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howtofightwrite · 2 years

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I have a swordswoman in a modern urban fantasy setting (with severe gun control) who is missing her right eye and fights with her left. She normally uses a glaive on missions but has a one-handed sword as a sidearm/for everyday carry. How much of an issue is it, to be blind on the side she carries her sword, for both everyday life and in combat? It's more comfortable to cross-draw, but not impossible to draw on the same side, so what difficulties would she face that might make one side better?

So, a couple different things here, so let's start with one of the simplest: You almost always want to cross-draw your sword. This isn't like cross-drawing a handgun or knife, where the position is (partially) preference.

This should be a fairly obvious statement, but the implications may be less apparent: In order to draw a sword from a scabbard, you need to fully extract the blade from that scabbard. This means you need to move your sword-hand to a distance of at least the length of the blade from the lip of the scabbard. This is much easier if the scabbard is anchored to your opposite hip. It will usually be possible to remove the blade from a scabbard on the same hip, but it is a far more awkward motion, requiring you to basically extend your arm upward until the blade clears the scabbard, and leaves the sword in a reverse grip until corrected. (This is also the problem with keeping a blade on your back, you can draw it, but the process is much more involved, requiring you to hold the sword by the blade while removing and sheathing it. This isn't a deal breaker and can be done in preparation for combat, but it is more awkward, and difficult to execute in combat.)

With all of that in mind, it's pretty normal to carry your sword on the opposite hip from your swordarm. This is sort of how you deal with these things. In fact, the practice of driving on the left side of the road (supposedly) traces back to carrying your sword on your left hip. You would go to the left side of traffic to avoid accidentally bashing people with your scabbard while walking around. Similarly, the practice of driving on the right side of the road is a consideration for firearms being holstered on the right hip. (“Supposedly,” because I've never seen any serious academic study of the subject, so this one could be a fabrication. Also, it doesn't explain Australia, though that might be setting the bar a little high.)

The big issues with the loss of an eye are the loss of field of vision and the loss of depth perception. You can get a hint of a taste of how much this means by closing one of your eye, and then paying close attention to just how much of your field of view goes black.

This is going to be in the range of one of those neural tricks you don't realize you're doing until someone points it out, but you can always see your own nose. Your brain filters that out, just like how it stitches the bridge off your nose out of your vision. If you have two eyes, you can see the bridge of your nose right now as you're reading this. Your brain is editing that out because that's not useful information. But, close an eye and look towards your nose a little, and there it is. It was always there. The problem is, you can't see past it. There is a non-trivial chunk of the world that each eye cannot see, which your brain fills in from the other.

Somewhat obviously, an opponent who is aware of your character's limited vision can find ways to exploit that. Especially if they have help.

The loss of depth perception is also an issue. Usually it's more of a problem with ranged weapons, but it is still a consideration in melee. Particularly if using a longer melee weapon like a glaive, where the exact distance to the target is the difference between whiffing the strike, or accidentally clocking them with the shaft.

So, a funny thing about gun control: There is an extremely high correlation between gun control and legal restrictions on carrying other weapons. In some cases there are specific exceptions or blind spots, often motivated by cultural norms. Using the UK as an example, I've seen it stated multiple times that you can own a sword, in spite of the restrictions on guns. This is in fact true, there are restrictions on many types of swords, but even with the ones that do not require a license, you have to be able to demonstrate a legal reason to be carrying them in public. Very few developed countries, with gun control laws, will be completely cool with you carrying around a sword on your hip. (And this is before you even consider the glaive.)

Even if it's completely legal to own (because the laws were never written to consider that someone would be carrying around a polearm in the 21st century), your character could expect to be harassed and detained by police for carrying the glaive. The weapon itself would likely be confiscated. And this is just for carrying it openly in public. At worst (depending on where this is), there may be some 14th century law still on the books about civilians carrying poleaxes in the street which could really wreck your character's day, and even if it's, “technically legal,” the police would likely classify it as a weapon, and then let the courts sort it out. So, your character with their, “technically legal,” polearm would likely still find themselves arrested and arraigned. (Their odds of beating the charge would depend heavily on the laws involved and the nation and how stupid the cops were.)

Hilariously, this kind detention and seizure actually happens with legal swords in the UK. Where someone with legitimate cause is seen carrying a sword in public, the police are called, the sword-owner is detained, the weapon is confiscated, and then the police later sort out that everything was, in fact, above board.

If your character is planning to use their sword on someone (even in self-defense), that's not a legitimate cause to carry it.

Ironically, even in the US, open carrying a sword can get you a lot of unwanted police attention. Yes, the cops are going to be significantly more worried about a guy walking down the street with a katana, than they are about someone with a military combat shotgun slung over their back.

There is something interesting to think about, but it's going to sound like a non-sequitur for a second. There's an encounter in The Witcher 3 after you've accrued ~35k gold, where a tax collector will accost Geralt and question him about whether he's engaged in one of several money making exploits in the game. Depending on the answers, you'll get one amusing piece of information, Witchers are categorized under tax law as a kind of pest removal service.

Most weapon control laws are written with the understanding that some professions will have a legal need for access to certain weapons (or items that may be restricted as weapons under the law.) One example would be situations where law enforcement or even private security firms, still have access to firearms, even if a normal citizen would not. In the UK example above, British police do have the legal authority to carry firearms, even if they don't always do so.

It's not hard to imagine a world where professional monster hunters have to file their taxes under the “Services to Buildings and Dwellings: Pest Removal Services,” or something equally bureaucratic, and as a result have specific legal carve-outs allowing them to procure, carry, and use the weapons they need while on the job. This could even result in very specific stipulations like your character could purchase and use FRAG-12s, but can only (legally) remove the loaded shotgun from her van while it is parked within 50 meters of the premises where the suspected pest is located, or if the weapon is unloaded and being transferred to an approved facility for storage, maintenance, or repairs.

If you want to play with gun laws in an urban fantasy setting, things could get pretty wild, and it's certainly worth poking and thinking about. Even under the best circumstances, you don't want to get into a sword (or glaive) fight with a nine foot tall snarling deathbeast. That's going to end poorly for you. In situations like that, if your character has a legitimate, professional reason to travel armed, then it's probably a good idea to play into that. The legal implications of someone hunting monsters is often glazed over, but you're at the edge of something very novel and unique, which is, at least, worth considering.

-Starke

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#how to fight write #Starke answers #writing advice #writing reference #writing tips #urban fantasy #world building

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glass-onion-soup · 2 years

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I have a few reasons for thinking this: 1. Paul's increasing positivity about it the further out he gets from actually having to deal with alive!John ("frightening phone calls, glad those aren't in my life anymore"). 2. Decades of confusion and anguish that John never liked him at all. 3. There's this recurring theme that crops up in his music after John dies... (not that these lyrics are literally about John, but in the sense that this is a general sentiment added to his emotional vocabulary after John died)(I do think a few of these are about John tho').

4. The fact that 'Here Today' is defensive in a similar genre ("well, you didn't give me a single inch on this front, but I'm gonna view our history positively anyway!!!!!")

5. Defensiveness in general and still fighting perceived rivalries with John years after his death (commissioned in the 90's not just a biography, but a biog aimed to set the record straight on who brought avant garde to the band). 6. On the day of, Paul said "remind me never to fall out with anyone again". Within ten years this changed to "it's so sad George never made up from falling out with John before he died like I did." 7. That George had to tell Paul to stop fighting Yoko basically on his deathbed, and that Paul's entire perception of his and John's relationship could still be warped, controlled and filtered entirely by Yoko despite them having "made up". 8. Vagueness and repetitive paucity re: his and John's cross-ocean post-75 correspondence. Okay yeah, he and John could small talk about their children and baking hobbies without yelling at each other, but did they actually resolve any of the issues that put barriers up between them in the first place, let alone scale the walls erected during their break up? 9. Paul sounds extremely not even a little bit resolved re: his relationship with John in the infamous off the record convo with Hunter Davies. I take his attitude here - when he was in the thick of the emotional storm almost immediately after the event - over things said to the press 10-40 years later.

And I don't think it's lying at all. It's a completely normal function of human psychology to re-frame traumatic or unresolved events more positively or soberly the further you get away from them, otherwise we'd all go completely insane. Paul wasn't really allowed to process his anger at and grief over John without the fantastical abstraction "St John" marketing construct, or having Yoko jump down his throat, so there isn't really any mental recourse left except to tell himself that they were "okay in the end". Also: even if he were fully conscious that they didn't make up and just sort of tells this pat story in interviews to avoid talking about it, that's also not lying??? Refusing to air your dirtiest laundry in public isn't lying, the press and fans aren't entitled to shit. If I were Paul I would say even less than he has (I say, spending all day thinking deeply invasive thoughts about this man's inner psychology; but see, I do it on tumblr under an anon identity lmao). I think his headspace is more likely the former than the latter, but I wouldn't define either of these as lying.

But I also think where you stand on this issue depends on what you mean by "make up". If you mean they were able to be friendly and polite with each other, then yes: they made up. If you mean "did they exhume the skeletons in their closet as to be able to move on a form a new kind of honest, intimate friendship", then I think the answer is definitively no. It's not unusual to have more formalized, shallow relationships with your teen-hood friends as an adult, esp for someone like Paul who has a very traditionally male attitude of saving all his emotional intimacy for The Wife/Girlfriend and one or two close confidantes, but I think it's clear from the way Paul has struggled with parsing and accepting John's death for about forty years indicates that "formal small talk relationship in which the wounds are efficiently ignored or suppressed" is not what he was hoping to have with John going forward.

#analysis #asks #mclennon #j&p #mccharmley

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whisker-biscuit · 8 months

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The Lines We Cross: Chapter 28

A Temporary Truce

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Ashes, ashes, dust to dust The devil’s after both of us Lay my curses all to rest Make a mercy out of me

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When Clockwerk had announced that Sly Cooper was here and then given his ominous statement that Carmelita would lead him to death, the owl had disappeared and left her alone in her isolated prison. She didn’t give herself a moment to panic as soon as he was gone – instead she threw all her energy into trying to escape again, knowing that it was only a matter of time before her partner was either caught or killed in his attempt to rescue her.

She re-tested the glass with punches, kicks, and – after gently removing the SD card to pocket in her jeans – even the camera. It was bashed into the cylindrical walls to no avail over and over again until it broke in her hands, but she didn’t dare stop trying while her ringtail was at risk.

When the mirror wall was abruptly destroyed by said ringtail, her heart had plummeted into her stomach at the sight of him looking haggard, determined, and utterly unaware of whatever trap had been set for him. When the poisonous gas began spewing into the room and he fell coughing and choking to his knees, her pleas for him to run became sobs as she remained helpless to do anything but watch him die.

And when he looked up at her and she saw his lucidity return long enough for him to throw something round and blinking into the wall behind her, Carmelita didn’t waste another second.

She dropped to the ground and covered her head with her arms just in time for the device to explode, shattering the glass around her in an instant and nearly blowing out her eardrums in the process. The fox staggered to her feet; hand pressed tightly against her face to deter the gas as much as possible as she found Sly lying face-down a few meters away. The blast had ripped a huge hole in the wall where she could see rock and a faint orange glow beyond, and either it had also destroyed the vents containing the deadly vapors or the hole was enough to filter it out, because already the green haze around them was rapidly disappearing.

Still afraid to draw breath but even more afraid that the raccoon had already drawn his last, Carmelita crouched beside him and grabbed him by the waist, relieved beyond all measure to feel the stuttering rise and fall of his chest. As she hoisted him up in a position she could carry him by, his head fell forward against her shoulder and she could see cloudy eyes drifting shut.

“C’mon, Ringtail, don’t give up on me yet,” she pleaded, unable to shake him awake as she walked them both towards escape. “We’re almost out. Stay awake. Please.”

Miraculously, it seemed to do the trick – he opened his eyes with a moan and even began trying to drag his feet in step with hers. It didn’t technically help, but she was so grateful that he was lucid enough to understand what she was doing that she didn’t care. He could be dead weight in her arms so long as he remained alive.

When they crossed the surprisingly-thin barrier from death trap to hopeful escape route, the fox paused only a moment to look around and take in the fact that they were apparently in a volcano. Everything around her was rock and, in the distance, she could see lava pouring out of a metal pipe and into an enormous fiery pool that she wasn’t keen to get close to. Somehow, it wasn’t as surprising to learn as it felt like it should have been, and it certainly explained the heat.

She chalked it up to the strange saga her life had become. Nothing else was likely to faze you when you’d already encountered storm machines and swamp snake monsters, after all.

Eventually, Carmelita felt safe enough with the distance they’d made to slow down a bit, debating whether to stop to properly take in the state of her partner. Sly answered her inner turmoil for her when he began to shift and fidget against her back.

“Hey, Inspector…” He whispered, only audible because he was right next to her head. “You hurt?”

“That’s my line,” she answered immediately, stopping mid-step to look at him. He blinked back at her, weary but aware, and that was all the cue she needed.

The fox propped him up in a crevasse in the wall that was just big enough to hide both of them from sight, then began to carefully catalogue him for injuries and lingering effects from the gas. The Cooper cane was gripped tightly in his hand and she did her best not to glance at it while she studied him. He didn’t so much as twitch under her touch; she wasn’t sure how to read that.

“…Feels like I should be the one doing this,” the raccoon murmured after nearly a minute of silence between them, “since I was supposed to be the rescuer and all.”

Carmelita pursed her lips at the ragged sound of his voice. “Please don’t speak if it’s straining to do. You inhaled a lot of gas and I don’t know what that means for you yet.”

She found scrapes, bruises, and a bump on his forehead from where he’d hit the ground after his bomb had gone off, but nothing life-threatening. The rhythm of his chest was growing stronger with every passing second, and it showed as his words became louder and steadier.

“The fact that I’m still breathing at all means I’ll survive. Clockwerk doesn’t do anything in half measures; he calculates everything perfectly. He wanted me to die choking on poison, not from any aftereffects.”

The inspector didn’t ask him how he knew that for sure. The look in his eyes was answer enough. Her hand trailed down to the front of his dirty hoodie. He was still wearing the one she had bought for him in Haiti. She realized, with a start, that he’d been wearing it in Kunlun, too, but she had been so focused on him that she’d missed it.

Hundreds of photos flashed through her mind in an instant, accompanied very quickly by overwhelming guilt. Carmelita sat back on her heel and wrapped her arms around her middle.

“Thank you for saving me, Sly.” Shame made her want to avert her eyes, but she kept her gaze firmly on him. She needed to be open and honest with him about this. “After everything I said and did to you, you would have been well within your rights to wash your hands of me. I’m practically your enemy, but you still came.”

He sat up a little straighter, no longer relying on the wall to keep himself upright, and his own eyes were soft. “Carmelita, you’re not my enemy. You never were, even when I was too stubborn and afraid to realize it.”

“Even when I was gunning you down on the Panda King’s turf?” She countered, in genuine disbelief over his statement.

“Especially then,” the raccoon confirmed. There was a grim set to his mouth. “I’ve been surrounded by enemies for half my life, and I know what that really looks like. That night in Kunlun, I was more afraid of what would happen to me when I was taken to Interpol than when you specifically caught me. I knew you’d never hurt me the way my real enemies would, no matter how angry you were.”

What a sobering thought that was. The fox vividly remembered her fury while chasing after him, willing to hit him with enough shock pistol shots to take down someone twice his size. He had clearly considered the threat real and reacted accordingly, but even then, it had not been anywhere near the dangers he’d lived under for so long.

The danger he was still in, so long as they remained in this volcano.

She turned her attention to the giant bulky thing strapped to his back. It had registered in the back of her mind when she’d carried him out of the gas trap room, but only now did she realize that it was hers.

“How did you get ahold of my jetpack?”

“Oh, uh…borrowed it from your Interpol friends. Figured you – we could use it to get out of here once I found you.”

He gave her a careful look. Carmelita knew what he was searching for and was quick to push all her instinctive judgement out of her mind and off her face. Instead, she smiled at him.

“That was smart thinking, Ringtail. I knew I could count on you to have a plan.”

The raccoon blushed, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet as he looked away. It was so reminiscent of their earlier time working together that her smile nearly faltered. Now, she had context for why he struggled so hard to take a compliment – before, it had been endearing, but right now all it did was make her blood boil. Her right hand twitched as if to grip tighter at a weapon she no longer had.

His eyes caught the movement and he brightened. “Oh! I didn’t just get the jetpack, actually. I also got all of – here.”

He reached behind him, to his backpack that she hadn’t realized was hidden under the jetpack, and began pulling out equipment one after the other. The inspector’s jaw dropped as her shock pistol, radio, and GPS were all offered to her nonchalantly; as if it had been an easy task to just steal from an elite team of officers.

She realized that, for him, it probably was.

It was only a delay of a few seconds that she stared at them, but it was a delay too long. Sly’s ears fell back and he began to hunch in on himself, still offering her stuff but looking ready to disappear the moment she took them.

“I mean – I didn’t – I just thought…”

“Thank you,” she said, firm and honest, before he could spiral into an assumption that she very much didn’t want him to make. “This will be crucial to our survival, Sly. I wish I had even half the foresight you do. You’re still the best partner I ever had, and I mean that wholeheartedly.”

Carmelita reached out and clasped her hands around his, holding the equipment between them – and his cane – as she looked him squarely in the eye and tried to make it clear that she wasn’t angry over what he’d done. He tensed at the touch at first, then slowly began to relax as it sunk in that he hadn’t done something terrible in her eyes. That she was accepting him for who and what he was.

Later, she would kick herself for her inattentiveness in enemy territory.

A screech echoed through the air and that was all the warning either of them got before suddenly a pair of talons latched around the jetpack from above. Sly could only stare at her in shock before he was hoisted off the ground and her equipment clattered to the ground. Another screech behind her was all the warning she got to throw herself sideways – just in time as a second pair of talons made a grab for her and missed.

The robotic falcon didn’t change course when it failed to snatch her; instead, it made a beeline for Sly, who had already gotten one of his arms out of the jetpack straps in his attempt to escape. The bird wrapped its claws around his flailing legs, holding him tight as they all began to fly away.

“No!”

Carmelita didn’t even realize she’d yelled as she dove for her shock pistol lying on the rock floor. She didn’t know if it was loaded but didn’t dare waste precious seconds to check – her arms swung towards the birds and their struggling hostage, eyes desperately searching for a way to shoot Sly down without shooting him.

She wasn’t finding her window and they were getting away. There was no more time to look for something safe. The inspector set her sights on the one holding her partner’s legs, fired, and watched the sizzling bullet impact.

The falcon screamed – as did Sly as the current flowed through its talons and into him – and seemed to lock up from the electricity. Its wings halted mid-beat and it began to plummet towards the ground. Its hold on the raccoon didn’t stay; he slipped out of its grip just in time for it to fall out of the air.

And fall it did. The robot bird crashed into stone and the resulting crunch was loud enough to confirm it was out of commission for good. Carmelita looked up to the other falcon still holding her partner hostage only to see him finally remove himself from the jetpack’s harness and fall as well. He angled himself towards a high ledge and tucked into a roll right before hitting it, tumbling over and over until he came to a stop on his back. The remaining falcon, unaware it had lost its prize, clutched the jetpack close and flew higher and higher into the volcano.

Inspector Fox aimed carefully, waiting until she was certain the bird was over rock and not lava, and pulled the trigger a second time. It hit its mark perfectly; the falcon screamed and froze just like its brethren had, landing in a heap out of sight on a distant rocky shelf. The smoke from its broken body was the only indication of where it – and the jetpack – now was. Threat neutralized, she sprinted towards the ledge Sly had landed on.

“Sly! Are you alright?” She called, skidding to a stop at the bottom of the cliffside to look for footholds to climb. “I’ll be right up there, just give me a minute!”

A black-ringed face peered over the edge down at her. In the low light, she couldn’t tell if he was hurt, but the sound of his voice coming down was a stark relief.

“I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me for a bit. Don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come up, though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s completely exposed up here. Nothing to hide under or even against if something attacks us again.”

The raccoon began sliding down the rocky wall, slowly and carefully, until he was low enough for her to help him down the rest of the way. He cracked his back with a grimace.

“Fuck me, that was close. ‘S what I get for forgetting to look up. Sorry for losing the jetpack.”

“The important thing is that you’re alive,” Carmelita pointed out. “That’s all that matters to me.”

His lips thinned. “Yeah, well, if we don’t get it back soon, there’s not going to be much of either of us left to think anything matters. I had to block off the way I used to find you, so this is all new territory for me. The longer we’re stuck here, the more likely it is that Clockwerk finds us.”

“Then let’s not give him more time than he already has.” She holstered her pistol, picked up her radio and GPS to clip onto her belt, and began walking in the direction of the smoking husk. “We’ll retrieve the jetpack, fly out of here, and then contact Interpol for a rescue.”

He kept pace with her without any hesitation. “I already did that.”

“You –” the fox tripped over nothing, then turned to gape at him. “You contacted them?”

“Yeah.” Sly gestured to the GPS. “Turned that on before I entered the volcano. I figured that since you’ve been missing almost a full day in the middle of an important raid, they’d probably be on high alert for any sign of where you went.”

Sure enough, the signal was still going strong when she checked it. Carmelita felt a weight lift off her shoulders knowing that Interpol was already on their way. If nothing else, they moved with incredible speed when one of their own was in danger.

“I didn’t try the radio, though,” he continued before she even had a chance to thank him. “Doubted they’d take me seriously since they have no idea who I am. Was kinda banking on the tracker being enough.”

“It probably is, but it wouldn’t hurt to let them know I’m alive.” As she pulled the radio up to her mouth, she paused and looked at him. “Is that okay with you?”

“What kind of question is that? ‘No, I have a problem with you increasing our chances of being rescued’? Call them while you’ve still got battery left in that thing, Inspector.” The raccoon turned his eyes to the skies. “I’ll be on bird watch in the meantime.”

There was an odd note to his voice. It wasn’t anger, or wariness, but neither was it excitement. Watching him cautiously, unsure what he was thinking but knowing he was right, she flipped the radio on and began tuning for viable frequencies through the static. They walked together for a few minutes with nothing but that static and the occasional loud crackle that made them both wince, until finally she could make out muffled, proper sound on the other end.

“Inspector Fox to Interpol! Come in, Interpol!” She said as loud as she dared into the receiver. “Requesting immediate assistance!”

For a full twenty seconds, there was no response. Carmelita gripped the radio a little tighter, waiting and hoping, and very nearly touched the tuning dial again when suddenly a voice rang through.

“Inspector Fox, this is Interpol’s Ministry of Internal Affairs of Russia.” The voice was distant and dangerously close to cutting out at points, but still audible despite all odds. “Please state your badge ID and your reason for using this frequency.”

The inspector did so immediately, so relieved that tears nearly sprung to her eyes. Beside her, Sly continued to watch the air, but his ears did a strange back-and-forth of flicking forward to listen and then pinning against his head. When she shot him a questioning look, he briefly met it with a persistent nod.

“We’re making contact with the French branch now, Inspector. As soon as they corroborate your story and your location, we will send a team out to retrieve you. Stay alive as long as you can. We’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” she said. Her partner leaned subtly into her shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

“Over and out.”

With the call for help successfully made, she turned the radio off to conserve battery, and they continued their climb towards the lost jetpack. Sly remained concerningly quiet for a long time, but Carmelita was almost afraid to break the silence first for fear it would drive him away from whatever he was working through in his head.

When they ducked under a rock outcropping to avoid being spotted by a group of robo-falcons, he took a deep breath as soon as they were gone. She could feel his heart beating where he was pressed up against her.

“I need to take Clockwerk down.”

The fox looked at him, thoroughly surprised. They were nose to nose in the tight space, and she could see every line of stress in his face. She could also see the determination in his eyes that refused to back down no matter what.

“I don’t know if Interpol can do it,” he rushed to add, as if afraid she would try to dissuade him. “They don’t know anything about him, not like I do. And when they show up, there’s a good chance he won’t even engage with them. He hates direct confrontation unless he’s orchestrated it, so he might just take to the skies and disappear. If he escapes tonight, then he’ll never let any of you find him again. This is the best chance we’ll have. It’s…it’s the only chance I’ll have.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. This wasn’t just about them getting payback; it was about Sly Cooper getting his life back.

“He’ll expect something like that from you,” she warned. “He already knows we’re here and he’ll be taking precautions.”

Sly shook his head. “No. He expects me to run, or surrender. He knows I brought that jetpack, so he’s probably waiting for us to use it to try and escape, and then he can just pluck us out of the sky. As far as he’s concerned, we’re not even worth being considered a threat.”

At that, the raccoon paused, looked her up and down, then let a crooked smile cross his face.

“Well, I’m not considered a threat,” he amended. “You, on the other hand, have probably pissed him off so bad that he hates you almost as much as he hates me.”

She thought about the conversation she had with the owl right before her rescue. The single-minded interest he had only in Sly was still enough to make her want to shiver. “I highly doubt that, Ringtail.”

“…Yeah.” The smile disappeared. Exhaustion was all that remained. “It’s nice to pretend I’m not alone sometimes, though.”

“You’re not alone.” Carmelita grabbed his wrist; the one holding the Cooper cane. He startled but didn’t pull away. “If you’re going after Clockwerk, then I am, too. No – don’t say anything. You went through hell to save me, and I’m going to make sure you never have to do it again. Besides, I promised you back in Mesa that we’d do this together, didn’t I?”

Her partner stared at her for a long moment, so much so that she reflexively glanced up to make sure they weren’t ambushed again. When he finally found his words, his voice was soft and his eyes were wet.

“Inspector Fox, believe me when I say that you’re the only person in the world I trust to be able to do that. You’re so strong, so much stronger than me, and I don’t –” he cut himself off, and she would forever wonder what he was really about to say. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I meant what I said right before you were abducted, you know. After this is over, if we both survive…I’ll still turn myself in. You can bring me in…well, if not as part of the Five, then as the last Cooper. Cement your legacy as the best officer at Interpol, because it’s what you deserve.”

She opened and closed her mouth, unable to form a response that could truly show him the turbulent emotions in her head. Part of her, the part that upheld the law to an iron T and demanded justice from the world around her, wanted greatly to do exactly that. It was a small voice, drowned out and made tiny from everything she’d learned about Sly and the twisted conspiracy that made up his life, but it was still there all the same, and she doubted it would ever fully leave. Another even smaller part whispered traitorously about recognition and respect, and how she’d never have to worry about either of those things ever again if she did what he was suggesting.

The rest of her, though, did not want that. The rest of her wanted to tell him that none of this was his fault, or that he had been forced into crime against his will, or even that the law and her reputation could shove it. She wanted to tell him about the camera, and his feelings for her, and her own feelings for him. She wanted to ask him to join her when Interpol arrived – not as a detainee, but as her friend. Her confidante.

Her partner, declared to the world.

Carmelita wanted to do all and none of these things, but she didn’t, because there was no time and she could see the self-loathing in his eyes that wouldn’t be swayed by kind words, no matter how heartfelt they were. So, instead, she held out her hand to him in an offer of a handshake.

“After this is over, when we both survive, I’ll give you a ten second head start.” She didn’t know why she picked ten seconds, when it should have been ten minutes or ten hours or forever, but she refused to falter on her promise once she’d made it. “And after those ten seconds, I’ll do exactly what I should have done a long time ago.”

Sly took her hand with solemnity. “It’s a deal.”

With that agreement in place, they scaled the last few cliffs to reach the jetpack without much more conversation. The fox’s mind was racing, wondering if she’d made the right decision, or if she’d change her mind when it was time for that head start, or if they’d even survive the inevitable confrontation with the leader of the Fiendish Five. For all that she had asserted that they’d be fine, it was obvious to both of them that this was bordering on a suicide mission.

But Sly didn’t have any other choice, and Carmelita refused to abandon her partner when he needed her most. So, on they went together.

It wasn’t much further before the two of them helped hoist each other up to the miniature plateau that the robo-falcon had crashed onto, and both were relieved to find that their precious means of flight had skidded only a meter or so away from the center of impact. As the raccoon approached the broken, smoking body, Inspector Fox crouched beside the jetpack and began looking it over for signs of damage. They each kept one careful eye on the sky for aerial enemies.

“This thing is definitely busted,” Sly confirmed, kicking at one taloned foot while knocking the end of his cane against a metal wing. “Your pistol really knocks them out quick. Hopefully it didn’t signal where we were to its maker before it died.”

“Let’s hope for the best and plan for the worst,” she replied, standing back up with her equipment slung across her back. “Jetpack is a little banged up but otherwise functional. I think it’s safe to use as long as it has fuel.”

When she offered it to him, the raccoon began to shake his head no. Carmelita was having none of it.

“Take the jetpack, Sly.”

“No offense, Inspector, but I’m a lot more agile than you. If something goes wrong, you’ll need it more than I do.”

Her eyes narrowed, seeing right through the excuse. “I have a weapon that shuts down those robots with one hit. How effective has your cane been against them?”

He didn’t immediately answer. She pushed the jetpack into his chest.

“We’ll treat it as a last resort, okay? On the odds that my shock pistol doesn’t work against Clockwerk like it does on his minions, you’ll be quick enough on the draw to maneuver us out of here with it. It’s supposed to be strong enough to carry weight that’s way more than the two of us combined, so this isn’t me giving you the only avenue of escape. I’m trusting you to have my back with it.”

That seemed to finally do the trick. Sly took the jetpack and begrudgingly buckled himself into it again, staring at her in a mix of frustration and reluctant agreement the entire time. The fox folded her arms and met his gaze unblinking.

“Almost forgot how stubborn you are,” he said. The words were equal parts biting and fond. “I hate that I missed that.”

“Get used to it, Ringtail, because my stubbornness and I aren’t going anywhere until we take this bird down. Speaking of…any ideas on how to do that?”

Sly’s expression sobered. “Nothing concrete. That bomb I used to free us was the only thing I’d had enough time to make before coming here. I’ve been winging it since I got here.”

Carmelita drummed her fingers against her holster in thought, eyeing the landscape around them. Her gaze fell on the destroyed robo-falcon, and for the first time she noticed there was some kind of weaponry built into its body that looked completely intact. She looked at it for a long moment, then down at her pistol.

“Well, since winging it has pretty much been our thing from the very beginning and we’ve still made it this far…” She said, slow and thoughtful, “…then we might as well make our last stand something truly special, don’t you think?”

He followed her gaze, silent and calculative, before baring his teeth in an almost manic grin.

“You know what? I think I can get behind that. Let’s show Clockwerk what happens when you mess with the two of us.”

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A/N: Finally a chance to talk, and yet the most important things still left unsaid. Here's hoping our duo survives so those unspoken things don't become unspoken regrets.

We're in the endgame now, folks. Till next week.

#sly cooper #carmelita fox #fanfiction #the lines we cross

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audio-luddite · 9 months

Text

Everything is wrong.

Speakers this time.

I have built quite a few and almost every one I worked on followed a different theory, or method. Full range, planar, omni-directional, bipolar, boxes vented and not. I have done them all. They are all wrong if you define that by some rigorous scientific basis. Some work pretty well. And I think I have gotten pretty close from time to time.

I speak from experience, and know why I got the results I did.

So start from Theory. There isn't one. Advertisements will quote some "white paper" which justifies their particular approach. Anyone can write one of those. Hey I have. I have seen line sources, point sources, and this and that all quoted as the perfect ideal. Like that silly movie, there can be only one.

So let's start out with the receiving end, your ears. That anything allows you to hear the image of real music is due to the magic in your head. Your hearing can be fooled because it wants to be. You do not hear a sound, your brain processes what is effectively a stereo real time FFT of incoming frequencies and amplitudes and tries very hard to fit a pattern of expectations. You actually perceive the best fit pattern your brain selects. Poor sound is when your brain tells you it aint quite right. The closer to expectation the better quality.

The most basic starting point is a broad frequency response. After that chuck ideals and perfection into the bin.

If you are at a concert you are not listening to a point source, but a multitude of many sources. Same thing for line sources. They are a starting point of rationalization. The image in your system is an effect of skillful mixing or production. Accept it aint real.

The QUAD ESL 63 was intended to simulate a point source by an array of diaphragms sequenced to respond as if they were a point source. It is actually a phase array by delaying the signals from centre to perimeter. Waste of effort as relatively simple "flat arrays" sounded pretty much the same.

The Dahlquist DQ10 was a complex set of conventional drivers in a 5 way breakdown that adjusted the fore and aft position of the drivers to compensate for the phase distortion of the cross overs. It worked very well when given enough power. It was often compared to the QUAD. You could not have more different technologies at work.

Full range drivers never quite are. The closest are BIG electrostatics, but the BASS tends to drop off and the Treble beams. Damn Physics gets you every time.

Multiple driver arrays all suffer from interference of some type. Vertical lines of tweeters comb filter vertically. So stand up or sit down and stay there. Adjacent drivers comb filter horizontally, but you still see those from time to time.

Concentric drivers are OK if they are within size limitations, and of course really only good for two-way systems.

My biggest complaint is bipolar or omni-directional speakers. They all disappoint me. Electrostatics and planar magnetics send as much out the back as the front. So you get a lot of "signal" bouncing around the room making multipath and phase interferences and imbalances. Omni speakers like the classic OHM Walsh drivers same thing. Oh they fill a room with sound but it is not coherent. Coherence is good.

Fun fact is they all can be perceived as working very well, when they really are not.

Your brain really wants to be fooled. If you sit close enough to speakers the initial signal to your ears is what your brain attends. The later incoherence is disregarded or given far less priority. That lets those multi-path beasts get away with it.

Proximity also affects frequency response. Small Bass shy non-linear speakers like the BBC LS3/5a sound pretty good in a small place. Less good in a bigger space.

So right now I am listening to a pair of two way bass reflex boxes set hard against the opposite wall of my room. They are exactly where "experts" would say is the worst place to put them. I like the way they sound as I built them to be in that wrong place. Is this me rationalizing or did I get it right?

No way to know objectively, but I like it.

See it always factors down to what you like.

#audiophile #high end audio #vinyl

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years

Text

An Ever Fixed Mark (part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

A little bit of BAMF! Jaskier, a lot of emotionally constipated/self flagellating Geralt, some miscommunication, and a secret.

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Geralt awoke slowly. The anxiety and excitement of the wedding had taken its toll, and the comfortable bed had enveloped him nicely. There was also the warm, comfortable weight in his arms.

Jaskier.

It was Jaskier in his arms. The young man was curled up, still fast asleep, with his head tucked against Geralt’s chest. Geralt wondered who had gravitated to whom in the night. Had he vvmoved unconsciously hold Jaskier? Perhaps. Jaskier must have cuddled up to him too, though. There was no other way to explain the way Jaskier’s hand was curled, lightly, around Geralt’s medallion. Holding on to Geralt. On his other hand, the wedding ring glittered.

Used to assessing battle situations, this train of thought happened in thirty seconds or less. His processing was significantly sleep slowed, however, because he finally became aware of what had woken him.

There was a pounding on the door. The urgent pounding of someone who desperately wanted to speak with the occupants but didn’t want to make others aware.

Without other options Geralt gently extricated himself from Jaskier, accidentally waking the young man in the process, pulled on the pants from the day before, and crossed to the door.

It was Eskel.

“What?”

“It’s almost ten in the morning,” Eskel said. “Vesemir wants us to leave really soon. Um, check if Jaskier has people he wants to say goodbye to.”

“Our things,” Geralt began.

Eskel waved a dismissive hand. “Vesemir had them packed up last night, but he really wants us to leave and he won’t tell us why.”

Geralt shrugged, reassured his brother, and closed the door.

Jaskier was sitting up in bed, his undershirt, a large, flowy thing, had slipped off one shoulder. Geralt’s stomach lurched, rolled, and finally curled up. Somehow it wasn’t in an unpleasant way, though. The skin was pale gold in the torchlight. It brought thoughts of sinking his teeth into all that glowing skin, gripping as he folded his body over Jaskier’s and...

Geralt dunked his head in the washbasin.

“Is that an okay temperature,” Jaskier said, slipping on his wedding attire from the day before. “I think it was warmed up for us last night but it’s probably pretty cold by now.”

It was doing exactly what Geralt needed it to, so he just grunted.

“I don’t have anyone I need to say goodbye to,” Jaskier said as Geralt wiped water from his eyes. “We can leave whenever.”Geralt nodded and pulled on his wedding doublet. Jaskier, all in white and pearls still looked like some sort of angel. He took Jaskier’s hand, and they left.

It was Jaskier’s guidance, of course, that brought them back to the rooms that had been for the witchers, and Vesemir was outside the door already.

“Was worried you two would linger,” he griped, but it was good-natured.

“Yeah honeymooners, how’s married life feel?,” Lambert smirked. He had packs over his shoulder, so did Eskel, and Vesemir. Eskel offered Geralt his pack and swords. Geralt shouldered them and took a much nicer pack from Lambert, obviously Jaskier’s. Vesemir picked up a lute from where it had been leant against the wall and Jaskier took it gratefully, a hint of a smile touching his round cheeks.

Then the odd little party left.

After all the anxiety and waiting and intrigue and the wedding itself, just walking down to the stables as an little group felt strange. No one stopped them, though.

The witcher’s horses had been cared for, but were otherwise untouched. There was a fifth, a black and white stallion, big but not a battlehorse by any means. Jaskier reached forward and kissed it’s muzzle. The horse responded by huffing in the way horses do and tossing his mane.

They mounted up and were off before the bell in the town center tolled eleven. It just didn’t feel real.

“We’ll ride with you to Egerbak,” Vesemir said, naming a town a day’s ride from Chateau Lettenhove. “From there we’ll go our separate ways, not good for witchers to be all in one group.”

“Why?” Jaskier said, looking puzzled. “Wouldn’t it make fighting monsters easier?”

“Sometimes,” Eskel said, “But if the terrain is rough you can get in one another’s way.”

“Get paid less too, the locals think it’s easy and give up less coin,” Lambert said, a little sourly.

“Most jobs need just one witcher,” Geralt said, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “And villagers get edgy if there’s more than that, they fear an attack.” He didn’t mention why. Surely Jaskier knew the reason he was called Butcher. “But there isn’t many of us left, either. We four are all of the wolf school. If there were people who wished us harm, having us all in one place could exterminate our school.”

“That’s horrible,” Jaskier said, blue eyes wide. The color was muted today, Geralt noticed. The sky was overcast and his eyes seemed to reflect the blue-grey light that filtered down.

“Do you think we’re in danger now?” the young man said.

“Depends, do you think your father would send people after you? To kill you I mean.” Vesemir didn’t even raise the question gently.

Jaskier sat, moving steadily astrid his horse, looking straight ahead. After a long moment with just the sound of five sets of hooves he said quietly, “I think maybe we should move a little faster.” He nudged his horse into a canter and fingered his lute strap nervously.

Without further instruction, the witchers formed up. Eskel, keen with magic and with the same good senses of any witcher, rode in front. Lambert, with his predilection for blowing things up from a distance, rode behind. Geralt and Vesemir rode along in the middle, Jaskier between them. He was probably the safest man for a hundred miles.

“You really think he might try something?” Geralt asked quietly. He knew speaking softly wasn’t the same as being tactful, but it was about the best he had.

Jaskier nodded. “It makes sense. If his goal is to start war with the witchers. To say you mistreated me and voided the contract, that’s one thing. But it makes a better story to feed to people if his beloved son is killed the day after the wedding.”

“I just don’t get it,” Geralt said, frustratedly. “Why does he want a war with witchers? I understand he doesn’t want you to be his successor, but he could just disown you, couldn’t he?”

“I was thinking about that,” said Jaskier. “It would look bad if he did, but he could. I think he wants a war with witchers because he wants a war with other countries. Any place that didn’t immediately turn against witchers-- all witchers, not just your school--well, he could declare them an enemy of Lettenhove, which is a big province. That makes it an enemy of Kerack and then Kerack goes to war with anywhere that decides they need someone to fight their monster problem.”

“That’s...” Geralt said.

“Despicable?”

“Well, yes, but I mean, it’s a lot to comprehend,” Geralt said. He felt a little at sea. This wasn’t his job, all this, this politics. He was a witcher. Find monster, swing sword, kill monster, get coin. That was what he did. Alliances and assasination and wars and marriage, they weren’t supposed to factor in.

“Yeah.” Jaskier said.

They rode on, safe inside the wolf school’s formation. After perhaps a quarter of an hour Jaskier slung his lute around and began to pick at it idly. It had a case, but he’d tied that onto his big stallion instead. Apparently he liked having it available.

“Why does he want a war?” Geralt asked after a little longer. “What does your father get out of it?”

Jaskier stopped plucking. “It’s part of the earl thing, in his case the position has a lot to do with finances and the kingdom’s treasury. Wars mean finances are more important, which makes him more important, and he get’s more power.”

“All of this is just a power grab?” Geralt said. “That’s daft.”

“That’s politics,” Jaskier said, a tad tiredly. “He probably thinks he could be made a duke. And yes, daft is a good word for it all.”

After that they just rode, stopping only briefly for lunch and to rest the horses. Jaskier played his lute quietly, most of the journey. At one point he pulled a notebook and charcoal stick from his bag to jot things down and muttered as he played.

Geralt had no idea if the lad’s music was impressive, but he was impressed with how he sat a horse, multitasking as if he was part centaur. He did most emphatically not think about how nice Jaskier’s thighs looked in the clothes he’d changed into at their lunch stop.

The wedding attire was very fine, but Jaskier looked somehow...right in the clothes he wore now. Blue trousers of fine but durable material and a white chemise under a blue doublet. He’d asked if he should wear the basilisk leather, but Geralt had shook his head. It was a fine spring day and basilisk leather kept heat like a fur coat, he didn’t want to cook his husband before they’d been married a whole day.

And wasn’t that a thought that clanked about in Geralt’s head. Husband. Husband husband husband husband husband. They were married and Geralt had a husband. Who was nobility. And Geralt was his husband.

And Geralt kind of wanted to kiss his husband.

That was his problem, however, not Jaskier’s. Whatever the damn ‘implied hidden fidelity clause’ said, Jaskier was free to sleep with whomever he chose. Why would any young man, in the position to choose, pick a scarred witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken? Who could choose Geralt?

Geralt suddenly felt very bitter, for himself and on Jaskier’s behalf. Neither of them had asked for this, and the witchers weren’t even going to get anything from it. Now he had a husband, a semi-disgraced noble, who apparently had musical talents. Bardic? Geralt didn’t know but it seemed...right.

Regardless, he needed a place to drop Jaskier off. Somewhere safe. It couldn’t be claimed he mistreated the man if they weren’t together. That way, Jaskier couldn’t...

Couldn’t what?

Geralt had never before actually contemplated all the ways a normal human could be hurt on the Path. Witchers, sure, he knew about that but humans were delicate. Geralt had been told once that you shouldn’t just eat rabbit because it...it did something and you would get sick. Or maybe starve? Because the meat was wrong somehow. Too lean? Not lean enough?

It didn’t matter because he wasn’t a human. He remembered a dreadful three weeks when coin had been lean eating just rabbit and he’d been fine. Jaskier might not be. Geralt hardly earned enough coin for himself how was he supposed to feed and protect them both.

Not to mention things like sleeping rough and rainstorms and all the little pitfalls of traveling.

It had seemed fine in theory before. Jaskier would have his basilisk leather and would stay at camp but now reality was setting in.

Tired from the road, the whole group spoke little as they set up camp. Geralt pitched the tent that he would share with Jaskier then set up the fire while his brothers put up their own tents and Vesemirs. Vesemir went hunting.

Geralt was almost eighty five years old, and had been hunting for most of those years, but not one of the younger wolves could match Vesemir’s skill.

Dinner was stew, with meat courtesy of Vesemir. Dessert was no talking at all. This wasn’t unusual at all for the wolves, but Jaskier was looking around nervously.

“You’re safe,” Geralt said. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said. It seemed odd, because he’d been so vibrant and chatty back at Chateau Lettenhove.

“Pass me your dish,” Geralt said. Wordlessly, Jaskier handed him the shallow bowl. Geralt scraped it onto the grass.

“I’m sorry about the whole...assassin thing and, and everything,” Jaskier said after another silent minute.

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

The overast sky finally gave way to the rain that had been threatening all day and with a sigh the witchers each turned in for the night. Jaskier crawled into the tent after Geralt and settled down onto one of the bedrolls.

Geralt went about his nightly routine as if nothing was different, untying his hair and stripping himself his clothes. He felt oddly flattered when Jaskier let out a tiny gasp as he divested himself of his smallclothes. A glance showed him the young man, wide eyed in the dim light, kneeling on his bedroll.

The tent smelled of lust.

Geralt pulled on the well-worn loose trousers he preferred and nudged Jaskier’s pack at him. The boy took the hint and rummaged in it, pulling out similarly loose sleep pants and changing quickly. Geralt looked away for decency’s sake. They may be married but that was no reason to take liberties. Unfortunately, Jaskier was wearing another loose chemise to bed, and Geralt’s thoughts dragged back to the tantalizing view of shoulder from that morning.

“Wrap up tight,” he grunted, annoyed at himself for even thinking of that. “If the temperature drops in the night I don’t want to have to deal with you getting sick.”

The lust smell, which had waned somewhat, was entirely gone, replaced with a scent Geralt had smelled on Jaskier before.

“Okay,” Jaskier said quietly, and tucked himself obediently into his bedroll.

Jaskier smelled sad. Like he had the night before.

Geralt rolled into his own bedroll and cursed himself. Of course the boy was sad. Dragged onto the Path with a husband more monster than man. Boyish hormones made him horny, not any desire for something like Geralt. And he was a boy. Nineteen was legally an adult but it was like...what was the phrase Vesemir had used? De jure is not de facto. Legallity is not truth.

Geralt listened to Jaskier’s breathing and thought about their ages. Eighty years for a witcher was still considered a mere stripling youth when considered in the course of a witcher lifespan. For Jaskier, though, he would live to be eighty only if he was lucky. On a witcher’s Path he almost certainly wouldn’t be.

Jaskier’s breathing hadn’t slowed into the deep, even pattern of sleep. Geralt wondered what was keeping him awake. Then again, if he was sleeping beside a monster, he’s lie awake too.

It seemed as though neither of them would ever sleep, both of them laying, inches between them, on their separate bedrolls. Then, between one blink and the next, Geralt must have slipped into sleep.

He awoke to a damp world. It had rained through the night and the rain was still drizzling against the tent when he opened his eyes. The humidity and the little moisture that seeped through the cloth of the tent had built up and everything felt sticky and muggy.

Although every item of clothing in his pack had been put in dry, almost nothing felt entirely dry as he struggled into proper clothes. Jaskier woke too, blinking his eyes open muzzily and wrinkling his nose at the damp feeling. He also dressed in silence, frowning as he pulled on his clothes.

There was no dry firewood for a fire and Eskel, gifted though he was with magic, couldn’t make a fire last on soaked wood. The group ate cold rations. Jaskier tried to start up a conversation with Eskel about literature.

Geralt smiled inwardly, but let none of it show on his face, lest Jaskier think he was mocking him. Eskel, despite the best efforts of everything the wolf school could do, was so far from being a morning person as to be out the other side. He could stay up all night, but wasn’t conversational until nearly noon.

Jaskier looked disheartened, though. Geralt wasn’t a substitute for literary conversation, so he just packed up Jaskier’s horse for him. For some reason, Jaskier frowned at that, but then nodded at Geralt and they all mounted up.

It was an hour’s ride to Egerbak, where the witchers would part. From there, Geralt thought, mapping the journey in his head, he and Jaskier could turn for Oxenfurt. The journey would be almost a month, and Geralt would have to hunt along the way to earn coin, but Jaskier would be safe there.

While Geralt was musing, Jaskier was trying to strike up a conversation with Vesemir. The old wolf was more of a morning person than Eskel, but not a conversationalist, so Jaskier eventually shrugged a little sadly and pulled out his lute.

He plucked a tune, editing it again and again until he seemed satisfied. It was catchy, an earworm Geralt was sure would never leave his head. Then Jaskier began to hum.

Geralt himself was very nearly tone deaf, and frankly didn’t like music in most cases, but Jaskier’s voice sounded okay. It was only humming, anyway.

Geralt’s ears pricked and he saw the shoulders of Eskel, riding point, tense up too. He knew all the witchers had heard the noise. Hoofbeats were approaching fast. Geralt craned in his saddle to see the rider, but could make out little between the rain, which had graduated from drizzle to downpour.

Vesemir coughed, flexing his hand on the reigns, opening his fist then closing it again. The witchers drew together, closing their formation. To the rider it would likely look as if they merely were drawing towards one another to give him room. It worked to do that, for sure, but it was also a defensive maneuver, trained into them and beaten into their memory. Witchers rarely fought alongside eachother, but when they had to they were prepared. Closing ranks also had the benefit of enclosing Jaskier, like a hand wrapping around a precious stone.

Geralt’s steel sword had been tied at his hip, and his silver along with the saddlebags. It made him look less threatening, more like a knight errant than someone ready to battle at any time. In truth, the change from being slung at his shoulders was practical. In combat he could draw the sword from his hip and be prepared, rather than having to reach up to draw his weapons. It left him less exposed on horseback. He reached down to his hip and, in a smooth and almost impercepitble motion, flicked the tie open on the sheath of his sword, loosening its hold to make the sword easier to draw. He turned the movement into a casual stroke of Roach’s flank.

The rider pulled up alongside. “Sir witcher,” he panted, “I must speak with Master Julian.”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier but the boy looked...different. He was sitting his horse more stiffly and looked more haughty and aristocratic than Geralt had ever seen him. Nothing of his clothing had changed, and he was in poor garb compared to the silken doublets he had worn before, but in a second his posture had turned him into the spitting image of his father.

“Speak, man,” Jaskier said, waving one hand dismissively.

“You left without your dowry.”

“Dowry,” Jaskier said coldly.

Geralt felt cold for a different reason. He’d seen a ring on the hand of the rider, the left hand’s index finger. It was large, with a heavy stone. He was a slim young man in the dress of a footman, but something in his build said otherwise. This was an assasin, Geralt would bet his medallion, and the ring held poison, or something equally nasty.

“I have no need of a dowry,” Jaskier was saying, passing straight through haughty and going for enigmatic without bother to slow down.

“Your father insisted,” said the assassin, sidling his horse closer. Geralt nudged Roach and she deftly stepped in the way.

“My father can take back his coin,” Jaskier said, even as the man offered a bag, slightly open to show gold coins. “I am no maiden, and my marriage shall produce no heirs.”

“But--”

“Don’t speak over your betters,” Jaskier said, every words ringing like steel. “A dowry is to set up a household. Well my household, such as it is,” here Jaskier gestured about him. “Is set up. Traditionally, if the wife dies without producing a male heir to the marriage the dowry is returned. I shall produce no heirs, so I’m returning the dowry preemptively.”

The assasin looked truly stumped. “I must give this to you,” he said, reaching forward, across Roach’s rump to hand the bag to Jaskier. Geralt saw the man’s thumb hover over the poison ring, as if about to flick open the compartment.

“No,” Jaskier said.

“At least dismount so that we can discuss this,” pleaded the rider.

Geralt looked about them. They’d been riding through woodland all day, but it was dense here, just the place one might lie in wait. Then he saw it, the thing he’d been waiting for since they’d left Lettenhove. A glint of light off of metal in the underbrush. Vesemir caught his eye, he’d seen it too.

“Melitele help us!” Jaskier cried. “There’s bandits in the woods!”

Geralt saw anger and annoyance flash onto the face of the assassin. “No bandits in these woods my lord, I’m sure,” he said smoothly.”

Geralt knew the plan in that instant. Jaskier would be found dead on the roadside, the rider would stagger back into Lettenhove, or perhaps onward into Egerbak and tell how the witchers had cruelly murdered Jaskier and made off with the dowry, leaving him for dead. These hiddent troops were presumably to subdue the witchers while Jaskier was murdered.

Finally, Geralt drew his sword.

Damn. If they killed the Earl’s men that would also look bad.

Jaskier, switching from enigmatic to foppishly distressed. “You simply must turn back,” he was saying to the assassin. “It’s quite alright, I have all these big, strong witchers to protect me, and before I left lettenhove I sent a xenovox message to a mage in Temeria, a friend of mine. I have a powerful protection on me.”

“You do,” the assassin said, edging his horse back a step. Protection spells tended to get messy in a guts and gore way for those who crossed them.

“Oh yes, and my darling husband, isn’t that right, dear heart?” Jaskier said, giving Geralt doe eyes. Geralt blinked.

“Uh, yes, Triss Merigold,” Geralt said, thanking his lucky stars, which most of the time had utterly failed to be lucky for him, that he actually knew a mage in Temeria.

“Merigold,” the would-be assassin said. “The name rings a bell, I’ll just,” and he rode off, back towards Lettenhove.

Jaskier spurred his horse. “Let’s get out of this rabbit snare,” he muttered. The witchers rode double-time to clearer ground.

“Well,” Vesemir said, once they were well and truly clear. “Quick thinking, lad, and some of the most pretentious acting I’ve ever seen.”

Jaskier bowed in his saddle, smiling like a moonbeam. “Thank you, although I’m just glad Geralt had a real name to back me up.”

“Should do,” Lambert snorted as they rode past the first few buildings of Egenbak. “She practically sewed his guts back into his body after a Striga--”

“Shut up,” Geralt growled, but it was too late. Even in the rain, Jaskier’s eyes were sparkling.

Greed, Geralt reflected, and indeed, lust, came in many varieties. Jaskier’s father may covet money and power, but the mere mention of a story had Jaskier coveting it just as viciously. What could be so boring, so lacking in a wealthy young man’s life, Geralt wondered, that he was so starved for adventure?

They bid their goodbyes to the other witchers, Jaskier surprising them each with a hug. Vesemir huffed, but Geralt caught the slight upward twitch of his moustache.

“Fair roads,” Jaskier said, waving to them all. Geralt waved too, and then his brother’s and Vesemir rode away.

So did Jaskier and Geralt, but it hadn’t been three minutes when Jaskier asked, “Striga?”

“Mmmhm.”

“What is a striga?” Jaskier pressed.

“Monster.”

Jaskier huffed. “What sort,” he said, with a bit of a whine. “How is one born...made? What does it look like? What does it do? Why have I never heard of one before?”

“Made by magic. Looks ugly. Does messy awful killings. They’re rare.”

“Please, Geralt, tell me the story?”

Geralt didn’t look over at him. Wasn’t going to. If he caught a glimpse of that face and those eyes pleading he’d give in.

“The rode is going to be awfully boring, Geralt, a story would really help,” Jaskier said, still begging.

“Just focus on riding,”Geralt growled. “I don’t want to have to deal with you if you fall off your horse.” Then he urged Roach on ahead.

It was indeed a very long and boring ride. After a while Jaskier pulled out his lute and began to play.

“Toss a coin,” he sang quietly, then he changed the cord and tried it again, a little higher. “Toss a coin to your witcher.”

“Don’t make up songs about me,” Geralt growled.

“Short of you telling me stories I have to make things up,” Jaskier said. “I know nothing about you.”

“So you write me a song?”

“I think you deserve one,” Jaskier said, as if his very believing it made it fact.

Geralt urged his horse on ahead.

“Come on,” Jaskier said, nudging his horse faster too. “My singing can’t be that bad, can it?” he asket.d lightly.

“Yes,” Geralt growled. “It can.”

They rode the rest of the day without speaking. Jaskier plucked sullenly at his lute.

Geralt was angry, and worse, he didn’t really have any right to be angry. He knew he’d messed up. Day two of marriage and he’d fucked up spectacularly. He was bad at this, and he was angry at himself. Somehow, though, he felt angry at Jaskier too. What was Geralt supposed to do? Answer every childish question? Tell stories? Discuss literature like Eskel could? Like probably all of Jaskier’s high class friends at Oxenfurt and Lettenhove could?

He was a witcher. Witcher meant solitary. It meant silence. It did not mean infernal music and being pestered about a story like a nanny.

He was being an asshole and he knew it, but damnit, he’d been an asshole so long he wasn’t about to stop all at once. It was practically baked in at this point. Being angry was better than trying to be kind an failing. Silence was easier than speaking.

Jaskier drooped in his saddle though, and Geralt felt like a cad.

They stopped for lunch at the side of the road, eating soggy rations and not talking to one another. They were both soaked to the skin, despite heavy cloaks, which were too hot in this late spring storm. Jaskier dripped miserably and carefully wiped down his lute, putting it reverentially in its case.. Up until that point the instrument had been mostly safe from rain, cradled against his body under the cloak. He’d clearly come to the same conclusion that Geralt had, however, that if the instrument stayed out any longer, cloak cover or no, it would get truly wet.

“Raining cats and dogs,” Jaskier said, tentatively. It had the same feeling as a man dipping his toe into water to see how cold it was.

“Hmmm.” Geralt said, neutrally.

Apparently seeing this not outright aggression as an invitation, Jaskier, metaphorically, jumped into the pond.

“See, I think that saying is really rather silly,” he said. “Not only because it, obviously, doesn’t rain animals, but really, cats don’t even like water.”

He continued chattering as they remounted and rode on.

“Dogs do like water of course, well, some, but so few like rainstorms, especially thunder. I wonder why we have that saying then.”

His mind seemed to skip back and forth between subjects like a grasshopper.

“I understand why dogs don’t like thunder, of course, and I don’t care for lightning much myself, but the thunder must be so loud with their sensitive hearing.”

He paused for a split second and Geralt wondered if blissful silence would return but then,

“I imagine thunder must be dreadful with your hearing, right?”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Shut up, he thought.

“Oh that’s awful,” Jaskier said. “Do you think it will thunder tonight? I hope not. If it does - or perhaps even if it doesn’t - I think we ought to get a room in an inn tonight. Give our clothes a chance to dry.”

Melitele’s tits. Geralt couldn’t believe one man could talk so much. It was almost like nervous chatter but it grated on his already fraying nerves.

“An inn would be perfect don’t you think? And I could play there. I’m a bard you know. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘you’re a Viscount, Jaskier,’ and that’s true, although I suppose not anymore, technically from the moment I said ‘I do’ that honor was passed to my half-brother but, I’m a bard as well.”

“Shut up.”

“What?” Jaskier said.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling as he did so cold water drip from his hood onto his face. “For the love of all that is good just shut up,” he growled.

“Maybe if you said something back occasionally it wouldn’t be so one sided,” Jaskier said sniffily.

“Maybe if you had any brains in that empty head of yours you’d have something worth while to talk about.”

“I have brains,” Jaskier said, affronted.

“Clearly not enough to know when to shut up,” Geralt sniped back. “I don’t want to have to deal with your incessant chatter all the way to Oxenfurt.”

Jaskier stopped his horse and dismounted, in the middle of the road, in the pouring rain.

“Get back on your horse, have you lost your mind?” Geralt said, but he reigned Roach in.

“Oxenfurt?” Jaskier said, quietly. His voice held no emotion and Geralt felt suddenly that he had really fucked up this time. He dismounted.

“Yes,” he said. “You have friends there, I thought it would be a nice place to go.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell Jaskier that he intended to leave him there, but he felt that, at this time, that wouldn’t go over well.

Jaskier’s face softened. “You thought it would be nice,” he said. “For me to go back there.”

Geralt shrugged. “One destination is as good as the other on my Path, often I just wander.”

Jaskier smiled softly and remounted. “Okay then,” he said. “To Oxenfurt.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I suppose dismounting was dramatic, I guess I thought you were taking me somewhere to get rid of me.”

It was like having ice shoved into Geralt’s spine as he mounted Roach again. “I wouldn’t get rid of you,” he said lowly.

“Oh, not ‘get rid of’, like that stupid assassin. I meant...discard, abandon, leave, wash one’s hands of, cast aside.”

They rode on, Jaskier chattered, but less. Geralt didn’t say a single word.

They didn’t make it to a town with an inn that night so they made camp in a soaked clearing again. Guilt ate Geralt as he was eating cold rations and chased him into their tent. He lie awake feeling heavy with it as he heard Jaskier’s breathing drop off.

Jaskier wouldn’t like being left at Oxenfurt, but it would be for his own good, Geralt thought. He didn’t have to tell him right now, anyway. That was a discussion that could wait until Oxenfurt.

Geralt’s guilt didn’t lift completely, but it eased enough that he slipped into meditation.

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

I’m still pretty sick with mono, so this took me ages to manage, but its here at last! So psyched to write the next part too.

Tag List!

@llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @ailorian @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam @sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest @innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @toothhurtyam @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna @limevodka @rocknrollphanda @seralyra @permanently-exhausted-witcher @aj-itated @watchthewolvesfall @00qtee @the-blondey @birds-of-forgiveness @west-moor @abstractartwithoutpaint @darkonesdagger7437 @onwardsandfourwords @underwaterattribute @whenrainbowsend @goldbvtton @little-piece-of-tamlin @in-love-with-writing002 @flustratedcas @fontegagrilledcheese @so--many-fandoms @kirk-spock-in-the-impala @oniongrass @flowercrown-bard @maya-the-yellow-bee @thecomfortofoldstorries @wellthisstinks @thenameislion-dandelion @flowercrown-bard @obsessedchildsworld @debellatis @zotinha456 @tumbleweedtech @goblin-loves-shiny-things @birdsflyhome @holymotherwolf @the-shenny-of-azkaban @darkangel91939 @enkelikauneus @saphiramalbec @silvermirror1997

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage au #miscommunication #angst #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Vesemir #jaskier #eskel #lambert

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

Text

‘The Revive Incantation’

During today’s Techno stream (June 21st), he referred to the contents of the revive book as an “incantation”. Well, my brain immediately thought of Dream singing the Healing song from Tangled to revive Tommy, and a few hours later I present this. The revive book requires a few things to work, and one of those things is a willingness to do a little backwards karaoke. (And yes, I rewrote the song from Tangled for this.)

Swirling around the words on the page were these beautiful gold pattern illustrations. They twisted and curled like the timid edges of a plant’s leaves, and each corner even featured a little golden flower. The muted ochre and emerald-green they had been painted with evoked the appearance of a totem, although there were no direct references to the other known method of cheating death. If there had been, it would’ve made the mystery behind the book’s origins - or indeed how Schlatt got his hands on it - a whole lot easier. But that hardly mattered now.

Dream ran his finger below the final line of the poem on the page for about the eightieth time, ensuring he’d fully committed it to memory again in case Sam were to unexpectedly arrive and he’d need to burn the book. He’d stopped visiting regularly since Tommy’s death, and he’d also ceased coming in the cell entirely. Still, one could never be too careful. His entire reason for still being alive was right there, a single stanza copied hastily from memory and hidden in the bottom of his chest weeks ago. The original revive book had been ornate and probably an antique: now it was ash, but as the process of revival required a physical reproduction of the text, here he was, double-checking he’d copied it down correctly one more time. God help him if he’d remembered it wrong.

Or rather, he thought, as he glanced over at the lifeless form of a teenager sat propped up against the wall a couple metres to his right, god help Tommy.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if it didn’t work. As the text described, he had all the required components: the verses on parchment, the exanimate flesh and bones, the willing soul and a voice with which to… Sing? The poem. Incantation. Aloud. He wasn’t sure if those instructions were meant to be taken literally, and if so, what tune to follow. Unfortunately, much of the book’s compact contents were written in riddles and couplets and audaciously purple prose. The incantation itself was something of a curiosity: it was a spell to raise the dead, but it also appeared to carry a warning to those bold enough to speak it. A deterrent to those impermanent earthlings that trifled in the affairs of the deathless deities. But Dream hadn’t got this far by heeding warnings. And, whether he liked his current position or not (he didn’t), he and he alone held the ability to reverse a killing blow, so who’s really smiling.

With no conceivable reason to drag this out any longer, the prisoner got slowly to his feet and went to retrieve Tommy’s corpse. The boy’s eyelids were half-closed, and the eyes beneath were dull, devoid of the light and life the kid had once brought to everything. His skin was mottled in places, his bottom lip had bruised, he had a black eye and dried blood glueing it shut from where it had leaked from a gash in his forehead. Luckily, decomposition hadn’t started to set in yet, or Dream would’ve had to burn the body to avoid the smell. No, he was simply dead, and goodness, had it been a nice few days of quiet after a week of Tommy’s non-stop incessant talking and complaining and obnoxious humming. Sam had looked at him like he was crazy when he’d said he was enjoying the peace, but had he ever been stuck in a room with the kid for more than a few hours before? Maybe that’s how Tommy used to bend people to his will. Annoy them until they either backed down or declared major conflict.

Carefully, like one might handle a sleeping baby, he laid Tommy down in front of the book, and resumed his seat behind it, legs crossed. He turned the page so he could see the scribbled instructions again, scanned them one final time, then flipped the page back to the stanza he was supposed to sing. As if someone else had possessed him, within three words he knew instinctively and miraculously what melody to follow as he recited the verse:

‘Vessel torn apart Soul too weak to stay Gift another chance And wash lost days away Written on this page Mortals should not say Men must not play god And wash lost days away Lost days away’

As he sang, something incredible began to happen, so mesmerising for someone trapped with so little for so long that he almost stopped singing. The prompt on the page began to glow, golden light radiating off the page as the words took short-lived form in the air while he sang them. They danced and collapsed into each other, forming a sizable disk of light above them, before it began to slowly dissipate, filtering down into a stream that enveloped Tommy. His skin took on a new sheen; from beneath his eyelids, a soft yellow light emanated, and, during the time the light was fading, his fingers twitched, curling unconsciously like a newborn’s would as they slept.

It worked.

Without taking his eyes off Tommy slowly rejoining the land of the living, Dream fed the book to the lava stream endlessly running past and pooling below the cell. It melted quickly into the molten rock, stinging his fingers as it dissolved: Dream barely felt it, staring intently at the boy whose body once again contained a consciousness.

I did it. I brought someone back.

Tommy’s elbows found purchase on the obsidian floor and he sat himself up, hands then going to wipe his eyes. He winced in pain as he pressed the heel of his hand directly into his black eye, mumbling a few curse words under his breath in typical Tommy fashion. That seemed to bring him to his senses. He turned his head rapidly to compensate for being down fifty percent on sight, and his working eye made contact with Dream’s. His murderer practically watched as the reality of his situation came crashing around Tommy, and he physically recoiled, face contorted with shock.

I’m a god.

---

“Let me out! Or I’m gonna revive him.”

That is the power he holds now. The ultimate bargaining chip, and it works. Bless Schlatt for giving up this ace for something as trivial as allies. Tommy, Sam and Ghostbur are all screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, and for his purposes, it couldn’t be more perfect. He has gripped firmly in his left hand the crumpled paper he just quickly scrawled the stanza upon, and he’s reaching for Ghostbur with the other, because thanks to his protocols, it’ll only take a tap. They're all screaming and shouting and then the lava's coming down with a great groaning of pistons, and it’s plenty enough to cover for him to quickly and quietly sing the tune he’s memorized since last time. Sometimes he’d sing it when he sat alone in the endless hours without a clock or a visitor; a dirge to his dominance over the server, once and forever. Goodbye Ghostbur. So sorry. His eyes are dilated with fear when Dream pulls him sharply against the barrier, and he dies with a sickening crack. Tommy’s screams drown out the end of the song entirely.

They do say, however, that there’s a new busker on the train platform, and he’s got a rather interesting song to share.

#good god crim your tangled fan is showing #my it's been a while since i've listened to the healing incantation that many times in a row #anyway enjoy the fic. this is such a random idea i can't believe people actually wanted it #dream smp #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #ghostbur #crim writes #dsmp fic #as always rbs/comments are valued so much :D

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 151

This chapter has been one that I have been dying to write for a while. I was worried that @baelpenrose would resist the idea, but he very much thought it was hilarious. As always, his input and riffing on this chapter has very much made it better and better.

However, it also made the chapter longer, lol. But there is just no way to trim it down without losing something that makes it all work, so this week is nearly double my normal length... break everyone’s heart, right? ;)

“I don’t like these numbers,” Parvati grumbled - as much as she was capable of grumbling - as she scrolled through the final counts of approval ratings on her and Hannah’s inaugural Food Festival.

The statistics had been dropped into our inboxes that morning, in the static of about a thousand other notifications now that Derek had finished the stress-test. Also included were the results of the last three invasion-prep drills, which I was in the process of scanning over.

“How bad are they?” I asked, half listening for a number. The drills were trending better, which was a good sign that the moves were effective.

Dismissing her display with a gesture of disgust, she sighed. “Seventy-four percent approval rating.”

I arched a brow and glanced over. “Did you adjust for those who did not attend?”

The glare she sent me wasn’t seen so much as felt. “Of course I did. First thing I ran…”

“Are you filtering by the day the comments came in?”

“I -” Bingo. She huffed. “No! These are intended to be ratings for the entirety of the event!”

I started scrolling through my own statistics. “Chart them out by the date the ratings came in, filtering out everyone who didn’t actually attend.”

A pause. “Oh… Oh! It’s showing ninety-three-point-four now!”

“Et voila,” I murmured. Louder, I clarified, “People like to weigh in early, and those who object in general tend to speak first.”

“I see that… how’s it going over there?” she asked, smoothing her braid over her shoulder as she turned to look at me directly.

“We are improving with every drill, marked upticks since the relocations. Arthur should be here in about - “ I glanced at a clock, “Seven minutes to go over next steps.”

Alistair breezed over to swap my empty bulb of cold coffee for a fresh one of water. “The appointment is in fifteen minutes.”

Parvati beat me to the punch. “He is also compulsively early, meaning…. Six minutes now.”

He rolled his eyes hard enough that I wanted to giggle. “He doesn’t even have the decency to be fashionably late. Appalling.”

Surely enough, Arthur paged at the entrance - out of some sort of manners I accidentally instilled in him - exactly five minutes prior to our scheduled appointment. As he breezed into my office, he managed a half-assed glare at Alistair for abruptly turning away and focusing on my schedule rather than his usual tendency to get a beverage for any newcomers. “Okay, updated data on drills isn’t what I want it to be.”

I laughed. “You’re joking, right? Your team and Michael’s haven’t gotten past deck four by more than three percent in the last seven exercises.”

“Any percent above zero is unacceptable,” he grumbled. I chalked it up to the indignity of being forced to get his own tea from the console.

Almost as though to spite Arthur, Alistair made a point to set a refreshed water bulb in front of everyone except the professor. “There are guards on the other levels for a reason,” he suggested drily.

“And I would rather those guards be idle, thank you,” Arthur threw back in a near-venomous tone.

“Us guards would rather be prepared for any eventuality, which you may do well to plan for in your petty drills.”

I didn’t even try to intervene. Clearly there was some blatantly disagreement between my admin and my friend, and I was exhausted from trying to make them cooperate.

“If I’m doing my job, you should be so grateful as to be idle,” Arthur drawled.

Alistair scoffed. “As if being left to rest and get fatter than a Christmas goose is a blessing…”

“You’ll live longer!”

“And get lax in my duties, which I will not stand for!”

“Get fat! Get lazy! LIVE! I don’t care! I’m not going to be lax in my duties to allow you the opportunity of getting practice at fighting.” Standing, Arthur buried both hands in his hair, but it looked less like he was running his fingers through it than pulling on it. “Are we really discussing this when we are training to fight in living body condoms?”

“I need to defend the Archives!”

“And Michael and I need to defend everyone! Us doing our job means you don’t need to do yours.”

My neck snapped back at the vehemence in his tone. This wasn’t their normal sparring… they may have never truly gotten along, but even in the beginning it was never so vicious.

To my further alarm, Alistair took a long stride forward and stared down his nose at Arthur. “We both know that she - “ his hand flung out to point at me “is either the luckiest or unluckiest person in existence. You can’t really believe that, in an actual assault on this ship, that she won’t be in danger. Which will place Tyche, the Archives, Derek Okafor, and Samuel Richardson in equal danger. You aren’t an idiot, you know this.” The hand pointing toward me turned, and time seemed to slow down as he stabbed Arthur in the sternum with it, punctuating each of his next words. “Stop lying to yourself.”

“Poke me again, and the finger comes off.”

“I would dearly love to see you try.”

Hannah and Parvati had jumped to their feet when Alistair approached Arthur, but were now slowly moving around to my position, safely behind my desk. Hannah hissed at me through clenched teeth, “You had to tell them to fight it out.”

“I thought they would use a gym, not the damned office,” I hissed back.

Before she could respond, Alistair spoke again. “You aren’t the only one on the Ark who wants to protect everyone. You need to trust us to do our bloody jobs.”

“The last time I trusted anyone else to protect people, I lost fourteen students,” came the ground out response. “I’m not backing down on this.”

“You will, or I will sedate you and strap you to a medical berth for the next four months.” Alistair stepped back and crossed his arms with finality.

A trickle of nerves ran down my spine as I watched Arthur clench his fists and release them. “You think the solution to everything is to tie it up, I swear.”

“Stop changing the topic. I am deadly serious, Farro.”

Arthur turned away from him, waving him off. “Try something else, you would never just sedate me for months on end.” Before we could stop anything, Alistair leapt forward and put Arthur in a headlock, only to be immediately flipped over the other man’s shoulder and onto the table. “Tch. Sloppy. I know you can do better.”

“I thought you wanted me to get fat and lazy,” Alistair grunted as he sucker-punched Arthur in the stomach and rolled for the other side. Once on his feet, he eyed Arthur carefully as he circled the table. “You stubborn ass, you know I am right. You are putting everyone in the lower levels at risk by not running preparedness drills with them, because you don’t want to factor in the fact that one of the offensive teams could fail.”

“We don’t have the luxury of failing, so no. If we do our jobs correctly, everyone who matters will be safe at the other end of the Ark.”

They didn’t seem to be at each other’s throats anymore, but the arguing wasn’t getting anywhere. “Guys - “ I tried.

Both men turned and practically screamed at me with their glares to stop talking. Oookay. I held up my hands in surrender and decided to let them sort it out their way.

Damned if the console wasn’t on the other side of them, though. I couldn’t even get popcorn and a drink.

Alistair blew a harsh breath through his nose. “If you won’t include the lower decks in your drills, I will start sparring with Jokul.”

“He would kill you,” Arthur barked in the most miserable laugh I’ve ever heard.

“God forbid,” Alistair mocked. “If I were gone, who would make your tea in the morning.”

“The same person who picks up the socks that magically appear all over my quarters every day, obviously. Worthington, I’m serious, he could really hurt you. He has really hurt me. And Charly.”

That last part was dismissed with a wave. “Madam Charles the First put the fear of herself into him.”

“And you haven’t. He could kill you by accident, and he’d never forgive himself.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be the case if you would let me train more!”

Arthur groaned and ran a hand down his face. “You are an adult, we’ve talked about this. Train all you want, with whoever you want - Charly, Sophia, Tyche… hell, train with Evan or Michael, I don’t care. Just, not Jokul.”

When did they talk about this? I wondered. It had to be during a sparring session or something, because it definitely wasn’t in my office during one of our meetings. A glance at Hannah showed she was watching everything unfold like it was the most riveting show she had ever seen, and Parvati’s squint of consideration wasn’t much better.

“As you said, I’m an adult. Perhaps I should take your advice, and train with Charly - “

“See - “

“- and Jokul. She will make sure I don’t get hurt.”

Arthur flung his hands up in frustration. “You are so stubborn, I swear!” Growling, he paced in a circle. “Fine! Train with Charly and Jokul. IN the bivouac suit, though! And I don’t want to hear a word when you end up confined in a med bay yourself.”

Alistair’s smug grin showed just how much he seemed to care. “At least I would be spared of picking up the trail of dishes that seem to follow you around.”

“For the love of - they are my quarters! Mine! And I don’t want to hear about it when your bloody socks are constantly getting lost behind my sofa!”

Oh. Oh no. Nonononononono.

“My socks can go wherever they fucking want to, when I am constantly cleaning your disgusting whiskers out of the sink!”

“You know what would fix you having to clean whiskers out of the sink? I could just stop shaving altogether. How about...that…” Arthur trailed off and very slowly turned toward the three of us behind my desk with a look of dawning horror.

And I tried. I really, really tried not to laugh. I could feel my face reddening, my chest aching with the effort of holding it in.

Hannah’s snort was my undoing. As soon as that tiny noise escaped her, all three of us erupted into hysterical, stomach-cramping, tearful laughter. I felt stabbing in my arm as Parvati dug her nails in, trying desperately not to fall. Unfortunately for her, Hannah grabbed me at the same time and all three of us toppled to the floor. The sight of Arthur rolling his eyes and crossing his arms only made me escalate from laughing to shrieking in hysterics and relief.

I couldn’t speak for the other two ladies, but I thought the two men were going to end up killing each other… At no point did I think they took the other option when I told them to either fight it out or….

I gasped for breath, trying to get myself under control. Wobbling to my feet with the help of my trusty desk and a couple yanks to free my shirt from Parvati’s desperate clutching, I pointed between them. “This… how long? Can’t believe… didn’t figure it out.”

“Not everyone is as… public… as you, Conor, and Maverick are,” Arthur snarked at me. “You know, private lives should be private and all that?”

“Must be for you,” I confided in Alistair’s direction, where he had turned his back to our fit. “He’s never not told me when he was dating someone. Or thinking of dating someone. Or potentially interested in seeing if he was interested in dating someone… Best friend privileges and all that.” While I waited for Alistair to respond, my mind whirled through all the things I had brushed off before but were very obvious in retrospect.

Glancing at Arthur for a hint yielded nothing but a flat stare that all but declared in flashing lights You Aren’t Stupid.

I tilted my head at that, and kept thinking. There had been genuine animosity on Alistair’s side in the beginning, and not a small amount of needling on Arthur’s. So I knew it wasn’t something that had always been going on. My mind came to a screeching halt, however, when I remembered something - the day Alistair, Tyche, and I decided that, when I vacated my position on the Council, they would vacate roles as well to leave behind a ‘clean slate’. “Four years, holy shit,” I gasped. “Four years!?”

Finally, Alistair moved. His back was still to us, but his arms went limp by his sides, and his head dropped down toward the floor. “It would be unseemly to have the new Councilor of Education in a relationship with the attache to the Councilor for Resources and Engagement. Or formerly in a relationship, should things not end well.”

“And since he won’t be taking his position until we are on Von,” I put together, “You are okay to serve out the rest of my term, just not Hannah’s or Parvati’s.”

“Correct.”

“Huh. That makes sense,” I admitted before hopping up to sit on my desk, the chair being a lost cause on the other side of two women who were still sniffling and giggling on the floor. “I learned a lot today.”

“Uh huh,” Arthur confirmed drily. “And it had better stay in this office.”

“What?” I managed a pretty convincing confused face before pretending to realize what he meant. “Oh! The relationship thing. Yeah, cool, whatever. That’s not what I was talking about, but you’re good.”

“Dare I even ask what you meant?” Alistair ventured, finally turning around so that he could give me a warning look.

“Uh, isn’t it obvious?” I asked, shaking my head and spreading my hands, palms up. When they both just stared at me, I finally broke and grinned. “Dude. You two are freaking slobs.”

The squeaking noises coming from the vicinity of my feet told me that no further work would be getting done for the rest of the day.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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hyuukais · 3 years

Text

FOOL: They Winnin’

You’ve pretty much shared your life with Beomgyu. Best friends since you met as kids, you now manage the school’s boys volleyball team to support him as he plays. Though it seems you’ve fallen quite hard for the team captain, Choi Soobin, Beomgyu can’t help but fall for you. Or in which Beomgyu continues to chase after his childhood crush.

Word Count: 865

Warnings: Author has a swearing problem so please be wary of language.

Masterlist

Previous - Next

Loud yells echoed through the gym. Whether they came from the court or the stands was hard to distinguish. The sounds of heavy panting and smacks of the ball were a lot easier to tell.

It was the final set of their game against SM. Everything had come down to a tie at the moment and it was obvious how hard the teams were working to change that in their favor. Taehyun shouted across the court to Heesung, who dove to receive the ball. It got tossed back to Yeonjun in front of the net. His hands flew into position as if to set, and his feet left the ground.

“BH had scores another point with a successful setter dump from #09, Choi Yeonjun.” The announcer spoke. You erupted in cheers from the sidelines.

‘One more point.’ seemed to be the collective thought; Whether good or bad for their team. Tension thickens in the air as the teams once again line up in formation on the court.

From the time the ball is up everything feels so slow. Huening is able to receive the serve. It bounces off his outstretched arms back over the net. For minutes the ball continues to fly from team to team; Quite mesmerizing how many twists and turns fuel each hit for the ball to ultimately end up back on their side of the net in two seconds.

Taehyun takes hold of the ball, sending it cross-court to Yeonjun. Once again Yeonjun stands in position to set, this time thrusting his hands backward with the ball in tow. Suddenly Soobin, Beomgyu, and Kai start forward ready to strike. The volleyball goes up; Anonymity follows as to where it will land, who it will go to, and if it will finally settle the score. Within the moment, each member jumps at their own pace when the ball comes, it lands upon Soobin’s palm. In a quick sweep of Bin’s arm, the loud slam against the squeaky gym floor sounded. The game was finally over.

The bleachers roared. Everything seemed frozen on the court when the team finally processed their win. Immediately Yeonjun screamed in triumph. He clumped the team together in his wide embrace, members off-court running in to join the mass. They jeered and celebrated loudly in the pure bliss of the win. Jungkook had run in happily to join and congratulate them. You decided to celebrate with them as well, jogging onto the court only to almost be tackled by Beomgyu.

“We did it!” He shouted, tightly gripping your shoulders. His face adorned by a smile radiating pure happiness.

“You did!”

Gyu’s hold on you moved, pulling your body flush against his in an even tighter hug. The sudden grasp winded your lungs. You couldn’t even return the hug because his arms trapped yours in the embrace and then he began to shake your body as though he was vibrating from excitement.

“No, you’re all sweaty! ” To the best of your restrained ability, you lightly smacked your hand against his thigh.

His hold seemed to tighten in relation “Too bad.”

♡ ♡ ♡

The bus rattled down the highway quietly, headlights tearing through the darkness. Most of the boys had already passed out from exertion, limbs falling all over each other in the rows. Hushed whispers filtered in and out of silence; Snores also appeared every once in a while. A few phone lights lit up from those that were still awake. You were one of them.

Beomgyu snoozed peacefully in his place cuddled against your neck. Cute little huffs left his mouth from time to time as he shifted around in the seat. Over the hour or so, your hand had gravitated into his, squeezing it unconsciously. Moonlight was flickering through the diminishing tree line casting a luster through the windows. It illuminated Beomgyu’s face in a pale, white glow. He seemed so calm, your hand gently graced his face. His cheek twitches at the touch; the top of his eye fluttered slightly but he didn’t wake. The sight sent shocks to your heart.

“What did do to deserve a crush as cute as you?” The sigh slipped through your lips as you twisted your neck to press a small kiss on Beomgyu’s forehead. “Especially one who likes me back.”

Suddenly, a sharp breathe sounded from your neck. Oh fuck. He was awake. He heard that fuck. I’m not prepared to tell him yet. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gyu wiggled around a bit before settling again. He was trying to play that off as him moving in his sleep, but you had spent enough time with this boy to tell. No way he wasn’t awake. No way he didn’t hear that.

“Hey, Gyu. You finally awake?”

His body tensed and stretched, still faking his awareness of the situation, yawning dramatically. “Huh? Oh yeah. Sorry about overtaking your shoulder.”

“No, no. It’s, uh, okay.” Your body couldn’t force itself to even face Beomgyu, instead, you were staring out into the black nothingness. We’re… about an hour out, if you wanna get more sleep.”

“Nah. I’m awake now. By the way, were you talking?”

“Uh… nope. Must’ve been a dream or something.”

“Yeah...must’ve.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Author: you know life’s bad when you have to search up ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to find a word to describe moonlight. Also, can you tell i have a slight obsession with cats yet?

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heraldofcomingdawn · 3 years

Text

Leaving Immortality Behind

It turns out, Rex Lapis wasn’t really dead.

Xiao wants answers.

(A missing scene of sorts, for that first confrontation.)

WC: 4,006

General Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Xiao Centric, Xiao Needs A Hug, Adepti Found Family, Xiao's Karmic Debt Causes Him Pain, Minor Childe/Zhongli,

happy birthday, to my baby yaskha! i almost didn’t finish this in time, but i did it for him!

It took three days to find him.

It wasn’t that the man in question was difficult to find. How could it be, when the Conqueror of Demons had spent millennia by the man’s side, had witnessed his many human forms over the years and could spot the minute differences between him and the other mortals? When he could feel the charge in the air whenever the Geo Archon was near?

No, it was more like a small - yet still significant - part of the younger Adeptus had been purposely avoiding looking too hard.

Well, he found him.

Part of him wanted to pretend he hadn’t seen him, wanted to turn the other way just long enough for the ex-Archon (and wasn’t that a punch to the gut Xiao hadn’t fully processed yet) to make his leave, so he could spend yet another night pretending his emotions weren’t currently battling inside of him, conflicting and confusing.

He’d thought he’d be relieved.

He was relieved.

But Xiao was also angry and betrayed and confused and upset, and it was such a whirlwind of unexpected emotion that he wanted nothing more than to manifest his jade spear and tear it all to shreds. He scoffed at himself; emotions were so insignificant to someone who had lived as long - and through as much - as someone like him. They were trivial matters he thought himself to be above, yet here he was, feeling like he was drowning.

“Eager to leave, Conqueror of Demons?” Moon Carver’s words still echoed in his head, as he settled into a sitting position amongst the green tiles that made up his current perch.

Very much so.

Perhaps it had been the wrong thing to do, to leave without ensuring Liyue Harbor was truly safe, but how was he supposed to face the other adepti and pretend like something sharp wasn’t sitting in his throat after the Tianquan regaled them all with the details of her dream with Rex Lapis?

Rex Lapis, who until that very moment, they all believed to be dead.

The very same Rex Lapis who was currently enjoying dinner at the table below him - very much alive - and sitting across from a red-haired man that set his nerve endings on fire with the strange energy that radiated off of him. Energy that wasn’t so unlike the miasma that dripped off monsters and demons sent from the Abyss.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the details of his Archon’s companion and tried to ascertain whether he was a threat to his Lord or not. The red-haired man laughed loudly, blue eyes crinkling in delight at something Xiao hadn’t heard. He waved a hand towards a young, blue-haired allogene and requested something in Liyuen that would have confused Xiao even if the other man’s accent hadn’t been so atrocious.

Come and get what?

His train of thought went no further as he heard Morax gently correcting the other man’s pronunciation, and oh Celestia above, his heart clenched.

He was alive.

Xiao had spent several days believing that the man who saved him, who was the closest thing he had to family in this strange new world, was dead. He had also blamed himself for a brief moment - and anger had coursed through him when it was the traveler who came and delivered the news, rather than his own keen senses realizing something was amiss - because what good was a Vigilant Yaksha, a sworn protector of Liyue, if he couldn’t even protect the very Archon he owed his life to. If he hadn’t even known until it was too late.

Tendrils of pain snaked around his wrists and brushed at his temples.

He clenched his hands into fists, willing the burden of his karmic debt to stay away for just a moment longer, but it persisted. Perhaps this was a manifestation of his guilt, an all-consuming wave of bitterness and regret at not being there when the Exuvia fell. Perhaps it was his senses warning him that the man sitting across from Rex Lapis - Childe, his Lord had called him - wasn’t as innocent as his pink-dusted cheeks portrayed him to be. His fingers wrapped around the phurba dagger he wore around his neck as he watched them interact.

Whatever apprehensions he held toward Childe were slowly abated as they both listened to Rex Lapis regale them with the story behind the name of their meal (and oh! Come and Get It was the rice bowl they were consuming.

How absurd - why can’t mortals just call it what it is?)

It was familiar territory, however, to listen to the man’s long-winded stories of his nation’s history and its people that he clearly loved, and it soothed the sharp edges of Xiao’s grief as leaned back and let the former Geo Archon’s soft lilt and smokey timbre wash over him.

Rex Lapis was alive.

Despite his warring emotions over it - and the betrayal he could taste like iron on his tongue - it would have to be enough. He could find a measure of comfort in the scene before him.

The sun was nearly set now, the sky a rich twilight blue.

There were a few stars out, pale white and barely visible, but still present enough to make out the constellations he had long ago memorized. The bustle of Chihu Rock was beginning to die down as merchants packed up their wares and bid each other goodnight. Soft laughter to the right of him crescendoed as the doors to the Third Round Knockout were pushed open and people filtered out, their faces warm and bellies full of whatever food and spirit they had indulged in.

Lanterns were being lit now, their warm yellow light casting away the shadows that threatened the corners of Liyue’s streets. The smoke that had been gently billowing from an opening on the blue-shingled restaurant across from him had died down, as the owners - the blue-haired allogene and an older man - began to close up for the night.

“Xiangling, take this to Granny Shan before she goes home for the night, will you?” the older man asked his daughter, handing over a takeout container.

“You got it!” the blue-haired allogene returned, her voice young and full of life. She hurried out the door and paused at the only occupied table left, smiling down at the seated patrons who were finishing their meal. “No rush, you guys! I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Rex Lapis poured himself another cup of tea in response.

“What’s in the bag?” Childe asked, as he tried to fish out the last piece of meat in his bowl with the chopsticks he was gripping entirely wrong. Xiao’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

“Leftover pork and spring onion dumplings!” Xiangling replied, already walking away. “Dad doesn’t like food to go to waste and Granny Shan is such a sweet lady, don’t you think? Who else better to give them to?”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

This was Liyue at it’s finest, safe and full of warmth.

For a second he can almost pretend he doesn’t hear the harrowing voices screaming for death or feel the pain that’s thrumming up to his forearms now. He can almost ignore the memories that threaten to overtake him every time he allows himself a moment of peace.

The few days he thought Rex Lapis to be dead had blurred together. There had only been the steady weight of his spear in his hands and the familiar darkness that surrounded him whenever he donned his yaksha mask, as he lunged tirelessly and with a fervor that had worried the other adepti, as he seeked out every last demon and monster that dared to cross Dihua Marsh.

If any of them had been responsible for his Lord’s death. . .

He should have been better.

Eventually, Cloud Retainer had caught up with him and all but pecked the jade spear out of his hand. He had scowled at her, hands shaking with exhaustion as he held the tip to her long neck and dared her to come closer.

“One has been searching for you, Vigilant Yaksha.”

“One has found me.” Xiao returned, his voice sharp and mocking.

“Put down your spear.” she commanded, looking down at him. “Rex Lapis’ death weighs heavily on us all, but one does not leave behind a trail of bodies like you have been doing.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer before he allowed the weapon to disappear in a flicker of light that reminded him of tiny crystalflies dispersing into the sky, but otherwise remained silent.

“We must head to Liyue Harbor and seek council with the Qixing.” Cloud Retainer informed him, eyes narrowed as she studied him intensely. “It would be wise of you to come with. Their disrespect for Rex Lapis has gone too far - one should quash them for allowing such a thing to befall our Archon, but for them to sit idly by and do nothing while the Exuvia is stowed away. . .”

Xiao hadn’t been able to withhold a wince at the words.

Cloud Retainer’s voice softened at that. “If Rex Lapis has indeed been assassinated, then Liyue is in great peril, Baby Yaksha.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“We must not allow further disaster to bestow itself upon the land Morax loved - one promised to keep it safe, did we not? Rest for now, tomorrow we shall leave for the harbor.”

She hadn’t left him, but instead guided him to the top of Mt. Aozang where she dwelled, and left him to his own devices after gently pecking the top of his head. He had sat in a stone chair for the rest of the night, staring at Rex Lapis’ name carved into the table, and mourned the end of an era.

His grief - his pain - had been for naught, hadn’t it?

“I have to get going now, xiansheng.” Childe’s voice cut through his thoughts. He straightened up a little and watched as the red-haired man stood up and smoothed out his grey jacket.

“I understand.” Rex Lapis replied, his voice solemn.

Childe grinned down at the man and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pouch Xiao could only assume was filled with mora. “Oh, don’t look so grim! I’d love to stay and chat a little longer, but there’s some business I need to take care of, before I leave.”

“Business that requires the stars to keep watch?” his Lord returned, and Xiao could detect a hint of knowing bemusement. “Very well.”

“Oh, sneaky! You know I can’t disclose Fatui business to you, Zhongli. The walls have ears, after all.” Childe laughed and Xiao’s annoyance at this man’s audacity for speaking to his Lord in such a way was derailed when he spoke Rex Lapis’ other name.

Zhongli.

So this was the name he’d chosen to introduce himself as, this time around. It wasn’t a new name, by any means, but it had also been a very long time since Xiao had heard Rex Lapis - Zhongli - refer to himself as such. Not since Guizhong was still alive.

He watched as Childe paid for the meal and bid Zhongli goodnight, before making his leave towards Feiyun Slope. His crimson scarf flared out behind him and the metal grommets that decorated the fabric glinted in the lantern light. He thought he could make out the faint trails of wispy black smoke that followed him, almost caressing him like a soft breeze.

There was something dangerous about that man and he thought to follow him, if only because Xiao had vowed to never allow demons to walk amongst the people of Liyue. Childe was most certainly mortal, but Xiao would never again allow his failure to dictate the future of the harbor.

Except he hadn’t failed, had he?

Because Rex Lapis was very much alive, with his chin resting on his hands as he watched the retreating form of Childe with a solemn look on his face, his abandoned cup of tea no longer producing steam.

His grief had been for naught indeed.

And the relief that had followed had been short-lived, almost immediately giving way to his anger. The same anger that curled in his stomach now as he thought of how Zhongli had been silent ever since the big reveal. There was a part of him that had hoped the Archon would seek him out first, to explain just why he had faked his death without letting the yaksha - or any of the adepti, for that matter - know beforehand.

Yet three days had already passed and still nothing.

“You might as well come down now.” Zhongli’s voice cut through the silence, his back still to him, and Xiao startled. “I think we’ve both put off this conversation long enough.”

Xiao stood up slowly and stared down at the other man. Zhongli had yet to turn around and truly acknowledge him, still staring in the direction of Feiyun Slope and his departed friend. He jumped down from the rooftop, landing on his feet with the lightest thud, and approached the table.

Zhongli looked up at him once he had taken Childe's place.

This was a new mortal form Xiao had yet to see, but the locks of amber-tipped hair that framed his face and the eyes that shone like Cor Lapis that were present in every form Rex Lapis had taken, were the same. He eyed him warily, debating with himself whether he should speak first or not - whether he would even be able to produce the right words.

“Hello, Xiao.”

“My Lord.” he whispered back, bowing his head.

“There’s no need for any of that anymore.” Rex Lapis smiled gently. “I am simply Zhongli now.”

Something inside of Xiao crumbled. “Zhongli.”

“It is nice to see you well.”

The sharp feeling in his throat was back and he forced himself to swallow it down. He tried to take a breath, but it came out broken and staggered. Shame burned on his face at his unintentional show of weakness and he bowed his head lower.

“Oh, Xiao.” Zhongli breathed out and his eyes were sad. “Let us take a walk, it has been a while since I’ve traversed the streets of Liyue with you by my side.”

Their walk was directionless as far as Xiao was concerned. He trailed half a step behind Zhongli, eyes downcast, as he tried to compose himself. Anger was an easy enough emotion to grab onto, justified enough for the situation, and didn’t leave him floundering and vulnerable the way addressing his hurt did.

He stopped suddenly and clenched his hands into fists again. The tendrils of pain were growing in intensity and he used them as a way to ground himself. Despite his anger, despite Zhongli’s desire to give up his throne, he was still the Prime Adepti, still his Lord, and still deserving of respect. Yelling at him, as cathartic as it would be, was pointless. “Why,” he began, then stopped to clear his throat, “why didn’t you tell me. Tell us.”

“I couldn’t.”

Xiao raised an eyebrow and stared him down, refusing to accept that as an answer.

Zhongli sighed. “I fear my answer won't satisfy you."

"All I ask for is the truth."

"I suppose I can give you that." Zhongli mused, but his expression was pained. He looked towards Mt. Tianheng and gestured to the other side of the bridge they were on. "Indulge me, first? I would like to finish our walk."

Xiao nodded.

They reached the peak soon enough. Zhongli stood at the edge of the mountain and took in the sight of Liyue Harbor. The outline of the wharf stood proud against the backdrop of the black sea, bathed in silver moonlight that reflected shapeless patterns on the rolling waves. The wharf was the pride of Liyue, the reason the land prospered as it had.

It was a beautiful sight, even dark as it was with all the workers and merchants gone for the night, the last of the lanterns burned out. The Golden House glimmered to the right, that same silver light glinting off the metal finials that adorned its roof. In the far distance, the rock formations of Guyun Stone Forest loomed over the water.

He shivered at the sight.

The horizon was a beautiful one, carefully cultivated over millennia of hard work and bloodshed. The tendrils of pain wrapped themselves around him now and he held back a wince by sheer will alone, as he took in the stone spears placed by Rex Lapis himself. They kept the fallen gods pinned in place but the cost of their defeat still raged on as demons spawned.

It was his duty to take care of them, one he did with honor, for he would give all he had in service of the man who’d freed him. Even if the Archon had passed before him, for this was the land Zhongli loved - fought for and created - and Xiao refused to let harm come to the only home he had ever known.

Behind them and to the left, the mountain peaks and ruins stretched on, crumbling rock structures that had been formed by hand long ago, now weathered and eroded into an open book that spoke of the nation’s history.

Eventually the silence was broken when Zhongli decided to speak. "I think, if given the chance, there are many things I would do over," he began, "but I do not regret any of them, for when you've lived a life as long as I have, regret is something that can consume you.” He looked over to the ruins. “Even stone will eventually erode away."

Xiao stayed silent.

"Saving you, however, is something I would do again and again."

"My Lord -" Xiao cut himself off. "Zhongli." he tried again, but it felt wrong to address him as such. Either way, he didn’t have words.

Zhongli turned to look at him and gestured for him to step closer. He obliged and stiffened when the Archon placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. "I am sorry for the grief I put you through. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it's also something I would do again."

Xiao winced.

"The truth is, Xiao, I'm tired."

"I don't understand."

"I have watched over Liyue for nearly four thousand years. I've been alive for much longer than that. Eventually, you start to wonder when it's going to end. I have seen Liyue grow and prosper in ways I hadn't thought possible. I have watched Guili Plains crumble into the ruins they are today when once. . .once, they were home. Now it is a place no one else remembers." Zhongli's grip slackened. "Liyue doesn't need me anymore."

"Zhongli-" Xiao began, alarmed.

"Breathe, my baby yaksha, breathe." Zhongli chuckled lightly. "It is not as you think - Liyue has simply grown past the need for Archons. It is ready to stand on its own two feet."

“I’m not -” he began, but gave up. “So you faked your death.”

“I believe that if I had simply stepped down, the Qixing would never truly step up. No, I needed to kill off the idea of Rex Lapis for good. The people of Liyue needed to understand that this was truly the end of an era.”

Xiao couldn’t stop the anger that laced his tone. “You felt this wasn’t something I - we - deserved to know?”

Zhongli’s smile turned bitter at the edges. “Before I could truly step down, I decided a test was in order, to see if Liyue was truly ready. I must admit, I did it simply to quell my own anxieties.”

“A test?”

“I wanted to see if the Adepti of Jueyun Karst and the Qixing could work together to protect the land, if the time ever called for it, or if the adepti would simply decide their contract with Liyue - their promise to protect it - would end with my death.”

“Osial?”

“Unexpected.” Zhongli admitted, and he looked towards Guyun with amusement. “Still, I had forced Childe’s hand and I expected something grandiose from him - that he was able to lift the seals that kept Osial imprisoned is impressive.”

“Your dinner companion did all of this?” Xiao asked, warily. “And you asked him too?”

“A bit more nuanced than that, but yes.”

“I see.”

Silence fell over them again as Xiao mulled over everything. “Speaking of your dinner companion. . .” he began, remembering the traces of miasma that had clung to the man like wisps of smoke. Zhongli’s expression turned downcast at the mention of his friend and Xiao faltered.

“He will be gone tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

“I am pleased he indulged me in one last meal.” Zhongli smiled grimly. “Even after I used him as a pawn, he still dined with me. I have no doubt the betrayal stings him, but tomorrow he’ll leave for Snezhnaya and I do not know if he’ll return.”

Xiao let the conversation drop. There was no point if the threat would be gone tomorrow. He would simply keep an eye on his potential return and wait till then. He wondered if Zhongli could not sense the darkness that surrounded the man, or if he simply chose to ignore it. Neither would surprise him. He was cursed - blessed, some would say - with the ability to sense demonic energy and the stench of the Abyss.

It was the same for the other Yakshas, was the reason Rex Lapis had tasked them with fighting the demons that formed from the anger and hatred of the fallen gods, but now only he remained. If Rex Lapis - Zhongli, now - could not sense the darkness, Xiao would watch it for him.

The pain heightened and this time, he couldn’t keep silent.

“You are in pain.” Zhongli said matter-of-factly, for this was nothing new to them. Eventually the pain would overtake him to the point where he could no longer see and all he could do was persevere and wait for it to end.

“It is manageable.”

“Do you still have pain medicine?”

“No.”

“Do you wish for me to get you more?”

“Yes.” Xiao lied, because even after all these years, he still couldn’t find it in him to tell Rex Lapis the truth: that the pain medication he so laboriously made for him never seemed to work. The pain in the Archon’s eyes, as he watched the younger Adeptus suffer as a result of his own victories, hurt worse than the karmic debt that burrowed itself into his flesh and demanded retribution. “I would like that.”

Zhongli hummed. “I will prepare it in the morning. For now, when was the last time you slept?”

I don’t need to sleep.”

“Perhaps not as much as a mortal does.” the ex-Archon mused. “But it is still something one can indulge in.”

“It can wait another night.” Xiao deflected. “I still have questions.”

Zhongli shook his head and exhaled lightly. He sat down on the grass and adjusted his coat, so he wouldn’t sit on the embroidered fabric and patted the spot beside him. “If it’s any consolation, I won’t go anywhere.” He locked eyes with Xiao and smiled when the yaksha laid down with an annoyed huff. “You can ask me in the morning.”

“I’m still angry at you.”

“I know.” Zhongli murmured, shifting a little so he could place his hand on Xiao’s head. Gloved fingers carded through strands of teal hair gently; rhythmically. “I know we still have much to talk about, but we have all the time in the world. Sleep, my baby yaksha, and know I’ll be here for as long as I am able.”

Sleep would not cause the pain to abate - if only it was that easy - but for the moment, it became manageable. For the moment, his anger dwindled and took a backseat to the contentment that bloomed in his chest. For the moment, the world was safe.

If only because Rex Lapis was still here with him.

Tomorrow could wait.

a/n: maybe one day ill write the full length chili fic i set up in here.

#zhongli #xiao #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact #xiao & zhongli #childe #tartaglia #xiangling #cloud retainer #post a new star approaches #found family

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Contract Killer.”

Hope you guys have a great day!

The room smelled horrible, though that would only be readily noticed by those species that had any acute sense of smell. Though for most everyone, that fact went largely unnoticed, or if it was noticed, the occupants of the room didn’t really care. The walls of the cramped room were lined in rust streaked metal, and large metal crates served as tables and chairs for the assortment of rough and tumble visitors who graced the blackmarket under A136. Human music rolled through the room as a constant background to the din as a beautiful, but rough and tumble woman sang a mournful sea shanty about an astronaut blasted out the airlock freezing to death in his space suit as he looked on at the beauty of the universe.

At the bar two tall Drev bartenders used all four of their hands to prepare drinks for their waiting customers ranging anywhere from, Human, to Kree, to Celzex. Rockus laughter filtered up into the air as men and women gambled with ten sided dice,, and strange glowing chips. The floor below their feet was stained and mottled with unknown substances which had likely never seen mop. When they moved it wasn’t uncommon for them to flash mechanical enhancements, a hand here, or an eye there, some clearly lost to accidents, others…. Perhaps replaced on purpose.

In the throng it wasn’t even uncommon to see alien/human couples blatantly and proudly interacting with one another without garnering so much as a sideways glance from those around them

Drinks poured, staining the bar till the metal rusted and the wood ran dark.

At the side of the room a table sat raised slightly away from the others surrounded by stained and rotting curtains, and at that table sat A Drev. The armor she wore was half Drev and half of medieval human make. One of his shoulders was covered with a metal pauldron and armor that went all the way down one arm. Leather straps criss-crossed her chest. Next to her sat a woman, with beautiful, wavy, honey-blonde hair and bright red lips. She wore mostly black, and a long leather coat.

When she leaned back she rested her large boots on the table spinning a playing card between two fingers.

The Drev looked on into the crowd, her eyes scanning over the people that thronged before her, people and aliens alike, an unwashed mass, looking and waiting for her target, and AH, there he is, just the person she had been told to expect.

He was tall, though the clothing he wore blended so seamlessly into the crowd, he wouldn't have garnered much attention, especially not here.

He wore a dark brown jacket with a grey cowl pulled low over his face. He kept his head down, though she noted the slight bulge at either hip where he likely concealed two weapons.

Which he reached forward, she saw the glittering of a metal gauntlet, either that or a metal hand.

On his shoulder rode a furry little Celzex, though it’s once bright fur had been stained mostly grey and black, probably from some horrible accident.

Beside her Beatrice leaned forward, her red lips parting in a smile, “That him?”

“Yes it appears it is.”

She went to stand, but the Drev pushed her back down, “I already have men on it.”

Beatriss frowned, her full red lips puckering down into a pout, “You never let me have any fun.”

“There will be time for you, yet.”

They watched as the figure pushed his way through the crowd and took a seat at the back of the room. Without, it seemed, any prompting a waitress scurried form the darkness and set a drink down before him. Credits exchanged as the woman vanished back into the crowd.

Two fingers moved forward from the edge of the room, pushing their way through the crowd.

They would have been impossible to pick from the crowd if it wasn’t for their purposeful strides forward.

The figure took a sip from his drink, only the bottom of his chin visible under the hood and part of his right cheek covered in a mechanical mask.

Behind him, the two figures had moved into position. One man reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, but fast as a striking snake the stranger grabbed the man by the arm tugged him forward and slammed his head painfully into the tabletop knocking him cold almost immediately before snapping to the side blocking a punch by the second man, and then elbowing him directly in the throat.

The two men hit the ground in seconds.

“Not bad.” The Drev muttered in open admiration, and Beatrice looked up at her with an open expression of jealousy. The Drev smiled slightly, the corners of her mouth turning up in the familiar human expression. She liked when Beatrice got jealous.

The sudden brawl had hardly stopped the debauchery taking place around the rest of the room . That was until the Drev, Jeea, rose to her feet and clapped once.

All around her, the entire room seemed to part like the red sea, and at the very end of that part was the man and the two prone bodies.

He did not flinch, barely even seemed surprised as he stood, and walked into the center of the room.

“We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way.”

The man raised his hands, “That depends entirely on you Jeea.” his Drev accent was impeccable, that surprised her.

“Captain Kall, your skills as a warrior impress me,”

The man smiled under his hood, “Than you are easily impressed.”

Jeea snorted slightly, “Come, sit.”

He hummed deep in his chest, not dissimilar to the sound of pleasure so common among her people, “Pity, I was so looking forward to the hard way.”

She waved the otters away, and the music began to play again as the man crossed the room and slid into the booth next to her and Beatrice: who was still pouting, her arms crossed, two long knives held in either hand.

Geea leaned forward and took a better look at the man, with half his mechanical face, mechanical hand and plunging hood.

“You don’t make yourself as difficult to find as I would have assumed.”

He leaned back in his chair as his Celzex companion hopped onto the table. Beatrice ed it with some measure of malice, but even she knew not to mess with a Celzex. It was more than likely the thing had friends, and if it had friends, it also had pirated Celzex weapons.

“Kall…. That is a Vrul name isn’t it.”

The man shrugged, “Could be, though I thought Vrul names tended to have five letters and not four.”

Geea grunted, either way, “Your reputation precedes you, Captain, which is strange considering you haven’t been on our radar long.”

THe man waved over the waitress for another drink, “I make it a habit of keeping off people’s Radar, but you would know all about that.” he glanced around at the bar, “Aren't you concerned that holding operations here will get you noticed by the GA? Last I heard the UNSC had done some operations on this planet.”

Beatrice snorted.

Geea shook her head, “A day long visit by the UNSC’s favorite pet Admiral hardly counts.”

Beatrice spat at the floor making a face, “The GA’s little pet, i would like to cut off h-”

Geea held up a hand, “Now, now Beatrice, it’s not the Admiral we are angry with. He is simply a figurehead, a representation of everything that is wrong with the GA. As far as I know he isn’t so horrible.” She reached out a hand and placed it atop the other woman’s, “He did advocate for a cause near and dear to our hearts.”

Beatrice Made a face, “Still don’t like him.”

The man across from them shifted in his seat, “I hardly see what this has to do with me. Me and my crew try to keep a low profile. GA or Anti-alliance doesn't matter either way. We just want to make money and keep to ourselves.”

“And is piracy generally part of keeping a low profile?”

The man crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, “I would hardly consider it piracy…. I like to think of it as…. Liberating materials already doomed to be misused.”

“That sounds like piracy but with more steps.” Beatrice muttered.

Geea held up a hand, “No need to get defensive here friend. It’s not like the rest of us are law abiding citizens.” A couple more waiters and waitresses moved forward to refill their drinks, one of them trailing her hand suggestively across the captain’s shoulders.

“We are just here to speak to you, and maybe hire your crew.”

Captain Kell leaned forward slightly in his seat, the mechanical face plate glittering in the light above, “Alright, and what is this job of yours.”

“I want you to Kill Admiral Vir.”

There was a pause the silence between them filled with the rolling conversation from the rest of the room.

“You want me to what!”

“You heard me clearly the first time.”

The man stood nearly tipping over his chair in the process, “That’s it, this conversation is over.”

Beatrice grabbed him by the arm and forced him roughly back into his seat. At That moment, the people sitting at the nearest tables turned around, throwing back their coats to reveal large, and surely illegal submachine guns.

Captain Kell took a seat, hands raised slightly.

Geea leaned forward, “Just hear us out.”

“I’m not a hitman or a mercenary. And the last thing I want to do is put that kind of heat on my people especially not Admiral Fucking Vir, do you think I am insane! I’ve never even done that sort of job. I steal shit, that’s it. I am no killer.”

Geea waited for the man to finish his little tantrum before she continued, “And that is precisely my point isn’t it. No one knows who you are, no one knows who your ship is. In fact, your ship doesn't have a beacon, which means you are not properly registered with the UNSC or the GA, meaning that they cannot track, find or know where you are.” Captain kell began to laugh, “Are you fucking serious. Killing him while he is on-world is one thing, but killing him while he is off-world is a completely different can of worms. You would have to be able to board his ship, the motherfuking OMEN, the most advanced spaceship known to man or alien with Celzex weapons, and Vrul shields. Oh yeah, and let’s not forget that he has an entire fucking clan of Drev onboard, a shitload of marines, oh and lets not forget one of those drev is a SAINT.”

Geea leaned forward, “Someone does their homework.”

Captain Kell laughed, “Does my homework, more like reads the news. He’s got the media crawling up his ass half the time. If it isn't a picture of his dumbass on a magazine cover, than its a viral video of some asshole marine on his crew showing off all the dumb stuff they get to do onboard.”

“See, that is exactly the sort of thinking we need, and we know your ship. We know it has the most advanced boarding capabilities in the known universe regardless of whether you are trying to hide that fact or not. If anyone can board his ship and take care of his men, then it’s you.” She pointed at the Celzex on the table, “Powerful friends, and with our help, I have no doubt that we could do it.

He shook his head emphatically and crossed his arms over his chest, “I don’t understand, I thought you said earlier that you liked him. He did help the LFIL.” he glanced between the two of them suddenly unsure that he had read them correctly. He had, but she did enjoy watching him squirm.

“I like the man as a person. He honestly does seem like a nice guy, funny, charming, awkward in an endearing way. But this isn't about my personal feeling of the man, this is about my beliefs as a Drev, this is…. Political, and sometimes good people have to go to make way for something better.”

Captain Kell held out his hands, “I guess I just don’t see your vision, business is going very well for me right now. I doubt I would profit from the collapse of the GA. I can really only see this getting worse for me.”

Geea frowned, “The GA has taken over my homeworld to mine our holy battlegrounds. It has taken away the traditions of my people.”

“Didn’t the traditions of your people recently change.”

Behind them, the room had sprouted into a rocus crowd of dancers as the woman began singing about the queen of Pirates.

Geea crossed her arms, “This isn’t about the saint, she is doing what she can for our Drev in the way she believes is best, but I believe there is a better way. I will follow her religious traditions as I believe in the old ways, but I also believe that our home planet should not have been desecrated by the GA in the first place.” She waved a hand around the room, “The GA has too much power and far to much influence, one of these days the idea of a democracy is going to fade away until they take all the ower for themselves, and, I for one, will not be ruled by a tyrant.”

Captain Kell didn’t seem impressed by her argument, “The GA has existed as a democratic republic since long before the Drev and the humans were involved. What makes you think that they are going to change so rapidly.”

“Because I know humans.”

Even though she couldn’t see his face, she could almost guess at the slight raise of his eyebrow, “Oh really, you know humans do you? How fascinating, tell me more.”

Beatrice snorted.

Geea glowered at him.

Beatrice smiled “Se not wrong.” She grinned slyly, “She really does KNOW humans rather well.”

Kell tapped his fingers on the table, “Knowing someone in the biblical sense is hardly knowing humans. Admiral Vir is likely helping to keep the democratic nature of the GA against humans and otters who might try to change that, so forgive me if I See nothing good that can come of this.” He stood again this time doing his best to ignore the armed men and women on the next table over.

“How about enough money for you and your to retire to a small moon on the other side of the galaxy.” he paused and turned to look at her.

“And I should believe you because?”

Beatrice reached under her chair and pulled out a holopad sliding it across the table so he could see, “Take a look for yourself, Half of that upfront, and then half after we take out Vir, payment drops if you hurt the Saint.”

Eyes still obscured, she had trouble seeing his face, but after a moment he nodded, “Alright, I can take you up on that offer, but if you fuck us over, I will make you reget it.” he turned to look at her one last time, “Meet me at the dock when you’re ready. If I am going to do this, you better be damn straight that I am not going to do it alone.

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piratesfromspace · 4 years

Text

Two saviors and some hope

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Cobb Vanth x Reader

Summary: You've been captured to be sold as a slave. But two men clad in beskar armors cross your path. Maybe this means there's some hope. Set after ep 1 of season 2, canon-divergent.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, alcohol, slavery (but reader is free pretty early in the fic), light smut (threesome). Rated explicit.

A/N: Neutral pronouns for reader. English is not my native language, please be kind. I’m really happy to share this short fic with a rare pairing, hope you’ll like it! Fic also available on ao3.

“Move! Faster, I might miss a client” the abhorrent creature tugging at your chains croaks. You are trying to keep up behind him as best as you can. But with the chains linking your ankles and your wrists, it isn’t an easy task. Especially since you are barefoot in the burning sand of this barren planet. The scorching heat of its two suns is just aggravating your ordeal. The blue-skinned Chiss that is your captor and you soon arrive at the destination he was so eager to reach. A small town and its market. If the previous remark had left you with very little doubt about his intentions for you, it was now even more clear that he indeed has planned on selling you.

“Here, that’s perfect. On the ground, sit, slave.” His order comes with a hard tug on the chains between your wrists, and your knees fall on the compacted sand of the marketplace. You raise your head in a poor sign of defiance, looking at the slave trader. He puts his backpack down at his feet and rubs one of his shoulders. Despite his human-like figure, he is way stronger than expected. Clad in some sort of beige toga, he could easily be mistaken for a simple merchant, but you have learned the hard way he is a hunter as well. The anxiety slowly gnawing at the edge of your mind is becoming more and more hard to ignore with every second. You close your eyes, breathing through your nose and trying to calm yourself. A freaking slave. He has called you a freaking slave, and is about to sell you as one. In those forsaken parts of the galaxy, slavery is apparently still a thing and no one would come looking for you. Even if everything happened in a blur, you know the small village where you were finally living a simple life after a troubled childhood has been destroyed by the Chiss and his friends? Colleagues? Regardless of who they all were, your situation is the same. He has taken you and decided to make a quick buck by bringing you to the first market on the closest planet he could find.

But you can’t resign yourself. Maybe if you run fast enough you could hide yourself somewhere? Find a way to destroy those chains and escape from your grim future. It’s now or never. You take a deep breath and you push as hard as you can on your legs, soaring, ready to run. But as soon as you're up, you barely have taken your first step, that the Chiss grabs your upper arm and yanks you towards him. His grip is cruel and his fingers dig deep in your skin, likely to leave nasty bruises there. You let out a scream, but the air is pushed out of your lungs when he kicks you in the back of your knee, your legs buckling beneath you. You fall again on the ground and you try to soften your landing with your hands, but the chains prevent you from really succeeding.

“Pathetic.” you hear him mutter, slightly shaking his head. You want to disappear. You’re huddled in the sand, your knees and arms hurting, your heart pounding in your ears. You don’t want to raise your eyes and meet his again. Around you, the market is bustling with life, people happily chatting and loudly bargaining cheap items. Though it looks like your little scene has attracted a few surprised glances and hushed conversations. You close your eyes again, wincing from the waves of pain creeping from most of your body. You’re taken out of your suffering-induced trance when you hear heavy footsteps coming close to you and the Chiss greeting someone with his sketchy smooth voice. “Hello gentlemen, do you need a servant? I’m sure this one will be perfect for your…” He hasn’t the time to finish his sentence, because the tallest of the two armored men standing in front of you aims his blaster on the chest of the Chiss without any warning. “What are you doing here, slaver scum?” “I.. what do you…” the Chiss stutters.

“There are only free people in this town, and this is gonna stay that way as long as I’m the Marshal here. So you’re going to release this person and get away from this place as quick as you can. And I’m not gonna ask you twice.”

Your mind is slowly processing what’s happening, and you watch more closely at your two saviors. They’re both clad in beskar armor, one shiny, one painted in red and green, the traditional helmets of the Mandalorians safely hiding their faces. You’ve heard of them of course, the intriguing tribe is well known where you used to live. And it is also well known it is a bad idea to mess with them.

There is a moment of tension. The Chiss seems to be gauging if he can win a fight against the two Mandalorians, or if there is any way he can turn the situation to his advantage. The smaller warrior, the one with the shiny armor, moves a hand on his blaster and slightly shifts in his position, making clear he’s not afraid to shoot if necessary. Anger crosses the face of the blue-skinned man and he pinches his lips in a disgusted pout before speaking. “Alright, no need to be so menacing. I’ll leave, but I can’t let my property here, they’ll come with me.” He collects his bag and pretends to be leaving, tugging on your chains for you to get up. “I think you don’t understand”, the smaller Mandalorian finally speaks for the first time, “they’re not your property, and they will stay here.”. He’s very calm but determined and the modulator filtering his voice gives an even more terrifying tone to the veiled threat. His blaster is now in his hand, casually aiming to the Chiss.

With two blasters now facing him, your captor has very little choice. He lets out a nervous sight and reaches inside his pocket to find the magnetic key to your chains. He reluctantly presses it against your ankles and then your wrists, freeing you from the vicious bite of the metal around your limbs. The discarded shackles tumble in the sand with a soft clatter. Free. You’re free.

“You don’t know who you’re insulting Mandalorians…” you heard him muttering under his breath before quickly leaving the marketplace, under the scrutinizing looks of the nearby crowd. You’re still in shock of what just happened. The world is becoming a blur around you, the ambient noise turning into a high pitch sound in your ears, you feel like you’re gonna lose your footing.

“Hey… can you hear me? you ok?” a gentle touch on your shoulder and two brown eyes with a kind look prevent you from totally fainting, bringing you back to reality. The taller Mandalorian has removed his helmet and is watching you. A concerned smile crossing his face. The information makes your brain glitch. Mandalorians are not supposed to remove their helmet, ever.. But you don’t have the time to dwell on this puzzling news, because the second warrior reminds you of a more pressing issue: “Did he plant a chip? In your neck? Or your back maybe? Do you remember?” “Yes…yes, in the middle of my back I think.” “Shit.”

--------

The table in the center of the modest living room is swiped free of the few bowls and trinkets placed there. The Mandalorian is carefully lying you on it, instructing you to turn on your belly. He loses no time, tearing the thin fabric of your tunic to expose your back. The Marshal comes back from another room, hurrying, with a medkit in his hands. “Din! I think there’s a scalpel vibroblade in here, but I couldn’t find any anesthetic.” The helmeted warrior, Din, doesn’t lose his calm and pulls out the scalpel from the kit.

“I’m sorry, but we must remove it now, before this son-of-a-Kath-hound dares to make it explode.” he says, his helmet turned toward you.

You hear the Marshal searching in the kitchen for something, frantically opening cabinet doors. “Here, you can bite on this.” a clean cloth is finally shoved into your hands and you bring it to your mouth, sinking your teeth in the fabric and steeling yourself for what’s to come. The gloved hand of the Mandalorian is feeling each bone of your spine, looking for the exact location of the chip. He’s fast, methodical, like he’s done this before. His hand suddenly stops a couple inches below your neck. “Found it. It’s gonna hurt. You can scream if it helps.” He turns to the other man “It’s best if you hold them still. Safer this way.” One powerful hand grabs your neck, gentle but firm, while another one presses on the small of your back, making sure you won’t move too much and hurt yourself. The Marshal has removed his gloves, and the feeling of its warm callused hands against your exposed skin is somehow weirdly comforting. Your fingers clench hard on the table’s edge when the blade sinks into your flesh, you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a growl through your gritted teeth around the cloth. The pain is radiating in all your back, you want to move, to escape the awful sensation although you know it’s for your own good. You can feel the droplets of blood trickling down your sides, ending on the table, forming little puddles soon staining the front of your tunic. The feeling of the blade moving so close to your spine makes your head spin and when you open your eyes, blacks spots are filling your vision. You let go of the edge of the table, your fingers going numb. “I think they’re gonna faint.” the Marshal warns Din. “I’m almost done...” A metallic clatter can be heard as the Mandalorian lets the chip fall inside a cup. “Just need to close the wound now. You’re good.” You’re doing your best to stay awake, removing the cloth from your mouth with a feeble hand to try and take some deep breaths. The process of closing the deep cut in your back is nowhere near pleasant, but at least the menace of the chip blowing up your spine is gone. “It’s done. I just need to apply some bacta.” “No” your voice is wrecked, the tone slightly desperate. “No bacta. I want the scar to stay.” “It’s your call.” Din simply states.

The hands against your back are lifted and the Marshal reappears in your visual field. He fetches a bottle and a cup, and when the Mandalorian finally gives you the permission to sit up, he offers you a glass of an unknown blue liquid. “For the pain.” he says with a smile. It smells funny but you gulp the thing down, and while it burns your throat a little, its heat is welcome. You feel your muscles relax a bit thanks to the alcohol. “Thank you.” His brows furrow while he looks at you. You must look like a mess. Your tunic ripped open in the back, stained with your own blood, your skin coated in sand and sweat, your short hair messier than ever. “I’ll try to find you new clothes.” Behind you, the Mandalorian is trying to clean the blade and the mess you all made. You feel very self-conscious all of a sudden, realizing you’re half naked, alone on a planet you don't know, with two strangers, no money and no weapon, not even a proper garment on your back. You wrap your arms around you, making sure the torn fabric doesn’t expose you more than it does. But the move makes you wince when you unwittingly touch the bruises left by the Chiss on your upper arms. The Marshal frowns even more. “Is there a refresher I can use?” you ask tentatively. “Yeah sure” he seems a bit surprised by your request “Over here, the sonic works and there might even be some water left.” he answers nonetheless, while gesturing toward the small corridor at the other side of the room.

You don’t wait for any more explanation, jump from the table, and almost run to the refresher, locking the door behind you. A thousand thoughts are spiralling inside your head. You let the water run and step inside the shower, trying to wash away the dirt, the pain and the anguish.

------

Days have passed since your encounter with Din and Cobb (as you learned their names were). One true Mandalorian, the other not so much. But both are men of honor - or at least they seem to be. Truth be said, you don’t care that much about honor, as long as they’re nice to you. Cobb is letting you live in his home, and you have a small room all to yourself. You don’t see him a lot since he’s always somewhere else taking care of some sort of problem or quarrel. He’s not a bad roommate and he doesn't ask a lot from you. And Din is living in his ship he brought back from Mos Eisley. Well you’ve learned pretty quickly that sometimes Din is also some kind of roommate for Cobb, in the sense that they literally share the same bedroom. They’re not very open about their relationship but they don’t try to hide it at all costs either, and you’re grateful for the trust they put into you.

It’s quite fascinating to see them together. Cobb, tall and bold, a mischievous smile always plastered on his face, his silver hair and beard highlighting a strong jaw, high cheekbones and kind dark eyes. Din is more of the introvert type, smaller, definitely more muscular, his helmet always on, although you can easily tell when there is a smile or a worry in his voice. You’ve seen them fight together against some outlaws once or twice, and you had been mesmerized by their dynamic and synchronicity. You don’t know much about them, and they don’t ask much about you, and it’s fine this way for each of you three. The only thing still bugging your mind is the reason why they chose to help you, but the small green alien baby the Mandalorian is fostering indicates an overprotective instinct you’re glad to be benefiting from. And Cobb is visibly on the same track, even more so, demonstrating a contained anger each time you mention past abuse, regularly scolding himself for having let the Chiss leave alive.

Actually you’re glad to stay at their sides and to receive their attention. They’ve been careful around you, especially the first couple days, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or to scare you. As time passed, they both showed more openly their attachment to you and you welcomed their friendliness. But lately, you’ve caught yourself wanting more, waiting impatiently for Cobb’s return or for Din’s visit, a weird feeling coiling into your chest and your belly when you caught a glimpse of Din’s skin between his helmet and his scarf, a sudden blush on your cheeks when you run into Cobb getting out of the fresher, wearing just pants, hair still damp and shimmering in the soft light of the morning. Despite your best efforts to lie to yourself, it’s pretty clear now that you’re falling for them, both of them.

It’s twisted, you’re well aware, and sometimes you’re wondering which part of your fucked up past is to blame for this. But torturing yourself searching for answers doesn’t make the crave for their attention and touch go away, on the contrary.

While you’re getting more and more settled into your new life, the scars of the previous ones are still present. Nightmares. The ghosts of past wounds. You try your best to hide it from Din and Cobb, you don’t want to bother them with your traumas, when they already have their very own ones to deal with.

One night, the ghost pain of the removal of the chip comes back. You suspect in saving your life, Din had unfortunately touched a few nerves. It hurts all along your spine, up into your skull, keeps you wide awake despite your tiredness. You roll into your bed, unable to sleep, tears of exhaustion forming in the corner of your eyes. You finally get up, looking for the new pain-killer you know Cobb keeps in the unit next to his bed. After your little improvised surgery on his kitchen table, he had felt the need to purchase some, just in case. He’s not home yet, despite the late hour, but you’re not worried. Not unusual for him to have a weird schedule. You find what you’re looking for, small greenish beads safely stored in a glass jar. You swallow two of them, fighting against the waves of pain each of your movement is sending into your body. With just a few seconds, the medication kicks in, a warm feeling settling inside of your muscles, easing your agony away. You feel your mind drifting pleasantly, your eyelids heavy. You barely have the time to take a few steps back and fall on Cobb’s bed before you blank out.

You wake up in a gasp, sitting up immediately, all your senses on the alert. There is someone in the room. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” you can guess Cobb’s silhouette in the door frame. He’s just wearing the light pants and tunic he usually sleeps in. “I’m gonna go sleep in the living room.” he adds with a soft voice. It’s still dark outside, you weren’t out for very long, but visibly long enough for him to come back and find you in his bed.

“Sorry.” You don’t know how to explain why you ended here, you’re just relieved to see he’s not upset with you. “You don’t need... I… Can I…” you stutters, having trouble to find what you really want to ask. “You can finish your night here, no big deal.” he sounds tired but caring. “Stay with me. I mean, if you want to”. You answer without thinking about the consequences, not knowing if it’s the uninhibiting effect of the drug or something else.

You see his shoulders rise just a little, he’s surprised although he doesn’t say anything, and just climbs onto the bed as you shift to make room for him. You’re glad he stays silent, the situation being awkward enough as it is. The mattress is wide enough for two persons, but after a few moments, you press yourself against his body in your half-sleep, subconsciously searching for his warmth. When his arm gently wraps over you, he asks in a whisper if it's ok, and when you clutch his hand tighter against your chest, he takes that as a yes. You fall in a deep restful sleep, the best you had in a long time.

It becomes a little habit, everytime you feel the pain in your back or when nightmares wake you up in the middle of the night. Din knows about it obviously. He’s not angry at you, or Cobb. He understands, and you even recon he’s becoming more and more protective around you. Days turn into weeks, and while it’s nice to sleep in Cobb’s arms and to get renewed attention from Din, it doesn’t really help with your complicated feelings.

One afternoon, you’re heading back home early, and as you enter the living room, noises coming from Cobb’s bedroom make your heart miss a beat. Soft moans, deep voices whispering dirty words and the sound of flesh on flesh. You’re clearly not supposed to be here at this time of day, not supposed to witness whatever is going on. A hand on your mouth, you retreat to your room as quietly as possible, close the door shut and try to calm your erratic breathing. You spend the rest of the day locked up, too embarrassed to dare going out and to risk bumping into them. You don’t really know why, it’s not like it’s a dangerous secret that they’re fucking each other. You guess it has more to do with your own guilty desires than with them.

The very next day, you’re all enjoying a drinking party at the local cantina. The spotchka is burning your inside delightfully, Cobb is telling funny stories from his past and the small crowd gathered around your booth is laughing, unbridled. It’s hard to tell if Din is enjoying himself since he can’t drink in public but you suspect he has taken his share of the blue alcohol before coming here. His gloved hand is casually resting on Cobb’s thigh under the table top, an unusual demonstration of affection. The night is well advanced when the three of you leave the cantina. You’re expecting them to go straight to Din’s ship but they follow you into Cobb’s home, exchanging teasing jokes and clever quips. As you make your way toward your own room, Cobb catches your wrist. “Stay with us. I mean, if you want to.” he offers, using your own words from the other night, smiling without malice. Your eyes dart to Din, silently asking for his consent and he nods slowly.

You all land on Cobb’s bed, and before you dare ask about the helmet situation, Din makes sure the blinds on the windows are perfectly shut, and switches off the light. The soft clatter of beskar against the floor makes it clear he has removed his helmet, his face impossible to see in the complete darkness of the room. You’re in awe of the trust he puts into you. You could easily mess with him and try some tricks to see how he looks, even though you have no intention to do so. You’re too tired to really think further about it, and you decide to just embrace the gentleness of the moment, cuddling up against Cobb like you’re used to. Except this time you can feel Din’s arm wrapped around the Marshal’s body and it makes your heart flutter with a joy you wouldn’t have dared to dream of.

You’re awakened by Cobb shifting against you in his sleep. You feel well rested and despite the lack of light thanks to the thick blinds, you conclude it’s probably late in the morning. The body against your back moves again, and you feel Cobb’s breath against your shaved nape. “Good morning sunshine” he says before planting a kiss there. Your breath hitches in your throat. “You ok?” he whispers, concerned. “Yeah, just… Can you... do that again?” He chuckles and his lips find your neck again. Taking his time, leaving small kisses up to your cheek. You feel a familiar heat building really quickly between your legs. His hands are on your waist, feeling good and warm on the exposed skin between your shirt and your shorts. You’re closing your eyes, savoring the sensation when Cobb unexpectedly lets out a laugh. “Well, hello Din…” “What? I thought I could join.” Din mutters between two kisses on Cobb’s neck. Before you can say anything, you find yourself between them, night clothes soon discarded after you answer positively when they ask you if this is fine, muscular bodies pressed against you from both sides. They kiss every inch of your skin and and at some point, Din grabs your hand and places it gently on his face, giving you permission to trace his features in the dark. You feel a chiseled jawline and a two-day stubble, soft lips and a strong nose, small wrinkles at the corner of his eyes forming there when he smiles. You keep on touching his forehead, up until you find the soft curls of his hair. You guess he must be a few years older than you, surely a bit younger than Cobb. But it doesn’t really matter, and the question disappears when you feel his lips on yours.

You relinquish yourself to the mind-blowing feeling. Even your wildest fantasies weren’t this good. You lose track of how many times you come undone under Din’s skilled fingers and Cobb’s hungry mouth. And when Din finally sinks into you and Cobb sinks into him, your heart misses a few more beats, your bodies moving in perfect sync, making you go over the edge one more time.

It must be late in the day, because you start to be really thirsty. “I’ll go fetch some water” Cobb offers, and when he’s back from the kitchen with the cups, you and him respectfully turn your back to Din to let him drink before he has the chance to put his helmet back on.

When it’s your turn to head for the refresher, you let the water run and step inside the shower, just like you did for the first time a few weeks ago. There is a difference though. Today, there sure is some dirt to wash away, but the pain and the anguish, they are already gone.

#starwars #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #reader insert #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #cobb vanth #the mandalorian x cobb vanth #the mandalorian x cobb vanth x reader #cobb vanth x reader #star wars fanfiction #gen reader #gender neutral pronouns #the mandalorian smut #din djarin/reader #cobb vanth/din djarin #cobb vanth/reader

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addicted2escapism · 4 years

Text

Hands to Yourself | JJ Maybank

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: You have a small crush on JJ. You’re also in major denial about why he can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

Warnings: none

Being a Pogue had a lot of downfalls. Pogue status meant you probably had a very unfortunate financial status, and maybe even an unfortunate family dynamic. But being a Pogue guaranteed one thing: you had amazing friends. Friends that were basically family.

“Hey!” Kiara’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, catching your attention as she ran down the pier to where you sat perched on the edge. You smiled and greeted her in return, watching as she plopped down beside you. She cast her feet over the side to hang just above the water’s surface, matching your own pose.

“Where are the others?” You asked, looking over your shoulder to see if the other Pogues were on their way.

“I think John B and Sarah should be here soon, he was picking her up from the other side of the island.” Kiara shrugged, before a wicked smirk crossed her face as she eyed you. “Don’t worry, JJ will be here soon. And Pope, too, if you were concerned about him.”

“I wasn’t… worried.” You scoff, trying to force down your smile. Your gaze flickered from Kiara’s eyes to the body of water in front of you. “And I have no idea why you’d think I’m more concerned with JJ’s whereabouts than Pope’s.”

Kiara snorted, rolling her eyes and shifting her position on the dock to face you.

“What?” You press, beginning to worry if your feelings for JJ were starting to show. You tried not to like him in that way, hoping that it was just a fluke and that your feelings would go away, but they persisted.

“Nothing, nothing! I’ve just seen the way you look at…” Her sentence fades out at the sound of advancing footsteps on the dock, running at top speed. You barely begin to turn around before a pair of hands slam down on your shoulders and start shaking you back and forth. Instinctively, your hands shoot up to cover the ones on your shoulders.

“Seen the way she looks at who, huh?” A familiar voice teases, eliciting laughter from you and a raised eyebrow from Kiara.

“JJ, knock it off!” You giggle, folding in on yourself to try to get his hands off you. You look at Kiara from the corner of your eye, and the knowing gaze she casts at you draws heat to your cheeks.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” JJ announces sarcastically, easing off your shoulders and sitting down behind you. You pull your legs up from the water and spin to sit facing Kiara. “Are we having girl talk right now, is that what this is?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what this is.” Kiara nods. “You’re interrupting.”

“I can be one of the girls!” JJ prattles on, bantering back and forth with Kiara, but you barely register what they’re saying. Your entire thought process had shut down from the moment JJ sat next to you. Your crush had developed to the point where his presence left you malfunctioning. Every second you were hyper-aware of his existence. But you wouldn’t act upon your feelings. No Pogue on Pogue macking.

–––––

John B’s house was your favorite. The very wood it was made of seemed to echo “family”, as it comforted you in a way only your closest friends could. The group had decided on a movie night to calm down after multiple days of wasting away in a boat under the hot sun. Kiara brought a projector from her house to cast the movie onto a wall, along with a handful of movies to choose from. She’d settled onto the couch beside Pope, and John B and Sarah laid piled in blankets on the floor. That left you and JJ to sit on the other couch, something you definitely couldn’t be mad about.

The movie was good, but with JJ beside you, you couldn’t bring yourself to pay attention. On top of that, you were exhausted from the past week of boating and working your life away. Thinking about your tiredness had you yawning silently, sinking back into the couch and pulling your blanket up to your chin. You curled your legs underneath you and slightly leaned towards JJ to rest your head against the back of the couch.

“Tired?” JJ asks softly, leaning over to you as well. All you can do is nod and close your eyes, trying to will away the desire to inch over and press your body against his. The light from the projector flashes in front of your eyelids, washing the room in a blue filter as the scene of the movie changes. The characters in the film must be hiding, because they’re whispering back and forth to each other. The tone of their voices calm you, even with the weight of JJ’s gaze piercing your skin.

A moment passes and you wonder if he had gone back to watching the movie, leaving you to fall asleep on your own. Unable to contain your curiosity, you squint your eyes open to peek up at the boy. He’s still looking at you. You flush under his gaze and bury your face deeper into the blanket.

“What?” You whisper, smiling slightly despite the lower half of your face being covered.

Instead of responding, JJ reaches his arms out from underneath his blanket to grab you. Not to roughhouse, but to pull you closer until you’re flush against his side. You swallow down a noise of surprise as he moves you, glancing at your other friends to see if the motion caught their attention. The other four teens seemed blissfully unaware of the butterflies blooming in your chest, totally engrossed in the movie.

“Your neck would have hurt if you fell asleep like that.” JJ reasoned, sliding an arm around your shoulders.

You snort, because deflection was much easier than showing vulnerability.

“Sure.” You roll your eyes, but rest your head on his shoulder anyways. The way your body relaxes in his hold is almost too natural. Sure, you’d been friends for years, completely comfortable with each other, but now his touch meant something different to you. A different way than it meant to him.

–––––

You, Pope, and Kiara stood in a circle outside of The Wreck. The other two boys were late. Very, very late.

“Ok, we’ve been waiting for like a half hour! I’m starving!” You threw your hands in the air, looking around for what felt like the thousandth time.

“We should just go in, I’m sure John B is just caught up macking on Sarah.” Pope offered, gesturing towards the entrance of the restaurant.

“But what about JJ?” Kiara asked, and then lowly added on, “You don’t think he went home… do you?”

“No way.” You shook your head and crossed your arms, instantly denying what she was implying. “He wouldn’t. Maybe he’s just… right here!”

A relieved smile graces your face as the blonde haired boy comes into view, looking sweaty but very much unharmed. Kiara and Pope are just as relieved as you, they just did a better job at hiding it. You catch his gaze as he approaches, jogging the last couple of steps up to you, and he returns your smile.

“Sorry I’m late.” JJ greets everyone, reaching up and tugging the end of your hair gently. “I feel asleep at John B’s.”

“So then where’s John B? Please tell me he’s with Sarah so I can be right.” Pope inquires, earning a slap on the arm and a facial expression that screamed ‘seriously?’ from Kiara.

“I don’t know.” JJ shrugged, letting you bat his hand away from your hair, only for it to return instantly, this time twisting it around his finger instead of tugging. “But he did tell me that he was going to Sarah’s before he left, so I bet he’s more than fine.”

JJ wiggled his eyebrows and made an obscene gesture with the hand that wasn’t occupied in your hair. You scrunched your face up in disgust but made no effort to push him away. Kiara rolled her eyes and turned around to enter The Wreck, clearly over the nonsense. Pope followed her like a puppy on a leash, with you and your grumbling stomach at his heels. You couldn’t go far, only managing two steps before JJ was tugging your hair again, forcing you to wait and walk inside with him.

–––––

“Alright, this is getting ridiculous!” Kiara announces, closing the door to her bedroom behind you. “You like JJ, don’t deny it. And he likes you. Don’t deny it! He was literally pulling your hair like a lovesick elementary schooler during recess a few days ago.”

You open your mouth to retort, but quickly snap it shut at the face Kiara makes towards you. You settle for a sigh and throw yourself down face first on her bed. She snorts at your childishness and lays down beside you.

“Listen to me, okay?” She nudges you with her elbow, surprisingly serious. “There’s nothing wrong with liking JJ. He’s a good guy.��

“There’s no Pogue on Pogue macking. I don’t wanna mess it up.” You admit quietly, turning over so that you’re both staring up at the ceiling.

“Dude, we all know that rule doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t even make sense.” She props herself up on her elbow to look down at you. “And you won’t mess anything up. He likes you back. I promise.”

You chew your lip in silence for a moment. It’s been easy for you to just deny, deny, deny so far. Why change the dynamic of the group when it’s already working so well? Kiara shoves you lightly, looking at you with knowing eyes.

“Do something for yourself, for once. Tonight. At the party.”

Somehow, Kiara had actually managed to rope you into going through with this. After her pep talk, it seemed like a good idea. But you’d squeezed in a few hours of worrying before the party started, and now that you were here, the nerves had made you a wreck. You needed alcohol.

After your first drink, Kiara had stolen your cup.

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink too much. Better to keep a clear head for tonight, yeah?” Kiara encouraged, nodding to get you to agree. Reluctantly, you nodded back and ran a stressed hand through your hair. You instinctively searched the beach for JJ, who you found handing drinks to John B and Sarah.

“What’s so important about tonight?” Pope asked, looking between you and Kiara.

“She’s acting upon her feelings.” Kie informed him, smirking slightly and glancing to where your other friends were. Pope made an ‘O’ shape with his mouth and nodded knowingly.

“What the hell? You know?” You ask incredulously, unable to stop yourself from looking at JJ again.

“Yeah, everyone knows.” Pope laughs, and then casually sips his beer. The panic festering in your chest must show on your face, because Kiara jumps in.

“Everyone except JJ. He’s stupid.”

“You both are.” Pope quips, and then sprints in the opposite direction before you two can punch him.

You huff at the teasing insult, suddenly wishing you had something to do with your hands. If only Kiara would just give you the drink back. But instead of giving you the cup, she gives you her hand, and drags you down the beach to where everyone else was. Your brain screams at you to drag your feet and cause a scene to avoid going over there, but the commotion would definitely catch JJ’s attention, and that was the opposite of what you wanted right now. Kiara marched you right up to JJ, but you were only capable of looking everywhere except at him. She snatched JJ’s beer from his hand, too, as if that’s not suspicious or anything. It causes him to start bickering with Kiara, so you take the opportunity to involve yourself in John B and Sarah’s conversation.

It doesn’t last long. Arms creep around your waist from behind as JJ slides up behind you, holding you against him. It starts as roughhousing, when he leans backwards to lift you off the ground and swings you left and right. It’s an obvious maneuver for attention but you indulge him anyways.

“Put me down!” You giggle, struggling weakly against him. He obliges almost immediately, even if he does make a bit of a show out of it. Your feet are returned to the sand but he doesn’t let go, he creates even more contact by resting his chin on your shoulder.

You exhale softly, leaning back against him, which causes him to stroke up and down your side absentmindedly. No one else seems to be bothered by JJ’s actions, but Kiara is taking every chance she gets to smirk at you. His embrace is warm and comforting, unmatched by anything or anyone else. But you don’t want to indulge in something like this if he doesn’t feel the same.

You spin suddenly, ripping yourself out of JJ’s hold to his dismay. He reaches out for you with confused eyes and a frown, but you grab his hand before he can touch you again. The rest of the Pogues fall silent from your abrupt actions.

“I need to talk to you.” You snap, yanking his arm and pulling him away from the group. JJ protests but comes along nonetheless, in fear of getting his arm ripped out of his socket. You stop as suddenly as you started and spin to face him, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling: “I like you.”

Confusion, hesitation, and maybe hopefulness cross his face all at once. The confession feels like a weight lifted off your shoulders, but was now replaced by the impending crush of his rejection. JJ opens his mouth, closes it again, glances away, back again, and then finally speaks.

“I mean, yeah, I like you too.” He says it so nonchalantly, shrugging and looking off towards the coast with a sniff.

“No, JJ. I mean it, like, I like you.” You insist, tugging on his hand that was still in yours. “I just- look, Kiara convinced me to tell you, okay? So, we can just forget about this, or whatever-“

“Dude, I like you too.” JJ grins, and the tension in your shoulders drains away. He uses your hand to tug you closer and brushes your hair out of your face. “I mean, I thought it was kind of obvious, but you never did anything about it so I just assumed you didn’t feel the same.”

“I thought you didn’t feel the same.” You laugh, relief swirling in your stomach.

“I guess we’re both pretty dumb.” JJ laughs with you, but the moment of peace is short-lived, cut short by JJ himself. He dives for you, hoisting you up over his shoulder and starts running towards the ocean. You scream in protest, lightly punching his back but it does nothing to deter him. “I hope you know what you’ve done, because you’re never getting rid of me!”

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #outer banks netflix #i had to repost this because my blog was messed up #and my posts weren't showing up in the tags #my writing #gem writes

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lune-hime · 4 years

Text

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 4

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tulipa Rainbow Parrot ~ A tulip whose vibrant warm tones burst from deep violet petals like festive firecrackers.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“Where is that frilly lass? We are already behind schedule.” Your grandmother exhaled and tapped her foot impatiently. Levi idly counted the butterflies that fluttered at the foxgloves planted along the polished steps he sat upon. In all honesty, he didn’t mind the waiting. The longer they lingered at the property meant less time for his anxiety to rear its ugly head the moment they left you behind.

The harsh crunching of dirt under boots collided with his ear drums as a young woman raced into view. She held fistfulls of her jade colored dress with one hand while the other struggled to keep the satchel on her shoulder as it flapped wildly in time with her pace.

“‘Bout time.” The old woman huffed, crossing her arms and assuming a position that reminded Levi that she was once a high ranking officer in the armed forces. The girl that Levi presumed to be Felicia skidded to a halt in front of them. Her ragged breaths broke the mid-morning calm and her erratic movements had scared off Levi’s counting material.

“I’m here gnädige Frau! So sorry I’m late, I was preparing some tonics for miss Y/N and-well-” Felicia was heaving and inhaled sharply before continuing.

“I dropped the first batch on the floor so I had to clean up the glass but the shattering of the bottle gave me such a fright that I knocked over the mixing bowl and thus there all my ingredients were now wasted so I had to return to the apothecary to fetch new ones and-” Due to her lack of breath, her excited explanation was barely understandable the longer she carried on. Your grandmother held up a hand signaling her to stop. Felicia coughed once and immediately straightened up, clearly intimidated. She brushed the stray honey blonde baby hairs that had haphazardly escaped their hold back into place behind her ears and stood at attention.

“Felicia, that’s enough.” The lack of surprise in your grandmother’s voice let Levi know that this kind of interaction was nothing new.

“This is Levi. I’m very sure you have heard of him, as has the entirety of the walls.” She gestured to Levi with a nod of her head. Felicia gasped, immediately spewing apologies for not greeting him immediately.

“Oh my! Captain, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Felicia sputtered politely, attempting a deep curtsy. Her bag fell dangerously close to the ground as she did so and she just barely caught it when the strap slipped down to her elbow. She fumbled to collect herself and proceeded to salute enthusiastically, puffing her chest and looking straight past either of the other soldiers in front of her.

Levi shot a quizzical look at your grandmother who just shook her head and sighed.

“At ease?” Levi responded.

“Come inside, girl. It’s a shame that this is your first meeting with Y/N in a while.” Your grandmother turned on her heel and started up the stairs. Levi stood up and waited for Felicia to follow her, however she stood impeccably straight at the bottom of the porch. Levi regarded her with raised eyebrows.

“After you.” He stated unsure, arm extended towards the door. She squeaked and nodded vigoriously and trotted into the house, all the way her bag clanking loudly.

The creaking of the stairs was a prelude to the horrified gasp that resounded through the doorway. Felicia’s expression mimicked your grandmother’s when he had presented you in your state. The pure sadness that hummed along her features gave Levi a glimpse at what he must have looked like when he had seen the abnormal swat you out of the sky.

“Gnädige Frau, w-what happened?” Felicia’s voice crackled with emotion and her hands shook against the leather in her hands.

“Titans, that’s what. Her cuts are deep. I reckon she’s got some fractured ribs, too, based on her bruising.” Your grandmother responded. Levi stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed into himself and a hand resting at his chin.

“I tended to her most pressing wounds last night. But I’m afraid her body has gone into shock and she has yet to wake up.”

Felicia nodded, tears beginning to pool at the corners of her eyes. Levi felt a pang in his chest for the girl. You had told him many stories about her; her character painted with fond childhood memories. It was a surreal experience for Levi to be putting so many names and concepts to faces when you weren’t here to experience them with him consciously.

“What have you brought?” Your grandmother inquired, snapping Felica out of her bubbling well.

“U-um, some tonics, antiseptics, salts.” She sniffled.

“Good, good. You are a fine apprentice indeed.” Your grandmother praised and moved so Felicia could get closer to you.

Felicia began unloading the contents of her bag. Levi watched as glass bottles, their liquids a rainbow of colors, were laid out on the table. Her practice seemed more like witchcraft than medicine.

“Where exactly do you apprentice?” Levi asked, curiosity and slight worry about the extensiveness and obscurity of her collection getting the better of him. Felicia halted her actions and stopped what she was doing to properly address Levi, standing straight as an arrow.

“Oh! Besides being a housekeeper for the Vogel estate-”

“Hush, this is no estate. Maybe during my father’s time but now it's just a house.” Your grandmother mumbled while eyeing a thin-necked bottle with a foaming liquid inside.

“R-right, Frau Vogel. In addition to being a housekeeper for the Vogel family , I am also an apprentice at the local apothecary. Krovla’s hospital is constantly overrun these days, so I’m learning how to treat the locals here.” Felicia explained with a formality that contrasted with her scattered personality. Levi nodded in understanding.

“Felicia, you don’t need to treat Levi like a prized artifact. He’s not your superior officer so stop with this saluting-bullshit. You’re the same age for Pete’s sake.” Your grandmother said, annoyance seeping onto her face.

Felicia let out a squeak and nodded slowly. She was clearly uncomfortable about casually addressing someone of more experience, even if they were the same age. While she was apprehensive about improperly addressing authority, she was not apprehensive about talking. Levi quickly learned that she was quite the nervous chatterbox.

“Captain, gnädige Frau, would you both help me set her up please.” She requested, giving one of her bottles one last inspection and a final swirl.

“Captain, open her mouth please.” Felicia instructed softly. Levi was sitting so close to you that his thigh almost brushed your forearm. Yet, he was afraid to touch you. It was strange, and gave him that familiar stomach churning feeling. How could something so loved and familiar to him feel so fragile and foreign? His thumb ghosted over your pale lips and with as delicate a hand as he could muster pulled down your jaw. He held it there while Felicia carefully had you drink the tonic. It was a painfully slow process where Levi fixed his gaze on your limp form still performing living functions.

“It is wonderful that she is able to swallow.” Felicia commented, relief evident in her voice. She screwed the cap back onto the bottle and discarded it next to her bag.

“Mhm. It could have been much worse.” Your grandmother answered. Her statement rang true but cast a dark cloud over the already damp room. Felicia picked up on this and cleared her throat.

“You know, Captain, when Y/N has been able to return home she always talks about you. She goes on an on and on about your handsomeness, selflessness-” Felicia adorned a nostalgic smile as she recalled your musings.

The corner of Levi’s mouth twitched upward into an almost grin. Damn, you made him sound like prince charming. Which was appreciated, but couldn’t be more far from the truth.

“I gotta say I agree with her that your height is very cute-” She drawled and then bristled like a startled cat. Your grandmother could not contain her guffaw and slapped the now wide eyed Felicia on the back. She didn’t have a filter, poor thing. Like a fawn with a blabber mouth caught at gunpoint, she was.

Levi cringed and let out a deep sigh.

“I-I mean-that’s not a bad thing...right?” Felicia was now as red as a beet and looked as if her head was going to explode out of embarrassment. Levi didn’t respond, only regarded her with the unfamiliar steeliness that scared many.

Frankly, Levi couldn’t give one single shit about how tall he was; or anyone for that matter. But the incessant declaration of cuteness by comrades and strangers alike never sat well with him. Like a fly ceaselessly buzzing against a window it cannot cross. Usually the teasing would be solved with force but he was not about to use that on your family.

“What’s with that look? There’s nothing wrong with being short, I mean look at me.” Your grandmother stated confidently with a wily grin.

↞♞♘↠

The glee of the capital’s festival bled through the streets and blanketed every corner of the city on this celebrated evening. Everywhere he looked was another smiling face infected with the festival cheer. Levi couldn't deny that even he was not utterly immune to the happy virus.

His good mood was mostly due to you (and being able to finally rid himself of the stuffy capital officials), or moreover his alone time with you. After the opening ceremony, which was mostly glorifying the military police while the garrison and corps were there to stand there as ornaments of the government, was mandated break time for all soldiers. You two had simultaneously ditched Eren and Jean when they started getting competitive with the festival games and swerved Hange when she got particularly excited about the fancy delicacies.

Your mood, on the other hand, had done a complete 180 since ditching your decorated uniform for civilian clothes. Your fingers pawed at the fabric of your baby blue dress as intrusive thoughts began to slither through your mind like the blindingly neon colored plush snakes that could be won as prizes. You weren’t usually one to be bothered by the opinions of obnoxious festival goers. Unless it poked at one of your deepest insecurities.

A hundred times over you had told yourself to not let it ruin your night out. That your obsessiveness was stupid. Irrational even. That Levi had proved your persistent opinions wrong many many times. But like anyone knows with a thought that was born deep under your skin and resides within your tissues, it's very hard to eradicate.

“Would you ever date a girl who is taller than you?” One guy asked, gesturing discreetly in your direction from their spot behind you in line.

“Nah man. I wouldn’t be able to feel like a man. She’s sexy though, so even if I was shorter than her I’d make an exception.” One of the others added with a charm only a teenage boy could find appealing. The rest of their party hummed in agreement.

You tried your absolute hardest to focus on the lively drum beats, the elated stomping of dancers, and the boisterous pops of fire crackers. Yet their uninvited snickers remained replaying through your mind. You attempted to present as unbothered as Levi passed you his corndog. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and gave his shoulders a few lazy rolls.

You were supposed to be enjoying the Festival of the Hearth, supposed to be watching Levi lose to you at the hammer strength game, supposed to be happily eating your coma-inducing fried food, supposed to not let comments like that infringe on your happiness. The mental strain of your last expedition paired with the exhaustion that followed official government meetings left you with a petri dish for growing your insecurity. You knew you didn't need the approval of strangers but it ate away at you nonetheless. The victorious chiming of the bell at the top of the game rang with such force that it pulled you out of your pity party.

“I beat you.” Levi announced and turned back to smirk at you. He accepted the plushie, a creature somewhere between a turtle and a duck, from the carnival worker.

“Yeah, good job!” You exclaimed with forced gusto. When your grin cracked Levi squinted his eyes in suspicion. He regarded you with the sternness of a scolding parent, gaze flitting from you to the group behind you.

“How you let other people’s stupid opinions drag you down still gets to me.” Levi looked up at you with light annoyance. His agitation wasn’t a stab towards you but rather frustration that you couldn’t let these things go.

“What do you mean?” You abruptly answered. The hastiness of your reply was about as convincing as a wilted flower.

“It’s useless to play dumb with me. Why are you listening to random brats? Don’t you do enough of that back at HQ?” Levi chided as he cuffed his sleeves, the plushie held securely in his armpit.

“Look, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, some people talk too fucking loud.” Levi added, voice like a razor blade. His eyes were a weapon and dug so sharply into the men that they all began to find the neighboring cotton candy machine incredibly visually stimulating. You then hastily pulled Levi to the side to not clog up the line for the game.

“I heard what they said and it shouldn’t matter.” He said as he traded you the food for the plush. It was soft to the touch and looked at you with cold but adorable eyes. Akin to how you would describe those belonging to your love.

“I know. It’s fine, I’m fine.” You assured, hugging the turtle-duck to your chest. You knew too well he wouldn’t pick up the bullshit you were putting down. But, eh, it was worth a try.

He deadpanned and held your gaze so intensely that soon Tesla coils were spinning in the space between the two of you.

“Come on.” He beckoned. His voice was almost too low to hear over the ringing of the carnival games. He weaved the fingers of his free hand with yours so to not lose you as he led you through the hustle and bustle. No words were shared along this walk, allowing all the sensories of the festival to set in. Bodies danced past you in varying frenzies, confetti blasted in sporadic showers from the rooftops, and the artificial lights from the carnival games swept you up and

made you feel like you were in another world. Only a passing hello was exchanged when you briefly bumped into Sasha and Connie in line for the baked potatoes.

Levi parked you at the boardwalk. Plump tulips swayed in time with the music along the base of the railing. The river was alight with wishing lanterns, each one of them twinkling like fallen stars along the rippling water. He unbraided his fingers from yours and gave you that electric look once again.

He turned to you already assured of the outcome of what he was mentally planning.

“Do you wish I was taller?” He inquired nonchalantly. He leaned against the railing and took a bite out of his corn dog.

You huffed, a bit taken aback by his question. When he regarded you with one brow raised, that half smug grin of his made it click. He was trying to get you to realize the absurdity of your worries.

As if you didn’t already know.

“Of course I don’t.” You pouted. The warm light that bobbed from within the floating lanterns danced along your skin, giving you an ethereal glow that briefly made Levi forget what he even asked you. He found your hypocrisy amusingly irritating.

Levi had no self-consciousness about his appearance, for it really didn’t matter to him. He was aware that he was considered “handsome” by you and plenty of others but it was all dirt off his shoulders in the grand scheme of things. The workings of his physicality is what was more important, not its aesthetics.

“What if I said that I hated myself because I am short.” He questioned again. The evenness with which he posed his question did nothing to hide his lack of sincerity. You stared at him like someone who knew they had already lost a bet.

“Well you already hate yourself so-” You responded dryly, attempting to divert the conversation away from your ebbing embarrassment. Levi rolled his eyes and continued to wait for the response he desired.

“Fine. I would say that it’s dumb to think that way.” You mumbled, resigning to his logic.

Levi’s lips curled. The annoyance that had surrounded him before was dusted off by the soft eyelashes of the night sky. He ditched the remnants of his corn dog in the nearest trashcan and approached you so that only a few inches separated your bodies.

“I would never wish for something as trivial as changing your height. The fact I have to slightly look up at you is one of the most insignificant things in my life.” He stated, tilting his head gently upward to meet your gaze. His sincerity struck you like an arrow and embedded itself so lovingly within you that it shot all of the pesky doubts right out of your body.

“I know thoughts can get stuck in that brain of yours but focus on what you think of yourself and not what a group of shitheads, or anyone, decides to vomit out of their mouths.” The vulgarity of his sentence made you smile and you nodded in affirmation.

“Thank you, Levi.” You said, letting out one last puff air to rid your body of the sour mood.

He grinned in return, blessing you with one of your favorite sights. Despite feeling like a slight doofus, Levi didn’t belittle you for feeling this way. Moments like these caused the kind man under the marbled facade to peep through and made your chest swell with even more love for him.

“Here, there’s one more thing I want to do to further prove my point.” He said, gesturing towards the wooden booth selling wishing lanterns. Once a few dollars were handed over, the woman behind the counter gave the two of you square pieces of parchment and a pair of quills.

“I can think of a million other things I would rather wish for.” Levi reaffirmed as he dipped the quill in the inkwell.

“Like for the titans to fuck off into oblivion. To make Eren’s asshole the only orphus on his body so I don’t have to deal with his constant screaming. To get Hange to stop asking me for my toenails. Fucking disgusting.” He muttered the last part with a grimace. His attempt to make you laugh had succeeded and his heart bloomed with warmth when he heard you giggle.

“For a bigger bath so we have more room to-” He began casually, instantly being shushed by your finger to his lips. With his lips blocked his eyes smirked instead.

“You can’t write that.” You interjected in disbelief.

“Why not? No one is going to see it. My lantern, my wish.” He replied with a shameless shrug. You shook your head and set down your plushie to start writing your own.

“See? No height changes on this.” Levi declared after a few moments. His sudden display of paper made you quickly conceal yours. Your eyes skimmed over the colorful, yet surprisingly lovely language that dipped you in a feeling as warm as the sugared glaze of the carnival donuts.

“You have a lot of wishes.” You commented. Granted, most of them were obscure and seemed only to be there to lift your spirits.

“This world fucking sucks.” Levi responded as if it was the simplest thing within the walls. You couldn’t completely argue.

“What did you wish for?” Levi prodded as he eyed the paper you held face down to your chest. You defensively folded it in half and closed it within your palm.

“I can’t tell you or else it won’t come true.”

Levi exhaled and pursed his lips.

“You don’t believe that bull do you?”

“I can’t risk it.” You said stubbornly with a playful grin.

“Tell me or I’ll revoke your prize.” Levi urged slyly, nodding down to the turtleduck on the table. You gasped lightly and scooped up the piece of fluff into your embrace.

“You wouldn’t dare separate me from our child.” You accused with feigned offence. Levi looked into those dark, synthetic eyes and huffed.

“We could never produce something as ugly as that creature.” Levi threw back. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from cracking a smile at your exasperated look. He would secretly admit, the animal was actually pretty cute.

“Well for being rude to your daughter you definitely don’t get to know my wish now.” You countered and picked up your lantern and began walking towards the river. You turned to look over your shoulder with an excitement that dismissed the family quarrel.

Amidst hundreds of other festival goers at the river Levi held your lantern as you secured the paper to the inside with yarn. After doing the same for him, you lit the candle near the bottom with a match. The delicate ivory siding of the lantern crackled under your tender touch as you raised yours to the sky. Levi mirrored your movements.

“Ready?” You asked. The two of you looked at each other with unspoken fondness.

“Yeah.”

Then, your chambers of light and worldly prayers slipped past your finger tips and into the cosmos. Two pairs of outstretched palms bid them farewell as they sailed into the galaxy to form a constellation with the thousands of other lanterns that peppered the sky. Those now empty hands were filled with the comfort of each other as they relished in the last few minutes of tranquility before they slipped into the crowd to regroup with the others.

↞♞♘↠

“Alright my girl, we are going to head out now.” Your grandmother announced, wiping her hands on the dish towel and placing it next to the sink. The awake members of the household had gathered in the kitchen before leaving for town.

“Right! I shall start planning out Y/N’s dinner and ours as well.” Felicia said with a determined glint in her eyes. Your grandmother smiled softly at her passionate response.

“Fine, but do not feel obligated to clean anything while I am gone. Although I know you will.” She instructed with a playful sternness. Felicia laughed bashfully before tilting her head in a bow of compliance.

Levi and the old woman’s boots tapped against the porch steps and down towards their awaiting carriage.

“Why don’t you just make her leave if you don’t want her service?” Levi wondered aloud. Your grandmother chuckled gruffly as she lifted herself onto the front seat of the wagon with youthful agility.

“As much as I grumble…” She began with a dreamy sigh. Levi awaited her reply as he heaved himself into the seat next to her, faltering slightly when he had to use his sore shoulder.

“I can’t kick her out because she makes the best schnitzel within these walls.” She confessed, her features glazing over in longing for the immaculately fried breading and juicy pork.

“So you have something to look forward to when we return.” Your grandmother declared with a crinkle of her eyes and a crack of the reins.

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