as blaster fire started. You didn’t even see anyone in the doorway when the door opened.

As terrifying as loyal stormtroopers could be, were they more dangerous when angry or desperate?

Your chest rose and fell as you watched on.

Red blaster fire hitting the wall in the hallway. Dawes yelled for the pair of stormtroopers to switch to stun, but they weren’t listening. Driven by anger and fear.

“Use stun, you idiots!” Barked the Commandant.

When they obeyed, a silence followed. A precious pause from violence. An opportunity.

In a second, a young man appeared at the threshold and extended both hands in front of him. The pair of stormtroopers flew backward through the air and into the empty chairs. Nothing had touched them.

You hardly registered Commandant Dawes’ shouting, incoherent as it was. Your gaze and wonder had fixated on the dark-haired and blue-eyed young man walking into the room. If his burnt orange jacket didn’t grab your attention first, it was the knowledge that he must had moved those troopers.

“You must be Commandant Dawes,” said a taller man as he entered wearing an eye shield of a sort you weren’t familiar. He held a metal cylinder in his right hand.

Are they both…?

“Stay where you are.” Dawes raised a blaster pistol in your direction.

“Whoa.” You rose your linked hands up. Is this guy serious?

“Hey, they don’t need to be involved in this,” urged the youth in orange as he took a step closer to you. He too had his hands raised defensively.

“They all ready are, Bridger,” sneered Dawes.

“Ezra?” You gasped quietly, gaze back on the young man. Apologetic blue eyes regarded you sympathetically.

“Give yourselves up and I won’t dispose of (Y/N).”

WHAT? Your heartbeat thudded in your ears.

“That sounds like a good deal…for you,” said the man with the eye shield. Wearing earth tones in the middle of the room made him stand out almost as much as Ezra.

“A great deal for the Empire,” added Commandant Dawes peering over to the man, “and once you tell your crew to surrender the ISB will take you in. It’s all arranged.”

Slowly as Dawes had been speaking, Ezra took three steps towards you. His blue eyes were set on the only standing Imperial.

“How about I add in a bonus?”

“How generous,” sassed the rebel man.

“The kids can have one conversation. They’re soulmates and (Y/N) led you all here.” Dawes regarded you coldly. “Think of it as a reward.”

“I think we’ll take option three.” Ezra announced a second before he was blocking all your view.

WHAM

“Ahhgh.”

“Nice try,” said the rebel man, “but we have better offers.”

“What happened?” You whispered.

“Oh,” Ezra stepped aside and turned to you.” Kanan pushed him against the window.”

You glanced between the transparasteel and Kanan.

“Uh…there’s a desk there. How did he reach?”

“He used the Force,” he smiled. “Like how I knocked out those bucketheads.” Ezra went to the desk and searched it.

“Force.” You felt your breathing slow. Your vision narrowed to a random area on his orange jacket. “You’re Jedi.”

“Yeah.” Ezra walked back to you and removed the binders from your wrists.

“You’re Jedi.”

“I think your soulmate’s in shock,” Kanan warned.

Shock, you thought in a near daze. Jedi. My soulmate is a Jedi and a rebel.

“A Jedi.”

“Hey,” Ezra placed a gloved hand on your shoulder. “We’re the good guys.”

You nodded.

“Scum.” Commandant Irfon Dawes spat.

You frowned.

How dare that man insult the people who were saving you? He, the one who had threatened you and used you as leverage again. They hadn’t said one rude word to him.

“We’ve been called worse.” Said Kanan, grabbing his commlink.

“Traitors. All of you!”

“You’re the traitor,” you spat at the man. “You betray the well being of everyone in the galaxy by only searching for ways to benefit yourself.”

“You’re young. You’ll learn that you can only trust yourself.” Dawes held his head in pain.

Stepping up to the desk, you nabbed your few belongings and placed them in their respectable pockets.

“You’re old enough,” Ezra replied, “maybe you’ll learn that’s where the Empire fails. You only think of yourselves.”

Dawes glared at the pair of you.

Serves him right. Trying to blackmail soulmates.

“Let’s go.” Kanan ordered.

The three of you rushed out of the office. Stormtroopers littered the flooring.

“Spectre Two, we got the package. On our way out.”

“Spectre?” You inquired.

“Yeah,” Ezra answered as he evened his pace with yours. “Our ship’s the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you laughed. The sound almost surprised you.

Time locked up by the Empire was too much.

“I’m Ezra by the way.” He smiled.

“Hi. I’m (Y/N). It’s great to meet you.”

“I bet.” Ezra’s eyes widened. “Because you needed help. Not because I’m…me.”

“I’m glad either way.”

Free to leave from the greedy grasp of Commandant Dawes and be with your soulmate. How could it not make you utterly ecstatic?

“This way,” Kanan turned down an unfamiliar hall.

Those two knew where they were going. All you had to worry about was keeping up.

In a couple of minutes, all of you came upon an exterior door and you had your first glimpse of the outside world since being locked up. Outside air and even the rush as you continued forward refreshed you.

From above a small vessel came close to the platform the three of you found yourselves on. It didn’t land. The back opened with a short boarding ramp.

“Come on!” A gruff voice shouted from within.

Quick, long strides and the three of you were on board the shuttle craft. Quite spacious for a compact vessel.

“Let’s get back to the Ghost before reinforcements arrive.” Kanan stood behind the pilot’s seat as the ship took off toward the sky.

The pilot wore wonderfully colored armor. “I may have left them a few surprises.”

“Heh. They deserve it,” said a tall purple being by the hatch, “you should’ve seen the amount of soulmate profiles they stashed, Kanan. It’s despicable.”

Beside you, Ezra swung down two seats for the both of you.

That Dawes guy wanted to do this to others? Was I even the first? You thought as you sat down.

Buildings gave way to the sky then to the dark vastness of space. The curved viewport offered you a view of distant stars and four ships. Three of the four were fighters. Largest of the bunch and in direct sight of the vessel was a light freighter.

“Is that the Ghost?” You asked quietly into Ezra’s shoulder.

Your soulmate offered you a smile. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry,” said the purple guy.

Your eyes shifted and realized his words were directed to you.

“We’ll lose those Imperials before they can —”

beep beep

“TIE fighters.” Indicated the pilot.

“What?” Ezra almost jumped out of his seat.

“Phantom Two get moving.” A commanding voice came over the comm.

Your hands gripped either side of the seat as the shuttle craft really accelerated.

Complaining beeps and other binary language gave colorful input over the comm.

“Not now, Chopper,” Kanan chided.

Okay, just breathe. They have everything under control. You thought as the pilot started docking the vessel to the Ghost. You were perhaps thankful not to see where the TIEs actually were. Your heart could only handle so much between threats, sound of blaster fire, and running away.

Locking mechanisms could be heard as it vibrated from underneath the shuttle.

“We’re in,” announced the pilot sounding a touch relieved.

“We’re jumping. Hang on,” said the commanding voice.

Outside the viewport, the stars lengthened into bright lines until the ship jumped. Swirls of a hyperspace lane filled the outside view.

Muscles relaxing, you finally felt the light fatigue from the stress settling in.

You exhaled.

“Told yah we’d lose ‘em,” the tall being smirked.

“It could had been a Star Destroyer,” said Kanan. “We’re lucky that guy was wanting to hand us over as a surprise and didn’t brag.”

“He wanted to deliver you to some Lord Vader,” you said softly.

All eyes turned to you in alarm.

“Karabast. He really wanted a promotion.”

“But we all go out fine, Zeb. We did a good thing destroying people’s private data.”

Zeb is the tall purple guy. Got it. Kanan, mask. Zeb, purple.

“Come on, we can do debrief and introductions all together,” Kanan ushered everyone towards the hatch on the floor.

One by one, you all went down the ladder into the larger ship. Ezra followed after you. Your personal guide through the freighter.

Inside of a spacious area with some seating made a noticeable change in the crew. Tensions weren’t high and you caught half a handful of smirks passed around. Amused or playful in nature, you weren’t sure.

Okay. You breathed more calmly as you stood by Ezra by the couch. Now what?

Subtle sounds of motors perked your attention. An orange and off-white astromech droid rolled into the room heading straight towards you.

Whirls and beeps followed.

I think that was a question?

“Hi,” you greeted. Better to start off simply.

A more chipper set of binary came from the droid.

“This is Chopper.” Ezra chuckled. “Chop, this is (Y/N).”

Lower whoops from Chopper had Ezra rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah.”

You suppressed a smile when you heard Chopper’s laugh.

Poor Ezra, you thought.

It was then the final crew member entered the room from the cockpit. A green twi’lek in an orange jumpsuit.

“Did I miss anything?” She asked.

“Nah. Chopper got a head start embarrassing Ezra,” Kanan replied with a growing smile.

“It’s good to see everyone all right.” Her light eyes, colors of a warm sea, landed on you with a curious warmth. “I’m Hera.”

“Hi, I’m (Y/N).” You fiddled with your fingers, “I…um. Thank you.”

Hera smiled.

“Hey, we’re glad we found you before that Commandant Dawes had any more ideas.” Kanan said. “I’m Kanan by the way.”

Before you could say something clever, the tall being spoke up.

“And I’m Zeb.”

Zeb. Right. Got it. You thought a bit more confidently. So many names.

“Sabine.” The young woman in armor introduced herself briefly.

“Hi.” Your neck warmed with all the attention. “I’m glad to meet all of you. Thankful. Truly.”

“What Dawes was trying to do was low. Even for the Empire.” Hera said with a level of distaste that only came form someone who was forced to deal with aspects of the Empire not every citizen faced.

“Hera,” Sabine said warily, “their system had over a hundred profiles of soulmates saved form just this week alone. We weren’t able to find where they keep the scanners.”

“It might be better to find the manufacturer,” Kanan advised. “Stop them at the source.”

“And we will,” Hera promised, “but there are others that we must help first. The cause is important. We have to take priorities first.”

The Rebellion was more than a group of individuals annoying Imperials. They stood up for those who could not defend themselves against the atrocities of the Empire. Rebels sought freedom for everyone. They cared for individuals, even people they would never meet in person.

That knowledge hit you like a wall. Obvious and solid.

How many other people—cities—have they helped?

“We’re on our way to our base. We take a few precautionary detours first, but I need to ask: Is there anyone waiting for you at home or back on Marvis Three?”

Beside you, Ezra didn’t move. No one so much as murmured.

“I was on my own on Marvis Three. I didn’t plan on being there more than a few hours.” You answered timidly. “But there are people at home, but…won’t the Empire have eyes on them now?” You asked worriedly.

“With how much they put into trying to catch us, I honestly wouldn’t doubt it.” Hera explained.

“It would be safer for me to not go home to Triea Two?”

“I’m sorry. The Empire doesn’t make it easy for anybody.”

Your shoulders fell. That wasn’t exactly what you hoped to hear.

“Hey,” said Zeb, “think of it this way: The Commandant’s plan backfired.”

“Literally,” added Sabine with a satisfied smirk.

Your eyebrows rose, “Did you blow something up?”

“I did and it was beautiful.”

Oh!

“She really likes painting,” Ezra murmured to you.

“It’s art. The Empire has the perfect canvas.”

“Commandant Dawes’ office was boring enough,” you mentioned. “Before being rescued. The most colorful thing in there was the snacks he had ordered.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Ezra turned to you more. “Was he eating while waiting for us?”

“His office had a good view of all the ships…” You said slowly and awkwardly.

The guy was a confident jerk. You didn’t want to relive and admit it.

“Wow and on that note,” Ezra cleared his throat. “I’m going to grab something to drink. Do you want anything?” Blue eyes studied you for a moment.

You nodded. Being kept in a cell and then Dawes’ office didn’t leave you time for a late afternoon snack. Plus all that running left you thirsty.

“Cool.”

“All right,” Hera said giving Ezra a look you didn’t understand. “We have time before we come out of hyperspace.”

“Got it.”

Following Ezra into the Ghost’s pantry was a short and quiet event. No one else entered.

Once the door shut, you let out a shaky breath.

You were somewhere new and a little nervous. One trip was a stumble into your soulmate’s life and the rebellion. That was a lot.

Ezra filled two cups as you sat on the nearest bench on your right.

“This happened really fast.” Ezra said as he handed you a drink of water and sat on the opposite bench.

“Yeah.”

Drinking water hit the spot. It also saved you by filling in the silence.

“So… What were you doing when the Empire grabbed you?”

“Nothing illegal.” You offered a small smile.

“Oh?”

“I was supposed to meet someone.”

“Oh.” His shoulders dropped.

“A contact for information,” you clarified quickly. “I needed to know if there were people on Marvis Three who really needed food.”

“You donate food?”

“I work near a factory that produces food pouches. They can’t sell any scratched or damaged goods. Even if the food inside is completely fine. One of the workers there gives me what they normally throw out.” You explained with a humble shrug. “The Empire shouldn’t miss their trash.”

Ezra’s grin made your heart leap.

It’s not much, but it helps others.

“I guess you’re a rebel after all,” he leaned his arms on the table between you both. “And they grabbed you for, what, just showing up?”

“Yes. I took a public transport.”

His face scrunched up in bewilderment.

“New security measures. He wanted to catch rebels before anything happened. And scan people’s soulmate’s names. It translates pretty fast and…they definitely recognized your name. Dawes broke into a creepy grin and everything.”

“The Commandant was there?”

“He’s very invested,” you grimaced. “And annoying.”

“And crazy. He went to blast you.”

“And you popped up in front of me. You could’ve gotten hurt.” You chided.

“I would’ve been fine. Trust me.” He tilted his head with striking blue eyes emanating some secret knowledge.

He moved those stormtroopers. He was blocking me from Dawes faster than I blinked.

“With the Force?” You asked timidly.

Ezra nodded with a friendly smile.

“So,” you rolled back your sleeve and freely showed your soulmate’s name, “the Empire knows you’re a Jedi?”

“Pretty much.”

“If I would have looked up your name on the HoloNet…?” You pointed to your arm.

He breathed out a laugh. “Uh, you would’ve probably read some angry Imperial propaganda or seen my wanted poster.”

“Didn’t know my soulmate was so popular,” you teased.

Ducking his head, Ezra almost knocked over his cup when trying to grab it.

You said nothing in commentary. In turn, it gave you an opportunity to take in more of his appearance and the reality of the situation.

Dark hair slicked back, two scars were visible along his left cheekbone. A sign of past adventures or danger in Ezra’s life.

Did that mean Ezra had seen worse things in the Empire? Scary things? People, creatures, or even technology?

Coming up from his minor embarrassment, Ezra rested his chin on his hand.

You tilted your head, a curious and silent invitation for more conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is still a little crazy for me to actually be talking with you.”

“Same here.”

“I’ve lived on Lothal most of my life until I ran into those guys.” Ezra gestured towards the door. “I was on my own—living for just me.” His shoulders seemed to lower as he spoke through memories. “I tried not to think about how low the possibilities were of meeting you. If you were on Lothal I would’ve known. So I didn’t.”

“Save yourself from disappointment.”

He nodded.

“A little better now though?” You offered with a half shrug.

“Much better. Oh. And,” he gestured with both hands, “Dawes had put some random Imperial in your cell to pretend to be you.”

You blinked. “He what now?”

“Someone dressed in an Imperial prison jumpsuit and polished boots tried leading me and Kanan into a trap.”

“How’d you figure it wasn’t me? Did they refuse to show their mark?”

“A few things. Let’s just say Imperials don’t make great actors. And they had no interest in seeing your name.”

Tapping your fingers against the cup, you internally debated. Only shortly.

“May I… Is it okay if I see it?”

Blue eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Then like routine, Ezra removed the armguard that held his commlink and pushed up his orange sleeve.

“How’s that?” He angled his forearm closer to you for easier viewing.

A grin spread across your face saying more than you knew how. Looking at Ezra’s arm, it was difficult to see the markings, the soulmate language, as anything other than your name.

It’s so weird finally seeing it, you thought. He’s real and everything.

You chuckled lightly as you peered into his blue eyes, “This is going to take me a while to get used to.” “You could stay with us,” Ezra offered softly. “You could join the rebellion if that’s something you want to do?”

You exhaled. That would be a huge step. Can’t go home.

“Do I get to help more people?”

“Yeah. That’s what we do. All of us. Together.”

“And we could hang out too? If we can? Between rebel duties.”

His eyes lit up. “We can. You could watch me train, if you want to.” Ezra grinned, leaning closer. “I could show you some cool stuff I’ve learned.”

“That’d be cool. And… I could show you what I’ve learned.”

“Like what?”

You smiled. “I technically have a job back home, Ezra, and I may have learned a few things not directly related to selling chocolate.”

“Are you sure we can’t visit your home planet?” Ezra laughed.

Sudden, new, and surprising could be the main general takeaways from finally meeting your soulmate. Knowing that given the times you both lived in, Ezra and yourself were in for quite an introduction to living with your soulmate.

But it should be fun too, right?

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Star Wars Tags: @sweetheartliz07 @darkwolfie @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#ezra bridger #ezra bridger x reader #where dreamers go #star wars #star wars fanfiction #soulmate au #ezra bridger soulmate au #star wars: rebels #birthday celebration #I'm so excited to share this one. I've only ever done like two headcanons back in the day

25 notes · View notes

usafphantom2 · 3 months ago

Text

A young P-38 pilot over Europe in WWII spots a formation of German fighters.

Eagerly, he drops his external fuel tanks & goes after the enemy. He closes at speed, nearing firing range…when his engines abruptly quit.

Gliding, a young Robin Olds went for it anyway.

Squeezing off a burst from his P-38’s guns, he destroyed the enemy fighter. He then recognized he’d forgotten to switch his fuel source from the external stores (which he just jettisoned) to the internal stores & was able to restart the engines of “Scat II”. To my knowledge, it’s the only time a gliding aircraft has shot down another.

Olds then took out a second enemy fighter. He spotted a third, chasing a lonely P-51 below, and decided to come to the rescue.

Olds dove his P-38 at the enemy, but there was a problem – he was going so fast that he was approaching supersonic speeds. His controls froze as the air compressed around the wings & he plunged toward the earth.

Desperately, Olds pulled to avoid certain death. As he got lower & the air got thicker, he was able to pull out of the dive…one of a very few who survived such an encounter…but the G’s were so strong a part of his windscreen had blown out. He said he leveled off no more than 100’ from the ground.

Now there was a new problem: a German fighter was behind him. Olds stood the airplane on one wing & pulled into an accelerated stall, which slowed it dramatically, and the German flew right past him. Olds closed & shot it down, too. He was now an Ace.

Robin Olds would go on to serve in Vietnam, tallying a total of 17 kills. He is remembered for “Operation Bolo”. It was a brilliant ruse; he managed to convince the North Vietnamese that his group of aircraft were heavy B-52s, a juicy target. They dispatched their MiG 21’s, and rather than easy pickings, they were met with the wrath of the F-4 Phantom.

He rose to the rank of Brigadier General in the US Air Force, married an actress (with whom he had a contentious marriage, part of which was her refusal to live in base housing), divorced her & had a penchant for heavy drinking. He routinely got into serious disagreements with Air Force leadership, went outside of his command & “just did things”.

His “bulletproof mustache” is a source of legend. It was well outside of military regulation, and he saw it as a middle finger to the establishment. Despite his relationship to senior brass, Olds was a legend to his troops & continues to inspire today.

Olds died in 2007, just before his 85th birthday. He had retired to Steamboat Springs, CO, where he enjoyed skiing. His ashes are enshrined at the Air Force Academy.

There is a joke that Olds wanted his body to be mummified & displayed at the AF Academy. On the display would be a small hammer & a sign…the sign would read “In case of war, break glass”

@MCCCAN via X

#robin olds #ace #aircraft #ww2 #aviation #cold war aircraft #vietnam war aircraft #aviation military #aviation military pics #military aircraft #military aviation

24 notes · View notes

fdelopera · 2 months ago

Text

Welcome to the 28th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part II of Chapter 11, “L’enveloppe magique” (“The Magic Envelope”).

This section was first printed on Thursday, 4 November, 1909.

Gaston Leroux cut “The Magic Envelope” from his novel when he prepared the First Edition for publication.

In January of 2014, I published my translation of this chapter. Mine was the first English translation of this chapter to be published.

You can read my translation of “The Magic Envelope” on my blog here.

The text of this section starts at “All the same, Moncharmin was still looking at Richard in a way that the latter did not like at all,” and goes to “'Not on your life!’ cried Gabriel.”

TRANSLATION:

All the same, Moncharmin was still looking at Richard in a way that the latter did not like at all. It was easy to see that Moncharmin was suspicious of Richard, or at least did not trust him. Richard was infuriated.

Moncharmin explained himself.

“My dear fellow, who was it that spoke inside the box, if it wasn’t you?”

Richard raised his fist in rage but stopped mid-gesture. At the moment when he was going to slam his fist down on the desktop, he heard three sharp little knocks coming from inside the desk; his hand remained suspended in the air. The two Managers looked at each other.

“Did you hear that?” asked Richard in an uncertain voice.

“Yes!” said Moncharmin, who had become slightly pale…

They heard it again… They thought about the three sharp little knocks of which Mother Giry had told them.

Indeed, this is what they had clearly heard… Distinctly heard … from inside the desk … for there was no one under the desk…

But there was something on top!… A large envelope on which someone had inscribed an address in red ink. And it seemed to them that the three sharp little knocks had been rapped out for the express purpose of drawing their attention to that envelope.

Richard, who, however much he claimed to the contrary, was not completely devoid of superstition, cautiously reached out a hand towards the envelope, as if he feared that his touch might suddenly set it on fire.

Finally, he picked it up without further incident. It felt light in his hands, which were quick to open it after he and Moncharmin — who was leaning over his shoulder — read the address:

“For MM. the Managers of the Opera.”

“My dear friends,” said the letter, “it was I who spoke inside the box. I was there. If you did not see me, it is because I am slightly mistrustful of the police, who are always quick to make mistakes; although I had made all the necessary arrangements, as you can now deduce, so that if you had entertained the notion of informing them, they would have arrested both of you first, on your own instructions: that, you will admit, would have been quite entertaining… Let this prospect, my dear friends, be a lesson that you always bear in mind in the unlikely case that you should consider involving an outside force in our business.

“Here is how you shall handle the 20,000 francs.

“You shall slip twenty notes of one thousand francs each into an envelope that you shall find here enclosed. You shall seal this envelope and deliver it to Mme Giry one half hour before the next performance; she will do what is necessary. Cordially yours. P. of the O.”

Inside the envelope they had just opened, they indeed found another envelope that was exactly the same, folded in half, which bore the inscription in red ink: “For Monsieur P. of the O. Private.”

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

The next evening, one half hour before the curtain rose, an inspector came to see Mme Giry, who was already at her box attendant’s post, and requested that she report immediately to the office of M. Firmin Richard.

The good woman did not seem at all surprised by this message and momentarily left her duties, which consisted of awaiting the arrival of the first operagoers. She quickly went down to the season subscribers’ entrance, crossed the stage, and climbed the staircase. There she encountered her daughter, Meg, on a landing, who was in the midst of playing a prank on a fireman. Mme Giry gave her a slap on each cheek, and then went to knock on the Manager’s door.

“Enter!”

She did not seem to notice that the Managers were staring at her with an uncustomary urgency. She took an envelope, rather heavily laden, that they held out to her. She read the address, and since she was carrying the basket from which she rarely parted, she placed the envelope inside.

“No doubt you know what this means?” asked Moncharmin.

“Of course, Monsieur Manager! It’s not magic! It’s a letter for the Phantom.”

“And you are going to deliver it to him yourself?”

“So it seems. What would you have me do with it?”

“You are going to deliver it to him by hand?”

“Monsieur, I’ve never seen the Phantom’s hands, and I couldn’t tell you whether he has any…”

“But how do you do it?”

“I put it by his seat; it’s as simple as that!… And apparently, he comes to get the envelope. That has to be the way it happens…”

“Has it been long that you have served as his letter-box?”

“The first time that it happened was during the time of Debienne and Poligny, a few days before their departure… M. Poligny himself handed me a letter, but much thinner than this … and I did more or less what I am going to do with this one… Goodbye, Monsieur! With all due respect, I’m on my way… The patrons ought to be arriving, and everyone must earn a living, don’t you agree?”

Richard and Moncharmin did not stop her from leaving. They had not taken their eyes off of Mother Giry or her basket. No sooner had she closed the door than she was followed by Mercier, the Administrator. The box attendant’s every movement was carefully monitored. Her comportment was quite natural and she did not so much as touch her basket until she arrived at Box 5. There she calmly opened her basket and withdrew the precious letter. She left the basket on a stool and entered the box with the letter, which she placed on the shelf by the armrest.

Meanwhile, Mercier in turn took the liberty of opening the basket and found that it contained nothing more than a handkerchief of the finest lace monogrammed with the interwoven letters, “P.O.,”[4] a bunch of keys, a box of matches, twelve sous, and an old edition of the Petit Journal, folded to the section of the serialized novel: The Vampire’s Daughter.[5]

As for Moncharmin and Richard, they both armed themselves with opera glasses and stationed themselves in separate boxes in the upper tier so that they could not be seen, although the letter did not for an instant leave their dual patrolling gaze. In this way, they spent the duration of the performance, both the acts and the entr’actes.

They did not see anything occur inside the box, and yet still they watched the envelope on the little shelf by the armrest. They made arrangements so that after the performance was over, they would convene together with Mercier in Box 5, without interrupting their surveillance on the envelope for even a moment.

Then the two Managers, standing before Mercier, who understood nothing of the events that were transpiring, for he had followed his instructions without being briefed on the details of the affair, opened the envelope with a smile. They believed that the Phantom, who was surely possessed of a practical mind, must have sensed himself being watched and had not dared to touch the envelope. Indeed, they found the 20,000 francs still inside. And so, with a slightly smug air, they returned to their management.

But as they arrived in Richard’s office, they discovered that, sitting there on the desk, in the same location as before, was an identical envelope, which contained a “brief note” thusly worded:

“Candles and chandeliers![6] Brevity is the soul of wit; the Bank of Saint Farce[7] is not legal tender in my Empire. In the future, try to be a bit more serious, or I shall wax wroth once again. Candles and chandeliers!

“Your servant,

“P. of the O.”

It was no longer a matter of “friendly regards.” Needless to say, the Phantom was furious. But how had he known that in place of real banknotes, the Managers had slipped fake notes into the envelope, since it had remained unopened and had not been touched? And as for this latest threat — candles and chandeliers! — how had it arrived in Richard’s office, since after the last letter, Richard, recalling a bit late the recommendation given to them by the departing Managers, had installed safety locks on the doors of his office to which he alone had the keys?

I regret that I must here use an expression which is in no way recommended by the dictionary of the Academy, but no other word would be able to convey with detail and yet with restraint the state of mind of one of the Managers: Firmin Richard was fuming! No exclamations, no curses, no angry gestures. But in his breathless silence, he seemed to radiate fury.

And what infuriated him more than anything, even more perhaps than the absurd business of P. of the O., was Moncharmin’s eye, that eye which regarded him, Richard, with clear malicious irony.

For that ironic look could only come from two things: either Moncharmin imagined that P. of the O. was “making sport” of Richard in particular, or Moncharmin had begun once again to suspect his colleague! And this latter thought crowned Richard’s misery. Oh, to be the pawn, and yet to be thought the mastermind!

Suddenly, he cried: “Mercier! Go get me Gabriel!”

Gabriel, the chorus master, was Richard’s friend. He had Richard’s confidence, and frequently, when Richard was in trouble, he found excellent council in Gabriel. When Mercier had returned with Gabriel, Richard asked them both to sit down. Then, having ensured that no one could hear what would be spoken between the four men, having ordered Rémy, his secretary, who was keeping watch in the adjacent room, to prevent anyone from entering the office, he recounted from the beginning the details of that strange affair. Gabriel and Mercier listened in perfect silence.

When Richard had finished, Gabriel stood up and said: “You must put the 20,000 francs in the envelope, but the real 20,000.”

“That’s also my opinion,” agreed Mercier, and he added: “And we must inform the Commissary of Police!”

“Not on your life!” cried Gabriel.

NOTES:

[4] The letters monogrammed on this handkerchief are “F.O.” in the French, and it is the translator’s theory that this is short for Fantôme [de l’] Opéra. These initials have therefore been translated as “P.O.” for Phantom [of the] Opera. It is possible that the rest of the items in Mme Giry’s basket were meant to be Erik’s possessions, as well. For instance, the matches might be the implements that Erik used to write his various notes, since Leroux described that Erik’s handwriting looked like it was formed using the tips of matchsticks, presumably dipped into his signature red ink. It is also tempting to think of Erik reading a story about vampires, since there are certain aspects of his character, such as sleeping in a coffin bed, that appear to be drawn from vampire literature. It is certainly amusing that Leroux inserted this slightly self-referential element of a character reading a feuilleton within his own feuilleton. However, it remains unclear why these items were in Mme Giry’s basket. Like so many other details in Leroux’s novel, we have no definitive answers.

[5] A thorough search of Le Petit Journal, a Parisian daily newspaper similar to Le Gaulois, from 1863 to 1910 can find no feuilleton by the name of La Fille du Vampire. It is likely that this serialized novel was Leroux’s invention.

[6] This exclamatory phrase in French is “lustre et balustre,” which literally means “chandelier and baluster” (the baluster in this instance is the ornate stem of the chandelier into which the candle-bearing arms are inserted). This particular use of these words may be an expression of Leroux’s own devising, as it does not appear in contemporary books of French wordplay. That said, the words “lustre” and “balustre” frequently appear together in French grammar books as rhyming pairs, so there is likely a subtextual relationship between them. Instead of attempting an idiomatic translation, the translator has chosen a more literal translation, albeit one that captures some of the phrase��s rhyming quality, in order to retain the chandelier reference, since this gives the phrase its menace.

[7] The Bank of Saint Farce was pretend currency, similar to play money.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 4 November, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

#phantom of the opera #poto #gaston leroux #le fantôme de l’opéra #le gaulois #phantom translation #the magic envelope #l'enveloppe magique #lustre et balustre #15 weeks of phantom #phantom 115th anniversary

22 notes · View notes

miranyx1337 · 1 year ago

Text

Alastor x reader

FEATHER CHAPTER II

Tags: fluff (for now ) enemies to lovers, kissing, being protective, cuddles, sleeping problems, flirting, possesive reader is an angel, fem reader

Looking for a fact, it's hell; it was not bad. Clean room, a huge bed, and soft bedding. My wings were carefully bandaged, although, as the hotel owner advised, I should always hide them. It took a few days before I recovered. The constant nightmares tormented me. I stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to come to terms with the situation. I tensed whenever I heard footsteps approaching in the corridor. Moreover, from time to time, I experienced rather hmm … peculiar phantom sensations on my wings, far from pain, they actually made me feel calmer.

The person who visited me most often, and actually the only one, was Vaggie. Perhaps she simply saw herself in me from a few years ago: scared, disoriented, and wounded in a place she thought she would never end up. I couldn't imagine spending eternity locked in a hotel room, waiting for help that would never come.

Short walks through the corridors turned into lounging at the hotel bar. Husk didn't ask uncomfortable questions. He simply listened to my tales of what it's like up there. In the evenings, a television porn star joined us, flooding us with anecdotes from the set and the city, but apparently, something came up for him today.

Sitting on a too-high swivel chair, I observed the bartender work, the glowing glass bottles, and dishes. I was always accustomed to glowing trinkets, though I felt like one of them.

Again, a shiver ran through me, as if someone or something carefully watched me from the shadows. Perhaps a few sips of alcohol or a hatred for the constant sense of helplessness led me into one of the darker corridors.

Leaning against the wall, I tracked a shadow leaping from one wall to another until it materialized right in front of me.

Glowing red eyes, a familiar nonchalant smile, and the only puzzle I couldn't solve here.

A glass sphere with an eternally frozen red rose floated in front of my face. Uncertainly, I grabbed the object, feeling a pleasant coolness on my hands.

I saw you like things like that - demon tilted his head, smiling wider. So, he was responsible for my constant feeling of being observed. Outbursts of anger or reproach were out of the question,

I needed to play HIS game.

"Oh, that's pretty. It's nice for you to notice. I thought everybody tried to avoid and ignore me - I adopted a tone filled with gratitude and warmth.

Of course, I knew it's not like that, but seeing how pride and superiority paint themselves on his face, I knew I was hitting the right spot."

"A nonsense, how could anybody ignore such beauty like you’’

Alastor hand moved towards my unruly locks, then tucked them behind my ear. I tensed like a string. How this mortal, steeped in sin and reeking of murder from afar, dared to touch me. Fixing me like some doll on a shelf.

Guided by foolishness and the unique chance that he happened to lean in, I scratched one of his ears and then yanked it closer. Wanting to face him directly, I had to stand on my toes.

"Listen, one more time acting like a creep, and I will make a pillow from this fur."

A dark aura behind him reached the ceiling, accompanied by his slimy, dark claws.

I went too far, and it's time to run. I stepped back, still holding the sphere in my hand,

My wings unfolded instinctively in full splendor, barely fitting in the corridor

A brief cough and radio static interrupted the tense atmosphere. Dark aura disappeared behind its owner, who straightened up and carefully fixed his hair.

"Understood, no more hiding in the corner. You know, unearthly women always slightly intimidate me - He was back to his cherry tone and smile

I tucked my wings away, adopting a more confident posture despite a few feathers escaping from under the bandage. One of them drifted towards the radio demon. He allowed it to gently settle on his hand.

"Oh, it reminds me. I need to fix my pillow. It's started to lose feathers - His gaze shifted from his hand to me.

With a magic snap of my fingers, I made the feather return to its tru owner.

"I don't like to leave a mess behind me - I changed the topic, ignoring his bold suggestion.

I turned around; my hands shook, and I felt warmth on my cheeks.

"Thanks for the gift - I muttered under my breath, hastening my steps.

As I reached my room, it felt like someone had bitten my wing.

Alastor hastily closed the door of his station, desperately retrieving a white feather from one of the boxes.

"It's still here."

He feared she might have taken this one too. Demon sighed with relief as he saw that little gift, which had accidentally slipped under his sleeve a few days ago, still lay safely in its place.

Right after the sigh, anger swelled within him.

Who does she think gave her the best room? Who instructed the Husk to meticulously polish the dishes she liked so much? Who assigned Nifty to hang lights in the corridors? Who made sure she heard how powerful he was at the bar?

In his fury, he bit into a feather.

Since she was so afraid of Adam, she could easily make a deal with him. It was subtly indicated that he could defend her.

Perhaps he had to try harder and be more direct than usual. This can’t be messed up. It was a one-in-a-million chance.

Few in hell knew that the only remedy for a ,,bound soul’’ was angelic magic. Her feather alone restored some of his former power and authority. Possessing her soul, he could easily break the contract made years ago, weighing on him like chains growing heavier day by day."

#alastor radio demon #alastor fanfiction #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin imagine #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor

103 notes · View notes

you-know-honey · 1 year ago

Text

𝕯𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

Chapter I:ℜ𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶

Sodo/Dewdrop x fem!reader

Summary: Copia summons a new nameless ghoul

Word Count: 1977

Note: bad english, i'm new to this whole ghost thing, correct me if i'm wrong on anything, I will use a name for the protagonist for more practicality.

Chapter II...→

The place was devoured by darkness, thunder rumbled outside the abbey like cries from heaven in response to profane acts, the wind hit the stained glass windows and lightning illuminated them with a flash of light, stained glass windows that reflected images of Baphomet and other demons. . Regarding Cardinal Copia, his face seemed extremely serious, something unusual for him but the situation warranted it. In each corner of a pentagram were each Ghoul and Ghoulette, the tools of the ritual. It would be an important night, a gift for the group, a refreshing element for the world.

Copia looked up at the sky, looking behind the glass dome above their heads at the moon obscuring the sun, the time had come, he walked down the stairs towards the group, with a light touch to the ground and the gunpowder ignited, burning powerful and bright, until completing the figure of a pentagram connecting with each Ghoul. The group placed their instruments in front of them, giving each other a supportive look.

Montain set the rhythm with the drums, Cumulus took the keyboard with Cirrus, Swiss and Aurora started the singing, Phantom activated his rhythm guitar, Rain shone with his bass and Sodo showed off his guitar. The instrumental flooded the chapel, the melody reverberated in every foundation and made the place shake. The ritual had a single motive, a single need, each Ghoul gave his best, letting some of his essence flow over the fire, calling one of his own, inviting whatever responded on the other side to come out of the darkness and join them.

"Belial, Behemoth, Beelzebub" Cardinal Copia sang, calling to the great leaders, asking for a demon from among his legions "Asmodeus, Satanas, Lucifer"

The place was filled with abysmal and intelligible murmurs, beings from the other side of the pentagram observing from the shadows without daring to cross the threshold. Copia looked proud and excited like a child to feel so many presences present with him, all interested in her vocation. Lightning fell around the Ministry with more force than before, attracted by the power, Swiss and Aurora began their prayers, in a language that only the creatures of the abyss could understand.

A murmur rose from everyone, a shiver ran through the body of all the Ghouls, something had answered the call and had crossed.

Thick black smoke emerged from the gunpowder and condensed into a humanoid figure with no fixed features other than shining fangs. He made small jumps inside the pentagram from one side to the other, looking (if you can put it that way) at each of the ghouls, analyzing them with amusement.

He danced with small childish leaps from one to another, from air to earth, from earth to quintessence, from quintessence to water. She tried to get closer to Sodo, the fire demon. He showed her fangs and the small cloud of smoke walked away scared, it was clear that she didn't want another Fire Ghoul and honestly one was more than enough. She snuck between Montain's drum set cymbals, breaking her personal space several times to check her height in amazement, the ghoul couldn't help but smile nervously.

Cirrus and Cumulus greeted the entity excitedly, letting out small laughs to get its attention. The figure floated towards them and smiled back, playing with the cloaks on their shoulders. She briefly made eye contact with Rain, but out of shyness it wasn't long before the ghoul looked away from her. The specter laughed softly and danced around Phantom a little, plucking the strings of his acoustic guitar with his ethereal hand. Swiss and Aurora laughed at the scene, enjoying seeing how the humanoid being seemed delighted with everyone present, both demons rubbing shoulders in complicity.

Cardinal Copia was excited, this was his first ritual to summon Ghouls from hell, although he somewhat regretted Sodo's bitter attitude, he counted on the others and especially the Ghoulettes to give a good welcome.

The figure took one more turn and his laughter echoed like a child. He returned to the center of the pentagram, looking at the eclipse behind the dome, and raised his hands to the sky, as if he could touch the moon. One after another drops of cold rain began to fall quickly, until they almost became a sea on the ministry, the figure smiled and turned towards Aurora, the latter tensed immediately and one shiver after another crossed her back. The air began to get cold and become salty, capable of hurting the nose when inhaling, everyone could feel it, even demons like Sodo so carried away in their element felt cold, the type that you can only find if you get lost in space or in the last circle of the hell.

Aurora took a step back. The band's instrumental was accompanied by a piano and an energetic female voice, the humanoid figure approached Swiss and extended his hand.

"Hello" the figure greeted before a group of lightning fell again, filling the entire room with absolute white, extinguishing the infernal fire and thus ending the ritual.

Everything returned to darkness after such a dramatic birth, Cardinal Copia applauded excitedly and the lights turned on showing a strange lump covered with a thin and opaque black fabric, a hand with shiny black enamelled nails peeking out of it.

The ghouls avoid the gaze of the lump on the ground, somewhat uncomfortable and extremely tired. But Cardinal Copia waited to see the slightest movement to ensure that the ritual had gone perfectly.

The lump trembled with a movement similar to a first breath.

"Okay, everyone out." announcement, the Cardinal "It's time to find out what they have sent us from hell"

The group's rib cage calmed and a huge sigh of relief escaped everyone's lips. Cirrus and Cumulus crossed their fingers, it was no secret that since Aurora's arrival no girl ghoul had arrived. The ghoul area needs more feminine energy.

"Swiss, can you wait outside?" Copia asked him.

Like owl heads, the group looked at Swiss waiting for his response. Even the disinterested Montain had turned to look.

"Yes," he responded with the firmest tone he could fake.

Aurora approached and pulled one of her sleeves, she didn't have to speak, her concern was obvious. The last time it had been Aether who had stayed at the ritual to bring Phantom. Aether never came back.

Swiss approached Aurora's ear in a hug. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, trying to calm her agitated essence.

The ghoulette didn't believe him, clearly. But I trust him, because Swiss never lied.

Inside, Swiss's soul wanted to run after them, but his duty prevented him from showing that kind of rebellion.

He turned to the Cardinal, this walk way towards Swiss handing him a shiny new helmet, accompanied by the usual uniform.

Copia crouched in front of the bundle, lifting the fabric a little to discover what it was hiding, squinting in case everything had failed, giving it more suspense. The figure trembled and both Copia and Swiss took a few steps back.

Little by little the figure stood up, showing a wild tangle of short black hair from which two small black horns with white tips protruded, its tail uncoiled from around its leg and waved behind its back, its hands holding the blanket to avoid being naked.

"She's a she," Swiss sighed with the air contained in his lungs and his lower lip slightly fallen.

"Wonderful" Copia pronounced with some pride, the girl raised her head quickly and the Cardinal was met with a gaze of coal-black pupils and eyelids that contrasted with the glaucous blue of his irises, the creature opened its mouth showing its fangs, perhaps to speak but I don't breathe out any words.

Swiss knocked after the Cardinal, a sign that he should start talking before everything became awkward.

"Do you want to get dressed?" Copia asked in a friendly tone. The girl nodded and the Cardinal nudged Swiss lightly to hand the package to the demon.

Her eyes lit up when he saw her clothes and without shame he completely dropped her blanket, amazed by everything he had before her. Swiss immediately looked at the ceiling and prayed to Satan that Copia had done the same. The lack of what they called modesty was normal in new ghouls, small details that lost importance in hell.

"It would be ideal if you could start with the pants," suggested Copia who had turned around.

They heard the fabric slide down her legs, the metal buttons clicked as she pushed them into the buttonholes of her pants, the next time she put her feet on the ground it was with the boots, giving her a few extra inches of height.

She continued dressing, tucking the Victorian-sleeved blouse into her arms and securing the vest to her body. She looked at herself for a few minutes, satisfied with her appearance.

"Already?" Copia asked, who had turned around with a hand over his eyes, he seemed somewhat uncomfortable or self-conscious about the situation.

"Yes" A feminine and friendly voice answered him.

Copia looked through his fingers to make sure before removing his hand from his face and remembering that he had a script to follow and had to start as soon as possible.

"Ahem…" He cleared his throat and began to speak. Swiss stood silently next to he, holding her helmet. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes" replied with a timid tone.

"You are here to be part of Ghost, to help me with your talent to bring the message of the Clergy to the whole world, do you understand that?" The young woman nodded "Do you understand that you are not indispensable and can be replaced if you become a stone in my way to fulfill my mission?" That was the part of Copia that he hated the most because he tended to get more attached to his ghouls and ghoulettes than he should, the punishment of returning to hell was too great for small delusions of fame or prominence, that is, he had forgiven Sodo several of those but He remembered that that was the reason why Papa Emeritus III had been taken out of circulation.

"I understand, sir." He pronounced as seriously as the situation warranted. "My only duty is to help you fulfill your duty to the Clergy and bring our Lord's message to the world."

The girl walked forward, face to face with Cardinal Copia. Now came the fun part, Copia took the helmet from Swiss's hands and placed it on the girl's head, thus sealing the 'contract'.

"Well…I…" Copia took a moment to remember the next step. "What's your name?"

"Aesir, sir," she responded quickly, almost over the Cardinal's question.

"Well…Aesir, the third quintessence ghoul" He raised his voice, proclaiming. "Welcome, dear" Copia lost the threatening and vehemently image that she had maintained until then, when she gave Aesir a warm welcome hug.

The girl seemed happy to have that hug but Swiss was sweating cold.

"He's one of your companions, Swiss," Copia said and the demon approached and extended his hand towards her.

"Hello," Aesir took Swiss's hand, shaking it in greeting.

"Swiss" I call Copia.

He sighed, afraid of the next words the Cardinal might say.

"Could you take Aesir with the others?" The ghoul's mouth opened a little in surprise, he was expecting farewell words "The girls will be very happy to see another female face in the pavilion."

Swiss smiled with deep relief and nodded. "Yes, Cardinal." He directed the girl to the door. "After you," he offered chivalrously.

"Oh, Aesir," Copia called. "If there is any problem, don't hesitate to tell me. In cases of emergencies or things like that." The Cardinal said goodbye.

"Bye," she said as Swiss closed the door behind them both.

I hope you like it, I'm new to the fandom and the lore is somewhat complicated, all help would be VERY welcome.

#sodo ghoul #montain #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghost #cardinal copia #aurora ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #nameless ghost #oc original character #fanfic #slow burn #per sodomizer eriksson #sodomizer ghoul #swiss ghoul #sodo x reader #dewdrop x reader #spanish writer

106 notes · View notes

cuckoo-on-a-string · 7 months ago

Text

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, II)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrd winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s.

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

IT'S BIRTHDAY MONTH, BABY. LET'S GET POSTING. My inbox is always open, so drop by with your questions, concerns, and convos.

Men ever failed.

Dream waited for a guard to sleep. For Roderick Burgess to scratch the golden border with his heel in a fit of pique. Someday, someone would make a mistake. It was the truth of humanity, and nothing, even a prison of magic, iron, and glass could last forever.

Years gathered in his keeper’s faces, and his outrage cooled into sharper forms. Intent. Disgust. Hatred even. Wrath brewed behind closed lips. He gave his captors nothing so long as they held him, but new nightmares twisted in his heart, ready to breathe and shriek to life.

The hours of the day made no change in his windowless hold, and he only judged the turning of the seasons by the weight of the coats his guards draped over the backs of their chairs. Their rolled shirt sleeves and the gleam of half-dried perspiration on their brows told him it was summer. Or near it. Persephone had returned to her mother’s sight and the sun glowed warm on the earth for another year.

He’d once pitied the queen of the underworld, especially when she was first forced below the earth, before her mother’s dogged pursuit of justice gave the goddess power and agency in her marriage. Now, he envied her. If only he had family who so cared for his freedom he would not languish in some paltry magician’s lesser hell.

As Dream of the Endless mulled over the injustices gathering like dust in the crevices of his prison, the door to his Underworld swung open. Though he couldn’t see the door itself, the light behind the gate’s bars turned golden, motes glittered like his sand in the beam as Roderick Burgess’s boy – well on his way to becoming a man – stumbled down the steps. His father’s shouts echoed down with him, and Dream’s posture straightened, buoyed by his captor’s distress even as the sun’s distant bloom pricked his heart with mournful hope.

In his rush, the child hadn’t even brought the key, and he pressed his face against the wrought iron, fingers twisting through to keep himself steady.

“Quick,” he panted. “Sykes is out, and the new ward collapsed. I’m calling a doctor, but one of you need to help the Magus move her…”

“Close the bloody door, you fool!” The distant roar cut off with a slam. Alex Burgess flinched away from his father’s temper, and the budding hope in Dream’s chest withered into an invisible wound, leaving an aching pit he rushed to fill with rage.

They so rarely visited him at this hour, on such a bright day. He wondered if he might’ve smelled the breeze if not for the glass, tasted yellow pollen and the ghost of ripening berries were he not locked behind magic and iron.

In truth… perhaps he did feel the heat, the touch of fresh air, a fraction of the world beyond. He sensed the whispered suggestion of wyrd pulling at him, plucking along the tattered place hope left when Burgess slammed the door.

Something waited for him beyond his prison. A step. A link unmade. It itched in the back of his mind like a phantom limb, and he nearly followed the call to move. To find and see. But his pride held him back from pressing his hands to the glass.

The elder of Dream’s two day guards turned to the other and scoffed. “Not here an hour and already causin’ problems. You owe me a pound.”

“There isn’t time for this,” the boy insisted. “She’s not well. Hurry! Please.”

He ran back the way he’d come, and barely a flicker of gilding touched the gate before it shattered behind the door again.

The guard who’d lost the bet rose with a groan, fetched the key from the table, and pounded off to answer his master’s call, closing each layer of security as he went.

Another burst of light and sound as the man left the cellar. Another tantalizing hint of the world above.

Dream did not move as his remaining guard straightened in his seat, twice as wary now that he’d been left alone with his charge. The Endless’s thoughts, however, groped after the phantom sensations he’d stolen with his gasp of light. He chased the thread of his wyrd through memory, looking for something to compare the moment to, but it slipped through his fingers, unraveling before he could reach the solution to his riddle.

He had little to do besides toy with the frayed ends of his story, and he refused to let the question lie, even when the second guard returned, the men ended their shift, the night guards arrived, and the guards of the day came back to sit in the same tableau.

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

She woke to golden sun and dark wood, all warm and clean and entirely different from what she remembered. Someone had changed her into a nightgown, and she drifted back to herself in a small bed in a room with a slanting ceiling. An attic, maybe. She’d slept in those before. But this one was finished, with plaster on the walls and a window with proper glass and all.

And a boy was sitting by the bed in a rickety chair that creaked even when he wasn’t moving. Alex. He’d said he was Alex, and he’d taken her suitcase and asked if she was alright.

“How are you feeling?”

She pushed up to her elbows, peering around the room, and Alex poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table.

“Here,” he said, “you should drink something. The doctor said it was heat exhaustion.”

It took a moment to poke at the empty gap in her memory, like examining a canker sore with the tip of her tongue. “What doctor?”

The boy wrapped her hands around the glass and guided it to her face until she relented and started sipping. It was as nice and cold as the lemonade had been.

“You fainted. The Magus called a doctor. The doctor said you had heat exhaustion.” He laid out the facts the way she spread her cards. Careful and direct. “Are you feeling any better? You’ve been resting here a few hours now.”

“I feel fine.” She didn’t feel well. She felt unsteady and ill, but not like she had before, when her mind grew knuckles just so they could turn white with the effort of holding onto her goal: reaching Fawney Rig and making a good impression on her new guardian.

She wouldn’t make things worse. She wouldn’t complain. She was well enough.

“If you’re feeling up to it, the Magus would like to speak with you. I’ll step out into the hall while you get dressed unless you need my help, and then I’ll take you to him. Alright?”

Aisling scowled. “I’m not a baby. I can get dressed by myself.”

A smile fluttered through a quick life and death across his face. “Of course you can. I’m sorry. We’ve just been very worried. You looked so small and fragile when you dropped in the hall…”

The Fosters liked to tell Aisling she was too proud. She looked too many people in the eye that she shouldn’t, and she didn’t like to apologize when someone took offense to the truths they asked from her cards. Maybe she was. She’d learned she couldn’t trust people to be kind for very long, but she could rely on herself.

Sitting up straight as she could and lifting her chin, she said, “I am not fragile. It was a very long walk, and a hot day, and I am not tall.”

A ghost of the earlier smile echoed in Alex’s expression, which was better than the pained look of concern he wore before. But Aisling wouldn’t accept any softness if she couldn’t have respect first. Sitting just wasn’t cutting it, so she moved up onto her knees to see more eye-to-eye and held out her hand for a second attempt at good manners.

“We didn’t properly finish our introduction,” she said. “I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Alex adopted a – clearly false – somber expression, but he buried his mirth well enough to at least feign respect. More importantly, he accepted the handshake this time.

“Alex Burgess. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hunt.”

The last name nearly shocked her out of her dignified pose. He wasn’t at all what she’d thought a child of the Magus would look or behave like. Not that there was anything wrong with Alex. He was an improvement on the pomaded princeling she might’ve expected.

She knew better than to ask questions. Open ears and closed lips. She hated whenever the Fosters told her to do that, but damn if it wasn’t a useful habit in new places with unknown faces. Find what was wanted, what was hated, before committing to a path. People would always tell her what they wanted, one way or another.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Burgess.”

“Just Alex, remember?”

“Aisling, then.”

“Aisling.” Another little smile. This one less condescending. Maybe even fond. “I’ll be outside.”

“Alright.”

The boy left the creaky chair and closed an equally creaky door. Aisling found her suitcase in the corner and put on a fresh dress that didn’t smell and tidied her sweat-stiff hair. Too late to make a good impression, but she’d arrived where she was meant to be. She went where she was told, and the Fosters couldn’t call her back even if they wanted. She was no longer theirs – their burden or their cash cow.

She didn’t waste time, barely pausing to sip a little more water to help her swallow down her unsteady stomach before reaching for the doorknob.

Her future waited downstairs, and the Magus expected her.

#fic: persephone's devotee #morpheus x reader #morpheus x female reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x original character #fic: hello mr. monster

48 notes · View notes